Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves, Part Three
Title:Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves
Series: STXI, Post-Into Darkness. I know. Surprise, surprise.
Characters/Pairings: James T. Kirk/Spock, with a few sides of Nyota Uhura, Christopher Pike and our very own Gaila Vro.
Disclaimer: I don't own, if I did I wouldn't be broke and I wouldn't work at Subway.
Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Extreme fluffiness, that's about it.
Summary: The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves.
Author's Note: Slowly making it through my self-appointed task of cross-posting to lj. Yay? Originally posted to Ao3 as a one-shot, now posted here in three parts. And since this is the third and final part, I hope you all enjoy!
- Part One - Part Two -
Friday, February Twenty third was most certainly a Café Americano day. It was a Trenti Café Americano day, actually. With two cranberry-orange muffins on the side - just to be sure, of course.
Not that it was doing much good, as Spock idly took a drink from his almost empty mug. Because the struggle to keep his eyes open was still there and the idea of leaning his cheek against his palm and just drifting still sounded far too good. It was a battle that had been over before it had even started, in all honesty. Which was slightly perplexing, because why Spock was battling an abstract ideal that was a natural imperative, he did not know, and why he-
Whatever.
Just…whatever.
Spock practically threw his PADD down onto the table with a thunk, not even caring about propriety as he did so. Not that it mattered much, since the café was empty anyways - like any usual Friday night, that was. There wasn’t soul in sight except for the one floating somewhere in the background, cleaning up the kitchen or whatever it was Jim did when closing; again, another usual Friday.
Except that it really wasn’t.
Because usually Friday nights were spent staying until closing, playing games of chess as Spock logically squashed Kirk’s not-so-logical musings. Except for the times they didn’t play chess, when they would read the latest articles on advanced programming and computer science with wry looks on their (Jim’s) faces or when they would sometimes just sit there because Fridays were long and talking was overrated anyways. That was what usually happened, but September Twenty-Third wasn’t a usual Friday. Because usually Spock didn’t procrastinate. Usually he didn’t wait until the weekend before his annual presentation to the board was due to finish it. And usually he didn’t have fifty papers to grade on top of that.
And usually, Spock didn’t find himself hunched over in the corner with PADDs littering the table in front of him. Usually his eyes didn’t ache from staring at glowing screens all day and usually his back didn’t hurt from so much sitting. Even for a Vulcan-especially for a Vulcan-four days without sleep was pushing it. Really pushing it, if the fact that falling asleep on the mound of PADDs before him sounded oddly appealing was any indication. And it was.
The unusually soft clanking of dishes being put up drifted from the kitchen, but Spock didn’t seem to notice - Vulcan super-hearing and all. Just another testament to his exhaustion perhaps. Or perhaps it was a testament to Jim and his otherwise questionable ability to be anything other than obnoxiously loud. Because, well, it was almost as if he were actually trying to be quiet, a sentiment that would’ve been touching if Spock had actually been attentive enough to notice (not to mention, if Spock hadn’t been, well, himself) and if Jim hadn’t been under the threat of Vulcan nerve pinches already. Apparently, even he had finally figured out that when Spock needed coffee, he also needed silence.
And if the surprisingly quiet clanks of dishes didn’t attest to that, then the otherwise silence of the café did. The oven wasn’t ticking, the microwave wasn’t buzzing, the espresso maker wasn’t humming, the coffee pot not churning and the blenders not whirring. It was quiet, except for the soft, smooth jazz playing over the speakers.
“Spock?”
The half-Vulcan’s head popped up, squinting when he saw that most of the shop’s lights were off, the food put away and Jim’s Enterprise Café apron hanging over his arm. It was an unacceptable lapse in attention on his part, to notice such vital shifts in scenery with such delay. “…Jim?” His voice was gravelly with sleep and exhaustion. It rumbled in his chest and was uncomfortably reminiscent to someone who might have a cold.
“It’s 10:15, store’s all closed up. I’m gonna go home, okay?” He softly explained as he readjusted the strap on his messenger bag, “And you should too-go home, I mean. And sleep. I don’t think Vulcans are supposed to have bags under their eyes; has to be some kind of safety hazard, y’know?”
If Spock were to honest, there had been no conscience decision behind the action. Or at least, if there was one, he didn’t remember it. His attempt to push himself off the table and from the chair, to try and stand had not exactly been well thought out. And it showed, because most well thought out, logics, planned, and wise decisions did not end in face plants. Just as a general rule.
“Whoa there.”
Or at least, almost-face planted, as it seemed.
Because one moment Spock felt dizzy and his legs felt weak and standing was suddenly a lot harder than he ever remembered it being and then the next there were these arms holding him up and this body bracing his and he wasn’t face planting, which should never be considered a bad thing.
“I got, ya’. Don’t worry, I got ya’,” Jim breathily murmured onto Spock’s flushing cheek. Their eyes were locked, unreadable looks within them both, as breath puffed from their lips a little more rapidly and a little more airily than either would have liked. Spock’s body was still leaned against Jim’s and they were almost as close as could be without kissing; neither seemed quite able (or willing) to change that. “Hate for you to hit that pretty little head of yours, ashayam.”
“I do believe thank you would be an appropriate response.”
The breathy chuckle Spock received in reply was perplexing, but not as much as the verbal one. Then again, perhaps Spock was just tired. “No problem, just…are you sure you should… I mean, you kinda look rough, a bit like hell and I - uh, wait, that came out wrong. I mean…” Jim chewed at his bottom lip with pearly teeth and Spock couldn’t help but think that something in his eyes was shifting as his grip tightened in the slightest, “It works on you, it really does. The I-didn’t-take-a-shower-didn’t-wash-my-hair-woke-up-and-threw-on-some-clothes look looks good and it’s…it’s pretty damn adorable. Especially when your hair’s all rumpled and your ears are green and you’re looking at me like we’re speaking two completely different languages. You don’t look like hell, just tired. I mean, not bad tired because not all tired is bad just…tired. Exhausted, more of and I’m rambling, aren’t I? Don’t answer that, actually.”
A beat of silence followed, where Spock simply stared and Jim made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“Never mind, just forget about it. What I meant to say was that you probably shouldn’t be walking home like this and you really should let me drive you there, okay? I get it, you’re a private person and you don’t have to feel obligated to let me in or anything and I promise not to be any more of a stalker than I already am, just…like I said, you look fucking exhausted and you can barely walk and you need some goddamn sleep.”
“Ji-”
“Just let me do this for you, okay?” His tone was so pleading and Spock… How could Spock…?
“…Okay.”
“What?” He lightly smiled, “No ‘I would find that most satisfactory’ or ‘I would be amenable to that suggestion’?”
A bristling noise rose in the half-Vulcan’s throat, “I felt ‘okay’ was sufficient.” In other words, he was too tired to think of anything else.
“Right, of course you did,” Jim brushed it off with a wave. He insisted Spock sit as he went to collect his messenger bag, haphazardly stuffing PADDs in as he went. He also insisted that Spock let him carry both of their bags, because Jim“…was definitely the guy in this relationship…” even though, Spock was still fairly certain the blonde’s belief that tired Vulcans were safety hazards might have had something to do with it. But what either of those things had to do with anything, Spock didn’t know. Not that he was hardly in any state to be arguing anyways.
And that same thing could be said for much later, not long after Jim had dropped him off, when Spock opened his messenger bag with every intention of ignoring Jim’s demands that he sleep. He could sleep when he was dead, the half-Vulcan often feigned.
Except that when he actually opened his bag, it was empty.
The PADDs were missing and Spock just knew. He didn’t even bother searching the apartment because he was so sure of it, instead opting to fall asleep on the couch. And when he woke up the next day, sure enough, there were three stacks of PADDs sitting on his counter with a cup of Shas-savas tea next to it. You’re welcome, sweetheart was written on the cup and a sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it had been left on top of the PADDs, both briefly ignored in favor of resuming Spock’s hardly forgotten work.
Except that, in a manner not very much different to when he had opened his messenger bag the other night, there was no more work to finish.
Every single paper had been graded, all fifty of them submitted with intelligent feedback and everything, and somehow his presentation had mysteriously morphed from a plain document of clear but brief notes to an expansive and flowery video with pictures and citations and everything he would need and more. It was all rather impressive.
Perhaps a tad exasperating too, considering it the whole ordeal went against practically every moral bone in Spock’s body, but impressive nonetheless.
The half-Vulcan set the PADD down, instead turning his attention to the still-warm cup of tea-brewed to perfection, as always-as drew his communicator from the coffee table. Spock had never been one to expressively show gratitude, finding the whole ideal illogical, but sometimes…
Sometimes there were exceptions.
-x-X-x-
For the first time in far too long, Thursday was a normal day.
There were no papers to grade or lectures to attend or presentations to finish. It was simply…a Thursday and Spock did not mind that. When he stepped into the coffee shop he did not bother to get in line, instead he immediately headed towards the circle naturally crowding around the sign that read pick-up orders here. The almost simultaneous yell of his usual Thursday morning order answered why.
The first time it had happened, Spock had quirked an eyebrow and stared at Jim as if he were crazy, an appropriate reaction he had thought at the time. Of course, it hadn‘t changed anything given Jim’s irritating penchant for aggravating grins and salacious winks, and it definitely hadn’t stopped his order from being called first. Naturally, Spock had tilted his head to the side and desperately tried to ignore the kiss that was blown his way. Even though, if the heat on his cheeks had had any say in it, that had been one particular endeavor he had hardly succeeded in.
But now it was a routine, no matter how many times Spock insisted Jim serve the customers who arrived first with their orders first. Because it didn’t matter how many times Spock told Jim that, because the number of times he had told him that was also the number of times Jim had promptly ignored him.
“Large Vulcan Spice Tea for…for teh…tee-hi...um…tee…oh goddamnit Jim! Stop giving your boyfriend these fucking pet names no one can pronounce! His name’s Spock, for Christ’s sake and I have better things to do than try to fucking figure out how to pronounce this, okay?! I don’t know Vulcan or Romulan or whatever the hell this is! Next time write his actual name, you dickhead!”
Now, Jim had always had a habit of flustering Spock, that was undeniable, but this… He could feel the heat on his cheeks and he was sure that his face had never been so damn green in his entire life. Instantly his body began to tense and a sneaking suspicion began to poke him. It was growing, this suspicion, and as it did Spock’s mouth was ever so slightly parting in what had to be a Vulcan gasp or something. His gaze was widening, startled and shocked and confused…but Jim. He wouldn’t. Would he?
No. Of course not. He would… He would…
Jim’s coworker looked confused.
Spock looked a little shocked, the coworker looked confused and Jim looked as carefree as ever. He chuckled as usual and took the cup of tea from his colleague, also as usual, but when he did Spock’s vision was pointedly not on him. Which was not usual. It was pointedly focused in on the clock at the other side of the room, and that really wasn’t usual. Neither was the way his gut churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Probably (maybe, a little, probably not) something he ate.
“One medium Vulcan Spiced Tea and a blueberry muffin for T’hyla!”
Oh.
That…
Spock’s gaze instantly snapped over to Jim, eyes wide and shocked and unmoving and human. He suspected it, sure, but he didn’t believe it and he didn’t want to believe it because that…
The churning got worse. His chest felt tight, which was odd and he floundered for words but none came and…and before he knew it he was ducking his head and grabbing his order from Jim so briskly it could be considered rude. And not once did their eyes meet, even though Spock could feel Jim’s searching for his and even though his own hands were twisting at the hem of his large sweater like he wanted…
Oh.
And when Spock practically bolted through those glass doors, he didn’t look back. Not even once.
-x-X-x-
“Hey there stranger.”
Spock swallowed, but not visibly, “Hello, Jim.”
The barista smiled and almost instantly Spock’s spine was straightening. His head cocked to the side and his mouth slightly opened, as if grasping for words.
“It’s been a bit. You weren’t in here Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. Or Monday. Or Tuesday.”
But he didn’t sound angry. Which was…peculiar. Spock had expected anger and he had been prepared for anger. Anger was within the normal realm of reactions, this however was not. This sly smirk and those teasingly light words - as if he knew something that Spock didn’t - they were neither expected nor anticipated. They were not normal, not among human standards and especially not among Jim standards.
But Spock was not stupid, and so when he gave his reply, it was with the anticipation that anger was just resting under the surface. That any moment it would come forth and the only manner in which to quell it would be with the words Jim wanted to hear.
“I apologize.”
Words that were not necessarily the truth. It wasn’t a lie, because to some degree there was truth in it. Spock was sorry for the anger he knew Jim was experiencing and he was sorry for the consequences of that anger, but he was not sorry for the need to meditate. And he was not sorry for the need to have a clear mind or for the need to put his work first. He was not sorry for what was merely natural.
Or at least, what he considered to be natural and Nyota (and Gaila, and Pike, and that one Lieutenant-Commander who taught Intro to XenoBiology, and several others who had no business sticking their noses into his personal matters) considered to be bullshit. Spock claimed semantics.
“I have been busy,” He finally finished, trying to ignore the clearly amused look Jim was giving him.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you were,” The barista almost flippantly said, voice sounding hardly convinced. He seemed to wait for a moment, looking over Spock with an expectant expression, “I actually kinda missed you, y’know. You made work seem less…work-like.”
And that really made Spock blink, made his brow barely scrunch as he stared at Jim. There was no way to respond to that, no words to be said to something so…illogical.
Silence fell between them. A heavy silence only made heavier when Jim’s expression shifted from expectant to exasperated all in one. “God, you’re impossible,” was what Spock swore he heard as the blond pushed away from the counter and got a measuring cup from the sink. “Do you remember that one time you ordered a Cappuccino with no foam?”
Spock hesitated, stance minutely shifting before he spoke, “If I am not mistaken it was on a Thursday and your response was almost frighteningly akin to ‘girl, you did not just order a no foam cappuccino'.”
“First off, its fucking creepy when you quote me all monotone-like. Secondly, it’s cute when you blush.” Jim sniggered as he poured milk into a measuring cup.
“I am hardly blushing; it is merely below the standard temperature tolerated by my physiology within this establish-”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” Kirk briskly waved off with a roll of his eyes, “Anyways, that isn’t the point. Because believe it or not there’s actually a point to this and don’t you even think about interrupting me until I’m done. Got it?” He paused, as if waiting for Spock to say something, “Good. The point is that you ordered a cappuccino with no foam, which is really stupid because a cappuccino with no foam is just another way to say a latte, which, thanks to me, now you know. Plain and simple, right? Except that at first you were kinda pissy-and I don’t need to turn to around to know the look you’re totally giving me, you were so pissy,” He briefly called over his shoulder with a wink Spock barely managed to catch. “But you ordered this cappuccino which was really a latte and when I questioned you, you got all sardonic and pedantic because god forbid should you ever be anything less than right and - You have no idea where I’m going with this, do you?”
“I…” Spock paused, eyebrows raised in undeniable confusion as he took a step forward. And another step. And another. All until he was standing in front of the counter, watching as Jim frothed and stretched the milk with meticulous care, “I must confess that I do not.”
“My point is that you ordered one thing and didn’t know that what you were asking for was another thing entirely and when I told you that, you bristled and got all high-and-mighty on me and for a second there I had sworn I had run you off. Again,” Jim explained as if that should make everything obvious. Which it didn’t, because Spock was still looking at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was. “And you still don’t get the point, do you?”
“Jim, I…” Spock’s voice faltered, words slipping from him like grains of sand. Obscure metaphors had never been his forte, not when his mother had used them and not when Nyota had used them, and he had a feeling they weren’t particularly Jim’s either.
“That’s what I thought.” And then he was slamming the measuring cup on the counter and turning around and shaking his head, like all of this was Spock’s fault.
And that Spock could understand. It wasn’t uncommon for a human to misappropriate blame when frustrated and he knew that. He understood that. What he didn’t understand though, were teasing grins and odd metaphors that had no place being there. Things that did nothing but irritate Spock, as if he were the irrational human prone to bouts of emotion. And in some ways he kinda was, because if Spock was going to be honest, he was a little annoyed and very frustrated and he truly should’ve stayed home. He should’ve turned his back on the entire thing, but should’ve and could’ve where two entirely different matters.
“You know what, Spock? Screw it - screw it all to hell.”
“Pardo-”
“I know what T’hy’la means.”
Oh.
Well.
“That’s what this is about, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s a coincidence, y’know? That the day I call you t’hy’la is the day you can’t get out of here fucking fast enough. Doesn’t help your case that you kinda disappeared for a while there, does it?”
Silence was his only response, but from the way Kirk just kept talking, it didn’t seem as though he was expecting one anyways. “If it makes it any better I didn’t know what it meant at the time, I just thought it was a regular term of endearment like ‘sweetheart’ or whatever. Stupid, I know. Anyways, I didn’t know for a while, until,” Jim paused to chuckle, the sound almost unbelieving in nature, “Until, well, you have really nosy friends. You know that?”
Spock’s stomach instantly dropped.
“One of them came by-well, actually a couple of them came by, but this one was the normal one. The other two…one tried to recruit me for fucking Starfleet and the other…well, let’s just say I never pictured you as the type to be friends with Gaila Vro and leave it at that, so yeah. In summary, you have an interesting taste in friends. Anyways, that’s not my point. The normal one.”
Uhura.
“She was a linguist, I think?”
Most certainly Uhura. Spock breathed in deeply, hands clutching at his pants and his gaze cautiously drifting upwards towards Jim’s.
“Had to have been a linguist. She told me what it meant, Spock.”
Their eyes locked and between them this look passed, a glimmering of eyes that neither quite knew what to do with.
“She said some other stuff too,” Jim shrugged, teeth worrying on his bottom lip. The drink he had been making was abandoned in favor of clutching the counter, knuckles turning white with the effort. “And, well, I get it. I guess. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just…this whole thing is so fucking stupid. T’hy’la is a word. I mean yeah, it has cultural significance and I get that, but it’s still just a fucking word. And what she told me? She said - actually… fuck what she said. All due respect and all, but it doesn’t matter what she said because maybe she’s right but maybe she’s not and I don’t care about that. It’s a fucking word and…I… God, I’m so bad at this. Just…”
And when Jim’s gaze met Spock’s, there was defiance in those eyes.
“Just…sometimes you are so stupid. Because I don’t care what t’hy’la means and I don’t…I don’t-Oh, fuck it already!”
And that was when James T. Kirk leaned across the counter, grabbed Spock by the sweater and kissed him. Hard and bruising and so very, very human. The fact that a counter was between them didn’t seem to deter him at all, not when Spock jolted in shock as a tongue traced the seam of his lips and a hand grappled with the fabric covering his shoulder. It was so sudden and quick and Spock’s head hurt and his heart hammered in his side and then he was tentatively parting his lips with this hesitant noise and Jim wasn’t wasting any time. As if they had already wasted enough time not doing this, a full year of not doing this, and that was time that needed to be made up. Jim’s hand grabbed at the back of Spock’s neck, fingers soothingly running through the little hairs there as a tongue pressed into all the right places at all the right times.
Perfect.
It was so, so, so perfect. And that was when something sparked in his stomach and flared to life in his mind, when every single wall and defense he had ever built came tumbling down. Emotions and thoughts and feelings flooded his mind-wantwantwantsobadlywant-with the force of a whirlwind that turned everything on its side; suddenly up was down and down was up and Spock just didn’t know anymore. The lines of what was what and who’s thoughts were who’s were disappearing as Kirk continued to coax him with those warm lips. Spock’s hands were fisted into the Jim’s apron and his eyes were squeezed shut; it was all so much. Too much. The blonde’s tongue smoothed over the contours of his mouth in such enticing ways and together with the flood of everything that was Jim invading his subconscious, Spock’s legs were shaking far more than any Vulcans legs should ever shake and his head felt far lighter than it ever ought to. Hands carded through his hair and murmurs of appreciation were pressed to his lips in rushed movements of teeth and tongue and nipping and biting and smoothing and so much more that Spock couldn’t even begin to describe.
“You kept all the receipts,” Was the first thing Jim murmured when he pulled away to rest his forehead against Spock’s and unsteadily gasp for breath. “I accidentally found the drawer you kept them in last time I was over. That’s cute.”
“What?” Spock airily asked, unable to think with how Jim’s mind was buzzing against his.
“All the receipts I wrote on, you kept them. The other ones, the ones I didn’t write on you threw out or at least kept them somewhere else. Did you save the cup sleeves too by any chance, because that would be awesome,” A weak but genuine smile was given, “I mean, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were infatuated with me.”
“I am not-”
“Because I’m kinda infatuated with you,” Jim slowly pulled away from Spock and as he did the whirlwind retreated. And Spock…he felt raw, with nothing but himself left as Jim backed away from the counter and threw his hands up in…something. It was a lot like the look on his face, almost like he was lost and didn’t know what to do. But Spock couldn’t be sure, “You’re a serious smartass and sometimes a dick and sometimes I kinda wanna hit you you’re so infuriating and stubborn but you’re a damn riot and those sweaters you wear are fucking ugly but I kinda like them,” Jim was pacing, running one hand through his hair and using the other to gesture animatedly. His words were slurred though, getting faster and faster with each rushed phrase. “And I kinda like you too. You’re adorable when you’re tired and fucking terrifying when you’re pissy and exasperating when you’re sardonic and I…I, maybe I like you, you miserable bastard.” A breathe was given, his shoulders slumping as he forced himself to a stop and forced himself to stare at Spock and to place his palms on either side of the register. His eyes were tsunamis, maelstroms of emotion and feeling and searching, searching please tell me this isn’t just me. “And maybe…maybe we are…this weird Vulcan bond or whatever being a t’hy’la really is. Maybe we could be that or maybe we already are, but maybe we aren’t-hell, we probably aren’t, to be honest- and maybe we never will be and I’m okay with that. And maybe…” He paused, eyes uncertain as he continued chewing on his bottom lip, “Maybe, one day, I could love you and maybe I already do-I don’t know. But I never fucking will if we just sit around and twiddle our thumbs and never do anything about it. I’m-we’re-we’re never gonna know unless we stop dancing around the other and actually act on this-whatever the hell this is. And I know, you’re so out of my league it isn’t even funny and I’m so bad at this relationship stuff it isn’t even funny either, but…” He swallowed, eyes nervously darting as he licked his lips. “Will you go on a date with me? Because I’m fucking tired of not knowing and I’d be completely surprised if you weren’t either. So just-just do it. Go out with me, just once. On a proper date. Like, old-fashioned, dinner at a restaurant and a movie and all that shit.”
A beat.
Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing.
“Sorry, I got-I-I ramble, a lot, okay? But you should already know that by now, so yeah…I’m just gonna shut up now.”
“Speaking from personal experience, I find that incredibly hard to believe,” Spock slowly said, brown eyes never leaving Jim’s flushed cheeks and parted lips and shining eyes. “However, if rambling is what it takes for you to make a point, then I believe that to be a far more efficient means of communication than your past attempts. I still fail to comprehend the meaning behind your earlier metaphor.”
“I-” And then Jim was chuckling. And then he was laughing and holding his side and just looking at Spock because this whole thing was so fucking crazy and he just couldn’t believe it. “Yeah, it was stupid. Not even my damn metaphor.”
“Nyota.” The fact that that wasn’t a question was a little frightening. The fact that Jim could only chuckle and shake his head only more so.
“Was that her name?” Spock nodded his head, “I pegged her as a Destiny, oh well. Anyways, that’s still the last time I take relationship advice from one of your friends.” And then Jim gave him this look. “So, about that date…?” And this look…it wasn’t a look Spock had ever associated with Jim. It was questioning and curious and something and it was always a look he associated with Nyota, if anyone. It was a look he never quite knew what to do with and an expression he never had been able to decipher…
Until now.
“The restaurant will have to be vegetarian.”
“Spock…” And then it was gone, that look, as quickly as it had gotten there. It disappeared and was replaced by a wide grin as Jim leaned forwards, “Did you just agree to go out with me?”
“And I will be picking the movie, your taste when in reference to cinematic works is questionable at best.”
“Holy shit,” Jim stared; eyes wide and breathing harsh as he took in the sight that was Spock. The only person in the entire Alpha Quadrant who, even with swollen, green-tinted lips and a still slightly breathless voice, could still manage to sound as unimpressed as ever. “You really are. You’re agreeing.”
But of course the half-Vulcan just kept talking, acting as if the barista had never said a thing. “I have heard of several favorable reviews regarding several different cinematic selections available, I am certain we can find one based on those recommendations.”
Spock had never given much merit to destiny.
“This is really happening. Holy fuck, Spock, you’re…god, you’re insane.”
It was nothing more than wishful thinking and half born fantasies.
“Tomorrow. Are you free tomorrow? Because if you are, then definitely tomorrow.”
That had been his opinion a year ago, when he had walked into a small coffee shop on a handful of questionable recommendations and a very human craving for a Chai Tea Latte, and it was still his opinion. Spock did not believe in destiny and he did not believe in fate, because Spock believed only in what he could see.
“I believe that I could be amendable to tomorrow.”
And Jim…Jim he could see.
Series: STXI, Post-Into Darkness. I know. Surprise, surprise.
Characters/Pairings: James T. Kirk/Spock, with a few sides of Nyota Uhura, Christopher Pike and our very own Gaila Vro.
Disclaimer: I don't own, if I did I wouldn't be broke and I wouldn't work at Subway.
Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Extreme fluffiness, that's about it.
Summary: The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves.
Author's Note: Slowly making it through my self-appointed task of cross-posting to lj. Yay? Originally posted to Ao3 as a one-shot, now posted here in three parts. And since this is the third and final part, I hope you all enjoy!
- Part One - Part Two -
Friday, February Twenty third was most certainly a Café Americano day. It was a Trenti Café Americano day, actually. With two cranberry-orange muffins on the side - just to be sure, of course.
Not that it was doing much good, as Spock idly took a drink from his almost empty mug. Because the struggle to keep his eyes open was still there and the idea of leaning his cheek against his palm and just drifting still sounded far too good. It was a battle that had been over before it had even started, in all honesty. Which was slightly perplexing, because why Spock was battling an abstract ideal that was a natural imperative, he did not know, and why he-
Whatever.
Just…whatever.
Spock practically threw his PADD down onto the table with a thunk, not even caring about propriety as he did so. Not that it mattered much, since the café was empty anyways - like any usual Friday night, that was. There wasn’t soul in sight except for the one floating somewhere in the background, cleaning up the kitchen or whatever it was Jim did when closing; again, another usual Friday.
Except that it really wasn’t.
Because usually Friday nights were spent staying until closing, playing games of chess as Spock logically squashed Kirk’s not-so-logical musings. Except for the times they didn’t play chess, when they would read the latest articles on advanced programming and computer science with wry looks on their (Jim’s) faces or when they would sometimes just sit there because Fridays were long and talking was overrated anyways. That was what usually happened, but September Twenty-Third wasn’t a usual Friday. Because usually Spock didn’t procrastinate. Usually he didn’t wait until the weekend before his annual presentation to the board was due to finish it. And usually he didn’t have fifty papers to grade on top of that.
And usually, Spock didn’t find himself hunched over in the corner with PADDs littering the table in front of him. Usually his eyes didn’t ache from staring at glowing screens all day and usually his back didn’t hurt from so much sitting. Even for a Vulcan-especially for a Vulcan-four days without sleep was pushing it. Really pushing it, if the fact that falling asleep on the mound of PADDs before him sounded oddly appealing was any indication. And it was.
The unusually soft clanking of dishes being put up drifted from the kitchen, but Spock didn’t seem to notice - Vulcan super-hearing and all. Just another testament to his exhaustion perhaps. Or perhaps it was a testament to Jim and his otherwise questionable ability to be anything other than obnoxiously loud. Because, well, it was almost as if he were actually trying to be quiet, a sentiment that would’ve been touching if Spock had actually been attentive enough to notice (not to mention, if Spock hadn’t been, well, himself) and if Jim hadn’t been under the threat of Vulcan nerve pinches already. Apparently, even he had finally figured out that when Spock needed coffee, he also needed silence.
And if the surprisingly quiet clanks of dishes didn’t attest to that, then the otherwise silence of the café did. The oven wasn’t ticking, the microwave wasn’t buzzing, the espresso maker wasn’t humming, the coffee pot not churning and the blenders not whirring. It was quiet, except for the soft, smooth jazz playing over the speakers.
“Spock?”
The half-Vulcan’s head popped up, squinting when he saw that most of the shop’s lights were off, the food put away and Jim’s Enterprise Café apron hanging over his arm. It was an unacceptable lapse in attention on his part, to notice such vital shifts in scenery with such delay. “…Jim?” His voice was gravelly with sleep and exhaustion. It rumbled in his chest and was uncomfortably reminiscent to someone who might have a cold.
“It’s 10:15, store’s all closed up. I’m gonna go home, okay?” He softly explained as he readjusted the strap on his messenger bag, “And you should too-go home, I mean. And sleep. I don’t think Vulcans are supposed to have bags under their eyes; has to be some kind of safety hazard, y’know?”
If Spock were to honest, there had been no conscience decision behind the action. Or at least, if there was one, he didn’t remember it. His attempt to push himself off the table and from the chair, to try and stand had not exactly been well thought out. And it showed, because most well thought out, logics, planned, and wise decisions did not end in face plants. Just as a general rule.
“Whoa there.”
Or at least, almost-face planted, as it seemed.
Because one moment Spock felt dizzy and his legs felt weak and standing was suddenly a lot harder than he ever remembered it being and then the next there were these arms holding him up and this body bracing his and he wasn’t face planting, which should never be considered a bad thing.
“I got, ya’. Don’t worry, I got ya’,” Jim breathily murmured onto Spock’s flushing cheek. Their eyes were locked, unreadable looks within them both, as breath puffed from their lips a little more rapidly and a little more airily than either would have liked. Spock’s body was still leaned against Jim’s and they were almost as close as could be without kissing; neither seemed quite able (or willing) to change that. “Hate for you to hit that pretty little head of yours, ashayam.”
“I do believe thank you would be an appropriate response.”
The breathy chuckle Spock received in reply was perplexing, but not as much as the verbal one. Then again, perhaps Spock was just tired. “No problem, just…are you sure you should… I mean, you kinda look rough, a bit like hell and I - uh, wait, that came out wrong. I mean…” Jim chewed at his bottom lip with pearly teeth and Spock couldn’t help but think that something in his eyes was shifting as his grip tightened in the slightest, “It works on you, it really does. The I-didn’t-take-a-shower-didn’t-wash-my-hair-woke-up-and-threw-on-some-clothes look looks good and it’s…it’s pretty damn adorable. Especially when your hair’s all rumpled and your ears are green and you’re looking at me like we’re speaking two completely different languages. You don’t look like hell, just tired. I mean, not bad tired because not all tired is bad just…tired. Exhausted, more of and I’m rambling, aren’t I? Don’t answer that, actually.”
A beat of silence followed, where Spock simply stared and Jim made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“Never mind, just forget about it. What I meant to say was that you probably shouldn’t be walking home like this and you really should let me drive you there, okay? I get it, you’re a private person and you don’t have to feel obligated to let me in or anything and I promise not to be any more of a stalker than I already am, just…like I said, you look fucking exhausted and you can barely walk and you need some goddamn sleep.”
“Ji-”
“Just let me do this for you, okay?” His tone was so pleading and Spock… How could Spock…?
“…Okay.”
“What?” He lightly smiled, “No ‘I would find that most satisfactory’ or ‘I would be amenable to that suggestion’?”
A bristling noise rose in the half-Vulcan’s throat, “I felt ‘okay’ was sufficient.” In other words, he was too tired to think of anything else.
“Right, of course you did,” Jim brushed it off with a wave. He insisted Spock sit as he went to collect his messenger bag, haphazardly stuffing PADDs in as he went. He also insisted that Spock let him carry both of their bags, because Jim“…was definitely the guy in this relationship…” even though, Spock was still fairly certain the blonde’s belief that tired Vulcans were safety hazards might have had something to do with it. But what either of those things had to do with anything, Spock didn’t know. Not that he was hardly in any state to be arguing anyways.
And that same thing could be said for much later, not long after Jim had dropped him off, when Spock opened his messenger bag with every intention of ignoring Jim’s demands that he sleep. He could sleep when he was dead, the half-Vulcan often feigned.
Except that when he actually opened his bag, it was empty.
The PADDs were missing and Spock just knew. He didn’t even bother searching the apartment because he was so sure of it, instead opting to fall asleep on the couch. And when he woke up the next day, sure enough, there were three stacks of PADDs sitting on his counter with a cup of Shas-savas tea next to it. You’re welcome, sweetheart was written on the cup and a sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it had been left on top of the PADDs, both briefly ignored in favor of resuming Spock’s hardly forgotten work.
Except that, in a manner not very much different to when he had opened his messenger bag the other night, there was no more work to finish.
Every single paper had been graded, all fifty of them submitted with intelligent feedback and everything, and somehow his presentation had mysteriously morphed from a plain document of clear but brief notes to an expansive and flowery video with pictures and citations and everything he would need and more. It was all rather impressive.
Perhaps a tad exasperating too, considering it the whole ordeal went against practically every moral bone in Spock’s body, but impressive nonetheless.
The half-Vulcan set the PADD down, instead turning his attention to the still-warm cup of tea-brewed to perfection, as always-as drew his communicator from the coffee table. Spock had never been one to expressively show gratitude, finding the whole ideal illogical, but sometimes…
Sometimes there were exceptions.
-x-X-x-
For the first time in far too long, Thursday was a normal day.
There were no papers to grade or lectures to attend or presentations to finish. It was simply…a Thursday and Spock did not mind that. When he stepped into the coffee shop he did not bother to get in line, instead he immediately headed towards the circle naturally crowding around the sign that read pick-up orders here. The almost simultaneous yell of his usual Thursday morning order answered why.
The first time it had happened, Spock had quirked an eyebrow and stared at Jim as if he were crazy, an appropriate reaction he had thought at the time. Of course, it hadn‘t changed anything given Jim’s irritating penchant for aggravating grins and salacious winks, and it definitely hadn’t stopped his order from being called first. Naturally, Spock had tilted his head to the side and desperately tried to ignore the kiss that was blown his way. Even though, if the heat on his cheeks had had any say in it, that had been one particular endeavor he had hardly succeeded in.
But now it was a routine, no matter how many times Spock insisted Jim serve the customers who arrived first with their orders first. Because it didn’t matter how many times Spock told Jim that, because the number of times he had told him that was also the number of times Jim had promptly ignored him.
“Large Vulcan Spice Tea for…for teh…tee-hi...um…tee…oh goddamnit Jim! Stop giving your boyfriend these fucking pet names no one can pronounce! His name’s Spock, for Christ’s sake and I have better things to do than try to fucking figure out how to pronounce this, okay?! I don’t know Vulcan or Romulan or whatever the hell this is! Next time write his actual name, you dickhead!”
Now, Jim had always had a habit of flustering Spock, that was undeniable, but this… He could feel the heat on his cheeks and he was sure that his face had never been so damn green in his entire life. Instantly his body began to tense and a sneaking suspicion began to poke him. It was growing, this suspicion, and as it did Spock’s mouth was ever so slightly parting in what had to be a Vulcan gasp or something. His gaze was widening, startled and shocked and confused…but Jim. He wouldn’t. Would he?
No. Of course not. He would… He would…
Jim’s coworker looked confused.
Spock looked a little shocked, the coworker looked confused and Jim looked as carefree as ever. He chuckled as usual and took the cup of tea from his colleague, also as usual, but when he did Spock’s vision was pointedly not on him. Which was not usual. It was pointedly focused in on the clock at the other side of the room, and that really wasn’t usual. Neither was the way his gut churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Probably (maybe, a little, probably not) something he ate.
“One medium Vulcan Spiced Tea and a blueberry muffin for T’hyla!”
Oh.
That…
Spock’s gaze instantly snapped over to Jim, eyes wide and shocked and unmoving and human. He suspected it, sure, but he didn’t believe it and he didn’t want to believe it because that…
The churning got worse. His chest felt tight, which was odd and he floundered for words but none came and…and before he knew it he was ducking his head and grabbing his order from Jim so briskly it could be considered rude. And not once did their eyes meet, even though Spock could feel Jim’s searching for his and even though his own hands were twisting at the hem of his large sweater like he wanted…
Oh.
And when Spock practically bolted through those glass doors, he didn’t look back. Not even once.
-x-X-x-
“Hey there stranger.”
Spock swallowed, but not visibly, “Hello, Jim.”
The barista smiled and almost instantly Spock’s spine was straightening. His head cocked to the side and his mouth slightly opened, as if grasping for words.
“It’s been a bit. You weren’t in here Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. Or Monday. Or Tuesday.”
But he didn’t sound angry. Which was…peculiar. Spock had expected anger and he had been prepared for anger. Anger was within the normal realm of reactions, this however was not. This sly smirk and those teasingly light words - as if he knew something that Spock didn’t - they were neither expected nor anticipated. They were not normal, not among human standards and especially not among Jim standards.
But Spock was not stupid, and so when he gave his reply, it was with the anticipation that anger was just resting under the surface. That any moment it would come forth and the only manner in which to quell it would be with the words Jim wanted to hear.
“I apologize.”
Words that were not necessarily the truth. It wasn’t a lie, because to some degree there was truth in it. Spock was sorry for the anger he knew Jim was experiencing and he was sorry for the consequences of that anger, but he was not sorry for the need to meditate. And he was not sorry for the need to have a clear mind or for the need to put his work first. He was not sorry for what was merely natural.
Or at least, what he considered to be natural and Nyota (and Gaila, and Pike, and that one Lieutenant-Commander who taught Intro to XenoBiology, and several others who had no business sticking their noses into his personal matters) considered to be bullshit. Spock claimed semantics.
“I have been busy,” He finally finished, trying to ignore the clearly amused look Jim was giving him.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you were,” The barista almost flippantly said, voice sounding hardly convinced. He seemed to wait for a moment, looking over Spock with an expectant expression, “I actually kinda missed you, y’know. You made work seem less…work-like.”
And that really made Spock blink, made his brow barely scrunch as he stared at Jim. There was no way to respond to that, no words to be said to something so…illogical.
Silence fell between them. A heavy silence only made heavier when Jim’s expression shifted from expectant to exasperated all in one. “God, you’re impossible,” was what Spock swore he heard as the blond pushed away from the counter and got a measuring cup from the sink. “Do you remember that one time you ordered a Cappuccino with no foam?”
Spock hesitated, stance minutely shifting before he spoke, “If I am not mistaken it was on a Thursday and your response was almost frighteningly akin to ‘girl, you did not just order a no foam cappuccino'.”
“First off, its fucking creepy when you quote me all monotone-like. Secondly, it’s cute when you blush.” Jim sniggered as he poured milk into a measuring cup.
“I am hardly blushing; it is merely below the standard temperature tolerated by my physiology within this establish-”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” Kirk briskly waved off with a roll of his eyes, “Anyways, that isn’t the point. Because believe it or not there’s actually a point to this and don’t you even think about interrupting me until I’m done. Got it?” He paused, as if waiting for Spock to say something, “Good. The point is that you ordered a cappuccino with no foam, which is really stupid because a cappuccino with no foam is just another way to say a latte, which, thanks to me, now you know. Plain and simple, right? Except that at first you were kinda pissy-and I don’t need to turn to around to know the look you’re totally giving me, you were so pissy,” He briefly called over his shoulder with a wink Spock barely managed to catch. “But you ordered this cappuccino which was really a latte and when I questioned you, you got all sardonic and pedantic because god forbid should you ever be anything less than right and - You have no idea where I’m going with this, do you?”
“I…” Spock paused, eyebrows raised in undeniable confusion as he took a step forward. And another step. And another. All until he was standing in front of the counter, watching as Jim frothed and stretched the milk with meticulous care, “I must confess that I do not.”
“My point is that you ordered one thing and didn’t know that what you were asking for was another thing entirely and when I told you that, you bristled and got all high-and-mighty on me and for a second there I had sworn I had run you off. Again,” Jim explained as if that should make everything obvious. Which it didn’t, because Spock was still looking at him like he was crazy. And maybe he was. “And you still don’t get the point, do you?”
“Jim, I…” Spock’s voice faltered, words slipping from him like grains of sand. Obscure metaphors had never been his forte, not when his mother had used them and not when Nyota had used them, and he had a feeling they weren’t particularly Jim’s either.
“That’s what I thought.” And then he was slamming the measuring cup on the counter and turning around and shaking his head, like all of this was Spock’s fault.
And that Spock could understand. It wasn’t uncommon for a human to misappropriate blame when frustrated and he knew that. He understood that. What he didn’t understand though, were teasing grins and odd metaphors that had no place being there. Things that did nothing but irritate Spock, as if he were the irrational human prone to bouts of emotion. And in some ways he kinda was, because if Spock was going to be honest, he was a little annoyed and very frustrated and he truly should’ve stayed home. He should’ve turned his back on the entire thing, but should’ve and could’ve where two entirely different matters.
“You know what, Spock? Screw it - screw it all to hell.”
“Pardo-”
“I know what T’hy’la means.”
Oh.
Well.
“That’s what this is about, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s a coincidence, y’know? That the day I call you t’hy’la is the day you can’t get out of here fucking fast enough. Doesn’t help your case that you kinda disappeared for a while there, does it?”
Silence was his only response, but from the way Kirk just kept talking, it didn’t seem as though he was expecting one anyways. “If it makes it any better I didn’t know what it meant at the time, I just thought it was a regular term of endearment like ‘sweetheart’ or whatever. Stupid, I know. Anyways, I didn’t know for a while, until,” Jim paused to chuckle, the sound almost unbelieving in nature, “Until, well, you have really nosy friends. You know that?”
Spock’s stomach instantly dropped.
“One of them came by-well, actually a couple of them came by, but this one was the normal one. The other two…one tried to recruit me for fucking Starfleet and the other…well, let’s just say I never pictured you as the type to be friends with Gaila Vro and leave it at that, so yeah. In summary, you have an interesting taste in friends. Anyways, that’s not my point. The normal one.”
Uhura.
“She was a linguist, I think?”
Most certainly Uhura. Spock breathed in deeply, hands clutching at his pants and his gaze cautiously drifting upwards towards Jim’s.
“Had to have been a linguist. She told me what it meant, Spock.”
Their eyes locked and between them this look passed, a glimmering of eyes that neither quite knew what to do with.
“She said some other stuff too,” Jim shrugged, teeth worrying on his bottom lip. The drink he had been making was abandoned in favor of clutching the counter, knuckles turning white with the effort. “And, well, I get it. I guess. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just…this whole thing is so fucking stupid. T’hy’la is a word. I mean yeah, it has cultural significance and I get that, but it’s still just a fucking word. And what she told me? She said - actually… fuck what she said. All due respect and all, but it doesn’t matter what she said because maybe she’s right but maybe she’s not and I don’t care about that. It’s a fucking word and…I… God, I’m so bad at this. Just…”
And when Jim’s gaze met Spock’s, there was defiance in those eyes.
“Just…sometimes you are so stupid. Because I don’t care what t’hy’la means and I don’t…I don’t-Oh, fuck it already!”
And that was when James T. Kirk leaned across the counter, grabbed Spock by the sweater and kissed him. Hard and bruising and so very, very human. The fact that a counter was between them didn’t seem to deter him at all, not when Spock jolted in shock as a tongue traced the seam of his lips and a hand grappled with the fabric covering his shoulder. It was so sudden and quick and Spock’s head hurt and his heart hammered in his side and then he was tentatively parting his lips with this hesitant noise and Jim wasn’t wasting any time. As if they had already wasted enough time not doing this, a full year of not doing this, and that was time that needed to be made up. Jim’s hand grabbed at the back of Spock’s neck, fingers soothingly running through the little hairs there as a tongue pressed into all the right places at all the right times.
Perfect.
It was so, so, so perfect. And that was when something sparked in his stomach and flared to life in his mind, when every single wall and defense he had ever built came tumbling down. Emotions and thoughts and feelings flooded his mind-wantwantwantsobadlywant-with the force of a whirlwind that turned everything on its side; suddenly up was down and down was up and Spock just didn’t know anymore. The lines of what was what and who’s thoughts were who’s were disappearing as Kirk continued to coax him with those warm lips. Spock’s hands were fisted into the Jim’s apron and his eyes were squeezed shut; it was all so much. Too much. The blonde’s tongue smoothed over the contours of his mouth in such enticing ways and together with the flood of everything that was Jim invading his subconscious, Spock’s legs were shaking far more than any Vulcans legs should ever shake and his head felt far lighter than it ever ought to. Hands carded through his hair and murmurs of appreciation were pressed to his lips in rushed movements of teeth and tongue and nipping and biting and smoothing and so much more that Spock couldn’t even begin to describe.
“You kept all the receipts,” Was the first thing Jim murmured when he pulled away to rest his forehead against Spock’s and unsteadily gasp for breath. “I accidentally found the drawer you kept them in last time I was over. That’s cute.”
“What?” Spock airily asked, unable to think with how Jim’s mind was buzzing against his.
“All the receipts I wrote on, you kept them. The other ones, the ones I didn’t write on you threw out or at least kept them somewhere else. Did you save the cup sleeves too by any chance, because that would be awesome,” A weak but genuine smile was given, “I mean, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were infatuated with me.”
“I am not-”
“Because I’m kinda infatuated with you,” Jim slowly pulled away from Spock and as he did the whirlwind retreated. And Spock…he felt raw, with nothing but himself left as Jim backed away from the counter and threw his hands up in…something. It was a lot like the look on his face, almost like he was lost and didn’t know what to do. But Spock couldn’t be sure, “You’re a serious smartass and sometimes a dick and sometimes I kinda wanna hit you you’re so infuriating and stubborn but you’re a damn riot and those sweaters you wear are fucking ugly but I kinda like them,” Jim was pacing, running one hand through his hair and using the other to gesture animatedly. His words were slurred though, getting faster and faster with each rushed phrase. “And I kinda like you too. You’re adorable when you’re tired and fucking terrifying when you’re pissy and exasperating when you’re sardonic and I…I, maybe I like you, you miserable bastard.” A breathe was given, his shoulders slumping as he forced himself to a stop and forced himself to stare at Spock and to place his palms on either side of the register. His eyes were tsunamis, maelstroms of emotion and feeling and searching, searching please tell me this isn’t just me. “And maybe…maybe we are…this weird Vulcan bond or whatever being a t’hy’la really is. Maybe we could be that or maybe we already are, but maybe we aren’t-hell, we probably aren’t, to be honest- and maybe we never will be and I’m okay with that. And maybe…” He paused, eyes uncertain as he continued chewing on his bottom lip, “Maybe, one day, I could love you and maybe I already do-I don’t know. But I never fucking will if we just sit around and twiddle our thumbs and never do anything about it. I’m-we’re-we’re never gonna know unless we stop dancing around the other and actually act on this-whatever the hell this is. And I know, you’re so out of my league it isn’t even funny and I’m so bad at this relationship stuff it isn’t even funny either, but…” He swallowed, eyes nervously darting as he licked his lips. “Will you go on a date with me? Because I’m fucking tired of not knowing and I’d be completely surprised if you weren’t either. So just-just do it. Go out with me, just once. On a proper date. Like, old-fashioned, dinner at a restaurant and a movie and all that shit.”
A beat.
Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing.
“Sorry, I got-I-I ramble, a lot, okay? But you should already know that by now, so yeah…I’m just gonna shut up now.”
“Speaking from personal experience, I find that incredibly hard to believe,” Spock slowly said, brown eyes never leaving Jim’s flushed cheeks and parted lips and shining eyes. “However, if rambling is what it takes for you to make a point, then I believe that to be a far more efficient means of communication than your past attempts. I still fail to comprehend the meaning behind your earlier metaphor.”
“I-” And then Jim was chuckling. And then he was laughing and holding his side and just looking at Spock because this whole thing was so fucking crazy and he just couldn’t believe it. “Yeah, it was stupid. Not even my damn metaphor.”
“Nyota.” The fact that that wasn’t a question was a little frightening. The fact that Jim could only chuckle and shake his head only more so.
“Was that her name?” Spock nodded his head, “I pegged her as a Destiny, oh well. Anyways, that’s still the last time I take relationship advice from one of your friends.” And then Jim gave him this look. “So, about that date…?” And this look…it wasn’t a look Spock had ever associated with Jim. It was questioning and curious and something and it was always a look he associated with Nyota, if anyone. It was a look he never quite knew what to do with and an expression he never had been able to decipher…
Until now.
“The restaurant will have to be vegetarian.”
“Spock…” And then it was gone, that look, as quickly as it had gotten there. It disappeared and was replaced by a wide grin as Jim leaned forwards, “Did you just agree to go out with me?”
“And I will be picking the movie, your taste when in reference to cinematic works is questionable at best.”
“Holy shit,” Jim stared; eyes wide and breathing harsh as he took in the sight that was Spock. The only person in the entire Alpha Quadrant who, even with swollen, green-tinted lips and a still slightly breathless voice, could still manage to sound as unimpressed as ever. “You really are. You’re agreeing.”
But of course the half-Vulcan just kept talking, acting as if the barista had never said a thing. “I have heard of several favorable reviews regarding several different cinematic selections available, I am certain we can find one based on those recommendations.”
Spock had never given much merit to destiny.
“This is really happening. Holy fuck, Spock, you’re…god, you’re insane.”
It was nothing more than wishful thinking and half born fantasies.
“Tomorrow. Are you free tomorrow? Because if you are, then definitely tomorrow.”
That had been his opinion a year ago, when he had walked into a small coffee shop on a handful of questionable recommendations and a very human craving for a Chai Tea Latte, and it was still his opinion. Spock did not believe in destiny and he did not believe in fate, because Spock believed only in what he could see.
“I believe that I could be amendable to tomorrow.”
And Jim…Jim he could see.