Saudade | STXI | NC-17 | 3/9
3.
The laboured huffing of the Oldsmobile announced Spock’s arrival before the car actually pulled up around the back. Jim winced at the sound the poor thing was making - it was lucky the part had come in today, because that transmission was on its last leg.
He’d commed Spock some fifteen minutes ago. Although the brief conversation had revolved solely on the cranky automobile in question, Jim couldn’t help but appreciate how fresh Spock managed to look through his comm on a sweltering summer afternoon.
As Spock stepped gracefully from the car, Jim abandoned the open hood of another ride in need. He sauntered forward and grabbed a dirty cloth from his back pocket to wipe his oily hands.
He noted with a curious spark of pleasure that Spock was wearing Terran clothes. How the hell Spock had managed to make blue flannel look like some gift to humanity was beyond him. Maybe it was just the way the sleeves were rolled up those long, pale forearms. Or the snug fit of the slim, black jeans slung across lean hips.
Jesus fucking Christ, Jim thought with an internal laugh. Out of all the aliens he’d encountered in this nowhere-town, Spock was, without a doubt, the sexiest. Why bother pretending? Life was too short.
“Hey, Spock. Aren’t you hot?” He gestured with a wave of his soiled cloth at the Vulcan’s ensemble.
Spock didn’t take a moment to consider. “No.”
“I disagree,” Jim said seamlessly, with an easy grin. His battered lip complained, and he pressed the side of his knuckle against it for a moment. “So, thanks for yesterday and everything.” He stuffed his cloth in his back pocket as he spoke, already rounding the car to pop the hood and have a second look at the grimy, convoluted innards.
Jim could hear keys jangling in Spock’s hand as he followed him to the hood. “It was logical to aid my mechanic, so that he may repair my vehicle as previously agreed.”
“Mmm...” Jim’s head was already stuffed under the hood. “So that’s the policy on aiding and abetting a juvenile delinquent as he jacks a car - right after you go ape-shit on three dudes you don’t even know? That’s kinda...” adorable, “deranged. Sure you’re a real Vulcan - or, er, half Vulcan?”
Spock bristled. “Although your previous attitude was - and remains - insufferable, you did not instigate the physical altercation. Therefore, I had no issue with neutralising the situation.”
“If by ‘neutralising’, you mean ‘kicking ass and taking names’, then sure, okay.” Really, Spock should have let Jim get what he’d deserved in that bar - wouldn’t have been the first time. “And your equally shitty excuse for auto theft?”
Jim wasn’t going to make this easy on Spock. Why should he? No one ever helped him without an ulterior motive.
The math was easy: Smart Vulcan, plus exponentially Reckless Hick - over Uncharacteristically Helpful Favours from Smart Vulcan - equalled Expectations.
Just what was Spock expecting from him?
“Vulcans do not make excuses. We have a reasonable explanation for all actions.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Jim said, as he continued to fiddle with the grease-stained mechanisms. He really didn’t need to - he’d only required a cursory glance inside to calculate the entirety of the damage inflicted on the vehicle. But it was fun to hear the Vulcan grasp at straws.
Spock’s tone was drab. “You would have confiscated the vehicle regardless of whether I had been involved. Having taken your injuries into consideration, I reasoned that the most logical course of action would involve the utilisation of my navigational skills.”
Jim slammed down the hood of the car. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and turned to consider Spock. “Lesser of two evils, huh?”
“Approximately.”
With an utterance that fell between a sigh and a laugh, Jim shook his head and reached forward. He swiped Spock’s keys from his hand - the metal felt searing from the Vulcan’s grasp - and twirled it idly around his forefinger. “Well, whatever. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when you get into shit for hanging around my -” Jim feigned quotations, “bad influence.”
He’d had enough of parents accusing him of corrupting their poor little babies. If they could be tainted in the first place, it usually meant that they were just as dissatisfied with their lives as Jim was, and were simply asking for trouble. They just happened to find it in the vicinity of Jim.
But he sure as hell wasn’t keen on the idea of Vulcan parents coming down on him like the angry fist of Surak, or whatever.
Did Surak get angry? No, Jim was pretty sure he didn’t. Pacifist bastard.
“My actions are my own,” Spock said tightly.
Jim sent him a disbelieving roll of eyes. “Sure, they all say that in the beginning. Then it’s, ‘Oh, Jim made me set the barn on fire!’ and ‘I swear I was just an innocent virgin when I met him!’ and ‘Golly, I don’t know how those cows got tipped over!’ and -” An impish smile teased the corners of Jim’s lips, as he caught the stony eye of Spock. “Well, you get the picture.”
“I believe I do.”
Jim imagined he saw a glint of amusement in that unwavering gaze - or it could have just been the spark of the sun, refracting in amber.
“Okey-doke - so I’m gonna get this baby right as rain in no time. “ Jim patted the hood of the car. “It’ll probably take an hour to fix, so you’ll just have to wait, I guess. Not much to do ‘round here.”
Jim went to scratch his chin in thought, but he quickly recalled the lingering pain in his jaw from the previous night and dropped his hand. “If you’re not against the noise, you could join me in the garage. I think I have a book or two lying around that could hold your interest while I work.”
Fuck if Jim knew why he was searching out the Vulcan’s company - they would hardly be able to speak over Jim’s drilling, anyway. But truth be told, he was kind of enjoying Spock. Sure, he was a bit snooty - but he was sexy too, and clever as hell.
And it was kind of more than a little fun to tug at that thin veil of control.
Speaking of control: Spock looked as if he were grasping for some.
“Books?” Spock said hollowly.
Jim smirked. “Uh, yeah. Books. You know - those things people used to read, with words on pages. Sometimes boring, sometimes not?”
Spock’s jaw clenched. “I am aware of what books are. For a moment I was merely -”
“Surprised that I read?” Jim said.
“I wrongly assumed printed text was essentially obsolete on your planet, with the exception of libraries.”
Jim shrugged. “Mostly.”
But there were a few hole-in-the-wall bookstores scattered around the state - and a person could buy anything online. Through both of these venues, Jim had built up a small collection. He had a penchant for the earthy, authentic feel of a book.
Everything was so manufactured these days. Technology was impressive and all, but sometimes Jim thought people forgot what it felt like to be alive. To feel.
Without another word, Jim hopped into the car and jerked the ignition to life. Deciding that Spock could walk - it was only a few yards, after all - Jim steered the car carefully into the awaiting spot in the garage.
Moments later, Jim was out of the vehicle and heading for a holey red satchel sitting on a tool bench. He could feel Spock peering over his shoulder as he rummaged through.
Jim turned and slapped a thin, yellowed book against Spock’s chest. “Here, knock yourself out.”
Spock’s hands came up quickly to grasp at the text, with his brows gravitating towards each other. “I would rather not.”
Jim smiled wanly and jerked a thumb towards the seat beside the worktable. “Chair’s over there.”
Heading towards the opposite end of the garage, Jim searched out his tools. Working with cars relaxed him. He didn’t have an affinity for engineering - repairs and shit weren’t challenging in the slightest, once you got past the basics. But it wasn’t bad to have a pastime that allowed Jim to clear his thoughts and zone out.
True, his asshole of a step-dad wasn’t giving him any choice, working in this shit-hole. But the joke was on Frank, because Jim fucking enjoyed it.
When Jim returned to the car, he noted with a smile that Spock was already deeply immersed in The Catcher in the Rye. Jim had a notion that the main character would perplex the hell out of the Vulcan - Holden was all too human and flawed, and kind of an all-around jerk.
Holden Caulfield also happened to be the first and only love of Jim Kirk’s life. Jim was interested to hear Spock’s take on him, if he got far enough through the book.
Jim settled back on what was essentially an elongated skateboard and slid beneath the undercarriage of the car. He would normally blast his characteristic rock music as he worked, but he rather enjoyed the delicate whisper of turning pages from his periphery.
It was kind of nice just knowing someone else was there, actually. Anybody.
Jim was a social creature, and living in the outskirts of any true cluster of civilisation took its toll on his painfully-low boredom threshold. The majority of the crazy shit he did was instigated by excruciating monotony.
As for the remainder of Jim’s shenanigans - well, he had to have his fun.
Jim worked in companionable silence; the heavy whirr of the drill the only definitive noise between him and Spock. His hands worked on auto-pilot, and his mind wove in and out of nothing imperative. Eventually the sound of pages turning stopped, and when Jim noticed, he slid from beneath the car. Glancing at the chronometer set high on the wall, he was surprised to find how quickly an hour had passed.
Lurching up from the floor and dusting himself off, Jim’s gaze gravitated automatically to Spock.
Spock was sitting patiently; spine straight, knees together, and The Catcher in the Rye lying upon his lap.
Jim frowned. “You finished already?”
“Of course.”
“That was fast.”
“I was supplied with adequate time to finish.”
With an incline of his chin, Jim agreed. Most people wouldn’t be able to finish a book in such a short time frame - but obviously he and Spock were on the same page. So to speak.
Jim paced to the cluttered workbench beside Spock and unceremoniously dropped his toolbox to the countertop. “What did you think of it?”
From the corner of his eye, Jim spotted Spock fractionally tilting his head - computing.
“The protagonist is a highly illogical being.”
Jim snorted a laugh and turned to Spock. “Shock and awe - what a surprising conclusion for a Vulcan.” He leaned a hip against the edge of the worktop and folded his arms across his chest. “But please, enlighten me anyway.”
Spock spoke evenly. “Mr. Caulfield’s public demeanour is incongruous with his psyche.”
Jim laughed disbelievingly. “Uh, no. Being a pathological liar doesn’t stop him from doing and saying what he wants.”
“Incorrect.” Spock crossed his legs in a single fluid motion that wavered Jim’s attention. “His words and actions act as a psychological fortress between the adult world and his own innocence.”
“Fuck that. He separates himself from society because no one can keep his pace. He’s too smart for ‘em. The lying just makes the boredom of his life tolerable.”
Jim had never spoken with another soul about his literary interests - never cared to, as everyone around him were basically blithering idiots anyway. Despite their disagreement - no, because of it - Jim appreciated the stirring in his blood. It was the sensation of meeting a challenge head-on.
Spock appeared bored, but the gentle inflection in his voice belied his enthusiasm. “You are only partially correct. He does indeed rely on fallacies in conversation. The flaw in your argument is that his hostile bitterness is derived from the necessity to protect his fragile and childlike psyche from the caustic mores of his culture, rather than him being a truly hardened character.”
Smiling wanly to himself, Jim picked up a spare bolt from his worktop and tossed it casually in his palm. “In boondocks lingo, you’re saying he’s a punk-ass bitch who acts like a dick because the world is a mean and scary place?”
“That is a colloquial, if not semi-accurate reiteration of my extrapolation.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Jim chucked the bolt back onto the counter and pushed off, looking ahead as he said, “Holden Caulfield is a badass motherfucker. Broadcast it through the galaxy on all frequencies, in all languages forever and ever, amen.”
“Your logic is astonishingly infallible,” Spock said dryly.
Well, hell -looked like Vulcans could make a joke after all. Jim grinned to himself as he strode to a set of metal file cabinets. He opened one up, shoved his head in and began rummaging as he spoke. “I know, right? Anyway, your car’s fixed. Not good as new, but good as Jim Kirk - and that’s probably a hell of a lot better, if I do say so myself. And I do.”
“You have my gratitude.”
Jim popped up with a triumphant grin and a PADD in his hand. “Rather have your credits.” He pulled up Spock’s order and thrust the gadget under Spock’s nose. ”Sign here.”
Spock made as if to stand - but when it became obvious that Jim wasn’t planning on retreating from his comfort zone, Spock’s look narrowed and he stood anyway. He placed the book on the seat behind him, took the PADD, and signed.
When Spock had finished, Jim pursed his lips as he stared at the date on the electronic receipt. “Huh... is today the fourth of July?” He said, even as the date was staring at him in the face.
“Yes.”
Jim blew a raspberry and cocked his head in thought. He stared candidly up at Spock. “You wanna go somewhere with me?”
A stupidly-adorable vertical wrinkle dented the span between Spock’s brows. “Where is ‘somewhere’?”
“A carnival. Today is America’s Independence Day, so there’ll be fireworks and stuff.” Jim imitated Spock’s current parade rest - only he clamped onto the PADD at the small of his back, and rocked impatiently on his heels. “It’s something to do. Better than sittin’ around and sweating.”
Spock’s glance flicked to his shoes. “You wish me to accompany you?”
“S’what I said.”
“Very well.”
“Cool.” Jim clapped his free hand none-too-gently on Spock’s shoulder. It didn’t even jostle the statue masquerading as a living, breathing Vulcan. “Well, we’re all set here. I think I have a shirt that doesn’t reek of gasoline and pastrami sandwich somewhere in my bag. Hold up a sec and I’ll change.”
Jim was already tugging off his soiled top and exchanging it for a fresh one in black, when Spock spoke up behind him. “We are departing now?”
“Well - yeah, now.” Jim turned and tugged the hem over his stomach. “You have other pressing engagements or some shit?”
“No, I -” Spock said with a shadow of a frown. “Your request was simply... sudden. But I am prepared.”
“Prepared?” Jim barked a laugh. “We’re not going sky-diving or anything, Spock. I’m not taking you out to elope in Vegas. It’s just a carnival - although the clowns might make you crap your pants.” Jim was already finding his way into the passenger’s seat of Spock’s car. “Ever seen a clown? Scary fuckers.”
“I have not.” Spock followed suit and got behind the wheel. “But I am confident in assuming my reaction to them will not be the one you have described.”
“Whatever,” Jim said cheerfully. He rolled down his window and slung an arm out the side, as Spock carefully reversed out of the garage. “All I know is that reason number fourteen I’m never going into space is, like - what if I discover a race of aliens with permanent clown faces or something? It could totally happen. I’d phaser the shit out of those freaks without a second thought. Prime Directive can suck it.”
“Your imagination is astounding.”
“Fuck off, I’m a total realist. You’ll eat your hat on the day Planet Clown-Face is discovered.”
“Fortunately, I do not own hats.”
“I’ll lend you one.”
CHAPTER 4
The laboured huffing of the Oldsmobile announced Spock’s arrival before the car actually pulled up around the back. Jim winced at the sound the poor thing was making - it was lucky the part had come in today, because that transmission was on its last leg.
He’d commed Spock some fifteen minutes ago. Although the brief conversation had revolved solely on the cranky automobile in question, Jim couldn’t help but appreciate how fresh Spock managed to look through his comm on a sweltering summer afternoon.
As Spock stepped gracefully from the car, Jim abandoned the open hood of another ride in need. He sauntered forward and grabbed a dirty cloth from his back pocket to wipe his oily hands.
He noted with a curious spark of pleasure that Spock was wearing Terran clothes. How the hell Spock had managed to make blue flannel look like some gift to humanity was beyond him. Maybe it was just the way the sleeves were rolled up those long, pale forearms. Or the snug fit of the slim, black jeans slung across lean hips.
Jesus fucking Christ, Jim thought with an internal laugh. Out of all the aliens he’d encountered in this nowhere-town, Spock was, without a doubt, the sexiest. Why bother pretending? Life was too short.
“Hey, Spock. Aren’t you hot?” He gestured with a wave of his soiled cloth at the Vulcan’s ensemble.
Spock didn’t take a moment to consider. “No.”
“I disagree,” Jim said seamlessly, with an easy grin. His battered lip complained, and he pressed the side of his knuckle against it for a moment. “So, thanks for yesterday and everything.” He stuffed his cloth in his back pocket as he spoke, already rounding the car to pop the hood and have a second look at the grimy, convoluted innards.
Jim could hear keys jangling in Spock’s hand as he followed him to the hood. “It was logical to aid my mechanic, so that he may repair my vehicle as previously agreed.”
“Mmm...” Jim’s head was already stuffed under the hood. “So that’s the policy on aiding and abetting a juvenile delinquent as he jacks a car - right after you go ape-shit on three dudes you don’t even know? That’s kinda...” adorable, “deranged. Sure you’re a real Vulcan - or, er, half Vulcan?”
Spock bristled. “Although your previous attitude was - and remains - insufferable, you did not instigate the physical altercation. Therefore, I had no issue with neutralising the situation.”
“If by ‘neutralising’, you mean ‘kicking ass and taking names’, then sure, okay.” Really, Spock should have let Jim get what he’d deserved in that bar - wouldn’t have been the first time. “And your equally shitty excuse for auto theft?”
Jim wasn’t going to make this easy on Spock. Why should he? No one ever helped him without an ulterior motive.
The math was easy: Smart Vulcan, plus exponentially Reckless Hick - over Uncharacteristically Helpful Favours from Smart Vulcan - equalled Expectations.
Just what was Spock expecting from him?
“Vulcans do not make excuses. We have a reasonable explanation for all actions.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Jim said, as he continued to fiddle with the grease-stained mechanisms. He really didn’t need to - he’d only required a cursory glance inside to calculate the entirety of the damage inflicted on the vehicle. But it was fun to hear the Vulcan grasp at straws.
Spock’s tone was drab. “You would have confiscated the vehicle regardless of whether I had been involved. Having taken your injuries into consideration, I reasoned that the most logical course of action would involve the utilisation of my navigational skills.”
Jim slammed down the hood of the car. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and turned to consider Spock. “Lesser of two evils, huh?”
“Approximately.”
With an utterance that fell between a sigh and a laugh, Jim shook his head and reached forward. He swiped Spock’s keys from his hand - the metal felt searing from the Vulcan’s grasp - and twirled it idly around his forefinger. “Well, whatever. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when you get into shit for hanging around my -” Jim feigned quotations, “bad influence.”
He’d had enough of parents accusing him of corrupting their poor little babies. If they could be tainted in the first place, it usually meant that they were just as dissatisfied with their lives as Jim was, and were simply asking for trouble. They just happened to find it in the vicinity of Jim.
But he sure as hell wasn’t keen on the idea of Vulcan parents coming down on him like the angry fist of Surak, or whatever.
Did Surak get angry? No, Jim was pretty sure he didn’t. Pacifist bastard.
“My actions are my own,” Spock said tightly.
Jim sent him a disbelieving roll of eyes. “Sure, they all say that in the beginning. Then it’s, ‘Oh, Jim made me set the barn on fire!’ and ‘I swear I was just an innocent virgin when I met him!’ and ‘Golly, I don’t know how those cows got tipped over!’ and -” An impish smile teased the corners of Jim’s lips, as he caught the stony eye of Spock. “Well, you get the picture.”
“I believe I do.”
Jim imagined he saw a glint of amusement in that unwavering gaze - or it could have just been the spark of the sun, refracting in amber.
“Okey-doke - so I’m gonna get this baby right as rain in no time. “ Jim patted the hood of the car. “It’ll probably take an hour to fix, so you’ll just have to wait, I guess. Not much to do ‘round here.”
Jim went to scratch his chin in thought, but he quickly recalled the lingering pain in his jaw from the previous night and dropped his hand. “If you’re not against the noise, you could join me in the garage. I think I have a book or two lying around that could hold your interest while I work.”
Fuck if Jim knew why he was searching out the Vulcan’s company - they would hardly be able to speak over Jim’s drilling, anyway. But truth be told, he was kind of enjoying Spock. Sure, he was a bit snooty - but he was sexy too, and clever as hell.
And it was kind of more than a little fun to tug at that thin veil of control.
Speaking of control: Spock looked as if he were grasping for some.
“Books?” Spock said hollowly.
Jim smirked. “Uh, yeah. Books. You know - those things people used to read, with words on pages. Sometimes boring, sometimes not?”
Spock’s jaw clenched. “I am aware of what books are. For a moment I was merely -”
“Surprised that I read?” Jim said.
“I wrongly assumed printed text was essentially obsolete on your planet, with the exception of libraries.”
Jim shrugged. “Mostly.”
But there were a few hole-in-the-wall bookstores scattered around the state - and a person could buy anything online. Through both of these venues, Jim had built up a small collection. He had a penchant for the earthy, authentic feel of a book.
Everything was so manufactured these days. Technology was impressive and all, but sometimes Jim thought people forgot what it felt like to be alive. To feel.
Without another word, Jim hopped into the car and jerked the ignition to life. Deciding that Spock could walk - it was only a few yards, after all - Jim steered the car carefully into the awaiting spot in the garage.
Moments later, Jim was out of the vehicle and heading for a holey red satchel sitting on a tool bench. He could feel Spock peering over his shoulder as he rummaged through.
Jim turned and slapped a thin, yellowed book against Spock’s chest. “Here, knock yourself out.”
Spock’s hands came up quickly to grasp at the text, with his brows gravitating towards each other. “I would rather not.”
Jim smiled wanly and jerked a thumb towards the seat beside the worktable. “Chair’s over there.”
Heading towards the opposite end of the garage, Jim searched out his tools. Working with cars relaxed him. He didn’t have an affinity for engineering - repairs and shit weren’t challenging in the slightest, once you got past the basics. But it wasn’t bad to have a pastime that allowed Jim to clear his thoughts and zone out.
True, his asshole of a step-dad wasn’t giving him any choice, working in this shit-hole. But the joke was on Frank, because Jim fucking enjoyed it.
When Jim returned to the car, he noted with a smile that Spock was already deeply immersed in The Catcher in the Rye. Jim had a notion that the main character would perplex the hell out of the Vulcan - Holden was all too human and flawed, and kind of an all-around jerk.
Holden Caulfield also happened to be the first and only love of Jim Kirk’s life. Jim was interested to hear Spock’s take on him, if he got far enough through the book.
Jim settled back on what was essentially an elongated skateboard and slid beneath the undercarriage of the car. He would normally blast his characteristic rock music as he worked, but he rather enjoyed the delicate whisper of turning pages from his periphery.
It was kind of nice just knowing someone else was there, actually. Anybody.
Jim was a social creature, and living in the outskirts of any true cluster of civilisation took its toll on his painfully-low boredom threshold. The majority of the crazy shit he did was instigated by excruciating monotony.
As for the remainder of Jim’s shenanigans - well, he had to have his fun.
Jim worked in companionable silence; the heavy whirr of the drill the only definitive noise between him and Spock. His hands worked on auto-pilot, and his mind wove in and out of nothing imperative. Eventually the sound of pages turning stopped, and when Jim noticed, he slid from beneath the car. Glancing at the chronometer set high on the wall, he was surprised to find how quickly an hour had passed.
Lurching up from the floor and dusting himself off, Jim’s gaze gravitated automatically to Spock.
Spock was sitting patiently; spine straight, knees together, and The Catcher in the Rye lying upon his lap.
Jim frowned. “You finished already?”
“Of course.”
“That was fast.”
“I was supplied with adequate time to finish.”
With an incline of his chin, Jim agreed. Most people wouldn’t be able to finish a book in such a short time frame - but obviously he and Spock were on the same page. So to speak.
Jim paced to the cluttered workbench beside Spock and unceremoniously dropped his toolbox to the countertop. “What did you think of it?”
From the corner of his eye, Jim spotted Spock fractionally tilting his head - computing.
“The protagonist is a highly illogical being.”
Jim snorted a laugh and turned to Spock. “Shock and awe - what a surprising conclusion for a Vulcan.” He leaned a hip against the edge of the worktop and folded his arms across his chest. “But please, enlighten me anyway.”
Spock spoke evenly. “Mr. Caulfield’s public demeanour is incongruous with his psyche.”
Jim laughed disbelievingly. “Uh, no. Being a pathological liar doesn’t stop him from doing and saying what he wants.”
“Incorrect.” Spock crossed his legs in a single fluid motion that wavered Jim’s attention. “His words and actions act as a psychological fortress between the adult world and his own innocence.”
“Fuck that. He separates himself from society because no one can keep his pace. He’s too smart for ‘em. The lying just makes the boredom of his life tolerable.”
Jim had never spoken with another soul about his literary interests - never cared to, as everyone around him were basically blithering idiots anyway. Despite their disagreement - no, because of it - Jim appreciated the stirring in his blood. It was the sensation of meeting a challenge head-on.
Spock appeared bored, but the gentle inflection in his voice belied his enthusiasm. “You are only partially correct. He does indeed rely on fallacies in conversation. The flaw in your argument is that his hostile bitterness is derived from the necessity to protect his fragile and childlike psyche from the caustic mores of his culture, rather than him being a truly hardened character.”
Smiling wanly to himself, Jim picked up a spare bolt from his worktop and tossed it casually in his palm. “In boondocks lingo, you’re saying he’s a punk-ass bitch who acts like a dick because the world is a mean and scary place?”
“That is a colloquial, if not semi-accurate reiteration of my extrapolation.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Jim chucked the bolt back onto the counter and pushed off, looking ahead as he said, “Holden Caulfield is a badass motherfucker. Broadcast it through the galaxy on all frequencies, in all languages forever and ever, amen.”
“Your logic is astonishingly infallible,” Spock said dryly.
Well, hell -looked like Vulcans could make a joke after all. Jim grinned to himself as he strode to a set of metal file cabinets. He opened one up, shoved his head in and began rummaging as he spoke. “I know, right? Anyway, your car’s fixed. Not good as new, but good as Jim Kirk - and that’s probably a hell of a lot better, if I do say so myself. And I do.”
“You have my gratitude.”
Jim popped up with a triumphant grin and a PADD in his hand. “Rather have your credits.” He pulled up Spock’s order and thrust the gadget under Spock’s nose. ”Sign here.”
Spock made as if to stand - but when it became obvious that Jim wasn’t planning on retreating from his comfort zone, Spock’s look narrowed and he stood anyway. He placed the book on the seat behind him, took the PADD, and signed.
When Spock had finished, Jim pursed his lips as he stared at the date on the electronic receipt. “Huh... is today the fourth of July?” He said, even as the date was staring at him in the face.
“Yes.”
Jim blew a raspberry and cocked his head in thought. He stared candidly up at Spock. “You wanna go somewhere with me?”
A stupidly-adorable vertical wrinkle dented the span between Spock’s brows. “Where is ‘somewhere’?”
“A carnival. Today is America’s Independence Day, so there’ll be fireworks and stuff.” Jim imitated Spock’s current parade rest - only he clamped onto the PADD at the small of his back, and rocked impatiently on his heels. “It’s something to do. Better than sittin’ around and sweating.”
Spock’s glance flicked to his shoes. “You wish me to accompany you?”
“S’what I said.”
“Very well.”
“Cool.” Jim clapped his free hand none-too-gently on Spock’s shoulder. It didn’t even jostle the statue masquerading as a living, breathing Vulcan. “Well, we’re all set here. I think I have a shirt that doesn’t reek of gasoline and pastrami sandwich somewhere in my bag. Hold up a sec and I’ll change.”
Jim was already tugging off his soiled top and exchanging it for a fresh one in black, when Spock spoke up behind him. “We are departing now?”
“Well - yeah, now.” Jim turned and tugged the hem over his stomach. “You have other pressing engagements or some shit?”
“No, I -” Spock said with a shadow of a frown. “Your request was simply... sudden. But I am prepared.”
“Prepared?” Jim barked a laugh. “We’re not going sky-diving or anything, Spock. I’m not taking you out to elope in Vegas. It’s just a carnival - although the clowns might make you crap your pants.” Jim was already finding his way into the passenger’s seat of Spock’s car. “Ever seen a clown? Scary fuckers.”
“I have not.” Spock followed suit and got behind the wheel. “But I am confident in assuming my reaction to them will not be the one you have described.”
“Whatever,” Jim said cheerfully. He rolled down his window and slung an arm out the side, as Spock carefully reversed out of the garage. “All I know is that reason number fourteen I’m never going into space is, like - what if I discover a race of aliens with permanent clown faces or something? It could totally happen. I’d phaser the shit out of those freaks without a second thought. Prime Directive can suck it.”
“Your imagination is astounding.”
“Fuck off, I’m a total realist. You’ll eat your hat on the day Planet Clown-Face is discovered.”
“Fortunately, I do not own hats.”
“I’ll lend you one.”
CHAPTER 4