FIC: Azimuth, Chapter Three
Title: Azimuth, Chapter Three
Author: rainbowstrlght
Rating: R
Word Count: 98,003
Warnings: Um, angst. There is a lot of it. Arguing/discord, body possession, vague talks of suicide/martyrdom.
Masterlist: Here
Chapter Three: I shouldn’t need a Magic 8-Ball to figure out my boyfriend.
The drive home is a comfortable silence. I look out the window, watching the fields pass by in the darkness, seeing my reflection from the blue glow of Spock’s dashboard lights. It’s peaceful outside-way different than a month ago, when I feared what was in the skies above.
Now I know what’s up there, and that there are different sorts of things to be fearful of.
“I have found Riverside pleasant,” Spock says quietly beside me, just passing the last of the corn fields. “While it is colder than my preferences, its residents are interesting.”
Oh really, Mr. Avoidant?
“I may be a stranger here, but I have not felt as though I am a stranger,” Spock clarifies, and I get what he means.
Spock has only been here five months, and I’m almost at two, and yet everyone here has been incredibly kind and accommodating. On my first day I met Pasha and Hikaru, and we’ve been steady friends since. I didn’t even have that sort of luck back in San Fran, and I grew up there.
“On Vulcan I was… ostracized.” Spock keeps his eyes on the road. “The contrast of experiences has been enlightening.”
Maybe it is the place, but maybe it just goes to show that some people are naturally assholes. It’s not you, it’s just that you’re unfortunately you with the wrong people.
The blinker clicks in a steady beat as Spock murmurs, “Indeed.”
We turn off Main Street and onto Second, and before I know it we’re pulling into the driveway. Spock’s headlights point at Gary, my poor, neglected pickup truck.
Whom I can’t take with me, either-if that doesn’t fucking suck.
“I do not foresee complications in obtaining your driver’s license at the Academy.”
Which, now that I think about it, maybe cars in the future are fun to drive too.
Spock gives me a look. “We have shuttles that ‘fly’, but I can assure you our vehicles stay on land.”
Damn you Spock, for popping all my Jetson dreams.
“I will see you tomorrow.”
I sigh. I kind of wish I was sleeping again with Spock tonight, despite my complaints, but I know that he’ll be working the entire time. Vulcans have amazing capabilities and are like fucking vampires that never sleep.
“Goodnight, Jim.”
I huff dramatically, but lean towards him. I make sure to bat my eyelashes for this one. “One for the road, Spock?”
Despite the mask of disapproval, I can tell he’s actually amused in our bond. “If you ask politely.”
Man Spock, you’re milking this for all it’s worth. But I quirk a lip, and I try for my most charming smile.
“Please?” I say quietly. Because I’ll never admit this out loud, but kissing Spock is something I’ll never get enough of. It’s perhaps one of the sweetest and most stinging feelings I’ll ever experience.
The sound of a harsh intake of breath tightens my stomach, with my yearning stretched as Spock closes the distance between us, his lips soft on mine for a goodnight kiss. Chaste at first, the perfect cap to our evening, but just as I pull away he grips my head, dipping his tongue in for one last taste.
He sucks in my lower lip as he pulls away, and it’s my turn to be breathless. Dammit, Spock-so unfair. I melt under the slightest touch, and you can just pull away, looking all suave and cool.
But I can tell he’s letting go reluctantly as his hand moves away from my neck, although we’re still leaning incredibly close.
In my head he reveals nothing, but his lashes are lowered as his gaze focuses on my mouth. Maybe these cues are different for Vulcans, but for me they’d mean I’d want nothing more than to devour him whole.
“Goodnight, Jim,” Spock says in a whisper.
With reluctance I whisper back, “Goodnight.” There’s still a moment that we’re staring at each other before I know that I really, really ought to leave.
So I get out of the car quickly before my senses escape again, and I give Spock a little wave as I shut the Volvo door. I stand before it a moment, knowing I have to go first-Spock won’t pull away until I’m in the house, safe and sound to his standards. Yet by the time I turn around he’s usually gone, with my opportunity to see him drive away a split second of fortune that never seems to come.
So I put my hands in my pockets, my shoes wading through autumn leaves as I head towards the house. My senses are keen and turned on, and I have a silly thought for a second-that maybe in the future there wouldn’t be this sort of quiet moment. That perhaps in the future all the leaves will get sucked into some great lawn machine, or that there won’t be many cool evenings where I can even hear the leaves in the first place. The musty scent of it too, the crisp night air that still smells of someone’s fireplace-maybe there are no fireplaces 200 years from now, environmentally inefficient.
I take the steps one at a time, too lost in my reverie to notice that Mom is there to greet me, halfway to opening the screen door. It almost knocks me in the face before I look up and see her slight smile.
“Hey there, hon,” she says as she opens the door wide enough for me to pass her. “For a second there you looked kind of zombie-ish.”
Her blonde hair is pulled to the side, a braid falling over one shoulder, her skin pale and glowing in the porch light. For a moment her expression reminds me of something else-sitting with her in the warmth of the fire, her bright eyes dancing with mirth as we share ghost stories and scare each other silly. Both of us children as we stay up all night, unable to sleep under ancient stars.
But I shake my head. Mom is looking at me strangely now, and her hand settles on my arm as I finally walk through the doorway.
“You okay, babe?”
“I’m just really tired,” I confess, because the sensation has crept over me, throwing down tiredness like a heavy blanket. I can even feel my eyelids droop, and I blink to regain my focus.
That seems to appease her, for her arm moves to rub my back. “Top Chef is re-running on TV. Go lay on the couch and I’ll bring you some blankets.”
It sounds so perfect-Mom knows me so well. Will Spock ever know me this well? I bet in the future I can’t even fall asleep to the TV, let alone to awesome reality TV.
Once I lay my head on a throw pillow I immediately close my eyes, not even registering what happens beyond a few commercials before I fall asleep.
***
The moon and stars were above us, and yet your eyes shone brighter than either of them.
There was a tale of the monster in these woods, a large, shaggy thing that abducted children when you weren’t looking. Snuck into houses, tents, blankets-stealing innocence and happiness. Likely a metaphor, likely a warning, but we giggled and told the story anyway, the hair rising on the back of our necks at any sudden sound.
I couldn’t get over your eyes. You were beautiful and shy and quiet, yet they were the loudest thing about you. If I did not know you, they would say you had a fierce determination-you were serious about the ones you love, the things you wanted. You did not just share your time with anyone, your emotions sparse and rare.
But when they turned to me, ignoring everyone else near the bonfire-that’s when I knew you loved me, and I was honored.
Even more, that is when I knew I would always love you.
***
I wake up to the sounds of an infomercial advertising the greatest of 70s disco. I think it’s specifically the Bee Gee’s “How Deep is Your Love” that makes me rub my eyes, wanting to know where the fuck I am.
The lighting is a gray haze, the first sparks of sunrise starting to hit the night sky. I pull a crocheted afghan around me as I twist my head, trying to find my cell phone on the coffee table before I remember to pat my pockets.
5:23am. Fuck my life, why the hell am I up now? In an hour I have to get ready for school, so there’s still time to sleep. Yet I feel something fuzzy at the corner of my mind-like I had been in another time or place, or was in a dream of falling.
God, I hate those falling dreams. The brain really knows how to screw you up.
It turns out that the Native American dude from The Village People is co-hosting the infomercial. He laughs fakely with Marilu Henner while I just blink a few times, trying to wake up.
I guess I went to sleep way too early, all considering. No wonder I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn. Exhausted from talking with Spock, exhausted from being cock-blocked.
I didn’t even wake up with mental clarity or anything. That fucking sucks-why else do I dream? Stupid, lazy brain.
I keep watching the infomercial until it turns into collecting limited edition silver dollars, and at that I decide to get up and move. I throw the blanket off myself, smushing it into the corner of the couch with my feet, then lean over to find the remote to turn the TV off.
As I climb the stairs, I wonder when Mom went to bed last night. Frank, whenever he did the night shift, usually got home around seven-thirty, and sometimes she got up that early to greet him at the door. Lately she’d been making him breakfast, although often it’s in pursuit of trying not to burn a piece of toast. If she’d had enough coffee, sometimes there were even scrambled eggs involved.
I yawn as I flip up the toilet seat, and I start to formulate a weird plan in my head to maybe make breakfast for the both of them. It feels like I haven’t seen either of them in a long while. I used to be the one that made breakfast all the time back in San Fran, when Frank would be staying at our tiny apartment for the weekend. I remember making them both pancakes, and Frank joking that he was really getting a two-for-one deal by marrying Mom.
I look in the bathroom mirror, registering my gutted expression. My hair is a mess, my eyes are full of gunk, but I just stare into my reflection, swallowing down the feelings and expectations of what I thought life would be like out here. That we’d move to middle-of-nowhere Iowa, but at least I’d love the people here-that home was wherever Mom was.
The unexpected melancholy sticks with me in the shower, and it’s a stain over my entire mood. I’m thinking of using Mom’s poof and shower gel, but really I’m just fucking sad. It sticks on all my nerve endings, and I’m numb as I towel myself off. Again I stare at the mirror, and I still see the same eyes-this desire that things could be different, that I could still grasp that quaint life I thought I’d have back when I stared at my ceiling in San Francisco.
I cross the hallway to my room, exchanging my dirty and slept-in jeans for boxers and a pair of sweats-I’ll get properly dressed later. But right now I still have an hour, and I don’t like cooking in my school clothes.
The house is still quiet as I tiptoe down the stairs, and I’m partially wondering how I didn’t wake up Mom already. I flick on the kitchen light, blinking away temporary sun spots as I open the fridge door, analyzing what damage I can make.
Pancakes weren’t usually for Wednesday mornings, but then how many mornings did I have left to make pancakes some other time?
I never hated the cooking, actually, when it was just Mom and me. There was always something satisfying about it, especially when making something complicated, or something new that I knew Mom would like.
Pulling out the mixing bowl, it occurs to me that I wanted to make Mom this ridiculous rice krispie recipe from last week’s GSA. Somebody had made the usual treats, covered them in chocolate and marshmallow creme, then topped it with M&Ms, shredded coconut, and Rolos. The most ridiculous thing I had ever seen, yet so gooey and sugar-filled that I knew she’d instantly love it.
I take a deep breath, watching the pad of butter melt in the pan. Fuck my life, and all its sudden complexities and hurts. But maybe I could buy the supplies on my way home tonight, perhaps make it this weekend.
I hear footsteps on the stairs as I finish the first few mutated pancakes, now determined to get the last of the batter right. It’s perfect timing, as the electric kettle has just started to steam.
“Hey, Mom-“
I only catch a glimpse of her face before a hand covers her mouth and she runs out of the room.
… Okay, not the reaction I expected.
“Mom?”
She races back upstairs, and I can hear the bathroom door open and close.
I sigh at the stacked plate-well, I guess this was a horrible fucking idea.
I turn off the stove and kettle, then race upstairs to stand out in the hall.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Yeah, no-those sounds of retching are a likely nyet.
A part of me wants to intrude, but instead I go into her room and make the bed, fluffing up a pillow. It’s the least I can do for making her gag in the first place.
“Jim?”
I go back out into the hall, where Mom is leaning her forehead against the doorframe.
“Hon, don’t take this the wrong way, but-“ she weakly smiles, “I’m just going to go lie down.”
I offer my shoulder to lean on, and I wrap an arm around her as we walk to her room. I’ve rarely seen Mom sick, but the flu can fuck over anybody.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask, pulling up covers as she tucks her legs in.
“No thank you, babe.”
“Tea? Water?”
She gives me another polite smile, and I know I’m being annoying. But-I can’t help it.
“Tea sounds good, actually.” She raises a hand to touch my arm. “You’re so good to me.”
I squeeze her hand, then retreat from the room to go make her tea. As I pass the microwave to fetch a mug, I see that Spock will be around in about 30 minutes.
Maybe I should stay home. There’s still plenty of time to call Spock and cancel.
“Hey, what smells so good in here?”
I’m mixing sugar and milk into the tea as I glance up, seeing Frank drape his work vest over a chair.
“I made pancakes.”
“Obviously,” Frank grins. “Your mom is starting to get good, but not that good.”
I huff a half-hearted chuckle, my eyes back to focusing on the tea. “Well, have as much as you want-Mom’s sick upstairs.”
Frank stops short at that. “Flu?”
I nod. “Guess that means we’re next.”
Frank makes a face at that. “Time to stock up on orange juice.”
I rifle through a cupboard, finding a packet of saltines. “No kidding.”
“Hey, Jim-“ I hear his voice next to me quite suddenly. “You’ve got school quick, why don’t I take this up?”
“I need to get dressed anyway-“
“And eat breakfast, and get organized.” Frank takes the saltines from me, and it’s another polite smile. “I can take care of Winnie. I think that was part of the vows, you know.”
I stare down at the cup, feeling a bit stupid. Of course Frank could take care of Mom-should take care of Mom. He is home for the day, and I am just some fucking kid heading off to school.
“Yeah, thanks,” I mumble, handing over the mug as well. “I’ll clean up, then go get dressed.”
I see Frank holding the mug in both hands, the box of saltines under an arm. He’s walking slowly and carefully as he watches the tea, and as he’s about to round a corner he takes a sip from it, trying to prevent any spills-exactly what I would’ve done.
I turn back to the sink, inexplicably angry. I put the stack of pancakes in the microwave, suddenly not hungry, then rinse the pan and utensils in the sink.
Things are just fine here, aren’t they? I’ll be leaving behind no trouble, at all.
I hear murmuring from Mom’s room as I go to my own, quickly opening and closing the door to finally gain some privacy. My eyes and cheeks feel warm, but all I do is start to undress and throw on clothes hurriedly.
Maybe Spock would like pancakes-no wait, I used butter and milk. So I guess that would make them not vegan.
I whip my sweats into a corner, huffing as I can’t find my damn shoes. I stomp around the room until I remember they’re downstairs by the couch, which only makes me feel more stupid.
Fuck, I’m so stupid. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder, opening my bedroom door to more murmuring. I hesitate on the stairs, feeling simultaneously like an asshole, yet I’m still too angry to be able to hide it from Mom.
I can feel Spock outside, and I just want to leave.
“’Bye, Mom!” I shout from downstairs, which is pretty fucking cowardly, if I do say so myself. But once the autumn chill bites into my lungs I savor that, trying to think and focus on something else before I reach Spock’s Volvo.
Before I even get in, I know I’m not going to fool him.
“You have had a disagreement.”
I roll my eyes, avoiding his gaze as I feign interest in our front lawn. “Nah, just stupid stuff.”
I keep expecting the car to reverse, but after a minute of remaining parked I finally look at Spock, who is watching me closely.
“Do you wish to properly say goodbye to your mother?”
Well, fuck. No Spock, I don’t want to properly say goodbye to my mother. I want to have a tantrum and go to fucking school, where I’ll stew on it all day.
But instead I sigh, knowing we’re going to remain parked all day otherwise, and I get out of the Volvo and slam the door. I’ll likely get the flu too from the close proximity, but I guess it’s better than remaining mad.
I storm back into the house, trying to calm my temper as I climb the stairs. I don’t want to explain to Mom that I’m jealous of not being able to take care of her, because-one, that’s really fucking lame. And two, I really shouldn’t be hurt by it, and I feel kind of ridiculous.
I walk quietly to the edge of the doorframe, where Mom and Frank turn their heads towards me.
Mom smiles, holding out her arms for a hug.
“I forgot, sorry,” I say, leaning on the bed to reach over and kiss her cheek. I swallow a lump in my throat, feeling the fragile weight of her in my arms.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Mom says in my ear, kissing me back. “I love you, try to have a good day.”
“Love you, too.” And as I lean up I look over at Frank, who is also smiling at me-fuck, I’m the only bitter jerk in the room.
“Um, if you need anything…” I back away slowly. “Well. Feel better, okay?”
“See you later, Jim,” Frank says, and with that I make my way back downstairs.
When I’m out in the autumn chill again, it occurs to me that I’m likely making us late as hell, but I don’t care.
I get into the Volvo, almost expecting an admonishment, but instead Spock only starts the car and speeds deftly onto Main Street.
“Would you like to stop for a beverage?”
I look over at Spock, whose eyes are still on the road, but whose sentiment I feel is genuine. After our conversation about Eggy yesterday, I kind of want to hug him.
But instead I crack my first smile that morning. “No thanks. Let’s just get to school.”
As Spock passes the 7-Eleven, there’s a craggy little hole in my heart that feels less empty, more thawed.
***
School feels long, but it’s so much better when I’m not arguing with Spock. I don’t have Pasha and Hikaru harassing me about the two of us, for instance, and Mr. Dumka has other things to pick on me about. Keyboarding even goes better-although the melody is softer to my ears, thinking on and off about Mom.
I send her a few texts as I’m walking towards the cafeteria for lunch, and as I type a final one at the table, Spock notices.
“Is your mother still feeling ill?”
I shrug. “She says she slept most of the day, which probably means she’s doing better.”
“That is fortunate,” Spock states as he angles his tray towards me. “Otherwise she may wish to seek medical expertise.”
I have a brief flitting thought of asking Bones-who is technically a doctor, I guess-but the concept is still very foreign to me, and I shake my head.
“It’s probably just the flu.” I steal Spock’s tater tots. “It’s been going around.”
“My dad had it for a week,” Hikaru chimes in. “Mom has been shoving vitamins down our throats for a month. It freaks her out.”
I make a face. “Flintstones vitamins?”
“Gummies.”
“Score.” I get an inquisitive branch of thought in my head, and I turn to Spock. “They taste better.”
“I see.”
“They’re like Luden’s cough drops-you just eat them like candy.”
I get a disapproving look.
“Not that I ever did that, of course.” I turn and smirk at Hikaru, who is hiding his face in a bag of chips. “Anyway, I need to pick up juice and stuff for Mom on the way home.”
Spock takes a moment, but then he remembers. “Your GSA meeting occurs after school.”
Hikaru pauses in his food demolition, giving a wide-eyed expression to Spock. It confuses me a moment, before the pieces connect.
“I told him,” I say. Although that wasn’t exactly true-Spock likely knew from Gaila, but close enough. “Since we usually hang out after school.”
Hikaru opens his mouth to likely say something about rules and confidentiality, but Pasha plunkers down beside him, taking hold of the conversation.
“You are alvays velcome, Spock,” Pasha cheerily says, oblivious to Hikaru’s gawking. “Ze more ze merrier.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Spock says politely, although I know he’d rather run into traffic than enter any social situation. “But I am still Captain of the chess club.”
It kind of sucks that both take place at the same time, as seeing Spock conduct any sort of group is intriguing to me. Does he actually stand up in front of room, making new members introduce themselves? Do they have snacks? Maybe Spock brought cupcakes sometimes.
He quirks an eyebrow at me and I hide my smile.
Hikaru coughs loudly. “Wow, it’s like you guys are mind-reading or something.”
I turn my head sharply, only to see Pasha bump his arm.
“I zhink it is cute.” Pasha takes a tater tot delicately between two fingers. “It is like two peas in a pod, in sync.”
I don’t know if the flush is dark on my face, but I sense that Spock finds me amusing.
“I would agree that we are properly suited.”
Yeah, if my face wasn’t red before, I’m burning up now.
“Um,” I say into my carton of chocolate milk, “I’ll still be at the meeting.”
“I vill meet you at your locker,” Pasha confirms, and from there he changes the subject entirely to an assignment we have in English.
Spock hasn’t read our book, but his sense of incredulity at hearing about Human zoos is absolutely hilarious-even if it’s just between the two of us.
***
I’m pulling apart my third Oreo as Gaila continues to prattle on.
“I have spurs to put on my cowboy boots,” she says, pointing to the heels of the ones she’s wearing now. “It’s just getting a hat. I think I can improvise the rest.”
Gaila’s version of improvising leaves too many possibilities. After all she now wore a low-cut, v-neck sweater, and her jeans are practically painted on her luscious hips. I could only imagine how she’d look with a lasso-the image doing heavy damage to my gay quota.
“What are you making Spock wear?” she asks, her tongue licking the face of an Oreo. “I’m making Len match me.”
For some reason, seeing Bones in cowboy wear didn’t seem that far-fetched.
“Should I make Spock go?”
She huffs an incredulous laugh. “Well, yeah. He’s your boyfriend-it gives you license to make him do ridiculous stuff.”
I could dig that rule. “Somehow I don’t think I can make Spock do anything.”
“You make him do stuff all the time.” She reaches over to a chair that has an open pack of orange-colored Oreos and grabs six for the both of us. “I mean, you slept over the other night.”
I look around, conscious of the fact that Gaila said that a bit too loudly. But Pasha and Hikaru are laughing with Annie, our coordinator, and the other kids are playing a game of war; with the victor throwing the deck of playing cards in the air, like confetti.
“Yeah, but-“ I lower my voice. “He wanted to smooth over our fight. And he asked me, not the other way around.”
“But Spock is pretty private, you know. On his days off he relishes his space. He doesn’t hang out with just anybody.”
I want to point out that being bonded probably changed some of that, likely against his will, but I don’t want to say that out loud.
“We didn’t even cuddle,” I murmur instead, looking down at the orange frosting of my Halloween-themed Oreo.
There’s a moment of silence, and when I look up Gaila is smirking at me.
“Len isn’t really a cuddler, either.”
I’m not sure I want to hear this. “But you’ve-um.” I wave a hand. “Yeah.”
Her expression is wicked, and I find myself leaning in as she whispers to me. “Oh yeah, all the time.”
Nope, didn’t want to hear that at all.
“So you guys have intimacy, though.” I lick the dry frosting, feeling most of it come off as a chunk on my tongue. “I mean, the most we’ve done is kiss.”
“Rushing things, are we?”
I let the sugar melt in mouth, staring at her in bewilderment. “But we’ve been dating a-“
Month. One whole month, in fact.
“Okay, maybe I am,” I mutter, thinking out loud. “I guess it just feels different with the, um, facts of the situation.”
“And it’s Spock you’re talking about,” she points out, the look in her eye hinting exactly what that means. “You’re not competing with anybody. It’s just doing things at your own pace.”
“But what if I’m ahead of where he is?” Which is true, as you don’t see him bugging me for sex.
“Then you deal.”
Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now.
“I really had to work with Len, for a while,” Gaila confesses, staring thoughtfully into space. “He has trust issues.”
Which seems weird for a high school student-but then, I know the reality is that he isn’t in high school. More like 30-something, I guess.
“How did you guys deal with it?” Because it isn’t like Spock and I aren’t working on this ourselves.
“Time. You can’t push people, you know? If you really love and respect them, you also have to respect their limits.”
“I’m trying.”
“And it’ll be well worth it.” Gaila’s smile turns into a broad grin. “Because once people like that let you in, you’re golden.”
Thinking of Spock letting me in on anything-anything he is feeling-seems so far-fetched, but something I desire tremendously. After all, aren’t couples supposed to share everything with one another? I’m lucky if I can even accurately guess Spock’s mood, let alone why he feels a certain way.
I shouldn’t need a Magic 8-Ball to figure out my boyfriend.
“All right.” Not that I don’t feel like I’m doing it already, but- “I’ll try not to hold his hand the next time I get the urge.”
She playfully hits my shoulder. “At least ask first.”
Okay, she has a point there.
“Now-“ she goes back to her Oreos, and points at me with a chocolate wafer. “How do you feel about Harry Potter?”
I groan. “I think I dressed like him in third grade.”
“But Spock would make the best Snape!”
I can’t help but grin-Spock cosplaying as a brooding wizard? Get the fuck outta here.
“He does kind of act that way, normally.”
Gaila doesn’t even hold back her giggle, and I find myself smirking into a full laugh.
Everyone stares at us, but when I share a look with her I know she gets it. That only seems to make me-and her-giggle more.
***
The meeting doesn’t run that long, as at the end we mostly chat about a field trip to Iowa City’s GSA chapter, and also a bake sale towards the end of the month. I volunteer my kick-ass sugar cookies, and Gaila mentions a delicacy involving, in her words, “chocolate, sticky things, and more chocolate.”
“It’s from my home world,” Gaila whispers in my ear, which I kind of guessed.
When we adjourn, Gaila and I walk out to the parking lot together, her cowboy boots clacking on the pavement.
“I wish we had these things back home,” Gaila says to the ground, her face dropping for the first time in my recollection.
“Where do you come from?” I whisper, although I know we’re alone in the lot.
We walk her to a little red Ferraro, which is my 80s dream come true, but which requires the driver to practically lay on the ground.
She leans against it, sighing. “Orion.” She looks towards the sky. “In this time in history, there’d be no chance for the women to do what I’m doing. Hell, even in my century they still get used.”
“Patriarchal?”
She quirks a smile at me. “Very good, Mister Kirk.”
I lean against the Ferraro too, feeling intrigued by the mystery. “How did you get out, then?”
Gaila looks reluctant to answer, her hand brushing the air as if to brush away the past. “I got really lucky.”
She turns to put her forearms on the car and I follow suit, propping my head up on a hand. I watch her expression, suddenly so far away. I’ve never seen Gaila wistful, and while I wouldn’t like to see it again, she’s still incredibly pretty while vulnerable.
I poke her gently. “Will you tell me how, someday?”
Her face returns to good humor, her sly and seductive smile back in full force. “Sure-after you get your shit with Spock worked out, first.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well-look at me, respecting boundaries.”
She shakes her head with a chuckle. “Yes, look at you.”
We share a grin before I hug her tightly, red curls in my face and that vanilla musk on her skin.
“Hey-do you have a ride home?”
When I pull away, I see her looking around the parking lot in bewilderment.
I wave a hand. “Spock drove me this morning.”
Not that I don’t like riding with Spock, but I miss Gary like burning.
Gaila tilts her head, then beckons with a hand. “I have a set of wheels with a name, too.”
I stare down at the Ferraro, whose height is already making my legs feel cramped.
“Man up, Jimmy.”
“God, I hate ‘Jimmy’.” But I get in on the passenger’s side, trying not to hit my head.
Once I slide inside I see the interior made entirely of gray leather, an exotic flower hanging out on the dashboard. There are a few wrappers on the floor, but otherwise it’s clean-cleaner than Gary, I guess.
Gaila slides in beside me, slamming the door without much thought, then turns the ignition with a giddy expression.
She turns to me before she checks behind her. “Len rarely lets me drive.”
As she cranks the stick shift, I start to suspect why. We’re suddenly zero to fifty in a school zone, sharply taking corners as she giggles with glee.
Oh God, I’m going to die.
“Stop sign!” I find myself yelling, my foot stomping the floor.
“Don’t worry, Jim,” she turns onto Main Street. “I’m a navigator.”
Oh yeah, that makes me feel way better.
“Stop looking like that and roll down your window! You’re as bad as Len.”
As Gaila speeds down Main Street I do as she says, the wind whipping my hair as she zips to Second in ten seconds, and then sways us to the side as she turns onto my street.
I laugh, unable to contain my nervousness anymore, and yet enjoying the race as she does a dramatic slide into our dirt driveway.
For such a little car, I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride.
“I wish I could take Marlena with me." She fondly pats the steering wheel. “What I wouldn’t give to drag race on Omus XIV with this baby.”
I bark a laugh at the ceiling. “Where did you get a name like that?”
Gaila shrugs. “Ex-girlfriend.” She picks at a piece of dust. “Left me behind when she took assignment on the Strata.”
My smile wans, feeling instinctively that this is another touchy subject. Maybe someday I’ll find out the story to this, too.
“Now get out-Marlena isn’t into smelly, teenaged boys.”
“Hey, I showered!” But I get out anyway, and after I slam the door I pop my head through the open window. “I know when my company isn’t wanted.”
Gaila blows me a kiss. “See ya later.”
I barely have time to step away as she squeals out, dirt kicking up around me as I watch her speed away in a blur of red.
I’d be annoyed, but you know-there are some things that make me feel better, and one of them is knowing that I’ll have a real friend in the future. Not that I don’t dig Bones, but Gaila is something different, like a big sister. One that doesn’t make Spock jealous, despite how touchy-feely she can get.
I wonder when Chess Club ends, and whether Spock is back on the Enterprise by now. He had casually mentioned the ship needing repairs, hence not seeing him tonight. I guess it’s something Scotty can’t handle on his own.
I sigh, making my way back towards the house-which is when I remember that I wanted to pick up some things for Mom. Maybe she didn’t really need anything, but I wanted to get her some orange juice, anyhow.
I stop mid-way to the front door, patting my pockets for my keys. I search my messenger bag and all its hiding places, when I finally find them-tucked in a back pocket, stashed away from disuse.
“I’m so sorry, Gary,” I say once I approach the beat-up pickup truck-my poor truck that won’t have an owner once the New Year comes around.
Okay, so I could go back to being bitter about that. But after that talk we had, it seems like Spock is giving up quite a bit, too-and stuff more meaningful than my truck.
I turn the ignition, feeling slightly jarred by the deep rumbling underneath my seat as Gary comes to life. So different than Gaila’s Marlena-so different from the Volvo-yet that is part of the charm.
I turn out of the driveway, noticing that Gary doesn’t make the same smooth and slick turns as Marlena, either. Probably a good thing-I’d likely flip over on my ass. Spock’s stupid shiny Volvo could likely do it, though; the Volvo that doesn’t truly have a name.
Respecting Spock’s boundaries, huh. The turn signal ticks the blankness of my thoughts as I wait to head onto Main Street, waiting for a tractor to cross the intersection.
In a lot of ways, I guess that’s what happened yesterday morning. I went too far with Spock, and Spock retaliated in the only way he knew how-which was to draw back into his shell, burned and singed from our interaction.
Yet at the time, it wasn’t like I knew I had gone too far. I just knew Spock was upset, and I tried to make amends. I guess the lack of knowledge had been just as bad, no matter my intentions.
And yet-how is that fair? What about my boundaries? Couldn’t there be some compromise, where Spock tried to meet me halfway? I wouldn’t demand sex, but cuddling I could live with. I wouldn’t even try to push it and feel for his bulge-or lack of one.
Which was part of the problem. Maybe I wouldn’t be so chagrinned if I knew that Spock at least wanted me. If he felt at least a margin of my desire, but was suppressing the hell out of it.
Which sounds kind of miserable, if you ask me.
I look to my right, expecting to see the grocery store, but instead spot the 7-Eleven whizzing by and-goddammit, that is on the outskirts of town, and way past the grocery store.
But with the sunset burning orange in the horizon over the plowed cornfields, I decide-fuck it. I want to drive for a while, think by my lonesome on this stretch of highway.
Gary rattles as I pick up speed, and it feels good to pound the pedal. I want some of that wind and speed back from earlier, creating an adrenaline rush so I could stop being so serious-can try to be more accepting of all the shit happening around me.
I love Spock. He’s the first guy to set butterflies in my stomach, to make me desire something so much it consumes my every thought. The first guy who could just touch me and I become breathless at our connection.
It’s so hokey. Yet doesn’t it seem that way because it’s never supposed to happen? These intense feelings are supposed to be some romance novel’s purple prose, not actually exist in real life.
It’s special. And fuck, maybe I should compromise and respect and understand to the point of frustration, if only because I know this is rare and worth preserving at all costs.
I’ll never find another Spock. I’ll never find another t’hy’la.
A pasture of farmland gives way to a dense stretch of thicket, probably the borderline of trees between properties, I’m not sure. But at the end of it I see a car on the side of the road, with the hood propped and a girl looking at the engine.
When I pull over in front of her vehicle, I know immediately who it is.
“You need help?” I yell out the window to Eggy, who is staring dejectedly at whatever the problem is.
Not that I’m ace with cars, but I could give it a go-or provide a ride to a gas station, at least.
“Ugh,” she says at the car as I approach. “I should’ve known better. This car’s been giving me trouble for the past week.”
I stand next to her, peering down at the engine. It all looks… strangely fine, to me. No smoke, nothing that appears to be leaking.
Then again, Gary sounds fabulous to me, so what do I know about engines?
“What was it doing before you pulled over?”
She huffs a dramatic sigh. “Sputtering.”
I look at the road, then next to the tires. “I don’t see anything leaking...” Then I get the bright idea to check the oil-that must be it.
But when I lift the dipstick, seeing it thickly coated, I shake my head. “What else was it doing?”
“Um…” she waves her hands. “Sorry, I just know it was making funny noises.”
“Well,” and I lean away from the car. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can give you a lift back to the 7-Eleven? Or my step-dad Frank knows a good shop-“
“Actually, you know, I thought I saw something fly off over there.”
I look at the field she’s pointing at, just at the edge of the trees. “That’s like, 20 feet from here.”
“Yeah, I was going fast.” She makes a motion with her hands, like a car speeding off. “I just saw a bolt or something out of the corner of my eye.”
“A bolt?” The more Eggy talks, the less she makes sense. “You’re never going to find something that small-“
“Well, I’m going to look. Can’t hurt, can it?” She gives me a sheepish smile. “I mean, one less thing I might have to pay for.”
She’s still wearing her green apron over a floral print dress, and I could only imagine-gas attendant pay? Probably sucks ass.
But as I walk towards the field, spreading out away from her to cover more distance, I can’t help the itching at the back of my skull; the part warning me that none of this seems right.
I look at a line of bushes. “Bolts shouldn’t be that expensive-“
And there in the line of trees is a pair of black oxfords, shined to perfection underneath the hem of a gray suit.
I look up, seeing the Silver Fox looking straight at me.
“Hello, Jim.”
I scrunch my brow, shaking my head. “Um, what are you doing here-“
But when he holds up a pen, all I see is a bright flash before my field of vision narrows into darkness-making me feel fuzzy and warm and happy, all at once.
Chapter Four | Masterlist
Author: rainbowstrlght
Rating: R
Word Count: 98,003
Warnings: Um, angst. There is a lot of it. Arguing/discord, body possession, vague talks of suicide/martyrdom.
Masterlist: Here
Chapter Three: I shouldn’t need a Magic 8-Ball to figure out my boyfriend.
The drive home is a comfortable silence. I look out the window, watching the fields pass by in the darkness, seeing my reflection from the blue glow of Spock’s dashboard lights. It’s peaceful outside-way different than a month ago, when I feared what was in the skies above.
Now I know what’s up there, and that there are different sorts of things to be fearful of.
“I have found Riverside pleasant,” Spock says quietly beside me, just passing the last of the corn fields. “While it is colder than my preferences, its residents are interesting.”
Oh really, Mr. Avoidant?
“I may be a stranger here, but I have not felt as though I am a stranger,” Spock clarifies, and I get what he means.
Spock has only been here five months, and I’m almost at two, and yet everyone here has been incredibly kind and accommodating. On my first day I met Pasha and Hikaru, and we’ve been steady friends since. I didn’t even have that sort of luck back in San Fran, and I grew up there.
“On Vulcan I was… ostracized.” Spock keeps his eyes on the road. “The contrast of experiences has been enlightening.”
Maybe it is the place, but maybe it just goes to show that some people are naturally assholes. It’s not you, it’s just that you’re unfortunately you with the wrong people.
The blinker clicks in a steady beat as Spock murmurs, “Indeed.”
We turn off Main Street and onto Second, and before I know it we’re pulling into the driveway. Spock’s headlights point at Gary, my poor, neglected pickup truck.
Whom I can’t take with me, either-if that doesn’t fucking suck.
“I do not foresee complications in obtaining your driver’s license at the Academy.”
Which, now that I think about it, maybe cars in the future are fun to drive too.
Spock gives me a look. “We have shuttles that ‘fly’, but I can assure you our vehicles stay on land.”
Damn you Spock, for popping all my Jetson dreams.
“I will see you tomorrow.”
I sigh. I kind of wish I was sleeping again with Spock tonight, despite my complaints, but I know that he’ll be working the entire time. Vulcans have amazing capabilities and are like fucking vampires that never sleep.
“Goodnight, Jim.”
I huff dramatically, but lean towards him. I make sure to bat my eyelashes for this one. “One for the road, Spock?”
Despite the mask of disapproval, I can tell he’s actually amused in our bond. “If you ask politely.”
Man Spock, you’re milking this for all it’s worth. But I quirk a lip, and I try for my most charming smile.
“Please?” I say quietly. Because I’ll never admit this out loud, but kissing Spock is something I’ll never get enough of. It’s perhaps one of the sweetest and most stinging feelings I’ll ever experience.
The sound of a harsh intake of breath tightens my stomach, with my yearning stretched as Spock closes the distance between us, his lips soft on mine for a goodnight kiss. Chaste at first, the perfect cap to our evening, but just as I pull away he grips my head, dipping his tongue in for one last taste.
He sucks in my lower lip as he pulls away, and it’s my turn to be breathless. Dammit, Spock-so unfair. I melt under the slightest touch, and you can just pull away, looking all suave and cool.
But I can tell he’s letting go reluctantly as his hand moves away from my neck, although we’re still leaning incredibly close.
In my head he reveals nothing, but his lashes are lowered as his gaze focuses on my mouth. Maybe these cues are different for Vulcans, but for me they’d mean I’d want nothing more than to devour him whole.
“Goodnight, Jim,” Spock says in a whisper.
With reluctance I whisper back, “Goodnight.” There’s still a moment that we’re staring at each other before I know that I really, really ought to leave.
So I get out of the car quickly before my senses escape again, and I give Spock a little wave as I shut the Volvo door. I stand before it a moment, knowing I have to go first-Spock won’t pull away until I’m in the house, safe and sound to his standards. Yet by the time I turn around he’s usually gone, with my opportunity to see him drive away a split second of fortune that never seems to come.
So I put my hands in my pockets, my shoes wading through autumn leaves as I head towards the house. My senses are keen and turned on, and I have a silly thought for a second-that maybe in the future there wouldn’t be this sort of quiet moment. That perhaps in the future all the leaves will get sucked into some great lawn machine, or that there won’t be many cool evenings where I can even hear the leaves in the first place. The musty scent of it too, the crisp night air that still smells of someone’s fireplace-maybe there are no fireplaces 200 years from now, environmentally inefficient.
I take the steps one at a time, too lost in my reverie to notice that Mom is there to greet me, halfway to opening the screen door. It almost knocks me in the face before I look up and see her slight smile.
“Hey there, hon,” she says as she opens the door wide enough for me to pass her. “For a second there you looked kind of zombie-ish.”
Her blonde hair is pulled to the side, a braid falling over one shoulder, her skin pale and glowing in the porch light. For a moment her expression reminds me of something else-sitting with her in the warmth of the fire, her bright eyes dancing with mirth as we share ghost stories and scare each other silly. Both of us children as we stay up all night, unable to sleep under ancient stars.
But I shake my head. Mom is looking at me strangely now, and her hand settles on my arm as I finally walk through the doorway.
“You okay, babe?”
“I’m just really tired,” I confess, because the sensation has crept over me, throwing down tiredness like a heavy blanket. I can even feel my eyelids droop, and I blink to regain my focus.
That seems to appease her, for her arm moves to rub my back. “Top Chef is re-running on TV. Go lay on the couch and I’ll bring you some blankets.”
It sounds so perfect-Mom knows me so well. Will Spock ever know me this well? I bet in the future I can’t even fall asleep to the TV, let alone to awesome reality TV.
Once I lay my head on a throw pillow I immediately close my eyes, not even registering what happens beyond a few commercials before I fall asleep.
***
The moon and stars were above us, and yet your eyes shone brighter than either of them.
There was a tale of the monster in these woods, a large, shaggy thing that abducted children when you weren’t looking. Snuck into houses, tents, blankets-stealing innocence and happiness. Likely a metaphor, likely a warning, but we giggled and told the story anyway, the hair rising on the back of our necks at any sudden sound.
I couldn’t get over your eyes. You were beautiful and shy and quiet, yet they were the loudest thing about you. If I did not know you, they would say you had a fierce determination-you were serious about the ones you love, the things you wanted. You did not just share your time with anyone, your emotions sparse and rare.
But when they turned to me, ignoring everyone else near the bonfire-that’s when I knew you loved me, and I was honored.
Even more, that is when I knew I would always love you.
***
I wake up to the sounds of an infomercial advertising the greatest of 70s disco. I think it’s specifically the Bee Gee’s “How Deep is Your Love” that makes me rub my eyes, wanting to know where the fuck I am.
The lighting is a gray haze, the first sparks of sunrise starting to hit the night sky. I pull a crocheted afghan around me as I twist my head, trying to find my cell phone on the coffee table before I remember to pat my pockets.
5:23am. Fuck my life, why the hell am I up now? In an hour I have to get ready for school, so there’s still time to sleep. Yet I feel something fuzzy at the corner of my mind-like I had been in another time or place, or was in a dream of falling.
God, I hate those falling dreams. The brain really knows how to screw you up.
It turns out that the Native American dude from The Village People is co-hosting the infomercial. He laughs fakely with Marilu Henner while I just blink a few times, trying to wake up.
I guess I went to sleep way too early, all considering. No wonder I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn. Exhausted from talking with Spock, exhausted from being cock-blocked.
I didn’t even wake up with mental clarity or anything. That fucking sucks-why else do I dream? Stupid, lazy brain.
I keep watching the infomercial until it turns into collecting limited edition silver dollars, and at that I decide to get up and move. I throw the blanket off myself, smushing it into the corner of the couch with my feet, then lean over to find the remote to turn the TV off.
As I climb the stairs, I wonder when Mom went to bed last night. Frank, whenever he did the night shift, usually got home around seven-thirty, and sometimes she got up that early to greet him at the door. Lately she’d been making him breakfast, although often it’s in pursuit of trying not to burn a piece of toast. If she’d had enough coffee, sometimes there were even scrambled eggs involved.
I yawn as I flip up the toilet seat, and I start to formulate a weird plan in my head to maybe make breakfast for the both of them. It feels like I haven’t seen either of them in a long while. I used to be the one that made breakfast all the time back in San Fran, when Frank would be staying at our tiny apartment for the weekend. I remember making them both pancakes, and Frank joking that he was really getting a two-for-one deal by marrying Mom.
I look in the bathroom mirror, registering my gutted expression. My hair is a mess, my eyes are full of gunk, but I just stare into my reflection, swallowing down the feelings and expectations of what I thought life would be like out here. That we’d move to middle-of-nowhere Iowa, but at least I’d love the people here-that home was wherever Mom was.
The unexpected melancholy sticks with me in the shower, and it’s a stain over my entire mood. I’m thinking of using Mom’s poof and shower gel, but really I’m just fucking sad. It sticks on all my nerve endings, and I’m numb as I towel myself off. Again I stare at the mirror, and I still see the same eyes-this desire that things could be different, that I could still grasp that quaint life I thought I’d have back when I stared at my ceiling in San Francisco.
I cross the hallway to my room, exchanging my dirty and slept-in jeans for boxers and a pair of sweats-I’ll get properly dressed later. But right now I still have an hour, and I don’t like cooking in my school clothes.
The house is still quiet as I tiptoe down the stairs, and I’m partially wondering how I didn’t wake up Mom already. I flick on the kitchen light, blinking away temporary sun spots as I open the fridge door, analyzing what damage I can make.
Pancakes weren’t usually for Wednesday mornings, but then how many mornings did I have left to make pancakes some other time?
I never hated the cooking, actually, when it was just Mom and me. There was always something satisfying about it, especially when making something complicated, or something new that I knew Mom would like.
Pulling out the mixing bowl, it occurs to me that I wanted to make Mom this ridiculous rice krispie recipe from last week’s GSA. Somebody had made the usual treats, covered them in chocolate and marshmallow creme, then topped it with M&Ms, shredded coconut, and Rolos. The most ridiculous thing I had ever seen, yet so gooey and sugar-filled that I knew she’d instantly love it.
I take a deep breath, watching the pad of butter melt in the pan. Fuck my life, and all its sudden complexities and hurts. But maybe I could buy the supplies on my way home tonight, perhaps make it this weekend.
I hear footsteps on the stairs as I finish the first few mutated pancakes, now determined to get the last of the batter right. It’s perfect timing, as the electric kettle has just started to steam.
“Hey, Mom-“
I only catch a glimpse of her face before a hand covers her mouth and she runs out of the room.
… Okay, not the reaction I expected.
“Mom?”
She races back upstairs, and I can hear the bathroom door open and close.
I sigh at the stacked plate-well, I guess this was a horrible fucking idea.
I turn off the stove and kettle, then race upstairs to stand out in the hall.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Yeah, no-those sounds of retching are a likely nyet.
A part of me wants to intrude, but instead I go into her room and make the bed, fluffing up a pillow. It’s the least I can do for making her gag in the first place.
“Jim?”
I go back out into the hall, where Mom is leaning her forehead against the doorframe.
“Hon, don’t take this the wrong way, but-“ she weakly smiles, “I’m just going to go lie down.”
I offer my shoulder to lean on, and I wrap an arm around her as we walk to her room. I’ve rarely seen Mom sick, but the flu can fuck over anybody.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask, pulling up covers as she tucks her legs in.
“No thank you, babe.”
“Tea? Water?”
She gives me another polite smile, and I know I’m being annoying. But-I can’t help it.
“Tea sounds good, actually.” She raises a hand to touch my arm. “You’re so good to me.”
I squeeze her hand, then retreat from the room to go make her tea. As I pass the microwave to fetch a mug, I see that Spock will be around in about 30 minutes.
Maybe I should stay home. There’s still plenty of time to call Spock and cancel.
“Hey, what smells so good in here?”
I’m mixing sugar and milk into the tea as I glance up, seeing Frank drape his work vest over a chair.
“I made pancakes.”
“Obviously,” Frank grins. “Your mom is starting to get good, but not that good.”
I huff a half-hearted chuckle, my eyes back to focusing on the tea. “Well, have as much as you want-Mom’s sick upstairs.”
Frank stops short at that. “Flu?”
I nod. “Guess that means we’re next.”
Frank makes a face at that. “Time to stock up on orange juice.”
I rifle through a cupboard, finding a packet of saltines. “No kidding.”
“Hey, Jim-“ I hear his voice next to me quite suddenly. “You’ve got school quick, why don’t I take this up?”
“I need to get dressed anyway-“
“And eat breakfast, and get organized.” Frank takes the saltines from me, and it’s another polite smile. “I can take care of Winnie. I think that was part of the vows, you know.”
I stare down at the cup, feeling a bit stupid. Of course Frank could take care of Mom-should take care of Mom. He is home for the day, and I am just some fucking kid heading off to school.
“Yeah, thanks,” I mumble, handing over the mug as well. “I’ll clean up, then go get dressed.”
I see Frank holding the mug in both hands, the box of saltines under an arm. He’s walking slowly and carefully as he watches the tea, and as he’s about to round a corner he takes a sip from it, trying to prevent any spills-exactly what I would’ve done.
I turn back to the sink, inexplicably angry. I put the stack of pancakes in the microwave, suddenly not hungry, then rinse the pan and utensils in the sink.
Things are just fine here, aren’t they? I’ll be leaving behind no trouble, at all.
I hear murmuring from Mom’s room as I go to my own, quickly opening and closing the door to finally gain some privacy. My eyes and cheeks feel warm, but all I do is start to undress and throw on clothes hurriedly.
Maybe Spock would like pancakes-no wait, I used butter and milk. So I guess that would make them not vegan.
I whip my sweats into a corner, huffing as I can’t find my damn shoes. I stomp around the room until I remember they’re downstairs by the couch, which only makes me feel more stupid.
Fuck, I’m so stupid. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder, opening my bedroom door to more murmuring. I hesitate on the stairs, feeling simultaneously like an asshole, yet I’m still too angry to be able to hide it from Mom.
I can feel Spock outside, and I just want to leave.
“’Bye, Mom!” I shout from downstairs, which is pretty fucking cowardly, if I do say so myself. But once the autumn chill bites into my lungs I savor that, trying to think and focus on something else before I reach Spock’s Volvo.
Before I even get in, I know I’m not going to fool him.
“You have had a disagreement.”
I roll my eyes, avoiding his gaze as I feign interest in our front lawn. “Nah, just stupid stuff.”
I keep expecting the car to reverse, but after a minute of remaining parked I finally look at Spock, who is watching me closely.
“Do you wish to properly say goodbye to your mother?”
Well, fuck. No Spock, I don’t want to properly say goodbye to my mother. I want to have a tantrum and go to fucking school, where I’ll stew on it all day.
But instead I sigh, knowing we’re going to remain parked all day otherwise, and I get out of the Volvo and slam the door. I’ll likely get the flu too from the close proximity, but I guess it’s better than remaining mad.
I storm back into the house, trying to calm my temper as I climb the stairs. I don’t want to explain to Mom that I’m jealous of not being able to take care of her, because-one, that’s really fucking lame. And two, I really shouldn’t be hurt by it, and I feel kind of ridiculous.
I walk quietly to the edge of the doorframe, where Mom and Frank turn their heads towards me.
Mom smiles, holding out her arms for a hug.
“I forgot, sorry,” I say, leaning on the bed to reach over and kiss her cheek. I swallow a lump in my throat, feeling the fragile weight of her in my arms.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Mom says in my ear, kissing me back. “I love you, try to have a good day.”
“Love you, too.” And as I lean up I look over at Frank, who is also smiling at me-fuck, I’m the only bitter jerk in the room.
“Um, if you need anything…” I back away slowly. “Well. Feel better, okay?”
“See you later, Jim,” Frank says, and with that I make my way back downstairs.
When I’m out in the autumn chill again, it occurs to me that I’m likely making us late as hell, but I don’t care.
I get into the Volvo, almost expecting an admonishment, but instead Spock only starts the car and speeds deftly onto Main Street.
“Would you like to stop for a beverage?”
I look over at Spock, whose eyes are still on the road, but whose sentiment I feel is genuine. After our conversation about Eggy yesterday, I kind of want to hug him.
But instead I crack my first smile that morning. “No thanks. Let’s just get to school.”
As Spock passes the 7-Eleven, there’s a craggy little hole in my heart that feels less empty, more thawed.
***
School feels long, but it’s so much better when I’m not arguing with Spock. I don’t have Pasha and Hikaru harassing me about the two of us, for instance, and Mr. Dumka has other things to pick on me about. Keyboarding even goes better-although the melody is softer to my ears, thinking on and off about Mom.
I send her a few texts as I’m walking towards the cafeteria for lunch, and as I type a final one at the table, Spock notices.
“Is your mother still feeling ill?”
I shrug. “She says she slept most of the day, which probably means she’s doing better.”
“That is fortunate,” Spock states as he angles his tray towards me. “Otherwise she may wish to seek medical expertise.”
I have a brief flitting thought of asking Bones-who is technically a doctor, I guess-but the concept is still very foreign to me, and I shake my head.
“It’s probably just the flu.” I steal Spock’s tater tots. “It’s been going around.”
“My dad had it for a week,” Hikaru chimes in. “Mom has been shoving vitamins down our throats for a month. It freaks her out.”
I make a face. “Flintstones vitamins?”
“Gummies.”
“Score.” I get an inquisitive branch of thought in my head, and I turn to Spock. “They taste better.”
“I see.”
“They’re like Luden’s cough drops-you just eat them like candy.”
I get a disapproving look.
“Not that I ever did that, of course.” I turn and smirk at Hikaru, who is hiding his face in a bag of chips. “Anyway, I need to pick up juice and stuff for Mom on the way home.”
Spock takes a moment, but then he remembers. “Your GSA meeting occurs after school.”
Hikaru pauses in his food demolition, giving a wide-eyed expression to Spock. It confuses me a moment, before the pieces connect.
“I told him,” I say. Although that wasn’t exactly true-Spock likely knew from Gaila, but close enough. “Since we usually hang out after school.”
Hikaru opens his mouth to likely say something about rules and confidentiality, but Pasha plunkers down beside him, taking hold of the conversation.
“You are alvays velcome, Spock,” Pasha cheerily says, oblivious to Hikaru’s gawking. “Ze more ze merrier.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Spock says politely, although I know he’d rather run into traffic than enter any social situation. “But I am still Captain of the chess club.”
It kind of sucks that both take place at the same time, as seeing Spock conduct any sort of group is intriguing to me. Does he actually stand up in front of room, making new members introduce themselves? Do they have snacks? Maybe Spock brought cupcakes sometimes.
He quirks an eyebrow at me and I hide my smile.
Hikaru coughs loudly. “Wow, it’s like you guys are mind-reading or something.”
I turn my head sharply, only to see Pasha bump his arm.
“I zhink it is cute.” Pasha takes a tater tot delicately between two fingers. “It is like two peas in a pod, in sync.”
I don’t know if the flush is dark on my face, but I sense that Spock finds me amusing.
“I would agree that we are properly suited.”
Yeah, if my face wasn’t red before, I’m burning up now.
“Um,” I say into my carton of chocolate milk, “I’ll still be at the meeting.”
“I vill meet you at your locker,” Pasha confirms, and from there he changes the subject entirely to an assignment we have in English.
Spock hasn’t read our book, but his sense of incredulity at hearing about Human zoos is absolutely hilarious-even if it’s just between the two of us.
***
I’m pulling apart my third Oreo as Gaila continues to prattle on.
“I have spurs to put on my cowboy boots,” she says, pointing to the heels of the ones she’s wearing now. “It’s just getting a hat. I think I can improvise the rest.”
Gaila’s version of improvising leaves too many possibilities. After all she now wore a low-cut, v-neck sweater, and her jeans are practically painted on her luscious hips. I could only imagine how she’d look with a lasso-the image doing heavy damage to my gay quota.
“What are you making Spock wear?” she asks, her tongue licking the face of an Oreo. “I’m making Len match me.”
For some reason, seeing Bones in cowboy wear didn’t seem that far-fetched.
“Should I make Spock go?”
She huffs an incredulous laugh. “Well, yeah. He’s your boyfriend-it gives you license to make him do ridiculous stuff.”
I could dig that rule. “Somehow I don’t think I can make Spock do anything.”
“You make him do stuff all the time.” She reaches over to a chair that has an open pack of orange-colored Oreos and grabs six for the both of us. “I mean, you slept over the other night.”
I look around, conscious of the fact that Gaila said that a bit too loudly. But Pasha and Hikaru are laughing with Annie, our coordinator, and the other kids are playing a game of war; with the victor throwing the deck of playing cards in the air, like confetti.
“Yeah, but-“ I lower my voice. “He wanted to smooth over our fight. And he asked me, not the other way around.”
“But Spock is pretty private, you know. On his days off he relishes his space. He doesn’t hang out with just anybody.”
I want to point out that being bonded probably changed some of that, likely against his will, but I don’t want to say that out loud.
“We didn’t even cuddle,” I murmur instead, looking down at the orange frosting of my Halloween-themed Oreo.
There’s a moment of silence, and when I look up Gaila is smirking at me.
“Len isn’t really a cuddler, either.”
I’m not sure I want to hear this. “But you’ve-um.” I wave a hand. “Yeah.”
Her expression is wicked, and I find myself leaning in as she whispers to me. “Oh yeah, all the time.”
Nope, didn’t want to hear that at all.
“So you guys have intimacy, though.” I lick the dry frosting, feeling most of it come off as a chunk on my tongue. “I mean, the most we’ve done is kiss.”
“Rushing things, are we?”
I let the sugar melt in mouth, staring at her in bewilderment. “But we’ve been dating a-“
Month. One whole month, in fact.
“Okay, maybe I am,” I mutter, thinking out loud. “I guess it just feels different with the, um, facts of the situation.”
“And it’s Spock you’re talking about,” she points out, the look in her eye hinting exactly what that means. “You’re not competing with anybody. It’s just doing things at your own pace.”
“But what if I’m ahead of where he is?” Which is true, as you don’t see him bugging me for sex.
“Then you deal.”
Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now.
“I really had to work with Len, for a while,” Gaila confesses, staring thoughtfully into space. “He has trust issues.”
Which seems weird for a high school student-but then, I know the reality is that he isn’t in high school. More like 30-something, I guess.
“How did you guys deal with it?” Because it isn’t like Spock and I aren’t working on this ourselves.
“Time. You can’t push people, you know? If you really love and respect them, you also have to respect their limits.”
“I’m trying.”
“And it’ll be well worth it.” Gaila’s smile turns into a broad grin. “Because once people like that let you in, you’re golden.”
Thinking of Spock letting me in on anything-anything he is feeling-seems so far-fetched, but something I desire tremendously. After all, aren’t couples supposed to share everything with one another? I’m lucky if I can even accurately guess Spock’s mood, let alone why he feels a certain way.
I shouldn’t need a Magic 8-Ball to figure out my boyfriend.
“All right.” Not that I don’t feel like I’m doing it already, but- “I’ll try not to hold his hand the next time I get the urge.”
She playfully hits my shoulder. “At least ask first.”
Okay, she has a point there.
“Now-“ she goes back to her Oreos, and points at me with a chocolate wafer. “How do you feel about Harry Potter?”
I groan. “I think I dressed like him in third grade.”
“But Spock would make the best Snape!”
I can’t help but grin-Spock cosplaying as a brooding wizard? Get the fuck outta here.
“He does kind of act that way, normally.”
Gaila doesn’t even hold back her giggle, and I find myself smirking into a full laugh.
Everyone stares at us, but when I share a look with her I know she gets it. That only seems to make me-and her-giggle more.
***
The meeting doesn’t run that long, as at the end we mostly chat about a field trip to Iowa City’s GSA chapter, and also a bake sale towards the end of the month. I volunteer my kick-ass sugar cookies, and Gaila mentions a delicacy involving, in her words, “chocolate, sticky things, and more chocolate.”
“It’s from my home world,” Gaila whispers in my ear, which I kind of guessed.
When we adjourn, Gaila and I walk out to the parking lot together, her cowboy boots clacking on the pavement.
“I wish we had these things back home,” Gaila says to the ground, her face dropping for the first time in my recollection.
“Where do you come from?” I whisper, although I know we’re alone in the lot.
We walk her to a little red Ferraro, which is my 80s dream come true, but which requires the driver to practically lay on the ground.
She leans against it, sighing. “Orion.” She looks towards the sky. “In this time in history, there’d be no chance for the women to do what I’m doing. Hell, even in my century they still get used.”
“Patriarchal?”
She quirks a smile at me. “Very good, Mister Kirk.”
I lean against the Ferraro too, feeling intrigued by the mystery. “How did you get out, then?”
Gaila looks reluctant to answer, her hand brushing the air as if to brush away the past. “I got really lucky.”
She turns to put her forearms on the car and I follow suit, propping my head up on a hand. I watch her expression, suddenly so far away. I’ve never seen Gaila wistful, and while I wouldn’t like to see it again, she’s still incredibly pretty while vulnerable.
I poke her gently. “Will you tell me how, someday?”
Her face returns to good humor, her sly and seductive smile back in full force. “Sure-after you get your shit with Spock worked out, first.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well-look at me, respecting boundaries.”
She shakes her head with a chuckle. “Yes, look at you.”
We share a grin before I hug her tightly, red curls in my face and that vanilla musk on her skin.
“Hey-do you have a ride home?”
When I pull away, I see her looking around the parking lot in bewilderment.
I wave a hand. “Spock drove me this morning.”
Not that I don’t like riding with Spock, but I miss Gary like burning.
Gaila tilts her head, then beckons with a hand. “I have a set of wheels with a name, too.”
I stare down at the Ferraro, whose height is already making my legs feel cramped.
“Man up, Jimmy.”
“God, I hate ‘Jimmy’.” But I get in on the passenger’s side, trying not to hit my head.
Once I slide inside I see the interior made entirely of gray leather, an exotic flower hanging out on the dashboard. There are a few wrappers on the floor, but otherwise it’s clean-cleaner than Gary, I guess.
Gaila slides in beside me, slamming the door without much thought, then turns the ignition with a giddy expression.
She turns to me before she checks behind her. “Len rarely lets me drive.”
As she cranks the stick shift, I start to suspect why. We’re suddenly zero to fifty in a school zone, sharply taking corners as she giggles with glee.
Oh God, I’m going to die.
“Stop sign!” I find myself yelling, my foot stomping the floor.
“Don’t worry, Jim,” she turns onto Main Street. “I’m a navigator.”
Oh yeah, that makes me feel way better.
“Stop looking like that and roll down your window! You’re as bad as Len.”
As Gaila speeds down Main Street I do as she says, the wind whipping my hair as she zips to Second in ten seconds, and then sways us to the side as she turns onto my street.
I laugh, unable to contain my nervousness anymore, and yet enjoying the race as she does a dramatic slide into our dirt driveway.
For such a little car, I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride.
“I wish I could take Marlena with me." She fondly pats the steering wheel. “What I wouldn’t give to drag race on Omus XIV with this baby.”
I bark a laugh at the ceiling. “Where did you get a name like that?”
Gaila shrugs. “Ex-girlfriend.” She picks at a piece of dust. “Left me behind when she took assignment on the Strata.”
My smile wans, feeling instinctively that this is another touchy subject. Maybe someday I’ll find out the story to this, too.
“Now get out-Marlena isn’t into smelly, teenaged boys.”
“Hey, I showered!” But I get out anyway, and after I slam the door I pop my head through the open window. “I know when my company isn’t wanted.”
Gaila blows me a kiss. “See ya later.”
I barely have time to step away as she squeals out, dirt kicking up around me as I watch her speed away in a blur of red.
I’d be annoyed, but you know-there are some things that make me feel better, and one of them is knowing that I’ll have a real friend in the future. Not that I don’t dig Bones, but Gaila is something different, like a big sister. One that doesn’t make Spock jealous, despite how touchy-feely she can get.
I wonder when Chess Club ends, and whether Spock is back on the Enterprise by now. He had casually mentioned the ship needing repairs, hence not seeing him tonight. I guess it’s something Scotty can’t handle on his own.
I sigh, making my way back towards the house-which is when I remember that I wanted to pick up some things for Mom. Maybe she didn’t really need anything, but I wanted to get her some orange juice, anyhow.
I stop mid-way to the front door, patting my pockets for my keys. I search my messenger bag and all its hiding places, when I finally find them-tucked in a back pocket, stashed away from disuse.
“I’m so sorry, Gary,” I say once I approach the beat-up pickup truck-my poor truck that won’t have an owner once the New Year comes around.
Okay, so I could go back to being bitter about that. But after that talk we had, it seems like Spock is giving up quite a bit, too-and stuff more meaningful than my truck.
I turn the ignition, feeling slightly jarred by the deep rumbling underneath my seat as Gary comes to life. So different than Gaila’s Marlena-so different from the Volvo-yet that is part of the charm.
I turn out of the driveway, noticing that Gary doesn’t make the same smooth and slick turns as Marlena, either. Probably a good thing-I’d likely flip over on my ass. Spock’s stupid shiny Volvo could likely do it, though; the Volvo that doesn’t truly have a name.
Respecting Spock’s boundaries, huh. The turn signal ticks the blankness of my thoughts as I wait to head onto Main Street, waiting for a tractor to cross the intersection.
In a lot of ways, I guess that’s what happened yesterday morning. I went too far with Spock, and Spock retaliated in the only way he knew how-which was to draw back into his shell, burned and singed from our interaction.
Yet at the time, it wasn’t like I knew I had gone too far. I just knew Spock was upset, and I tried to make amends. I guess the lack of knowledge had been just as bad, no matter my intentions.
And yet-how is that fair? What about my boundaries? Couldn’t there be some compromise, where Spock tried to meet me halfway? I wouldn’t demand sex, but cuddling I could live with. I wouldn’t even try to push it and feel for his bulge-or lack of one.
Which was part of the problem. Maybe I wouldn’t be so chagrinned if I knew that Spock at least wanted me. If he felt at least a margin of my desire, but was suppressing the hell out of it.
Which sounds kind of miserable, if you ask me.
I look to my right, expecting to see the grocery store, but instead spot the 7-Eleven whizzing by and-goddammit, that is on the outskirts of town, and way past the grocery store.
But with the sunset burning orange in the horizon over the plowed cornfields, I decide-fuck it. I want to drive for a while, think by my lonesome on this stretch of highway.
Gary rattles as I pick up speed, and it feels good to pound the pedal. I want some of that wind and speed back from earlier, creating an adrenaline rush so I could stop being so serious-can try to be more accepting of all the shit happening around me.
I love Spock. He’s the first guy to set butterflies in my stomach, to make me desire something so much it consumes my every thought. The first guy who could just touch me and I become breathless at our connection.
It’s so hokey. Yet doesn’t it seem that way because it’s never supposed to happen? These intense feelings are supposed to be some romance novel’s purple prose, not actually exist in real life.
It’s special. And fuck, maybe I should compromise and respect and understand to the point of frustration, if only because I know this is rare and worth preserving at all costs.
I’ll never find another Spock. I’ll never find another t’hy’la.
A pasture of farmland gives way to a dense stretch of thicket, probably the borderline of trees between properties, I’m not sure. But at the end of it I see a car on the side of the road, with the hood propped and a girl looking at the engine.
When I pull over in front of her vehicle, I know immediately who it is.
“You need help?” I yell out the window to Eggy, who is staring dejectedly at whatever the problem is.
Not that I’m ace with cars, but I could give it a go-or provide a ride to a gas station, at least.
“Ugh,” she says at the car as I approach. “I should’ve known better. This car’s been giving me trouble for the past week.”
I stand next to her, peering down at the engine. It all looks… strangely fine, to me. No smoke, nothing that appears to be leaking.
Then again, Gary sounds fabulous to me, so what do I know about engines?
“What was it doing before you pulled over?”
She huffs a dramatic sigh. “Sputtering.”
I look at the road, then next to the tires. “I don’t see anything leaking...” Then I get the bright idea to check the oil-that must be it.
But when I lift the dipstick, seeing it thickly coated, I shake my head. “What else was it doing?”
“Um…” she waves her hands. “Sorry, I just know it was making funny noises.”
“Well,” and I lean away from the car. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can give you a lift back to the 7-Eleven? Or my step-dad Frank knows a good shop-“
“Actually, you know, I thought I saw something fly off over there.”
I look at the field she’s pointing at, just at the edge of the trees. “That’s like, 20 feet from here.”
“Yeah, I was going fast.” She makes a motion with her hands, like a car speeding off. “I just saw a bolt or something out of the corner of my eye.”
“A bolt?” The more Eggy talks, the less she makes sense. “You’re never going to find something that small-“
“Well, I’m going to look. Can’t hurt, can it?” She gives me a sheepish smile. “I mean, one less thing I might have to pay for.”
She’s still wearing her green apron over a floral print dress, and I could only imagine-gas attendant pay? Probably sucks ass.
But as I walk towards the field, spreading out away from her to cover more distance, I can’t help the itching at the back of my skull; the part warning me that none of this seems right.
I look at a line of bushes. “Bolts shouldn’t be that expensive-“
And there in the line of trees is a pair of black oxfords, shined to perfection underneath the hem of a gray suit.
I look up, seeing the Silver Fox looking straight at me.
“Hello, Jim.”
I scrunch my brow, shaking my head. “Um, what are you doing here-“
But when he holds up a pen, all I see is a bright flash before my field of vision narrows into darkness-making me feel fuzzy and warm and happy, all at once.
Chapter Four | Masterlist