We Are Gonna Be Friends: year seven
Title: I'm Slowly Turning Into You
Universe/Series: AU
Rating: R for language
Relationship status: First Time (eventually)
Word count: 3,849
Genre: h/c, angst
Trope: kid!fic, family, friendship
Warnings: a tiny bit of language for this part, and eventual underage sexual activity.
Pairing: k/s, no others.
Beta: the magnificent, the glorious, the loquacious 13empress, object of my logical adoration.
Summary: written for this prompt on the kink-meme. which then ballooned like a motherfuc monster. Spock and Kirk meet as kids, to the theme of the White Stripes "We Are Gonna Be Friends"
A/N: So,originally supposed to be brief, now it is a 12 parter to the original theme of the song "we are gonna be friends", with each chapter named for a white stripes song. honestly? i wasn't even that huge a ws fan before i wrote this, but they've definitely grown on me. i recommend listening to the songs for each chapter- i'll try to include a you-tube link to the songs at the end.
A/N pt 2: Thank you so much to anyone who has stuck through this hiatus with me, I really appreciate it. It's been a rough little while; the job is going well, but it and the classes eat my time. Then I got an infected toe, then the boy got an infected foot, and then the boy got KIDNEY STONES. wtf? annnd then there is the big bang I'm (still) writing. But hey, i got a line on kink!bingo! go me! and my rpf big bang has finally been claimed, hooray! so, life is good.
The next update to this *should* be on time, because it's already mostly written. just needs some brush ups, as I recall. so, probably monday or tuesday. we'll see how it goes.
A/N pt 3: This chapter is dedicated to Renee, aka easilymused1956 , who passed away recently. I can't say I knew her well, but she had read this fic and commented on it, and always had something nice to say. RIP Renee, thrusters on full.
(approx. ages for this bit- 11/12 and 13/14)
2243 fall
The sound of the pneumatic drill was loud in the confines of the shed, and Spock covered his ears against the repetitive whine. Jim had his tongue sticking out again, caught in the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, focused entirely on the task at hand. The metal bent, then screamed, then gave as the screw pushed through the plating, driven inexorably by the machine propelling it.
There was a sudden curse, followed immediately by a crash and an immense clatter as the clamps holding the oil pan in place fell, dropping the pan to the floor and spraying highly refined engine lubricant all over the room and its occupants.
Spock could feel his face move through expressions; first shock, then horror, then resignation. Jim jumped straight to hilarity, falling over on his back and rolling on the floor while howling with laughter.
He paused for a second to catch a breath, locked eyes with Spock, and was off again, kicking his heels against the floor as he gasped for breath.
“Oh… god… Spock…”
Spock twitched an eyebrow. He could feel his annoyance rising. This was how it always went. Jim would make some mistake, and then mock Spock for the result of the outcome. He pressed the irritation down, and raised his sleeve to wipe his face.
“If you could just see yourself…” Jim was calming a bit, though his breath still wheezed with laughter. “It’s just… you’ve got… your eyebrow…” he dissolved into giggles again.
Spock scowled, and scrubbed at his face again with his sleeve.
“Better?”
Jim looked up, tears pooling on his red cheeks.
“Well… mostly.” He smiled carefully, his face beginning to register awareness of Spock’s blackened mood. “Just… in your eyebrow…” he gestured and Spock rubbed again, but the look on Jim’s face didn’t change. “Here, let me just…”
Jim stood up and walked over, licking his thumb and rubbing it across Spock’s brow before Spock could blink.
His ears roared and his heart pounded as his mind was suddenly flooded with images; Jim licking a finger and running it down Spocks ear, Spock taking Jim’s hands into his mouth and tasting them, Jim licking into Spock’s mouth as he slid his hands down bare flesh…
Spock took a shaky step backward, exhaling hard through his mouth.
“I… need a moment.” He gestured desperately to the door. “Be right back.”
A frown crossed Jim’s face, but Spock was already gone, doing his best not to sprint to the barn door, then opening it and collapsing in the dark.
He leaned against the barn wall, forcing his mind to ground itself and center, calming his racing pulse, adjusting his circulation and blood flow. He breathed in and out through his nose, releasing his sudden fear and anxiety, allowing the cool calm of the autumn night to seep into his overheated flesh.
His father had warned him that there would be moments like these. His parents had made the choice to leave him unbonded, a choice which Spock still appreciated and agreed with. But it was not without its side effects. The bond, or so Spock had been told, helped to anchor the adolescent mind, allowing it to “check in”, as it were, with a peer, an equal, a mate. This had a stabilizing influence in the face of rapid physical and psychological change, allowing bonded individuals to ride out adolescence somewhat more smoothly than their unbonded counterparts.
He had been warned.
Sudden spikes of seemingly unwarranted rage, or jealousy, or devotion. Or lust.
It was logical that Jim had the ability to trigger these feelings, he knew that. He had known Jim longer than any person other than his parents. Jim and he spent a lot of time together, both now, and in their more formative years. He and Jim were good friends, who shared space and thoughts and words and time.
It was logical.
Which did not, he reflected, make it any less disconcerting.
The door beside him opened and closed, disgorging his friend, now cleaned of the grease splatters and proffering a clean rag.
“Here.” He settled down a foot away from Spock, holding out the rag at arm’s length. “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t want to be touched.”
Spock could hear the remembered rejection in that voice, and sighed inwardly. He had done that badly, and Jim had still not forgiven him entirely. It was deserved, he supposed.
“No.” He took the rag and rubbed it across his face methodically, making sure to cover every inch. “It was not that.”
Jim shifted thoughtfully, his face glowing pale in the dim light.
“You… wanna tell me what it was?”
Spock froze, his brain swirling. Even here in the dark, without contact, he was hyper-aware of Jim’s presence. Every atom in his body seemed attuned to the being next to him, reaching out on a molecular level for some sort of link.
“Jim…”
“It’s ok if you don’t. I understand.” It was the resignation in his voice that decided him, and Spock wrapped his arms around his knees, clutching his own wrists as he cleared his throat.
“Jim… you know that I am unbonded.”
A shift in the dark indicated a nod.
“Most Vulcans are bonded around the age of seven or eight.” He swallowed. “Not all. But most. For… several reasons.”
Jim nodded again.
“Our people feel very deeply. Any Vulcan will tell you that. It is logic that permits us to control our actions, but we still feel.”
“Spock…” It never failed to impress him that Jim could convey an eyeroll in vocal tone. “I know Vulcan history. You guys were crazy passionate, and then there was Surak and you all became logical, yada yada yada.” He made a dismissive hand gesture. “Get on with it.”
“One reason is to allow adolescence to be less tumultuous.” Spock had to force himself to continue. He’s grateful for the bad lighting; it means that he doesn’t have to look Jim in the eye. “A bonded mind is a more stable mind. It has a partner with which to center itself, to balance itself, to…” he trailed off. It was a hard concept to communicate.
“To give a reality check?”
“…yes, of sorts. Anyway, those of us who are unbonded… we experience something closer to what our pre-Surak ancestors dealt with.” He bowed his head. “Moments of pure emotion. Of irrationality.”
“Oh…” Comprehension was clear in Jim’s voice. “So, that was you having an irrational moment of upset?”
“…yes.” Upset was certainly one word for it, Spock thought. No need to clarify.
“I apologize for reacting badly.”
“It’s ok, buddy.” Jim tweaked the tip of his ear, and Spock nearly choked. “It’s all good.”
2243 winter
“Spock?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Can you come here for a sec?”
Spock closed his book, carefully marking the page before laying it on the end table and wandering into the kitchen.
His mother was seated at the large kitchen table, completely surrounded by seeds, dirt, and assorted gardening detritus. Spock lifted an eyebrow in amusement at the sight.
“Feeding many?”
Amanda shot him a dire look.
“You laugh, boyo. But we all know how you go through the pickled okra. Don’t tease the hand that feeds you.” She peered mock-sternly over her reading glasses at him, and he pulled out a chair in an attempt at meekness.
“No, Mother, I won’t Mother, how can I help you, Mother?”
She reached over and smacked his arm, biting back a smile.
“Smart ass.”
Her face resumed its look of concentration as she pressed a finger into the center of a cube of dirt, leaving a small oval depression. Dirt made half moons under all of the nails on her left hand, a direct result of the line of seeded cubes on a tray at the far end of the table.
“Spock, I wanted to talk to you about Jimmy.”
Spock folded his arms. She selected three seeds, carefully settling them into the depression, pressing lightly before placing the cube in a row of others on the tray to her right.
“I’m worried about him”
“You and everyone else, Mother.”
“Oh, I know.” She took another cube and set it in front of her, rifling through a stack of seed packets before pulling one with a cheery illustration of ripe red tomatoes and opening it. “But I’m worried about his relationship with us.” She frowned, tipped the seeds onto the table in front of her.
“What do you mean?”
“Not his relationship with you.” She looked up, met his eyes. “I know you two are very close. And that’s fine.” She looked down again, and Spock could feel the flush rising in his face. Close. Yes. His mother knew more than she let on, it would be to his benefit to remember that.
“It’s just…” she sighed, and moved the seeds around with her fingernail, dividing them into piles before pushing them together again. “He’s awfully attached to all of us, Spock. He’s over here all the time. He eats meals with us, sleeps over, comes on the occasional weekend away…” Her voice trailed off. “You know I love the kid to pieces, Spock, but it’s not healthy. I worry about him getting too attached. He has a family, even if they are a bunch of losers, at least as far as I can tell.” She scowled ferociously, and Spock was suddenly reminded of the old phrase ‘if looks could kill’.
“He accidentally called me ‘mom’ the other day, Spock.” Her voice caught, and Spock felt his breath freeze in his throat. “I don’t know who was more horrified, him or me. I mean, if she were dead, or had actually abandoned him, or if he were a foster kid, or something, anything else…” She looked up at him again, willing him to understand.
“But he’s not.” His voice was steady.
“No. He’s not.”
She began moving abruptly, scraping seeds into envelopes, moving dirt around on the tray.
“And Spock, we’re not always going to be around. We go to Vulcan every summer. Sometimes more often. You’re older than he is; at some point, you’re going to finish school and leave, and what happens then?” She looked him, and he felt caught. The concern was plain in her eyes, and he knew it was echoed in his own.
“Anyway.” She brushed the dirt off the table and into her hand, rising to dump it into the compost bucket that stood by the sink. “Your father and I have to go to dinner tonight, that Andorian thing.” She waved a hand absently, shutting the cabinet door.
He nodded.
“We’ll be back late- feed yourself, ok?”
“Yes, mother.”
She smiled at him, ruffled his hair, then turned, sweeping past where he stood motionless to mount the stairs, her tread echoing in the nearly empty house.
2244 spring
“Hey Spock?”
Spock looked up from the fretboard of his lyre.
“Yes?”
“Will you do that thing again?”
Spock played a few more bars. The F string was slightly out of tune. He would need to replace it sooner, rather then later.
“ ‘that thing’?”
“You know…”
Jim waggled his fingers vaguely at Spock before arranging them haphazardly on his face. His homework lay forgotten on the bed in front of him, the stylus abandoned in a fold of the quilt.
Spock bent his head to the fretboard again, plucking a note and frowning slightly. Maybe it was the peg holding the F string that needed replacing. Really it was the Earth humidity that was the problem; how were you supposed to keep a wooden instrument tuned consistently when the barometric pressure was always changing?
“that thing. That thing you did when I was having a panic attack? That one.”
“No.”
There is a moment of silence. Spock does not look up. It’s a mark of Jim’s growing maturity that the response is not an immediate whine.
“How come?”
“Because.”
Spock doesn’t have to look at him to know Jim’s rolling his eyes. He smiles to himself.
“It’s not appropriate.”
“How come?”
“Jim…”
He felt the frustration, knew it to be unwarranted. He breathed out, readjusted his fingers on the strings.
“Jim, a meld is only used for very specific purposes in Vulcan culture. It is… personal. Not to be done lightly.”
He plucked a string, then another.
“What is it used for?”
He looked up. Jim’s face was in ‘genuinely curious’ mode, his chin propped on his hands and his eyes wide.
Spock strummed chord, sliding his fingers incrementally to fix the pitch.
“Well…” He paused. It was hard to explain melding etiquette. So much of it was just instinctive to a telepathic species. He was at a little bit of a loss.
“Well, Vulcans are touch telepaths.”
“Right.”
“So, when we touch someone, we can feel what they’re thinking. Not necessarily exactly, but we can get the gist of it. It varies from person to person.”
“Right.”
“Melding is more… specific, and more… intimate.” He frowns, looking at the notation on the sheet in front of him. “It’s not done casually.”
Jim wrinkled his forehead. “So, it’s like a special occasion thing?”
“In some sense, I suppose. One might meld with a family member, to express love or comfort or affection. Parents meld with children, partners with each other. Even siblings, especially when they’re younger.” He thinks. “It can be used when there is no other way to convey information. If someone is injured, and cannot communicate, or when bearing testimony, if the details are very important.”
Jim watched him intently.
“Or, as I did, to assist someone in distress. I…” He cleared his throat. “What I did was wrong. One should never force a meld. But I couldn’t think of another way to calm you down in time, and I was concerned for your well-being.” He looked away, fingers moving tunelessly across the strings. “I apologize.”
Jim just smiled. “It’s ok, Spock. It was good. I appreciated it.” He rolled over onto his side, stretching an arm out. “Can we do it again? Please?”
Spock tightened a string, and strummed the first few lines of the song. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible an idea. It could be brief. It would be instructive for Jim, and if he was to go into Starfleet, it was best for him to already have some experience with telepaths.
“What are you playing?”
“A piece Nyota suggested I learn.”
“Is that… did Nyota really tell you to learn Stairway to Heaven?”
“She said it was a classic.” Spock shrugged.
Jim began to laugh. “Ok. Points to Nyota. Never would have pegged her for a Zeppelin fan. Now get over here.”
Spock set aside his lyre, placing it carefully on its stand and folding the piece of music away. He rose, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to Jim, who was now lying on his back and kicking his heels against the headboard.
“Ok, Jim.” Spock raised his hand and positioned his fingers an inch above Jim’s meld points. He could already feel the intense current moving between his finger pads and the sensitive spots on Jim’s face. Jim’s eyes were impossibly blue.
“It goes like this…”
2244 summer
Jim would be asleep in the barn out back, he knew. It was where he spent most of his summer nights. His upstairs room became unbearably hot, and even though it was only May, they had had record breaking temperatures for most of the month.
Thunder crashed again, nearer this time, and Spock winced as the sound ricocheted off his sensitive eardrums, piercing into his inner membranes. It would be raining soon, the heavy deluges that accompanied this sort of slow building prairie storm.
He stood, wrapping his light summer blanket around his shoulders. Another flash of lightning painted his room in stark white for the space of a second, the shapes of desk, table, bed branded on his retinas as the blackness took hold again.
One-onethousand two-onethousand three-onethousand four-onethousand.
Spock covered his ears as the boom rolled in across the plain, sound rattling around the wood of the old farmhouse.
It was still four miles away. He had time.
He made his way downstairs in the dark, his bare feet padding soundlessly on the wooden floor, sticky and dank with the humidity of the day. The linoleum of the kitchen floor was cool beneath him, but damp; his feet pulled loose from each step with a moist pop. He made his way across the room and toed on a pair of shoes at the back door before slipping ghost-like into the thick-aired dark.
Nothing stirred in the fields as he crossed the half mile that lay between his house and the Kirk's; all the creatures of the night had taken cover already, aware of the storm before the bipeds by the dropping barometric pressure and the premature darkening of the sky. The stalks of corn stood eerily still in their rows, so many silent soldiers awaiting marching orders blown at thunder’s blast. Spock could feel the goosebumps rising on his arms as the pressure moved again, bending the atmosphere to meteorological will.
The barn was pitch black, but light was unnecessary. He moved across the dirt floor to the wooden ladder by muscle memory alone, climbing the rungs to the hayloft as a sudden gust of wind whistled through the open roof, flinging dust and strands of hay into the air to dance and chase each other on the currents and eddys of storm breath.
He found Jim by scent, crossing the open expanse of wooden floor to the corner under the eaves, his warm smell distinctive in the midst of straw and dust and cat. Spock thought at first that he was asleep, but as he sat down, a sudden flash of light illuminated the pale blue eyes staring up at him.
"Storm gettin' to ya?"
Spock nodded wordlessly, pulling the blanket around him and covering his ears. Warm hands came to settle over his, and the next clap of thunder was more muted than the previous. He sighed in relief.
"Spock, you are so badass in every other way. It just kills me that storms freak you out."
There was laughter in Jim's voice, and Spock scowled.
"They do not 'freak me out'. The change in barometric pressure is disconcerting, as is the humidity." He paused. "Also, I do not like loud noises."
"Uh huh." Jim yawned mightily, and held out an arm. "Come here. I'll help you cover your silly pointed ears."
He was glad the darkness hid his face. It was no doubt a distressingly unattractive shade of olive by now. He was really too old for this, but he curled into his friend's embrace, pushing himself down so that his head was within easy reach of Jim's hands. He could feel the thrum of Jim's thoughts beneath his skin, a steady flow of energy so familiar to his touch.
"What happened to your earplugs, anyway?"
Spock sighed. "I do not like them. They are not designed for Vulcan ear canals, and are therefore quite uncomfortable. Likewise earmuffs." He wiggled his head slightly, situating his hands under Jim's so that the meatiest part of their palms was directly over the opening of his ears.
Jim chuckled. "This works better?" Spock nodded, his body tensing as another flash of light lit the barn.
One-onethousand, two-onethouBOOM.
Much closer, and he could feel Jim laughing against him as his muscles tightened in loathing. Jim liked storms, for reasons Spock would never understand.
"Hey, hey. Relax, Spock, it's ok." Jim was still chuckling to himself, but his hands on Spock's hunched shoulders were soothing. "It's just the release of sound accompanying an electrical charge. And some rain."
On cue, the heavens opened, releasing a sudden flood of water which poured down on the peaked tin roof of the barn like hailstones, clattering and splashing and washing down the sheet metal in floods. Spock felt a sudden warm weight on his legs as one of the barn cats took refuge from the downpour against the back of his knees.
"Do you wanna meld?" Jim's voice was unusually hesitant in the dark. "It seems to make you calmer, at least a little bit..."
Spock was taken aback. He always guarded his thoughts well when they melded. Or he thought he did. Either he was not doing as well as he thought, or Jim was more perceptive than he had realized, if he had picked up on that little tidbit.
He did want to meld. Very much. It did have a calming effect on him, one that was currently very attractive. But... a niggling doubt at the back of his mind reminded him of the impropriety, the risks of repeated melds with one mind that were concurrent with his unbonded state.
He hesitated, instinctively pulling back into himself, and Jim sighed.
"God, Spock, honestly. It's like you have to be forced to take the things you want."
One of Jim's hands left his ear and gripped his fingers, placing them against Jim's face. He didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed that Jim had memorized the meld points, but by the time that Jim had slid the tips of his fingers into place, the blue sparks were leaping, humming between them, and there was nothing Spock could do to resist.
The slide into the meld space was nearly instantaneous now, Jim finding the way himself. Spock looked around, disconcerted. Where once was red desert and Vulcan's sky, now there were things out of place. A stalk of corn waved gently in the desert heat. Rain drops thunked occasionally to dirt, exploding in puffs of dust in the higher gravity.
"Jim?" Spock's voice was distant, thin in the heated air. "Are you doing this?"
Jim looked around in puzzlement, then laughed as he caught sight of the cornstalk.
"No. at least, I don't think so. Maybe?" He scratched his head, then walked forward and took Spock's hands in his. Spock shivered. Contact in the meld was electric; no longer did he simply get a hint of Jim's emotions, now he received the full dose. The difference was striking, like the space between touching a sunwarmed stone or grasping a coal, and Spock struggled to make any coherency of the crest of feeling that poured through him before Jim settled and projected calm, quiet.
Sadness. That was expected, and constant. Joy, also always a part of Jim's emotional state. Hints of pain, of fear, of loss. A darker, uglier thread of betrayal, deeply buried. Hidden thoughts showing only as bursts of red and orange, flares of instinct that never made it to verb.
Spock could hear the rain and thunder distantly, just as he could feel the warmth of Jim's body next to his, but they were far off sensations. His mind relaxed, stabilized, welcoming the touch of another mind on his, calibrating itself to the input of its partner and settling into a lightly held peace.
I'm Slowly Turning Into You
I'm slowly turning into you
But you don't know this
Tell the truth
You say I'm lying and I never really tell you the truth
But your face is getting older
So put your head on my shoulder
Yeah, put your head on my shoulder
Yesterday it hit me that I do all the little things
That you do
Except the same little things that you do are annoying
They're annoying as hell in fact
It kinda struck a little bell in fact
I like to keep my little shell intact
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
Then something else came to mind
That was the mirror
It made everything clearer
That you're more beautiful compelling and stronger
It didn't take much longer
Just for me to realize I love all the little things
And the beauty that they're gonna bring
I dig your little laugh and I'm lovin' your quick wit
I even love it when you're faking it
And it might sound a little strange for me to say to you
But I'm proud to be you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
Universe/Series: AU
Rating: R for language
Relationship status: First Time (eventually)
Word count: 3,849
Genre: h/c, angst
Trope: kid!fic, family, friendship
Warnings: a tiny bit of language for this part, and eventual underage sexual activity.
Pairing: k/s, no others.
Beta: the magnificent, the glorious, the loquacious 13empress, object of my logical adoration.
Summary: written for this prompt on the kink-meme. which then ballooned like a motherfuc monster. Spock and Kirk meet as kids, to the theme of the White Stripes "We Are Gonna Be Friends"
A/N: So,originally supposed to be brief, now it is a 12 parter to the original theme of the song "we are gonna be friends", with each chapter named for a white stripes song. honestly? i wasn't even that huge a ws fan before i wrote this, but they've definitely grown on me. i recommend listening to the songs for each chapter- i'll try to include a you-tube link to the songs at the end.
A/N pt 2: Thank you so much to anyone who has stuck through this hiatus with me, I really appreciate it. It's been a rough little while; the job is going well, but it and the classes eat my time. Then I got an infected toe, then the boy got an infected foot, and then the boy got KIDNEY STONES. wtf? annnd then there is the big bang I'm (still) writing. But hey, i got a line on kink!bingo! go me! and my rpf big bang has finally been claimed, hooray! so, life is good.
The next update to this *should* be on time, because it's already mostly written. just needs some brush ups, as I recall. so, probably monday or tuesday. we'll see how it goes.
A/N pt 3: This chapter is dedicated to Renee, aka easilymused1956 , who passed away recently. I can't say I knew her well, but she had read this fic and commented on it, and always had something nice to say. RIP Renee, thrusters on full.
(approx. ages for this bit- 11/12 and 13/14)
2243 fall
The sound of the pneumatic drill was loud in the confines of the shed, and Spock covered his ears against the repetitive whine. Jim had his tongue sticking out again, caught in the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, focused entirely on the task at hand. The metal bent, then screamed, then gave as the screw pushed through the plating, driven inexorably by the machine propelling it.
There was a sudden curse, followed immediately by a crash and an immense clatter as the clamps holding the oil pan in place fell, dropping the pan to the floor and spraying highly refined engine lubricant all over the room and its occupants.
Spock could feel his face move through expressions; first shock, then horror, then resignation. Jim jumped straight to hilarity, falling over on his back and rolling on the floor while howling with laughter.
He paused for a second to catch a breath, locked eyes with Spock, and was off again, kicking his heels against the floor as he gasped for breath.
“Oh… god… Spock…”
Spock twitched an eyebrow. He could feel his annoyance rising. This was how it always went. Jim would make some mistake, and then mock Spock for the result of the outcome. He pressed the irritation down, and raised his sleeve to wipe his face.
“If you could just see yourself…” Jim was calming a bit, though his breath still wheezed with laughter. “It’s just… you’ve got… your eyebrow…” he dissolved into giggles again.
Spock scowled, and scrubbed at his face again with his sleeve.
“Better?”
Jim looked up, tears pooling on his red cheeks.
“Well… mostly.” He smiled carefully, his face beginning to register awareness of Spock’s blackened mood. “Just… in your eyebrow…” he gestured and Spock rubbed again, but the look on Jim’s face didn’t change. “Here, let me just…”
Jim stood up and walked over, licking his thumb and rubbing it across Spock’s brow before Spock could blink.
His ears roared and his heart pounded as his mind was suddenly flooded with images; Jim licking a finger and running it down Spocks ear, Spock taking Jim’s hands into his mouth and tasting them, Jim licking into Spock’s mouth as he slid his hands down bare flesh…
Spock took a shaky step backward, exhaling hard through his mouth.
“I… need a moment.” He gestured desperately to the door. “Be right back.”
A frown crossed Jim’s face, but Spock was already gone, doing his best not to sprint to the barn door, then opening it and collapsing in the dark.
He leaned against the barn wall, forcing his mind to ground itself and center, calming his racing pulse, adjusting his circulation and blood flow. He breathed in and out through his nose, releasing his sudden fear and anxiety, allowing the cool calm of the autumn night to seep into his overheated flesh.
His father had warned him that there would be moments like these. His parents had made the choice to leave him unbonded, a choice which Spock still appreciated and agreed with. But it was not without its side effects. The bond, or so Spock had been told, helped to anchor the adolescent mind, allowing it to “check in”, as it were, with a peer, an equal, a mate. This had a stabilizing influence in the face of rapid physical and psychological change, allowing bonded individuals to ride out adolescence somewhat more smoothly than their unbonded counterparts.
He had been warned.
Sudden spikes of seemingly unwarranted rage, or jealousy, or devotion. Or lust.
It was logical that Jim had the ability to trigger these feelings, he knew that. He had known Jim longer than any person other than his parents. Jim and he spent a lot of time together, both now, and in their more formative years. He and Jim were good friends, who shared space and thoughts and words and time.
It was logical.
Which did not, he reflected, make it any less disconcerting.
The door beside him opened and closed, disgorging his friend, now cleaned of the grease splatters and proffering a clean rag.
“Here.” He settled down a foot away from Spock, holding out the rag at arm’s length. “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t want to be touched.”
Spock could hear the remembered rejection in that voice, and sighed inwardly. He had done that badly, and Jim had still not forgiven him entirely. It was deserved, he supposed.
“No.” He took the rag and rubbed it across his face methodically, making sure to cover every inch. “It was not that.”
Jim shifted thoughtfully, his face glowing pale in the dim light.
“You… wanna tell me what it was?”
Spock froze, his brain swirling. Even here in the dark, without contact, he was hyper-aware of Jim’s presence. Every atom in his body seemed attuned to the being next to him, reaching out on a molecular level for some sort of link.
“Jim…”
“It’s ok if you don’t. I understand.” It was the resignation in his voice that decided him, and Spock wrapped his arms around his knees, clutching his own wrists as he cleared his throat.
“Jim… you know that I am unbonded.”
A shift in the dark indicated a nod.
“Most Vulcans are bonded around the age of seven or eight.” He swallowed. “Not all. But most. For… several reasons.”
Jim nodded again.
“Our people feel very deeply. Any Vulcan will tell you that. It is logic that permits us to control our actions, but we still feel.”
“Spock…” It never failed to impress him that Jim could convey an eyeroll in vocal tone. “I know Vulcan history. You guys were crazy passionate, and then there was Surak and you all became logical, yada yada yada.” He made a dismissive hand gesture. “Get on with it.”
“One reason is to allow adolescence to be less tumultuous.” Spock had to force himself to continue. He’s grateful for the bad lighting; it means that he doesn’t have to look Jim in the eye. “A bonded mind is a more stable mind. It has a partner with which to center itself, to balance itself, to…” he trailed off. It was a hard concept to communicate.
“To give a reality check?”
“…yes, of sorts. Anyway, those of us who are unbonded… we experience something closer to what our pre-Surak ancestors dealt with.” He bowed his head. “Moments of pure emotion. Of irrationality.”
“Oh…” Comprehension was clear in Jim’s voice. “So, that was you having an irrational moment of upset?”
“…yes.” Upset was certainly one word for it, Spock thought. No need to clarify.
“I apologize for reacting badly.”
“It’s ok, buddy.” Jim tweaked the tip of his ear, and Spock nearly choked. “It’s all good.”
2243 winter
“Spock?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Can you come here for a sec?”
Spock closed his book, carefully marking the page before laying it on the end table and wandering into the kitchen.
His mother was seated at the large kitchen table, completely surrounded by seeds, dirt, and assorted gardening detritus. Spock lifted an eyebrow in amusement at the sight.
“Feeding many?”
Amanda shot him a dire look.
“You laugh, boyo. But we all know how you go through the pickled okra. Don’t tease the hand that feeds you.” She peered mock-sternly over her reading glasses at him, and he pulled out a chair in an attempt at meekness.
“No, Mother, I won’t Mother, how can I help you, Mother?”
She reached over and smacked his arm, biting back a smile.
“Smart ass.”
Her face resumed its look of concentration as she pressed a finger into the center of a cube of dirt, leaving a small oval depression. Dirt made half moons under all of the nails on her left hand, a direct result of the line of seeded cubes on a tray at the far end of the table.
“Spock, I wanted to talk to you about Jimmy.”
Spock folded his arms. She selected three seeds, carefully settling them into the depression, pressing lightly before placing the cube in a row of others on the tray to her right.
“I’m worried about him”
“You and everyone else, Mother.”
“Oh, I know.” She took another cube and set it in front of her, rifling through a stack of seed packets before pulling one with a cheery illustration of ripe red tomatoes and opening it. “But I’m worried about his relationship with us.” She frowned, tipped the seeds onto the table in front of her.
“What do you mean?”
“Not his relationship with you.” She looked up, met his eyes. “I know you two are very close. And that’s fine.” She looked down again, and Spock could feel the flush rising in his face. Close. Yes. His mother knew more than she let on, it would be to his benefit to remember that.
“It’s just…” she sighed, and moved the seeds around with her fingernail, dividing them into piles before pushing them together again. “He’s awfully attached to all of us, Spock. He’s over here all the time. He eats meals with us, sleeps over, comes on the occasional weekend away…” Her voice trailed off. “You know I love the kid to pieces, Spock, but it’s not healthy. I worry about him getting too attached. He has a family, even if they are a bunch of losers, at least as far as I can tell.” She scowled ferociously, and Spock was suddenly reminded of the old phrase ‘if looks could kill’.
“He accidentally called me ‘mom’ the other day, Spock.” Her voice caught, and Spock felt his breath freeze in his throat. “I don’t know who was more horrified, him or me. I mean, if she were dead, or had actually abandoned him, or if he were a foster kid, or something, anything else…” She looked up at him again, willing him to understand.
“But he’s not.” His voice was steady.
“No. He’s not.”
She began moving abruptly, scraping seeds into envelopes, moving dirt around on the tray.
“And Spock, we’re not always going to be around. We go to Vulcan every summer. Sometimes more often. You’re older than he is; at some point, you’re going to finish school and leave, and what happens then?” She looked him, and he felt caught. The concern was plain in her eyes, and he knew it was echoed in his own.
“Anyway.” She brushed the dirt off the table and into her hand, rising to dump it into the compost bucket that stood by the sink. “Your father and I have to go to dinner tonight, that Andorian thing.” She waved a hand absently, shutting the cabinet door.
He nodded.
“We’ll be back late- feed yourself, ok?”
“Yes, mother.”
She smiled at him, ruffled his hair, then turned, sweeping past where he stood motionless to mount the stairs, her tread echoing in the nearly empty house.
2244 spring
“Hey Spock?”
Spock looked up from the fretboard of his lyre.
“Yes?”
“Will you do that thing again?”
Spock played a few more bars. The F string was slightly out of tune. He would need to replace it sooner, rather then later.
“ ‘that thing’?”
“You know…”
Jim waggled his fingers vaguely at Spock before arranging them haphazardly on his face. His homework lay forgotten on the bed in front of him, the stylus abandoned in a fold of the quilt.
Spock bent his head to the fretboard again, plucking a note and frowning slightly. Maybe it was the peg holding the F string that needed replacing. Really it was the Earth humidity that was the problem; how were you supposed to keep a wooden instrument tuned consistently when the barometric pressure was always changing?
“that thing. That thing you did when I was having a panic attack? That one.”
“No.”
There is a moment of silence. Spock does not look up. It’s a mark of Jim’s growing maturity that the response is not an immediate whine.
“How come?”
“Because.”
Spock doesn’t have to look at him to know Jim’s rolling his eyes. He smiles to himself.
“It’s not appropriate.”
“How come?”
“Jim…”
He felt the frustration, knew it to be unwarranted. He breathed out, readjusted his fingers on the strings.
“Jim, a meld is only used for very specific purposes in Vulcan culture. It is… personal. Not to be done lightly.”
He plucked a string, then another.
“What is it used for?”
He looked up. Jim’s face was in ‘genuinely curious’ mode, his chin propped on his hands and his eyes wide.
Spock strummed chord, sliding his fingers incrementally to fix the pitch.
“Well…” He paused. It was hard to explain melding etiquette. So much of it was just instinctive to a telepathic species. He was at a little bit of a loss.
“Well, Vulcans are touch telepaths.”
“Right.”
“So, when we touch someone, we can feel what they’re thinking. Not necessarily exactly, but we can get the gist of it. It varies from person to person.”
“Right.”
“Melding is more… specific, and more… intimate.” He frowns, looking at the notation on the sheet in front of him. “It’s not done casually.”
Jim wrinkled his forehead. “So, it’s like a special occasion thing?”
“In some sense, I suppose. One might meld with a family member, to express love or comfort or affection. Parents meld with children, partners with each other. Even siblings, especially when they’re younger.” He thinks. “It can be used when there is no other way to convey information. If someone is injured, and cannot communicate, or when bearing testimony, if the details are very important.”
Jim watched him intently.
“Or, as I did, to assist someone in distress. I…” He cleared his throat. “What I did was wrong. One should never force a meld. But I couldn’t think of another way to calm you down in time, and I was concerned for your well-being.” He looked away, fingers moving tunelessly across the strings. “I apologize.”
Jim just smiled. “It’s ok, Spock. It was good. I appreciated it.” He rolled over onto his side, stretching an arm out. “Can we do it again? Please?”
Spock tightened a string, and strummed the first few lines of the song. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible an idea. It could be brief. It would be instructive for Jim, and if he was to go into Starfleet, it was best for him to already have some experience with telepaths.
“What are you playing?”
“A piece Nyota suggested I learn.”
“Is that… did Nyota really tell you to learn Stairway to Heaven?”
“She said it was a classic.” Spock shrugged.
Jim began to laugh. “Ok. Points to Nyota. Never would have pegged her for a Zeppelin fan. Now get over here.”
Spock set aside his lyre, placing it carefully on its stand and folding the piece of music away. He rose, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to Jim, who was now lying on his back and kicking his heels against the headboard.
“Ok, Jim.” Spock raised his hand and positioned his fingers an inch above Jim’s meld points. He could already feel the intense current moving between his finger pads and the sensitive spots on Jim’s face. Jim’s eyes were impossibly blue.
“It goes like this…”
2244 summer
Jim would be asleep in the barn out back, he knew. It was where he spent most of his summer nights. His upstairs room became unbearably hot, and even though it was only May, they had had record breaking temperatures for most of the month.
Thunder crashed again, nearer this time, and Spock winced as the sound ricocheted off his sensitive eardrums, piercing into his inner membranes. It would be raining soon, the heavy deluges that accompanied this sort of slow building prairie storm.
He stood, wrapping his light summer blanket around his shoulders. Another flash of lightning painted his room in stark white for the space of a second, the shapes of desk, table, bed branded on his retinas as the blackness took hold again.
One-onethousand two-onethousand three-onethousand four-onethousand.
Spock covered his ears as the boom rolled in across the plain, sound rattling around the wood of the old farmhouse.
It was still four miles away. He had time.
He made his way downstairs in the dark, his bare feet padding soundlessly on the wooden floor, sticky and dank with the humidity of the day. The linoleum of the kitchen floor was cool beneath him, but damp; his feet pulled loose from each step with a moist pop. He made his way across the room and toed on a pair of shoes at the back door before slipping ghost-like into the thick-aired dark.
Nothing stirred in the fields as he crossed the half mile that lay between his house and the Kirk's; all the creatures of the night had taken cover already, aware of the storm before the bipeds by the dropping barometric pressure and the premature darkening of the sky. The stalks of corn stood eerily still in their rows, so many silent soldiers awaiting marching orders blown at thunder’s blast. Spock could feel the goosebumps rising on his arms as the pressure moved again, bending the atmosphere to meteorological will.
The barn was pitch black, but light was unnecessary. He moved across the dirt floor to the wooden ladder by muscle memory alone, climbing the rungs to the hayloft as a sudden gust of wind whistled through the open roof, flinging dust and strands of hay into the air to dance and chase each other on the currents and eddys of storm breath.
He found Jim by scent, crossing the open expanse of wooden floor to the corner under the eaves, his warm smell distinctive in the midst of straw and dust and cat. Spock thought at first that he was asleep, but as he sat down, a sudden flash of light illuminated the pale blue eyes staring up at him.
"Storm gettin' to ya?"
Spock nodded wordlessly, pulling the blanket around him and covering his ears. Warm hands came to settle over his, and the next clap of thunder was more muted than the previous. He sighed in relief.
"Spock, you are so badass in every other way. It just kills me that storms freak you out."
There was laughter in Jim's voice, and Spock scowled.
"They do not 'freak me out'. The change in barometric pressure is disconcerting, as is the humidity." He paused. "Also, I do not like loud noises."
"Uh huh." Jim yawned mightily, and held out an arm. "Come here. I'll help you cover your silly pointed ears."
He was glad the darkness hid his face. It was no doubt a distressingly unattractive shade of olive by now. He was really too old for this, but he curled into his friend's embrace, pushing himself down so that his head was within easy reach of Jim's hands. He could feel the thrum of Jim's thoughts beneath his skin, a steady flow of energy so familiar to his touch.
"What happened to your earplugs, anyway?"
Spock sighed. "I do not like them. They are not designed for Vulcan ear canals, and are therefore quite uncomfortable. Likewise earmuffs." He wiggled his head slightly, situating his hands under Jim's so that the meatiest part of their palms was directly over the opening of his ears.
Jim chuckled. "This works better?" Spock nodded, his body tensing as another flash of light lit the barn.
One-onethousand, two-onethouBOOM.
Much closer, and he could feel Jim laughing against him as his muscles tightened in loathing. Jim liked storms, for reasons Spock would never understand.
"Hey, hey. Relax, Spock, it's ok." Jim was still chuckling to himself, but his hands on Spock's hunched shoulders were soothing. "It's just the release of sound accompanying an electrical charge. And some rain."
On cue, the heavens opened, releasing a sudden flood of water which poured down on the peaked tin roof of the barn like hailstones, clattering and splashing and washing down the sheet metal in floods. Spock felt a sudden warm weight on his legs as one of the barn cats took refuge from the downpour against the back of his knees.
"Do you wanna meld?" Jim's voice was unusually hesitant in the dark. "It seems to make you calmer, at least a little bit..."
Spock was taken aback. He always guarded his thoughts well when they melded. Or he thought he did. Either he was not doing as well as he thought, or Jim was more perceptive than he had realized, if he had picked up on that little tidbit.
He did want to meld. Very much. It did have a calming effect on him, one that was currently very attractive. But... a niggling doubt at the back of his mind reminded him of the impropriety, the risks of repeated melds with one mind that were concurrent with his unbonded state.
He hesitated, instinctively pulling back into himself, and Jim sighed.
"God, Spock, honestly. It's like you have to be forced to take the things you want."
One of Jim's hands left his ear and gripped his fingers, placing them against Jim's face. He didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed that Jim had memorized the meld points, but by the time that Jim had slid the tips of his fingers into place, the blue sparks were leaping, humming between them, and there was nothing Spock could do to resist.
The slide into the meld space was nearly instantaneous now, Jim finding the way himself. Spock looked around, disconcerted. Where once was red desert and Vulcan's sky, now there were things out of place. A stalk of corn waved gently in the desert heat. Rain drops thunked occasionally to dirt, exploding in puffs of dust in the higher gravity.
"Jim?" Spock's voice was distant, thin in the heated air. "Are you doing this?"
Jim looked around in puzzlement, then laughed as he caught sight of the cornstalk.
"No. at least, I don't think so. Maybe?" He scratched his head, then walked forward and took Spock's hands in his. Spock shivered. Contact in the meld was electric; no longer did he simply get a hint of Jim's emotions, now he received the full dose. The difference was striking, like the space between touching a sunwarmed stone or grasping a coal, and Spock struggled to make any coherency of the crest of feeling that poured through him before Jim settled and projected calm, quiet.
Sadness. That was expected, and constant. Joy, also always a part of Jim's emotional state. Hints of pain, of fear, of loss. A darker, uglier thread of betrayal, deeply buried. Hidden thoughts showing only as bursts of red and orange, flares of instinct that never made it to verb.
Spock could hear the rain and thunder distantly, just as he could feel the warmth of Jim's body next to his, but they were far off sensations. His mind relaxed, stabilized, welcoming the touch of another mind on his, calibrating itself to the input of its partner and settling into a lightly held peace.
I'm Slowly Turning Into You
I'm slowly turning into you
But you don't know this
Tell the truth
You say I'm lying and I never really tell you the truth
But your face is getting older
So put your head on my shoulder
Yeah, put your head on my shoulder
Yesterday it hit me that I do all the little things
That you do
Except the same little things that you do are annoying
They're annoying as hell in fact
It kinda struck a little bell in fact
I like to keep my little shell intact
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
Then something else came to mind
That was the mirror
It made everything clearer
That you're more beautiful compelling and stronger
It didn't take much longer
Just for me to realize I love all the little things
And the beauty that they're gonna bring
I dig your little laugh and I'm lovin' your quick wit
I even love it when you're faking it
And it might sound a little strange for me to say to you
But I'm proud to be you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you
And I'm slowly turning into you