a timestamp!
Second of my apologies-this-took-so-long drabbles! melmelchan wanted to see something from the Stars and Planets 'verse with parents; "either a meet the parents scene, or Jim's thoughts on why Spock doesn't want him to meet his dad." So: Spock and Jim's mom meet.
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JFK is a zoo. It's two-thirty, which is prime rush hour in airports, so it's kind of expected--but seriously, Jim thinks, squinting around at the crush of cars, this is ridiculous. People are rushing in and out of spaces like their lives depend on it, and the drivers at the front of the taxi queue are exchanging glances so murderous they're making Jim feel nervous just standing there. He wouldn't be surprised if an all-out fight broke out. And aside from that, it's fucking loud--I missed yous and hurry ups and a million names all mashing together into this huge crazy cacophony that's digging itself under his skin and making him even more restless. It feels insane, and he can't help but wonder if it hasn't gotten crazier since the last time he's been here, even. He's fidgeting, he knows; hand tapping a rhythm in 7/8 against his thigh, a backing to everything.
Spock's voice cuts across it all with that leaden calm. "Jim, it is not necessary for us to carry this out if you are uncomfortable. I can take the subway back and meet up with you later, if you wish."
Jim smiles a little, and cants a sideways glance up at Spock. "Spock for 'we don't have to do this,' huh?" he says, and kisses the corner of Spock's jaw. "Yeah, I know. But we're gonna."
Spock frowns down at him. "I cannot help but notice that you seem highly agitated," he murmurs. "I believe it would be more prudent to wait for a time at which we can approach the situation with at least eighty-five percent confidence of a favorable outcome, Jim."
Jim has to smile again, at the tight concern coiled in Spock's voice and at the comfort of numbers. At the we. He makes his breathing calm a bit, and takes Spock's hand, pulling them both into his jacket pocket and rubbing his thumb over Spock's superheated palm. Spock lets him do so without a word, eyes full of worry, and Jim shakes his head a little.
"It's not because of that," he soothes. "She just--I dunno. She's my mom and I love her, don't get me wrong, but we don't always see eye to eye on stuff. That's all. I'd be 'agitated' if you weren't here, too," he says, shrugging and offering up a self-deprecating grin.
Spock's mouth pulls into a tight line, but he stays silent. Jim can see the thoughts running through his head as clearly as if they were written on sheet music: it would still make more sense to wait for a time when you are entirely ready, and I certainly cannot be helping matters, then, and it has only been a short while; you have no obligation, Jim.
That last one he actually said out loud yesterday, his head curled down and focused on cleaning the rosin from his violin. Said it so absently that Jim had known right away it wasn't hiding hurt, or being passive-aggressive. You have no obligation, Jim. Just what Spock truly felt.
That's what decided him, in the end. Yeah, so what if it hasn't been that long? Jim doesn't think it's too soon. His mom's gonna be in town a day or so, and there's no point in not. Because no matter what happens from here on out--and Jim has an idea of how he'd like it to go, thank you very much, but even if it doesn't go like that--no matter what happens, Spock's always going to have been important to him at one point. Always. He's already made an indelible mark on Jim. There's no changing that; admitting to it won't do any more harm than trying not to. Jim's been down that stubborn road enough times to know that, and he's done with it.
"Is there anything I can do to ease you?" Spock mutters finally, still frowning. Jim grins and threads his fingers through Spock's in his pocket.
"C'n kiss me," he offers, sliding an impish hand over Spock's neck and bringing their lips together. Spock tastes like that stupidly strong organic chapstick he uses; Jim chases that out of his mouth until it doesn't taste like anything in particular, just tastes the way their kisses always taste, and his heart is humming.
They're interrupted before they can really get started by Jim's phone buzzing in his other pocket, though. With an exaggerated sigh, he pulls back and fishes it out. It's a text from his mom: in baggage claim, carousel 4. His breath catches, annoyingly enough--he scrunches his face up at himself and ignores it.
Be right there, he texts back, and pulls Spock along through the doors. He shoves the nervousness deep down into him where it'll be quiet, and forces himself forward through the crush of people, pretending his heart's not pounding.
He doesn't spot her until they're right on top of her, just about. The "Jim!" from his left side is a surprise, as is the sight of her standing right there, real as anything.
His stomach flips, and he gives her a lopsided smile and pulls her into a two-armed hug. "Hi, mom," he says into her hair, heart turning somersaults in his chest. She smells like she always does, like clean soap and some kind of roses, and a wave of homesickness punches through Jim's gut--memories of Iowa heat and winters reaching up out of nowhere and grabbing him firmly by the throat, whispering home.
He coughs and steps back, pulling the shield of a smile back up onto his face. She beams back at him, eyes a little teary and mouth a little twisted, like she doesn't know what to say. She never quite does. "Hi, mom," he says again more surely, smiling. Something in him settles a little.
"Hi, Jim," she says, hand hovering over his shoulder. "You look great."
He grins, full-on this time. "Thanks, you too. I'm doin' pretty good. Hey, speaking of--there's someone I want you to meet." He pivots on his feet and beams up at Spock, who's standing nervous and impassive behind him. When Jim's mom looks up at him, he offers a tiny curl of smile.
"This is my boyfriend," says Jim relishing the taste of the word. "Spock. Spock, this is my mom."
"Pleased to meet you," Spock says, holding out a hand in the picture of politeness.
Jim can see surprise and uncertainty warring on his mom's face, her eyes going a little wide. For a moment, his chest tightens, and then the moment's broken; she's smiling, more than a little awkward, but she's putting out her hand. She's putting out her hand, and she's smiling.
Jim finds he's smiling, too.
-
JFK is a zoo. It's two-thirty, which is prime rush hour in airports, so it's kind of expected--but seriously, Jim thinks, squinting around at the crush of cars, this is ridiculous. People are rushing in and out of spaces like their lives depend on it, and the drivers at the front of the taxi queue are exchanging glances so murderous they're making Jim feel nervous just standing there. He wouldn't be surprised if an all-out fight broke out. And aside from that, it's fucking loud--I missed yous and hurry ups and a million names all mashing together into this huge crazy cacophony that's digging itself under his skin and making him even more restless. It feels insane, and he can't help but wonder if it hasn't gotten crazier since the last time he's been here, even. He's fidgeting, he knows; hand tapping a rhythm in 7/8 against his thigh, a backing to everything.
Spock's voice cuts across it all with that leaden calm. "Jim, it is not necessary for us to carry this out if you are uncomfortable. I can take the subway back and meet up with you later, if you wish."
Jim smiles a little, and cants a sideways glance up at Spock. "Spock for 'we don't have to do this,' huh?" he says, and kisses the corner of Spock's jaw. "Yeah, I know. But we're gonna."
Spock frowns down at him. "I cannot help but notice that you seem highly agitated," he murmurs. "I believe it would be more prudent to wait for a time at which we can approach the situation with at least eighty-five percent confidence of a favorable outcome, Jim."
Jim has to smile again, at the tight concern coiled in Spock's voice and at the comfort of numbers. At the we. He makes his breathing calm a bit, and takes Spock's hand, pulling them both into his jacket pocket and rubbing his thumb over Spock's superheated palm. Spock lets him do so without a word, eyes full of worry, and Jim shakes his head a little.
"It's not because of that," he soothes. "She just--I dunno. She's my mom and I love her, don't get me wrong, but we don't always see eye to eye on stuff. That's all. I'd be 'agitated' if you weren't here, too," he says, shrugging and offering up a self-deprecating grin.
Spock's mouth pulls into a tight line, but he stays silent. Jim can see the thoughts running through his head as clearly as if they were written on sheet music: it would still make more sense to wait for a time when you are entirely ready, and I certainly cannot be helping matters, then, and it has only been a short while; you have no obligation, Jim.
That last one he actually said out loud yesterday, his head curled down and focused on cleaning the rosin from his violin. Said it so absently that Jim had known right away it wasn't hiding hurt, or being passive-aggressive. You have no obligation, Jim. Just what Spock truly felt.
That's what decided him, in the end. Yeah, so what if it hasn't been that long? Jim doesn't think it's too soon. His mom's gonna be in town a day or so, and there's no point in not. Because no matter what happens from here on out--and Jim has an idea of how he'd like it to go, thank you very much, but even if it doesn't go like that--no matter what happens, Spock's always going to have been important to him at one point. Always. He's already made an indelible mark on Jim. There's no changing that; admitting to it won't do any more harm than trying not to. Jim's been down that stubborn road enough times to know that, and he's done with it.
"Is there anything I can do to ease you?" Spock mutters finally, still frowning. Jim grins and threads his fingers through Spock's in his pocket.
"C'n kiss me," he offers, sliding an impish hand over Spock's neck and bringing their lips together. Spock tastes like that stupidly strong organic chapstick he uses; Jim chases that out of his mouth until it doesn't taste like anything in particular, just tastes the way their kisses always taste, and his heart is humming.
They're interrupted before they can really get started by Jim's phone buzzing in his other pocket, though. With an exaggerated sigh, he pulls back and fishes it out. It's a text from his mom: in baggage claim, carousel 4. His breath catches, annoyingly enough--he scrunches his face up at himself and ignores it.
Be right there, he texts back, and pulls Spock along through the doors. He shoves the nervousness deep down into him where it'll be quiet, and forces himself forward through the crush of people, pretending his heart's not pounding.
He doesn't spot her until they're right on top of her, just about. The "Jim!" from his left side is a surprise, as is the sight of her standing right there, real as anything.
His stomach flips, and he gives her a lopsided smile and pulls her into a two-armed hug. "Hi, mom," he says into her hair, heart turning somersaults in his chest. She smells like she always does, like clean soap and some kind of roses, and a wave of homesickness punches through Jim's gut--memories of Iowa heat and winters reaching up out of nowhere and grabbing him firmly by the throat, whispering home.
He coughs and steps back, pulling the shield of a smile back up onto his face. She beams back at him, eyes a little teary and mouth a little twisted, like she doesn't know what to say. She never quite does. "Hi, mom," he says again more surely, smiling. Something in him settles a little.
"Hi, Jim," she says, hand hovering over his shoulder. "You look great."
He grins, full-on this time. "Thanks, you too. I'm doin' pretty good. Hey, speaking of--there's someone I want you to meet." He pivots on his feet and beams up at Spock, who's standing nervous and impassive behind him. When Jim's mom looks up at him, he offers a tiny curl of smile.
"This is my boyfriend," says Jim relishing the taste of the word. "Spock. Spock, this is my mom."
"Pleased to meet you," Spock says, holding out a hand in the picture of politeness.
Jim can see surprise and uncertainty warring on his mom's face, her eyes going a little wide. For a moment, his chest tightens, and then the moment's broken; she's smiling, more than a little awkward, but she's putting out her hand. She's putting out her hand, and she's smiling.
Jim finds he's smiling, too.