igrab
in
grabi_hands
With a Little Help from My Friends [Yesterday]
[Masterpost]
She is unquestionably beautiful. Her hair is long and brown and does not fall in the traditional straight cut across her forehead, but instead sweeps to each side, showing off the smoothness of her forehead. Her skin is tan, a trait that is slowly dying in the Vulcan genes, as they require less and less time outside in the harsh sunlight. Her eyes glint with a cold, hard intelligence, and it is clear to any that she is already a perfect example of a Vulcan female. Flawless. Effortless. Precise. Logical.
Sohar has difficulty thinking of her with anything other than revulsion. It is logical for him to do so. She has insulted his future mate, insulted his companions and passed on the starulef-yeht'es, the spoken half-truths that could not be proven.
But mostly, she disgusts him because of Spock.
He cannot imagine a world without T'Lis; he knows that most Vulcan children do not have this feeling, but she has been a part of his life for so long. It was logical, when they were young - but it has grown to become a necessity.
Sohar wishes the best for his companions. Gaan, he is certain, will find someone. He knows this with the certainty of the sun rising, he knows this because he sees so much good in his friend and knows that someone, someday, will appreciate him.
He had thought the same of Spock, until yesterday.
It is illogical to purposely distance oneself from one's bondmate - that is fact. He does not think it is purposeful, given that their lives exist with sufficient degrees of separation. But he continues that chain of logic one step further, deeming that it is - and has always been - illogical not to seek them out.
He does not blame Spock for this, for many reasons. He could list them but they are unimportant, as he has a distinct suspicion that his judgment is emotionally compromised on this matter. The fault, therefore, lies with T'Pring.
He does not truly blame her either, but he needs a logical excuse to take issue, and this will do.
"T'Pring. I am Sohar. May I speak with you?" He catches her at the end of the lesson they share, musical history. She is far ahead of him in mathematics and sciences, but not so strong in the arts, and he can hold his own, there.
Spock is a full learning unit ahead of her, which puts him at two above his age range. T'Lis is ahead by one. Sohar has remained average, though perhaps, one of the bottom few in his class. Gaan had fallen behind several years ago. He did not appear to have the motivation to catch up.
"You are doing so," T'Pring says in that calculated, cool tone. Sohar can easily see how T'Lis would dislike her. "But if you mean to imply a private conversation, that can be arranged."
She hovers just on the edge from being rude, carefully manipulates her voice for neutrality rather than implication. Sohar grits his teeth. He knows the implication exists, but he also knows that her words prove nothing. He forces himself to relax.
"Thank you. Now, perhaps."
She turns back into the now-empty classroom, brown hair swinging, by way of response. Sohar allows himself a moment to feel his frustration at her uncooperative attitude before following.
"I wish to have words with you, regarding an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon, and likely a considerable time before that."
She simply arched an eyebrow, her lips set in a prim line. "Continue."
He steeled himself against his emotions. "You, and several acquaintances of yours, deliberately spoke untruths in the presence of my telsu that were derogatory and unnecessary." He chose his words carefully. She was sure to pounce on any irrationalities without mercy. "I claim grievance with you, for causing pain to others."
Predictably, T'Pring's expression did not change. "Our conversation was not conducted in her direction, nor was it untrue. It is well known that she associates with the bottom of the gene pool, including but not restricted to the half-human whoreson, Spock." All of this was said with a completely impassive face. Sohar had never wanted to commit an act of violence more in his life.
"You could at least pretend you feel a connection to the one who is bound to you," he mutters, unable to keep his voice steady.
"But I do not. Should I pretend a connection that is not there?" Her words dig into him, and he feels his guts twisting.
"No. Of course not." His voice is grating, now, like it wants to leap out of his throat and wrap hands around her pretty neck and squeeze until she screams. "But if I were you, I would be more careful where you choose to have demeaning conversations. The results could be... messy." It's dangerous, threatening her like this, but he does not know if he can tolerate seeing - and feeling, in the one moment she had brushed against him, and his nerves flared in a jangling disorientation - his T'Lis go through any more days of listening to those hurtful words.
"I will be sure to do a full scan for incompetent numo-ha-vel before I speak," she says neatly. "Of course, you do not know what that means."
He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Compassion was another dying trait among Vulcans.
"An organism of microscopic or submicroscopic size," he growls.
"Including the bacterium and protozoan. Apt terms," she murmurs, looking vaguely thoughtful. "Most especially 'bacterium'."
And that was it. His control breaks with the swiftness of shattering glass, and - instinctively not wanting to touch her - he grabs the nearest object - a chair - and hurls it with all his considerable strength, right for her face.
She screams.
•
They find him outside of school, on his way home. They corner him on a little-used stairwell, its side open to the air, the ground miles away - and Sohar swallows heavily, trying to contain his emotional response.
The one at the forefront of the group is tall, Vulcan distaste written into his features. He looks easily capable of multiple kinds of physical torment, as well as several mental kinds. Sohar doesn't recognize him. But that's not who he worries about.
The one to be worried about is to the left and one step further down - dark and slim and dangerous, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sohar's own. The only distraction in his face is a slight imperfection in the line of his nose - a testament to not-so-very-long-ago, when his nose had been broken with the elbow of an enraged young classmate.
Stonn is new to their group. Perhaps not even a part of it; perhaps they were been the ones to seek him out, as they so frequently did, to offer their twisted logic as a mental relief to illogical emotional suffering. It's a dirty, cold way to use intelligence, and Sohar has been on the receiving end of it far too often. "I am here to seek grievance with you, for the harm you have caused T'Pring."
Sohar feels goosebumps rising on his arms. "She started it."
"Did she?" And there it comes, like the slithering k'karee, the poisonous desert snake. The words spill from his lips - Saval, his nose still quietly disfigured from the fight with Spock, the mind behind the mischief. Sharp and incisive.
Sohar hates this. He hates walking on verbal eggshells, which is a common enough state of being on Vulcan to begin with, but he hates feeling put upon, and he knows this isn't where his strength lies. "Yes. My bondmate T'Lis - "
"Did not receive physical damage, unlike T'Pring. The price is not equal." Saval cocks his head, as if challenging him to deny it.
"But she was - "
"Allow me," and they step forward collectively now, "to enlighten you about something. I," and Sohar shivers with a deep-seated flicker of fear, as Saval comes closer and closer. "Unlike yourself, do not believe in 'second chances'." He grasps the front of Sohar's shirt, and before he can even think to protest, he yanks him sideways, straight out over the long, long drop to the ground. "They are not logical."
"Saval, stop," Sohar gasps, his voice strangled and panicking. "This is insane. This is murder."
"This is justice." He leans closer, until their faces are only inches apart and Sohar can feel him breathe. "You've only proven to me, time and time again, that you do not have any positive contributions to make to society. I'm relieving you of your need to do so."
And, just as the grip on his shirt starts to loosen and, biting down his distaste, he reaches for Saval's wrists, a voice rings out, echoing in the chasm.
"SAVAL, STOP."
And he does.
The next minutes are a blur of action, as Sohar takes the chance to sock his captor in the stomach - grab for Spock's arm, reaching for him, and vault himself back onto the stairs. He's going to start a fight - damnit, he's going to start a fight right here, right now, and he's going to end this.
But Spock, for all that he's a year younger and not as strong as him, is better trained, and he's been practicing the Nerve Pinch since he could walk.
Sohar drops like a stone.
•
It isn't much later when he comes to. He sees Amanda's face swirling into focus, and blinks. "Spock? You are good at that..."
Suddenly Spock's face shoves itself into Sohar's vision and he blinks; does he actually look concerned? How curious.
He pats Spock's cheek, because that was some nerve pinch and he's still pretty out of it from the adrenaline rush. Losing control is a high that takes a while to get over, sometimes. Spock knocks it out of the way; more of a knee-jerk reaction that anything. Sohar just smirks.
"Do not ever do that again," Spock informs him, voice sharp and caustic and Sohar's pretty sure that means he's being emotional.
"Oh, all right, the next time Saval hangs me off a cliff I'll do something else - "
Spock cuts him off, shaking his head quickly. "You threw a chair at my bondmate."
Amanda, who clearly had not heard the whole story, suddenly broke out into laughter, making both Vulcans jerk in surprise. Spock had heard the sound more often, but it was still so foreign.
"Is that what you're so frustrated about? Spock, you should have heard what she called you..."
"No; perhaps I should rephrase. The target is not the issue, but you lost control. Not only should that be embarrassing and shameful, but your repeated displays of emotion only 'add fuel to the fire'."
"What fire?" Sohar raises an eyebrow, hoping that Spock will start making sense sometime this century.
"...Never mind," Spock says, and he frowns as his mother chuckles in the background. It's her fault, naturally, that he alienates his friends with human sayings. He can't quite bring himself to blame her, because it's his fault - he should have been more careful. "Get some sleep." He's embarrassed at the bruises on Sohar's neck, and makes a mental note to practice more.
"Yes sir."
•
Spock wasn't sure, exactly, how his own feelings got mixed in there, and he was about to comment on it - maybe it was something Dzharel had made up? But no, he remembered that insidious little self-deprecating thought. He knew someone would call him out on it, at some point.
His vision swam again, and they were headed back to the past.
•
She hasn't spoken to him in a week.
A whole week.
He isn't about to go after her and beg for forgiveness, he has his pride. And really, he doesn't regret a bit of it - T'Pring deserves far more than a chair to the face, he thinks, but this isn't winning him any points with his bondmate, who tells him - without words, and this is so not how he wanted their telepathic connection to start - just how immature, illogical, disgusting, and embarrassing he's being. He knows she's right, but he won't give in.
Gaan comes over, after school when T'Lis marched herself home with Spock and her silence let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he Was Not Welcome. Sohar's house is more like a cubbyhole in a cave, but it's cool and comfortable and his parents aren't strict. Their group has come here sometimes, when Spock's father is home and he wants to be as far away as possible. It's comfortable, but cramped, with four.
Sohar lets Gaan fold himself into a pretzel on his bed and throws a blanket over him, so he can flop on top of him and touch without touching. It's perfect, he thinks, with two.
Gaan never speaks out loud when they're alone. He hates speaking, hates having to translate his emotions, images, concepts into words. Sohar can understand. He can get by, most of the time, but after Saval ran roughshod over his insinuations with cruel logic, after T'Lis wouldn't let herself understand that it's possible to do a foolish thing and not regret it, yeah, he's not too happy with words, now.
The first touch is always like a question, and Sohar wonders if Gaan will ever not be insecure. He tries to let him know, let him understand that he'll never not want him there, poking around in his mind, but Gaan will always ask, first. He floods him like of course and then they sink into each other, chasing down memories and curling around the concept of emotions.
Gaan relives the argument, the rage, the falling-out and Sohar can feel his friend's own illogical reaction at the savage cruelty of Saval's threat. He agrees with Spock - Sohar can feel it, they can't hide anything from each other - in that he shouldn't've fought back, then, and he's glad that Spock managed to get him away. But his mind trembles with anger, and fear, and Sohar wraps around and around him until he quiets, stumbling over his own emotions as he trips and tries to hold back and Sohar tightens, he won't let go so Gaan relents.
They've never been taught what love is, but they're pretty sure that this is it.
•
She finds him after school, hiding out behind the waste receptacles. He knows she's coming, and he really wonders at their bond, how strong it's become. It's unusual and almost frightening. This can't be normal. Perhaps they should see a priestess to put a block between their minds, until his first pon farr.
His thoughts are disjointed; broken. He's visibly shaken by what happened during the day - everyone was, though most hid it well, in imitation of their role models, the instructors. But everyone knew that everyone felt it - horror, fear.
He'd been there, for Stonn was in his learning unit. He'd watched him run up from his bowl, heard him screaming. Seen him fall first to his knees, then facedown on the ground, passed out cold. Everyone crowded around, silence following in the wake of the scream like a wave of cold.
He's in a coma, now, at the Shi'Kahr Medical Institute. The doctors say 'severe mental trauma', and though he has had no such previous history, they cannot prove that it was intentional. No one knows what to do.
Everyone at their school will blame Spock. Sohar already knows this, and his stomach is twisting with the thought. But Spock would never do that. He's going to have to be strong for his friend - and not just physically strong. He's going to have to learn to control himself.
He senses her approaching, and thinks he might be better off without her, without the feeling she induces. Especially if she continues in her current trend of non-communication.
"Sohar," she murmurs, and apparently he is wrong on this, but now he finds himself unable to respond, out of spite. Her silence has been painful.
"Sohar, please." She comes up and sits beside him, and he can feel, like a brush of intuition, that she is sincerely concerned. "I apologize."
"For?" His face is blank, mind is settling into the comforting paths of logic. He needs her to explain herself. He needs to be able to explain himself, logically. Then this will all make sense.
"I apologize for taking out my frustration with your actions on our relationship," she says, evenly. "I do not agree with what you did but you had your reasons, and I accept that you were acting in the manner that you thought was best. It was not the most logical, but you dealt with the consequences of your actions, and I..."
He waits, because he's curious, and he's already forgiven her in his heart, but he needs to hear her words.
"...I, too, reacted in a most emotional and illogical manner." She reaches her hand out, and brushes a kiss against his wrist. "I was concerned for your safety, and frustrated." She paused, and he knew what she was going to say next.
"...And scared."
He shuts his eyes in recognition. "You felt fear for the closeness of our bond."
"Yes." He turns to meet her eyes, and that is probably a bad idea - he can see her fear, then, and every fiber of his being screams at him to comfort her, to make it all go away. "It is not right for me to hear your thoughts so quickly. Perhaps there is a reason that most children are kept separate from their bondmates."
There is... discomfort, drifting between them. Sohar tries to resolve it. "I have come to the same conclusion; however, I do not regret a single second of your companionship. I would not be the person that I am today, if not for you, T'Lis."
"I thank you." Her eyes tell him that she's relieved. "I, too, do not regret... this."
They sit in silence for a long moment, each turning things over in their minds and feeling an uncomfortable shifting, as they experience the echo from each other at such close proximity.
"Perhaps we should contact a mind-healer," he finally says. "I do not have the training required to shield myself from you, and it is beginning to have detrimental effects."
"I agree," she murmurs. "Until such time as it is that we will be married officially, we need to..."
"...Maintain our distance." He smiles warmly, something he learned from the way Amanda looks at Spock's father, when she thinks no one is paying attention. Or even when they are. Amanda is shockingly demonstrative. But he likes it. "Mentally."
"Yes." Her lips twitch, she doesn't smile in return but he knows she's thinking it. "It is only logical."
•
He expects a warm reception when they show up at Spock's house; he doesn't expect to get swept up in a - what was it, what was that word? His mind panics, he's being touched everywhere and it's so unexpected. He can vaguely see Spock's shocked look of horror, and Gaan's amusement.
Ah. Yes. 'Hug'.
Amanda puts him down, and Looks at him with her pointed blue eyes. He wonders if it would be logical, to turn, and start running.
"I'm so glad you two made up. I've been worried about you, dear."
Worried? His head spins a little, and he nods, to let her know that he's listening. He isn't quite sure he's prepared for this.
"You're both stubborn as mules. Typical Vulcans." She sighs, and he wonders what a 'mule' is. "I made cookies."
Gaan makes a noise under his breath, a hiccuping Vulcan laugh, and Sohar glares. This situation is not very amusing at all! ...He does like cookies, though.
"Excuse me, but I'm unfamiliar with this... 'mule' you speak of." They all follow her to the kitchen and he takes a seat.
"It's..." she thinks. "An equine animal, a cross between..." But they don't know of horses or donkeys, either. She sighs and throws her hands up. "...Never mind."
"They are like a dzharel," Spock says suddenly, taking the seat next to Sohar. "Only they do not have horns."
"Dzharel, yes, that's exactly right." Amanda fusses over them, and Sohar feels at home once more. "And just as stubborn, too. You're so smart, Spock." She drops a human kiss on his head and he colors green, but it's in pleasure at the compliment rather than embarrassment.
"Thank you, mother." They move on, then, talking of other subjects and interrupting each other in a way that would have been appallingly rude, but they are friends and they know that the interruptions are from eagerness to speak only, and not a lack of respect.
She calls him Dzharel, after that. It's their own personal joke, and Spock refuses to acknowledge it, but he's Spock and he's always difficult like that. He feels safe, here. With his friends, where he can be whatever he wants to be, whatever that is.
→ Nowhere Man
She is unquestionably beautiful. Her hair is long and brown and does not fall in the traditional straight cut across her forehead, but instead sweeps to each side, showing off the smoothness of her forehead. Her skin is tan, a trait that is slowly dying in the Vulcan genes, as they require less and less time outside in the harsh sunlight. Her eyes glint with a cold, hard intelligence, and it is clear to any that she is already a perfect example of a Vulcan female. Flawless. Effortless. Precise. Logical.
Sohar has difficulty thinking of her with anything other than revulsion. It is logical for him to do so. She has insulted his future mate, insulted his companions and passed on the starulef-yeht'es, the spoken half-truths that could not be proven.
But mostly, she disgusts him because of Spock.
He cannot imagine a world without T'Lis; he knows that most Vulcan children do not have this feeling, but she has been a part of his life for so long. It was logical, when they were young - but it has grown to become a necessity.
Sohar wishes the best for his companions. Gaan, he is certain, will find someone. He knows this with the certainty of the sun rising, he knows this because he sees so much good in his friend and knows that someone, someday, will appreciate him.
He had thought the same of Spock, until yesterday.
It is illogical to purposely distance oneself from one's bondmate - that is fact. He does not think it is purposeful, given that their lives exist with sufficient degrees of separation. But he continues that chain of logic one step further, deeming that it is - and has always been - illogical not to seek them out.
He does not blame Spock for this, for many reasons. He could list them but they are unimportant, as he has a distinct suspicion that his judgment is emotionally compromised on this matter. The fault, therefore, lies with T'Pring.
He does not truly blame her either, but he needs a logical excuse to take issue, and this will do.
"T'Pring. I am Sohar. May I speak with you?" He catches her at the end of the lesson they share, musical history. She is far ahead of him in mathematics and sciences, but not so strong in the arts, and he can hold his own, there.
Spock is a full learning unit ahead of her, which puts him at two above his age range. T'Lis is ahead by one. Sohar has remained average, though perhaps, one of the bottom few in his class. Gaan had fallen behind several years ago. He did not appear to have the motivation to catch up.
"You are doing so," T'Pring says in that calculated, cool tone. Sohar can easily see how T'Lis would dislike her. "But if you mean to imply a private conversation, that can be arranged."
She hovers just on the edge from being rude, carefully manipulates her voice for neutrality rather than implication. Sohar grits his teeth. He knows the implication exists, but he also knows that her words prove nothing. He forces himself to relax.
"Thank you. Now, perhaps."
She turns back into the now-empty classroom, brown hair swinging, by way of response. Sohar allows himself a moment to feel his frustration at her uncooperative attitude before following.
"I wish to have words with you, regarding an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon, and likely a considerable time before that."
She simply arched an eyebrow, her lips set in a prim line. "Continue."
He steeled himself against his emotions. "You, and several acquaintances of yours, deliberately spoke untruths in the presence of my telsu that were derogatory and unnecessary." He chose his words carefully. She was sure to pounce on any irrationalities without mercy. "I claim grievance with you, for causing pain to others."
Predictably, T'Pring's expression did not change. "Our conversation was not conducted in her direction, nor was it untrue. It is well known that she associates with the bottom of the gene pool, including but not restricted to the half-human whoreson, Spock." All of this was said with a completely impassive face. Sohar had never wanted to commit an act of violence more in his life.
"You could at least pretend you feel a connection to the one who is bound to you," he mutters, unable to keep his voice steady.
"But I do not. Should I pretend a connection that is not there?" Her words dig into him, and he feels his guts twisting.
"No. Of course not." His voice is grating, now, like it wants to leap out of his throat and wrap hands around her pretty neck and squeeze until she screams. "But if I were you, I would be more careful where you choose to have demeaning conversations. The results could be... messy." It's dangerous, threatening her like this, but he does not know if he can tolerate seeing - and feeling, in the one moment she had brushed against him, and his nerves flared in a jangling disorientation - his T'Lis go through any more days of listening to those hurtful words.
"I will be sure to do a full scan for incompetent numo-ha-vel before I speak," she says neatly. "Of course, you do not know what that means."
He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Compassion was another dying trait among Vulcans.
"An organism of microscopic or submicroscopic size," he growls.
"Including the bacterium and protozoan. Apt terms," she murmurs, looking vaguely thoughtful. "Most especially 'bacterium'."
And that was it. His control breaks with the swiftness of shattering glass, and - instinctively not wanting to touch her - he grabs the nearest object - a chair - and hurls it with all his considerable strength, right for her face.
She screams.
•
They find him outside of school, on his way home. They corner him on a little-used stairwell, its side open to the air, the ground miles away - and Sohar swallows heavily, trying to contain his emotional response.
The one at the forefront of the group is tall, Vulcan distaste written into his features. He looks easily capable of multiple kinds of physical torment, as well as several mental kinds. Sohar doesn't recognize him. But that's not who he worries about.
The one to be worried about is to the left and one step further down - dark and slim and dangerous, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sohar's own. The only distraction in his face is a slight imperfection in the line of his nose - a testament to not-so-very-long-ago, when his nose had been broken with the elbow of an enraged young classmate.
Stonn is new to their group. Perhaps not even a part of it; perhaps they were been the ones to seek him out, as they so frequently did, to offer their twisted logic as a mental relief to illogical emotional suffering. It's a dirty, cold way to use intelligence, and Sohar has been on the receiving end of it far too often. "I am here to seek grievance with you, for the harm you have caused T'Pring."
Sohar feels goosebumps rising on his arms. "She started it."
"Did she?" And there it comes, like the slithering k'karee, the poisonous desert snake. The words spill from his lips - Saval, his nose still quietly disfigured from the fight with Spock, the mind behind the mischief. Sharp and incisive.
Sohar hates this. He hates walking on verbal eggshells, which is a common enough state of being on Vulcan to begin with, but he hates feeling put upon, and he knows this isn't where his strength lies. "Yes. My bondmate T'Lis - "
"Did not receive physical damage, unlike T'Pring. The price is not equal." Saval cocks his head, as if challenging him to deny it.
"But she was - "
"Allow me," and they step forward collectively now, "to enlighten you about something. I," and Sohar shivers with a deep-seated flicker of fear, as Saval comes closer and closer. "Unlike yourself, do not believe in 'second chances'." He grasps the front of Sohar's shirt, and before he can even think to protest, he yanks him sideways, straight out over the long, long drop to the ground. "They are not logical."
"Saval, stop," Sohar gasps, his voice strangled and panicking. "This is insane. This is murder."
"This is justice." He leans closer, until their faces are only inches apart and Sohar can feel him breathe. "You've only proven to me, time and time again, that you do not have any positive contributions to make to society. I'm relieving you of your need to do so."
And, just as the grip on his shirt starts to loosen and, biting down his distaste, he reaches for Saval's wrists, a voice rings out, echoing in the chasm.
"SAVAL, STOP."
And he does.
The next minutes are a blur of action, as Sohar takes the chance to sock his captor in the stomach - grab for Spock's arm, reaching for him, and vault himself back onto the stairs. He's going to start a fight - damnit, he's going to start a fight right here, right now, and he's going to end this.
But Spock, for all that he's a year younger and not as strong as him, is better trained, and he's been practicing the Nerve Pinch since he could walk.
Sohar drops like a stone.
•
It isn't much later when he comes to. He sees Amanda's face swirling into focus, and blinks. "Spock? You are good at that..."
Suddenly Spock's face shoves itself into Sohar's vision and he blinks; does he actually look concerned? How curious.
He pats Spock's cheek, because that was some nerve pinch and he's still pretty out of it from the adrenaline rush. Losing control is a high that takes a while to get over, sometimes. Spock knocks it out of the way; more of a knee-jerk reaction that anything. Sohar just smirks.
"Do not ever do that again," Spock informs him, voice sharp and caustic and Sohar's pretty sure that means he's being emotional.
"Oh, all right, the next time Saval hangs me off a cliff I'll do something else - "
Spock cuts him off, shaking his head quickly. "You threw a chair at my bondmate."
Amanda, who clearly had not heard the whole story, suddenly broke out into laughter, making both Vulcans jerk in surprise. Spock had heard the sound more often, but it was still so foreign.
"Is that what you're so frustrated about? Spock, you should have heard what she called you..."
"No; perhaps I should rephrase. The target is not the issue, but you lost control. Not only should that be embarrassing and shameful, but your repeated displays of emotion only 'add fuel to the fire'."
"What fire?" Sohar raises an eyebrow, hoping that Spock will start making sense sometime this century.
"...Never mind," Spock says, and he frowns as his mother chuckles in the background. It's her fault, naturally, that he alienates his friends with human sayings. He can't quite bring himself to blame her, because it's his fault - he should have been more careful. "Get some sleep." He's embarrassed at the bruises on Sohar's neck, and makes a mental note to practice more.
"Yes sir."
•
Spock wasn't sure, exactly, how his own feelings got mixed in there, and he was about to comment on it - maybe it was something Dzharel had made up? But no, he remembered that insidious little self-deprecating thought. He knew someone would call him out on it, at some point.
His vision swam again, and they were headed back to the past.
•
She hasn't spoken to him in a week.
A whole week.
He isn't about to go after her and beg for forgiveness, he has his pride. And really, he doesn't regret a bit of it - T'Pring deserves far more than a chair to the face, he thinks, but this isn't winning him any points with his bondmate, who tells him - without words, and this is so not how he wanted their telepathic connection to start - just how immature, illogical, disgusting, and embarrassing he's being. He knows she's right, but he won't give in.
Gaan comes over, after school when T'Lis marched herself home with Spock and her silence let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he Was Not Welcome. Sohar's house is more like a cubbyhole in a cave, but it's cool and comfortable and his parents aren't strict. Their group has come here sometimes, when Spock's father is home and he wants to be as far away as possible. It's comfortable, but cramped, with four.
Sohar lets Gaan fold himself into a pretzel on his bed and throws a blanket over him, so he can flop on top of him and touch without touching. It's perfect, he thinks, with two.
Gaan never speaks out loud when they're alone. He hates speaking, hates having to translate his emotions, images, concepts into words. Sohar can understand. He can get by, most of the time, but after Saval ran roughshod over his insinuations with cruel logic, after T'Lis wouldn't let herself understand that it's possible to do a foolish thing and not regret it, yeah, he's not too happy with words, now.
The first touch is always like a question, and Sohar wonders if Gaan will ever not be insecure. He tries to let him know, let him understand that he'll never not want him there, poking around in his mind, but Gaan will always ask, first. He floods him like of course and then they sink into each other, chasing down memories and curling around the concept of emotions.
Gaan relives the argument, the rage, the falling-out and Sohar can feel his friend's own illogical reaction at the savage cruelty of Saval's threat. He agrees with Spock - Sohar can feel it, they can't hide anything from each other - in that he shouldn't've fought back, then, and he's glad that Spock managed to get him away. But his mind trembles with anger, and fear, and Sohar wraps around and around him until he quiets, stumbling over his own emotions as he trips and tries to hold back and Sohar tightens, he won't let go so Gaan relents.
They've never been taught what love is, but they're pretty sure that this is it.
•
She finds him after school, hiding out behind the waste receptacles. He knows she's coming, and he really wonders at their bond, how strong it's become. It's unusual and almost frightening. This can't be normal. Perhaps they should see a priestess to put a block between their minds, until his first pon farr.
His thoughts are disjointed; broken. He's visibly shaken by what happened during the day - everyone was, though most hid it well, in imitation of their role models, the instructors. But everyone knew that everyone felt it - horror, fear.
He'd been there, for Stonn was in his learning unit. He'd watched him run up from his bowl, heard him screaming. Seen him fall first to his knees, then facedown on the ground, passed out cold. Everyone crowded around, silence following in the wake of the scream like a wave of cold.
He's in a coma, now, at the Shi'Kahr Medical Institute. The doctors say 'severe mental trauma', and though he has had no such previous history, they cannot prove that it was intentional. No one knows what to do.
Everyone at their school will blame Spock. Sohar already knows this, and his stomach is twisting with the thought. But Spock would never do that. He's going to have to be strong for his friend - and not just physically strong. He's going to have to learn to control himself.
He senses her approaching, and thinks he might be better off without her, without the feeling she induces. Especially if she continues in her current trend of non-communication.
"Sohar," she murmurs, and apparently he is wrong on this, but now he finds himself unable to respond, out of spite. Her silence has been painful.
"Sohar, please." She comes up and sits beside him, and he can feel, like a brush of intuition, that she is sincerely concerned. "I apologize."
"For?" His face is blank, mind is settling into the comforting paths of logic. He needs her to explain herself. He needs to be able to explain himself, logically. Then this will all make sense.
"I apologize for taking out my frustration with your actions on our relationship," she says, evenly. "I do not agree with what you did but you had your reasons, and I accept that you were acting in the manner that you thought was best. It was not the most logical, but you dealt with the consequences of your actions, and I..."
He waits, because he's curious, and he's already forgiven her in his heart, but he needs to hear her words.
"...I, too, reacted in a most emotional and illogical manner." She reaches her hand out, and brushes a kiss against his wrist. "I was concerned for your safety, and frustrated." She paused, and he knew what she was going to say next.
"...And scared."
He shuts his eyes in recognition. "You felt fear for the closeness of our bond."
"Yes." He turns to meet her eyes, and that is probably a bad idea - he can see her fear, then, and every fiber of his being screams at him to comfort her, to make it all go away. "It is not right for me to hear your thoughts so quickly. Perhaps there is a reason that most children are kept separate from their bondmates."
There is... discomfort, drifting between them. Sohar tries to resolve it. "I have come to the same conclusion; however, I do not regret a single second of your companionship. I would not be the person that I am today, if not for you, T'Lis."
"I thank you." Her eyes tell him that she's relieved. "I, too, do not regret... this."
They sit in silence for a long moment, each turning things over in their minds and feeling an uncomfortable shifting, as they experience the echo from each other at such close proximity.
"Perhaps we should contact a mind-healer," he finally says. "I do not have the training required to shield myself from you, and it is beginning to have detrimental effects."
"I agree," she murmurs. "Until such time as it is that we will be married officially, we need to..."
"...Maintain our distance." He smiles warmly, something he learned from the way Amanda looks at Spock's father, when she thinks no one is paying attention. Or even when they are. Amanda is shockingly demonstrative. But he likes it. "Mentally."
"Yes." Her lips twitch, she doesn't smile in return but he knows she's thinking it. "It is only logical."
•
He expects a warm reception when they show up at Spock's house; he doesn't expect to get swept up in a - what was it, what was that word? His mind panics, he's being touched everywhere and it's so unexpected. He can vaguely see Spock's shocked look of horror, and Gaan's amusement.
Ah. Yes. 'Hug'.
Amanda puts him down, and Looks at him with her pointed blue eyes. He wonders if it would be logical, to turn, and start running.
"I'm so glad you two made up. I've been worried about you, dear."
Worried? His head spins a little, and he nods, to let her know that he's listening. He isn't quite sure he's prepared for this.
"You're both stubborn as mules. Typical Vulcans." She sighs, and he wonders what a 'mule' is. "I made cookies."
Gaan makes a noise under his breath, a hiccuping Vulcan laugh, and Sohar glares. This situation is not very amusing at all! ...He does like cookies, though.
"Excuse me, but I'm unfamiliar with this... 'mule' you speak of." They all follow her to the kitchen and he takes a seat.
"It's..." she thinks. "An equine animal, a cross between..." But they don't know of horses or donkeys, either. She sighs and throws her hands up. "...Never mind."
"They are like a dzharel," Spock says suddenly, taking the seat next to Sohar. "Only they do not have horns."
"Dzharel, yes, that's exactly right." Amanda fusses over them, and Sohar feels at home once more. "And just as stubborn, too. You're so smart, Spock." She drops a human kiss on his head and he colors green, but it's in pleasure at the compliment rather than embarrassment.
"Thank you, mother." They move on, then, talking of other subjects and interrupting each other in a way that would have been appallingly rude, but they are friends and they know that the interruptions are from eagerness to speak only, and not a lack of respect.
She calls him Dzharel, after that. It's their own personal joke, and Spock refuses to acknowledge it, but he's Spock and he's always difficult like that. He feels safe, here. With his friends, where he can be whatever he wants to be, whatever that is.
→ Nowhere Man