We Are Gonna Be Friends: Year Five

[zjofierose]

 

2241 summer

Spock can remember the wedding as though it were yesterday. The seventh of July, an outdoor wedding, held in the Kirk's backyard. There was a canopy, but it did little to mitigate the heat and Spock was certain that he was the only person present who was anywhere near comfortable in the rising warmth as he watched Jim tug uselessly at the neck of his shirt. Where Jim looked sullen and uncomfortable, his older brother Sam looked downright mutinous. Sam had just turned fourteen in the last month, and seemed to have perfected a furious sneer as his default expression. The boys were both shoehorned into freshly pressed bluejeans and white shirts; matching skinny ties did nothing to transform them into anything approaching upstanding young men.

Spock watched Sam warily as he flicked a lighter from hand to hand- Sam was not a bad kid, necessarily, but Spock knew he was unhappy about the situation, and he wouldn't put it past him to make a scene.

Winona looked... pleased, Spock decided, waiting in the shade in her light blue dress. It had been a surprisingly logical choice for a human, he'd thought when he heard about her decision to remarry. She had made no protests of love, but simply claimed that it would all be easier with another adult around, and Frank was the best of the available options. Spock had thought it a sound decision, and had been completely unprepared for the punch Jim had thrown when Spock had said so. Where Sam's objections were personally directed at Frank, Jim's were more abstract. Tears had pooled in his blue eyes as he had told Spock and Amanda the news.

“How could she? How could she? She loved Dad, I know she did! How can she do this?”

Amanda had bitten her lip and held out her arms, wrapping them tight around him as he dissolved into messy sobs. Spock knew that his face reflected his utter befuddlement, and had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it sharply at the glare his mother shot him from over the top of Jim's blond head. Sometimes, she had told him more than once, there was no place for logic. This must be one of those times, he thought, and left the room.

Shaking his head, Spock pulled himself back to the moment. Frank was already at the front of the tent, standing at the end of the aisle that parted the thirty or so folding chairs set in wavering rows of five. He was red-faced, the tendrils of his light brown hair plastered to his forehead, and wrung a handkerchief back and forth in his fists, fidgeting slightly foot to foot. Spock considered him appraisingly. The options must not have been all that appealing, Spock thought to himself, if this was the best of them.

The wedding went off without a hitch, in spite of Sam's ever increasing glowers from the front row. There had been plenty of food, and more importantly, more than enough cold beer and lemonade to limit the cases of heat-stroke to one well-rounded great aunt who had neglected her sun hat. The sun itself had finally sunk behind the stalks of corn to the west, and the company had begun to disperse. His mother had left after nine with a wave and a stern directive to keep an eye on Jim. Her face had softened as she said the other boy's name, and Spock had nodded solemnly. He knew she worried. He did too.

It took a half hour before he located Jim down by the far edge of the cow pond. He had inadvertently come across Sam and his buddies drinking behind the barn, but had managed to avoid drawing their notice; Sam might be surly, but he wouldn't bother Spock. Concerning his friends, however, Spock was unsure, and he felt no particular desire to test the limits of their sociability while they were four beers into a six pack each.

It was the distant sound of splashes that alerted him to Jim's presence at last- he pushed past the last of the reeds, thanking the universe for the 793rd time that earth parasites such as ticks and mosquitos did not find his blood edible. His shoes sucked loose with a damp squelch as he neared the dark form seated on the grassy bank.

Jim's arm pulled back and arced as he launched another rock, skipping it smoothly across the silvered film of the watery surface. ...nine... ten...eleven. Delicate ripples spread silently at its passing, shivering in the moonlight long after the stone itself had come to rest in the warm mud of the far shore.

Spock settled himself gingerly on a log near the edge of the water. Shadows hid his friend’s face, and he made no move to acknowledge his visitor.

Spock waited.

He could identify at least three different kinds of frogs vocalizing in the dark; Rama cataesbeiana, the American bullfrog, a full grown male, by his estimate, off to the left at about a meter. Hundreds of Pseudacris crucifer, in full voice, much as their common name of “spring peepers” would suggest. He waited. Was it? Indeed- quite rare for this area, but unmistakably a Hyla cinerea. How, he wondered, did an American Green Tree Frog get so far from its usual habitats further south? Was it an abandoned pet? An escaped eagle's lunch?

Was it lonely?

Jim seemed to have exhausted the supply of suitably flattened stones in his immediate vicinity, and was now simply engaged in rocking his body back and forth. Spock knew that humans found repetitive motion soothing, but it always made him vaguely anxious to observe it in action. It spoke to a restless energy, a tension not controlled. Spock wished absently for his mother- she would know what should be said, what action could be taken. He did not.

Silent in the darkness, Spock sat among the cattails.

2241 fall

Spock was thoroughly enjoying himself. Truly, the exhibits at the Adler Planetarium were second to none, at least none in North America that he knew of. He had seen them before, but it had been a long time, and the recent upgrades to the holographic projectors made an enormous difference.

He could hear Jim’s breathing next to him as they stood, back to back, in the center of the darkened room. It was not a very big room, perhaps the size of a large bathroom, but when the simulator was turned on, you would never know. A simple flick of a switch, and the walls fell away into suspended darkness glittering with scatterings of solar systems, galaxies, stars.

“…the beauty of a living thing is not the atoms that go into it…” Spock muttered under his breath, turning slowly to view the large nebula seated midway along the x axis of the room.

“…but the way those atoms are put together.”

Spock smiled quietly in the darkness. Of course Jim would be able to finish that quote.

There was a loud snort from the darkness to his right.

“God, could you two be any nerdier? Honestly.”

Spock’s smile faded.

“Ugh, I can’t take it anymore. Not seeing the floor in here is making me sick. I’ll catch you two lovebirds when you’re done reciting nerd poetry to the stars.”

There was a flash of light, then a slam, as the door shut behind Sam.

“I hate him!” Jim’s whisper was heated. “He ruins everything.”

Spock repressed a sigh. The stars were no longer peaceful, but simply distant. The spell was broken. They were in a small hot room, staring at carefully manipulated points of light.

“Ready?”

“Yeah…”

Jim’s tone was still sullen, but Spock resisted saying anything. Jim would come out of it shortly- his moods could be intense, but they rarely lasted long. Spock considered this to be a quantifiable benefit. He pulled the door open, blinking at the sharpness of the normal light level against his optic nerve.

He located his mother, leaning against a railing, and Sam, further down the wall, scowling into the distance like the teenager he was. He knew Sam had been furious that he’d been forced to come along with Spock’s family and his little brother while Winona and Frank took a belated honeymoon, as he considered himself far too old to need supervision. He’d campaigned heatedly to be left at home.

Spock wished he’d been left at home too.

His mother caught his eye and smiled brightly, clapping her hands together.

“All right, boys. I have to go meet Sarek at the embassy for an hour or so, so I want you three to go ahead and get some lunch down in the food court.” She caught Spock’s eye. “Now, it might take longer than an hour because of traffic, so if you get bored, go ahead to the aquarium. But when I comm you, I want to know right where you are, ok?”

Spock nodded.

“Have your credit chit?”

He did not roll his eyes.

“Yes, mother.”

“Good boy.” She smiled at all of them again. “Ok, be good, and I’ll see you in a while.”

She turned and walked off, hailing a hover-taxi at the curb.

“Damn, Spock, but your mom’s hot. What the hell’s she doing with an alien, anyway?” Sam whistled under his breath.

“Sam…” Jim’s whisper was strained.

“Clearly she based her selection on qualifications of merit, rather than xenophobia.” Spock did not glare at Sam. “Considering the specimens of human male I have been acquainted with, I cannot fault her decision in any way.”

Jim looked appalled, but Sam just laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Touché, weirdo, touché.” His grin showed all of his teeth. “You do realize you just insulted little Jimmy here too, right?”

Spock paused. He had not. He turned apologetically to Jim, who was ignoring them both, and Sam laughed again.

“C’mon, nerdlings. Let’s get some grub.”

The food court was bustling, but Spock was able to locate a vegetarian meal and a table with relative ease. He could see Sam in another line, shadowed by Jim, who was apparently arguing with him. Nothing new there, Spock thought. Occasionally he had wished for a sibling, but watching Jim and Sam together made him very pleased indeed that he was an only child.

Sam made his way over, balancing a tray heaped with pizza, chips, and an Andorian bubble-spice tea, slouching into his seat and starting to inhale a large slice dripping with melted cheese. Jim settled in next to him, empty handed, and stared at the table.

Spock frowned.

“Jim, you don’t have any lunch.”

He looked up quickly, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

“I’m… not hungry.” He glanced away again.

Sam grinned, making a show of licking tomato sauce off his fingers-there was clearly something going on here, but Spock didn’t want to push it. It undoubtedly had to do with whatever it had been that they were arguing over earlier, and he had no desire to re-open a debate.

“What portion of the exhibit did you find most engaging, Jim?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Spock shoveled another forkful of broccoli and rice into his mouth, watching as Jim unconsciously licked his lips.

“The holographic projection room.” His expression got dreamy. “I can’t wait to be older, so I can go into space.”

“Indeed.” Spock chewed contentedly. “It is only another eight years until you are eligible for the Starfleet advanced training exams.”

Sam groaned and elbowed Jim.

“Jimmy, really? You’re really just going to do everything this kid” he gestured dismissively at Spock “says, for the next eight years?” He leaned in, a string of cheese hanging from the side of his mouth. “Don’t you have your own opinions? You don’t need to do what he says.” He poked a finger into Jim’s ribs, leaving a greasy spot. “Be your own man. Do what you want to do.” He shoved the last of his pizza in his mouth, gave a cursory wipe to his mouth and hands with a napkin, then shoved his tray and utensils into the slot in the middle of the table.

“I’m off. See you losers later.”

He stood up, his chair dragging a noisy scrape across the tile.

“Oh, and Jimmy? Try not to eat your shirt; we don’t have any more at home.”

He was gone, sauntering off without a backward glance.

A flush rose in Jim’s cheeks, and he directed a pointed stare at the table, the pink becoming even more pronounced as the distinct rumble of his stomach made itself heard over the bustle of the food court.

Spock pushed the rest of his meal over to Jim without a word, receiving in return a look of equal parts anger and gratitude. He picked up the fork and dug in, eating quickly and neatly, rice and broccoli and peas disappearing at a surprising speed.

“Your mother forgot to give you money?”

Jim winces.

“Yeah.”

“And Sam…?”

Jim sunk even lower in his chair.

“He stole her access code and transferred money to his chit before they left. Said I shoulda thought of it too.”

Spock shrugged.

“There is nothing wrong with not thinking to be dishonest.” He leaned back in his chair, shifting on the hard plastic. “Hurry up. Then we can go see the sharks before your brother comes back.”

Jim’s face brightened, and he nodded enthusiastically as he dug his spork into the food again.

2242 winter

It was rare anymore that Spock stayed over at Jim’s house- Jim had been spending less and less time at home and more and more over at the houses of his friends, Spock in particular. But since his father was on Vulcan for the month of January, and since his mother had wished to accompany him, it had been agreed that Spock could stay at Jim’s house for the two weeks of both his parent’s absence. Spock had looked forward to it- when they were younger, they had slept at each other’s houses as often as their own, but sometime in the last year that had changed. Jim, conversely, had seemed surprised by the announcement, and had even argued against it, much to Spock’s chagrin. When Spock had confronted him about his behavior, Jim had shrugged and bit his lip, then changed the subject.

Now, Spock understood.

It had only been fifteen minutes into dinner when the arguing had started- Frank had asked Sam if he had performed his chores in a timely manner, and Sam had replied that he had not, nor was he likely to. Winona had questioned Sam as to why he did not display an appropriate level of respect to his step-father, and the scene had devolved from there. Spock had found himself equal parts horrified at such an undignified display, and fascinated at viewing a side of human behavior he had yet to experience. Jim was clearly mortified, shoveling his food into his mouth as fast as possible before grabbing Spock’s plate and his sleeve to pull him out of the room. Spock had resisted initially, thinking it the least he could do to finish his meal politely, but when Sam had flung his glass to shatter against the dining room wall, Spock had followed Jim upstairs, judging it the better part of valor to remove himself from the scene.

The fight continued downstairs unabated, shouts rattling through the clapboards of the farmhouse which did nothing to muffle the words of the participants.

“You will not live in my house and act like this!”

“It’s not your house, you bastard, it’s mom’s house!”

“Please, Sam, just let it go…”

“Who the hell do you think pays for things around here, anyway? It sure as hell ain’t you, kid!”

“What, and you think I care? I can take care of myself, you arrogant prick!”

“Sam!”

“You think that just because you’re fucking my mother, you can tell me what to do? Well, fuck you, man, I don’t have to take this shit. You’re not my father, and you I’m not your fucking son!”

“Don’t you talk to me that way, you little son of a bitch! Get your ass back here, I’m not done with you!”

The sounds of a chair hitting the floor, a door slamming with a bang, and then a second door, echoed through the house. Sam and Frank must both have left, either to continue their fight elsewhere or to seek absolution in solitude. Silence reigned briefly, broken after a minute by the muffled but distinctive sounds of Winona sobbing at the kitchen table.

Spock was appalled.

He risked a glance at Jim from where he sat at Jim’s desk. Jim was seated cross-legged on his bed, curled forward over his math book, pencil clutched in a death grip in his fist as he scowled ferociously at his homework. His face was red, and he rubbed furiously at his nose, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Spock’s gaze.

“Jim, I…”

“Fuck, Spock, just… just leave it. Leave it alone.”

Spock could feel his eyebrows climb in incredulity at his friend as Jim raised a fist to scrub against his eyes, his pencil lead snapping as he pressed it against the paper. He growled under his breath, wound tight and aching, and threw the pencil against the wall where it clattered harmlessly to the floor. He fell forward across his legs, face pressed to the open book, and lay there unmoving. Spock could see his back rising and falling rhythmically, slow breaths seeking control.

“Jim…” Spock could see him flinch, even from across the room “Perhaps it is time for us to retire for the evening.” Jim’s back rose once, a deep breath, and then he nodded.

Spock changed into his pajamas, back to his friend, and fastidiously folded his clothes. He placed them on the desk chair, retrieved his toothbrush and paste, and retired to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. If the darkness under Sam’s door down the hall was any indication, he had not yet returned from wherever it was that he had retreated to. Downstairs Winona had seemingly ceased to cry, and Spock could hear her lowered voice rising in counterpoint to Frank’s deeper mumble. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, used the toilet, and padded barefoot back into Jim’s room.

Jim was still crumpled face down over his book, and listening closely, Spock could hear that his breathing had deepened into a gentle snore. He recalled that his friend had been looking less and less rested in the previous couple of months, and given the scene he had witnessed that evening, he could certainly understand why. He felt his hands clench at his sides, an ineffective emotional tell of the turmoil he could feel churning in his gut. He found himself utterly at a loss to explain Sam’s behavior, in spite of the obvious excuses of hormones and frustrations, but even more than Sam’s actions, he could not justify, or even comprehend, Frank’s attacks against the boy. Perhaps it was biological, he mused, a new male in the pack attempting to dominate the weaker, but previously high status, male.

Most inexplicable to him, however, was Winona’s failure to defend her son, and to allow her younger son to witness the scene. A scene which, as Spock now recognized, must have become commonplace in the Kirk household. He tried to imagine his own mother permitting him to observe such an altercation, and failed. Children were meant to be protected by their parents, given love and nurturance, and shielded from the more distressing interactions of adults. That Jim was such a casual bystander to an emotional outburst that so clearly wounded him made Spock’s chest clench as he looked at the tousled head in front of him.

Exerting his controls, Spock calmed himself. Jim had already shown himself more than proficient at discerning Spock’s mood and mental state, and it would not help him if he was aware that Spock was equally unsettled by the tenor of the night.

“Jim.” There was a hitch in the breathing. “Jim, you must prepare yourself for sleep.”

Jim slowly uncurled, arms stretching overheard as he yawned voluminously. He scrubbed at his eyes with both fists, and stumbled off the bed, staggering up against Spock as he fumbled to the door. Spock hands gripped Jim’s arms in reflex, hauling him upright before releasing him toward the door. Jim was sleep-warm and golden, and his touch hummed through Spock’s hands even after he had tottered off to perform his nightly ablutions.

Spock turned off the light and crawled under the covers of Jim’s double bed. He straightened his legs, crossed his arms across his chest, and began to regulate his breathing down into the optimal levels to enter into the alpha wave stage of early sleep. It was not until he felt the warmth and weight of his friend settle onto the mattress beside him that he fully relaxed his shields and succumbed to sleep.

Spock awoke suddenly and fully and froze, waiting for whatever had woken him to show itself. The glow of the nightlight pervaded the room, drenching the walls in a deceptively gentle tinge, and he held his breath instinctively, senses at full alert. The chronometer shone a green 0302 hours. It was just as he was beginning to release his held breath that Jim moaned again, a broken sound which shuddered through the empty room. Spock twitched. He turned his gaze to the lump of covers next to him, only to furrow his brow in dismay. Jim had thrown off the covers and twisted up on his side, his back facing Spock. One arm was clutched into the pillow beneath his head, the other thrown up over his face, as though to ward off an unseen enemy. He moaned again, louder and more urgently.

A nightmare. Spock had never seen one, himself. He dreamed very rarely, and when he did, it was of insubstantial wisps, faint paths of imagining which did not linger in the light of day. This, this thing which had Jim’s fist clenching and releasing, his eyes squinched shut in fear, this was something all together different.

Clearly Jim needed to wake up, but he seemed equally clearly unable to achieve this end on his own. Assistance would be necessary. Spock could remember his mother telling tales of a sister who used to punch in her sleep if awoken improperly, and so it was with extreme caution that he reached his arm over to touch his bedmate as he called his name.

“Jim?” The reaction was instantaneous to the touch of Spock’s hand on his skin- Jim flung out his arm, catching Spock sharply across the jaw, and was out of bed and flattened against the wall in a heartbeat. Spock could see the glint of the whites of his eyes, but based on the waves of fear and hatred Jim was broadcasting, Spock did not believe him to be fully awake.

“Jim?” he whispered softly, putting as much calm into his tone as possible, “Jim, I am going to approach you. Please stay still.”

Jim whimpered. Spock levered himself out of the bed and walked slowly and carefully over to his friend, hands in front of him, speaking as softly as he could. “Jim, it was only a dream. Whatever you were seeing was not real. You are in your bedroom, in your house, and I am your friend. There is no cause for anxiety here.” He consoled himself with the knowledge that this was at least superficially true, in terms of physical endangerment at the least. “Jim, I’m going to touch you now- please attempt to relax.”

The second that Spock’s fingers touched Jim’s flesh, Jim flung himself upon his friend, clutching him desperately around the neck. Flashes of the dream poured through their connection, fragments of scenery and an overwhelming sense of sheer terror, before Spock slammed his shields up. Jim was gasping gently into his neck, and Spock found his hands wandering soothingly over his friend’s back in a gesture he recognized distantly as his mother’s. Jim was awake now, but only just, and Spock walked him gently back to the bed in order to begin the process of reassurance and relaxation.

It was then that he realized the bed was wet.

Spock sighed inwardly, but there was nothing to be done. He settled Jim on the floor against the wall, peeling his clutching fingers off his neck one by one, and shoving Jim’s pillow into his arms. He stripped the bed methodically, wadding the sheets into a bundle and setting the covers aside. If he were at his house, he would have put them to soak, but it was far too late for it to be excusable for him to be wandering around a strange house attempting to begin a load of laundry. He settled for shoving the pile into the corner of Jim’s closet and vowing to himself that he would deal with it appropriately in the morning. He indulged in a rare exhibition of his superior strength in order to flip the mattress, and covered it with a sleeping bag he found on the closet shelf. The blankets and pillows, thankfully, were fine, and when he was finished, he turned back to his friend.

Jim was seated where he had left him, knees drawn up, and head in his hands. His face, Spock could see, where not covered by his fingers, was a particularly deep shade of red. Spock knelt in front of him, and resignedly peeled his fingers back one by one.

“Jim. It is late, and we are both tired. Come back to bed.”

Jim refused to meet his eyes, yanking his hands back to tuck around his knees.

“You take the bed, Spock. I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

Spock frowned. “Jim, it is illogical to be embarrassed by an involuntary bodily action. I am not upset, and I do not comprehend why you are. You will not sleep on the floor. Do not make me carry you- I will do it, and you will not like it.”

Jim glared at him, face still red, but pulled himself off the floor and stalked to the dresser, where he grabbed a pair of briefs and a fresh pair of pajama bottoms before stomping off to the bathroom. Spock climbed into bed for the second time that night, straightening his legs and crossing his arms, and waited.

When Jim returned, he climbed into bed and immediately curled into a ball at the far side of the bed, as far from Spock as it was possible for him to be while still maintaining residence on the same mattress. Spock could feel the mattress trembling, whether from tension or tears he could not say.

“Jim…” He paused. “Please correct me if I am wrong in assuming that the occurrence of nightmares has become a common thing for you.” The silence in the room was resounding. Spock nodded to himself. “I… I have something that, with your permission, might be able to help.”

He waited. After a moment, the form next to him rolled over, and he found himself staring into huge blue eyes.

“Ok.” The word was a whisper, but sure.

“You have no questions?”

“No, Spock.” Jim sighed, blinking his eyes closed, then open again. “I trust you.”

It was interesting to notice, as Spock did, that his hand was shaking just slightly as he stretched his fingertips toward his bedmate’s face. He could feel the rush of thoughts, of electricity beneath the heat of Jim’s skin, pricks of lightning as he slid his fingers onto the meld points. “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts”, the words he had heard from his father time and time again, and then all thoughts of his family disappeared as he was slammed with the essence of Jim.

Shame/rage/embarrassment/anger/mortification/self-loathing/shame/hurt/Spock/fear/affection/trust/respect/shame/loyalty/devotion/need. Jim’s thoughts were a flood, circling and spinning, chasing their own tails through the landscape of his mind. No wonder, Spock thought very privately to himself, that he couldn’t sleep. He began to extricate himself from the turbulent flow, surprised at the strength with which Jim’s mind clutched at his instinctively. He broadcast soothing affection, a calm reassurance undergirded with a sense of warmth and security. Reaching deeper, he sent the suggestion that these dreams were unnecessary, and, pushing the thoughts before him into the depths of Jim’s unconsciousness, that in fact Jim did not need to have any more nightmares. He could feel from a distance that his friend had curled around him, their bodies mirroring their mental connection. Reluctantly he withdrew himself, pushing back the winding tendrils of Jim’s mind that sought to keep him. Sleep, he pushed into the space behind him, sleep, I am with you.

He pulled his fingers from the meld points, flexing his digits and marveling at the delicate tingle that remained on the pads of his fingers. He was exhausted. Jim was twisted around him, a leg hooked over his calf, arms wrapped tight around his ribcage, and his head tucked decisively beneath Spock’s chin.

It was illogical to move him, Spock thought drowsily, and would no doubt upset him. It was the obviously right thing to do to pull him closer, Spock mused, closing his grip as he drifted off to sleep.

2242 late spring

It was nearly noon on a Sunday when Spock walked up the broken concrete sidewalk to the Kirk house. Jim had told him the day before that they had plans to do a Father’s Day brunch for Frank, but it should be done by eleven or so, and then they could go out to the barn and work on their Constellation class model some more, if he wanted.

Spock had finished all his homework the day before, but had studiously waited until forty five minutes past the time which Jim had stipulated before letting the screen door of his house snap shut behind him as he headed out.

Now approaching the house, he could hear raised voices, and as he paused, hesitating, at the edge of the yard, the front door slammed open, then shut, disgorging a red-faced Sam.

He was clutching his sneakers, and flung himself onto the front steps to shove them roughly on to his feet, his entire body radiating anger and stress. He raised his head and caught sight of Spock, a range of thoughts seeming to flicker across his face before he raised his arm and beckoned to him.

“Hey, nerdling, get your skinny ass over here.”

Spock wanted to resist, but since he was intending to go to the house anyway, it made little sense to avoid it. He walked carefully over.

“Look.” Sam bent, yanking the laces of a worn-out sneaker tight before beginning to tie it, with short, jerky motions. “Look. You’re Jimmy’s best friend. I think you’re a geek of unprecedented proportions”, he paused to begin on the other shoe, “and you’ve got a superiority complex the size of a barn. And you’ve got really ridiculous ears. But” he paused, looked Spock dead in the eye. “But… you care about Jimmy. I can see it. Mom can see it. A fucking blind man could see it.” He bent to his shoe again. “I… I might not be around here too much longer. I turned fifteen two weeks ago, and I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

He finished with his laces and stood, brushing the dust off his jean shorts. “I don’t trust Frank. He hasn’t done anything yet, not that I know of, but I don’t like him. I don’t like him at all, and he doesn’t like me. And he doesn’t like Jimmy, not really, but Jimmy…” He rubbed at his hair, stared off at the horizon where it smudged with heat in the distance. “Jimmy’s gonna keep trying till it bites him in the ass. That’s just how he is.” He turned to face Spock again, face as serious as his fifteen years could make it. “I just need to know that you’ll keep an eye on him.”

Spock nodded once, his face solemn.

“Good man.” Sam slapped him on the shoulder, making him stagger sideways. Sam was already off, jogging down the drive, his lanky stride eating up the distance with tiny puffs of dust trailing his feet.

He could smell the scent of burning eggs before he entered the dining room, but the sight that greeted him was not what he expected. The remains of breakfast were strewn across the large oak table, some of it half-eaten on plates, some of it on the floor in a pile with broken crockery. A vase of flowers was lying on its side, the pool of spilled water dripping with a steady rhythm onto the floor.

He circled the room on wary feet, heading for the far corner where he could see a pair of familiar sneakers sticking out past the edge of the table. The sounds of Winona and Frank arguing echoed down from the upstairs, coupled with an occasional door slam.

“…Jim?”

Jim sat up so abruptly he whacked the top of his head against the underside of the table, falling back down and clutching his skull.

“Ow, goddamit, Spock!”

Folding his hands behind his back, Spock approached, his eyes studying his friend with trepidation.

“Jim? Are you all right? What are you doing?”

The look on Jim’s face was beyond furious. He looked absolutely incandescent with rage, and the screwdriver he grasped in his hand shook slightly with his grip.

Spock squashed the leap of fear in his chest.

“Jim? What are you doing?”

His blue eyes glowed in the dim light, his mouth set in an unwavering line.

“I. Am. Taking. Apart.” He gasped for breath. “The. God. Damn. Furnace.”

Giving it a swift once-over, Spock could see now the source of the stench. A plate of eggs had been flipped into the two-foot by three-foot heating grate in the corner of the room. The eggs themselves, or the remains of the eggs, were resting on the heating element, smoking and turning black.

Jim had already managed to remove five of the six long screws holding the large metal frame in place, which Spock thought was rather impressive, considering the evident tremble in his hand.

However. The eggs were not a fire hazard. Jim, meanwhile, was beginning to move from red-faced to purple-faced as the wheeze in his gasps intensified.

Spock pried the screwdriver out of his hand and hauled him to his feet, tucking him firmly under his arm and steering him out the backdoor and down onto the grass.

It was a matter of yards to the shade of the trees along the creek, where Spock pushed Jim down onto the grass, forcing his head between his knees.

“Breathe. Slowly”, he commanded, allowing none of his dread to color his tone.

Jim wheezed for another minute, his hands clutching and releasing at the air, before raising his face to Spock’s, his eyes wide with fear.

“Spock. Help. Can’t…” his fingers gripped at Spock’s arms, tight with nerves.

Spock bit his lip, then raised his fingers to Jim’s heated face, aligning his digits with the meld points. It was the only solution he could see.

The tingle of tiny lightning strikes to a thousand nerve ends, and he was in, pushing his way into Jim’s mind and issuing a firm order for calm. He found the centers for bioresponse, turning down the adrenaline, upping oxygen reception and lowering blood pressure, just as he would in his own mind. All of a sudden he could feel Jim’s body relax against him as he returned Jim’s system to normal, and he breathed a mental sigh of relief.

He allowed himself to relax into the meld, looking around for Jim, reaching out feelers and drawing his friend’s consciousness to him.

There; Jim’s mental self stood before him, a look of confusion and delight stamped on his mobile features.

“Spock? Is that you? Where are we?” He stared around himself, wrapping his arms around his thin frame and gazing wonderingly at the deep purple sky which arched unbroken above them. The stars were much closer here, and there was a distinctive coppery flavor to the dust in the air.

Spock closed his eyes and inhaled.

“We are in the meld.”

“Wow…”

Spock smiled. Succinct, as usual, that was Jim.

“Jim…” he stretched out a hand to his friend. “It is important that you learn to control your physical responses. You cannot allow your biology to handicap you. Here…”

He took Jim’s hand in his own, stretching it out to the horizon, steadfastly ignoring the small blue sparks that leaped where their skin connected. “Feel- these threads are the controls to your bio-physio responses. Open your mind and feel your body. Can you sense yourself?”

Jim had closed his eyes, his brow wrinkling in concentration.

“Yes…”

“Ok. Now- adjust your breathing.” The tip of Jim’s tongue stuck out of his mouth, but his mind moved instinctively to follow the thread of Spock’s. “Good. Now your pulse.” Spock moved Jim’s hand. “Here.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Good. Now, without me, find your blood pressure, blood oxygenation, and adrenaline levels.”

“There?”

“Yes, very good. Now, adjust them slightly, and feel your body’s response.”

“Oh… OH. Huh.”
“Excellent. Now, release them.”

“Ahh… ok. There. Is that right?”

Spock smiled again. “Yes. You did very well.” He released Jim’s hand, repressing the wave of disappointment at the loss of contact. “It will be harder for you to learn to reach this space without my assistance, but I am sure you are capable of it.” He frowned slightly. “We will need to teach you to meditate properly…”

Jim nodded, then yawned, his jaw cracking audibly.

Spock nodded. “The adrenalin is leaving your system. You will be sleepy. We should end the meld now.”

The look Jim gave him was reluctant. “But it’s so nice here…” His eyes lit from behind with a hint of excitement. “Can we do this again?”

Spock looked away.

“Melding is not something to be used lightly or frequently, Jim. It is very private and very personal.” He stepped back. “Come. It’s time.”

He pulled his fingers away from the meld points, noticing absently that he again had to pull off tendrils of Jim’s psyche which had clung, vinelike, to his mind. He didn’t know what that could mean; he filed it away to ask his father later.

He shook his head, focusing on the face in front of him. Jim’s hair was a riot, and though his skin was pale under his freckles, his eyes were as brilliantly blue as ever, staring back up at Spock.

Jim sighed, closing his eyes and shoving himself firmly up against Spock’s side. He looped an arm over Spock’s chest, hooked a skinny ankle over his calf, and promptly began to snore softly.

Spock blinked down at his friend, caught off guard. He shifted slightly, moving his back around the tree root digging into his shoulder blade. Jim simply clutched tighter.

Spock sighed. Moving Jim before he woke up seemed counter-productive.

He shrugged down until he was lying flat on his back, one hand coming up to hold Jim’s head against him as he moved. He could feel the quirk of Jim’s mouth as he smiled in his sleep.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. The air was warm, and if his fingers slipped into Jim’s hair as he drifted off, well, no one would be the wiser

Baby Brother

Hey

My little baby brother used to play down on the floor
But now he's not satisfied to do it anymore
He's got a funny habit and I don't know why
He walks around the ceiling, stepping on the flies

Baby brother, baby brother
Well he learnt to crawl
On the kitchen wall
Baby brother

Well just the other day, well-a bless-a my soul
I found him swimming round in the goldfish bowl
Since nobody told him that he hadn't oughta
He swam around for hours, with his head underwater

Baby brother, baby brother
Well you may swim all you wish
But don't eat the fish
Baby brother

Well, my little baby brother, he's a cute little cuss
But it's plain to see that he's not one of us
Where did we get him? I know you're gonna ask it
We found him on the porch in a crazy little basket

Baby brother, baby brother
Although your hair is blue
We think the world of you
Baby brother

Well, I bought my baby brother a toy balloon
He let it get away and it floated toward the moon
Instead of crying he climbed up on the fence
Started flapping his arms and we ain't seen him since

Baby brother, baby brother
Although he's out in outer space
I can still see his face
Baby brother

Although you're out in outer space
I can still see your face
Baby brother.