Daffodil Time, Part 10
Title: Daffodil Time
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot . . . ish
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: PG
Warning: Jim's recurring nightmare.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The title is from a William Carlos William poem. I can't even take full credit for the idea, and all of the adorable can be traced directly to momo_girlie and her painfully cute drawings. *fangirl flail*
Summary: Vague A/U. What would have happened if Kirk and Spock had known each other as children? Yes, another one of those.
Author's Note: Aaaaand we're back to the fluff! Not quite "go see the dentist immediately because your teeth are about to fall out" fluff, but respectably sweet and sugary. No pictures again for this part, but if momo_girlie wanted to draw something from this bit I could suggest one of the bits in particular. o.o
Part 1│Part 2│Part 3│Part 4│Part 5│Part 6│Part 7│Part 8 | Part 9
Spock is aware, as he rises from his bed, that something is amiss, though he can not identify the evidence that has led him to that conclusion. As he stops to catalogue, he realizes that his time sense seems to have deserted him: he has no idea how long it has been since he fell asleep, though the continued darkness of the garden outside his window indicates that it has likely been less than a few hours.
He makes his way through the house, which is as empty and quiet as it always is at this time of night. He is uncertain exactly where he is going, but his feet move as though they, at least, are confident of his destination. I-Chaya lifts his head as Spock passes him, and Spock takes a moment to scratch lightly between his ears. After a moment he moves on, heading for the side door that leads to his mother’s garden.
When he steps outside the sky is a dull gray, the air is heavy and wet, and Spock realizes quite abruptly that he is dreaming.
Fascinating.
He has never dreamt before, and finds himself uncertain of the protocol. He can, he is certain, wake himself with very little effort. The idea is a tempting one; emotions seem to infuse the very air here, and though he is maintaining his controls against the terror, despair and horror that he finds himself steeped in, it requires a significant amount of effort. He can conceive of only one explanation for why he has found himself here, however, and he will not leave his friend to face this alone. Thus determined, he sets off through his mother’s flowers to begin his search for James.
Beyond the borders of the garden the sandy soil gives way to grasslands where the ground squelches wetly beneath his steps. He takes a moment to marvel at the shoes that have somehow appeared on his feet, then carries on through the rotting fields. The sense of James’s mind is all around him, but there is a mental current that seems to draw him in towards the center of that presence, and Spock follows it as best he is able.
There is a small group of buildings in the middle distance; Spock does not want to approach any closer. There is something about their appearance, something that he recognizes as somehow wrong despite having never seen them before. Each one of them is the same deep red, and they appear oddly blurred around the edges, as though his eyes are unable to focus properly. The current of James’s mind carries him away from them, and he goes gratefully.
A scattering of trees has grown up around him when he turns, the edge of a forest that deepens farther on. The sense of James is strong here, and Spock looks around expectantly. His friend is nearby, he is certain.
“James?” he calls, and a small, startled rustle sounds nearby.
“Spock?”
He is unprepared for the sight of his friend as he steps out from behind a nearby tree. James is thin, entirely too thin; his cheekbones stand out in strong relief, and Spock can see the sharp jut of his collarbone where his shirt hangs too loosely. His hair hangs down into his dirty face, matted and tangled with bits of leaves and pine needles. He stares at Spock in dawning horror before he shakes his head sharply and darts forward to grab Spock’s wrist.
“How did you get here? You’re not supposed to be here.” James casts a fearful look over Spock’s shoulder. “You can’t yell like that,” he whispers. “They might hear you.”
“They?”
“The monsters.” James is already tugging him along, visibly terrified and surprisingly strong despite his wasted body. “The ones in town. I had to hide from them; you can hide with me.” His lip trembles as he glances over his shoulder again. “I think they want to eat us.”
“James.” Spock pulls them to a halt with a significant expenditure of effort. “There are no monsters.”
“There are. You haven’t been here very long, you don’t know. But I have a really good hiding place, they’ll never be able to find us-”
“James.” Spock is using all of his strength to hold them still against James’s insistent tugging. Before he thinks better of it he reaches out to grip his friend’s free hand, hoping to startle him into attention. “We do not need to hide.”
“Aren’t you listening? Do you want to end up like me?” James turns to face him again, and Spock nearly stumbles back in surprise when he sees that James’s eyes have clouded over and now stare blindly at nothing at all.
“This is not real,” Spock says unsteadily. Then again, with more force, “This is not real. James.” He releases his grip to bring one hand to James’s temple. “You are dreaming. There are no monsters; your eyes function perfectly adequately; you are asleep, and if you wake you will find yourself in your bed in your own home.”
“Dreaming?” James blinks; Spock concentrates his will, and James’s eyes begin to clear. “I’m . . . oh god. Spock? Wait, but if I’m dreaming-”
“I am also asleep,” Spock informs him. “Our planets’ cycles are not frequently aligned, but it seems that tonight is an exception. I hypothesize that I felt your distress through our link, and that your mind pulled me into your dreaming state. Your mental strength seems to be quite formidable.”
“My mind,” James whispers, looking around. When his eyes find Spock’s again they are bright with tears that begin to fall as he shakes his head. “I don’t want this to be my mind.”
“It is only a nightmare.” Spock touches James’s temple again, attempting to project a sense of calm into his friend’s mind. “This is only a small part of your thoughts. When you wake again, it will fade as it always does.”
“But you won’t be there.” James squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head again, dislodging Spock’s hand. “I don’t want to have this dream anymore, Spock. I don’t like it.”
Spock considers. “I do not believe that I can block it from your mind,” he says a moment later, “but you need not suffer it alone. The next time you find yourself here, seek me out.”
“How?” James whispers, opening his eyes again.
“Can you sense me now? Beyond what you see in front of you, can you feel me? Focus.”
James’s brow wrinkles as he concentrates, and after a moment he nods hesitantly. “I think so.”
“Remember that feeling, and when you are in need, follow it to find me again.”
“Will that work?”
Spock hesitates. “I do not know,” he admits, and to his surprise James smiles.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good,” Spock says with a nod. “Now wake up, James.”
He opens his eyes to find himself lying in his bed with the morning sun beginning to brighten the room around him. His time sense tells him that he has been asleep for six point seven hours and Spock rises with a satisfied nod, ready to begin his day.
The letter from James arrives two Vulcan standard days later, and Spock very nearly smiles as he reads it.
Dear Spock,
You’re not going to believe this crazy dream I had last night. Or maybe you will. I’m not sure. I think that maybe you were there, in my head. But I’ve dreamed really weird things before, so it might’ve just been a regular dream and I only thought you were there. I don’t know.
If you know what I’m talking about, write me back and tell me, okay? And if you don’t, I guess it’s just my screwy head.
The healer did say the link was okay, right? Just double checking.
Your friend,
Jim
Spock replies immediately, aware that it would be almost one full Terran week between the time that Jim had sent his letter and when he will receive Spock’s response.
James,
I am indeed aware of the dream your letter referenced; I trust that you found, when you woke, that there were in fact no monsters waiting for you.
It has occurred to me that we are unlikely to be often asleep at the same time. I did, however, believe I felt your presence in my mind two days ago, during my astrophysics lesson. Is it possible that you attempted to contact me at that time?
The healer that my parents consulted confirmed that our link, while unusual, is no cause for concern. Be at ease, James, and write back quickly.
Your friend,
Spock
The next dream happens three days later.
Spock finds himself rising from his bed again, almost immediately aware this time that he is, in fact, still asleep. He hurries from his room and downstairs, out into his mother’s garden. The sky is the same heavy gray, though in places Spock can see the color of Vulcan’s skies struggling to break through. He has barely started down the path when the gate opens and James steps hesitantly through.
“Spock!” He looks almost surprised, but pleasure quickly overtakes his expression. “Hey, I was looking for you!”
James is gaunt and dirty once more, but his eyes are bright with wonder as they take in the Vulcan garden. Spock feels a curiously strong sense of satisfaction take him; he is pleased to have James here, to be able at last to show his friend his home.
“It’s dry here,” James says in wonder. “And the plants are . . .” A shadow of a frown crosses his face. “But it’s everywhere, they said so . . .”
“James.” Spock steps forward to meet him. “You are dreaming again.”
“I-oh. Oh!” James’s eyes widen. “I forgot. I was looking for you because I . . . because I had that dream again.”
“Yes.” Spock considers the clear signs of malnutrition on his friend’s thin frame. “Are you still hungry?” James rubs at his stomach, nodding, and Spock reaches out to pluck a fat duf-krus-savas berry from the bush next to him and holds it out to him.
“It looks like an orange,” James says, and starts to peel away the rind, only to hesitate a moment later. “What if I’m allergic?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Then it will be fortunate that you are not actually consuming it,” he points out, and James laughs.
“Right.” His fingers make quick work of the rest of the rind, and he pops several segments into his mouth at once. His eyes widen, flicking back and forth between Spock and the fruit in his hand as he chews. “Doesn’t taste like an orange,” he says when he’s swallowed, and eats half of the remaining sections in one go. “’S good,” he mumbles around the mouthful.
Spock picks several more berries, handing each one to James in turn. With every mouthful he becomes less gaunt, as though the food is putting flesh back on his bones even as he eats it. By the time he finishes the last mouthful he is the boy Spock knows once more; still dusty and smudged with dirt, but now it seems no worse than any time he and James have spent a full day playing outside. Spock allows himself another moment of fierce satisfaction.
“So.” James is wandering through the garden now, peering at the different plants as Spock follows close behind. “Where are we?”
“This is my mother’s garden on Vulcan.”
“We’re at your house?” James looks up in surprise and takes in the sight of the house that looms above them. He swallows visibly. “Wow.”
“I am pleased that you are finally able to see it,” Spock admits, and the astonished look falls off of James’s face to be replaced with a warm smile.
“Me too. It’s nice here, too. I mean, the weather. Isn’t Vulcan supposed to be wicked hot? And how come I knew what that fruit would taste like even though I’ve never had it before?”
Spock makes a mental note to investigate the odd turn of phrase, but ignores it for the moment in favor of addressing his friend’s question. “I believe that you are experiencing things through my perception,” he says. “I enjoy the taste of duf-krus-savas berries, and I find the temperature quite comfortable at this time of year.”
“Makes sense.” James looks around again, then back at Spock. “So we’re in your mind now?”
“It is a logical conclusion,” Spock agrees.
“Cool,” James grins. “I got your letter,” he says suddenly, and apropos of nothing. “I wrote back, too, but you probably didn’t get it yet. I had another dream a few days ago; not . . . not this one, just a regular dream. But I was looking for you anyway, I don’t remember why. I found you trying to explain Surak’s teachings to the warp core. We were on a starship,” he adds by way of explanation, and Spock blinks.
“Why would I be attempting to converse with an inanimate object? It is-”
“Illogical?” James grins. “Dreams usually are. Anyway, I think that’s probably what you felt. You know, when you were in class? Did I distract you?”
“Only for a moment. It was . . .” Spock considers, recalling the sensations that had overtaken him that day. “I was aware of your presence, but of nothing beyond that.” He lifts his eyebrow again. “I certainly do not remember attempting to educate the warp core of a starship.” James laughs, and Spock does his best to suppress a smile. “I am glad, however, that you were able to find me even while I was awake.”
“Yeah. It was . . . sort of different. Not like this.” James reaches out to touch the leaves of an indukah tree. “I didn’t know I was dreaming until I woke up, and it didn’t feel this real.”
“Interesting,” Spock muses. “It would seem that while we are both sleeping, we can access each other’s minds in a way very similar to a meld, but are unable to reach the same level of contact when one of us is awake.”
“Is that normal?”
“I am uncertain. Vulcans do not dream, and my mother has developed sufficient control over her own mind that she does so only rarely. I have only been linked with a dreaming mind four times in my life, though it has never been like this before.”
James is frowning, though it seems to be in concentration rather than irritation. “Why do you think it’s like this with us? Our link is just like a family one, right?”
“Indeed.” Spock considers the question. “Perhaps it is because your mind was seeking mine? I doubt that my mother, when she dreams, would have cause to seek me out.”
“Makes sense,” James nods. He looks around again. “So . . . what now?”
Spock takes a moment to consider again. The answer comes to him almost immediately, and he reaches out to take James carefully by the wrist.
“There is someone I wish for you to meet.”
When they make their way inside the house the sehlat is there to meet them, pushing his head eagerly against Spock’s chest in a bid for attention. James’s eyes grow almost impossibly large as he takes in the sight of Spock’s pet.
“This is I-Chaya,” Spock says, releasing James’s wrist in order to scratch the sehlat between his ears. “Or, I suppose, my memory of him. I-Chaya, this is James.” He glances over to see James standing a careful, wary distance back. “There is no need to be anxious; he will not harm you any more than I would.”
“I can’t believe you were freaked out about Argus being big,” James mutters, but steps forward with a tentative hand extended. I-Chaya takes one cautious sniff before nudging James’s hand so that it lands atop his head, and James laughs. “Aww, you’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”
“I-Chaya was quite fond of me,” Spock says, stroking the side of the sehlat’s head that James can not reach. “As you are my sa-kai, it is logical to assume that he would be equally fond of you.”
James smiles as he scratches gently behind one soft ear. “Hey, Spock? You said this is your memory of I-Chaya. And this is your memory of your house, right, and your mother’s garden?”
“Indeed.”
“So . . .” James glances over, and Spock’s heart thumps hard in his side at the familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Will you show me around the city? Since I never got to come here in real life. We can ride I-Chaya, and you can show me all the cool stuff there is to see.”
“I am uncertain how much cool stuff there is in Shi’Kahr, but I would be pleased to offer you a tour.” He ponders for a moment, trying to imagine where James would most like to visit. “We can start with the Suta temple in the Old Quarter.”
From then on, it is like any other pretending game that he plays with James. They travel through his memories on I-Chaya’s back, ignored by the vague outlines people of that Spock conjures around them. They travel from the temple to Spock’s school, to the Terran Embassy where his father works, to Vulcan Space Central and the Vulcan Science Academy. James takes it all in with wide, eager eyes. Here in the safety of his mind Spock can forget his fears of how James may be treated as a Human among Vulcans, and focus solely on the pride that suffuses him at his friend’s excitement and exclamations.
They are in the midst of the Artisan Quarter when James abruptly seems to flicker; a moment later he has disappeared, leaving Spock alone with I-Chaya in the midst of the faceless crowd. Presuming that James must have woken, Spock readies himself to do the same.
When he opens his eyes he is greeted by the sight of his father seated on the edge of his bed, the fingers of one hand still pressed lightly to Spock’s temple. Spock’s mother stands at his side, holding tight to her husband’s shoulder.
“Father,” Spock greets cautiously. “Mother.” He pauses, unsure. “Is something wrong?”
“Spock.” His father’s voice, deep and strong, instills in him an automatic sense of stillness. “Would I be correct in presuming that you have just been dreaming?”
Though there is no judgement in his father’s voice-no inflection of any kind, in fact-Spock has to fight against a flash of guilt. “I was.” His father moves back, allowing his son space as Spock sits up. “Is that troubling?”
“It is . . . unexpected.” He rises, and Spock’s mother’s hand falls from his shoulder. “When you have bathed and dressed, attend me in my study. If you are late for school I will ensure that you are excused.”
As he leaves, Spock’s mother offers him a reassuring smile. “I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you’re finished,” she says, and then Spock is left alone in his room with the warmth of James’s smile still lingering in his mind.
He dresses carefully, trying not to linger overlong on his preparations despite the nerves that are attempting to swamp him. His father’s study is reserved for topics of great seriousness. It is where he informed Spock that he had chosen T’Pring as his koon’ul-veh, and where Spock had gone to explain himself after his ill-fated attempt at an early kahs-wan. It was also where he had had his mind examined by a healer to ensure that his link with James was benign. Try as he might, when he is in that room Spock was unable to think of his father as his father; within its walls he is always Ambassador Sarek, and Spock is merely a young Vulcan boy attempting to explain himself.
As he makes his way downstairs Spock recites his lessons for emotional control, determined as ever to be flawlessly Vulcan in his father’s presence. He does not bother to knock before entering; his father is expecting him, and it would be illogical to pretend otherwise.
“Spock.” The ambassador nods in greeting, and glances pointedly at the seats grouped together at one side of the room. “Sit.”
Spock obeys, perching straight-backed in the chair closest to him. To his surprise, the ambassador sits as well, settling into the seat across from Spock and carefully steepling his fingers. For a moment he simply regards Spock silently, perhaps considering how best to begin.
“Your mother and I are concerned,” the ambassador asks at last. He pauses; Spock, uncertain if a response is required, stays silent. Sarek lifts an eyebrow. “Do you understand why?”
Spock takes a moment to fully consider the possibilities before he answers. “Vulcans do not dream.”
“Indeed, we do not. Our brains do not emit the cholinergic PGO waves that trigger what Humans refer to as a REM state.” His gaze seems to sharpen on Spock’s. “Rapid eye movement has never before been witnessed in a Vulcan.”
He has Human eyes. With his classmate’s taunt replaying in his mind, Spock can only nod.
“You have never shown a tendency to dream before,” Sarek says, but pauses as soon as the words are spoken. Whether the response he finds is revealed on Spock’s face or through their parental link, Spock can not say, but the ambassador’s eyebrows lift slightly and Spock struggles not to squirm. “How many times has this happened before?”
“Only once.”
Spock hesitates, unsure of how much to reveal. Ambassador Sarek seems almost omniscient, however; it would be illogical to conceal the truth when it would certainly be easily ascertained.
So he explains the circumstances of that first dream, how he found himself drawn to the distress in James Kirk’s mind. He reveals James’s attempt to seek him out within a dream, and shares the conclusions that the two of them have reached. Through it all he carefully monitors the ambassador’s reactions, but there are precious few visual clues to be seen and Spock has always found their parental bond to be tentative at best.
“I see,” Sarek says when Spock has finished, and for several long moments there is only silence. “That is . . . interesting,” he says eventually, “and concerning. I do not believe that-”
“Healer Selv said that the link that James and I share is no different than a healthy familial bond,” Spock says abruptly, and though he is astonished at his own daring he does his best to keep his shock from showing in his expression. Sarek raises an eyebrow and nods slowly.
“That is true. However-”
“Furthermore,” Spock interrupts again, “he confirmed that it poses no threat to my bond with T’Pring.”
Sarek’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Indeed.”
“I fail to see, then, why my link with James is a cause for concern.”
Sarek fixes Spock with a keen stare. “In itself,” he says carefully, “it is not. However, the very fact that you are able to dream is most decidedly a cause for interest. When you were born, the healers were certain that your brain was almost entirely Vulcan in structure. None of us believed that you would ever be capable of something so Human as dreaming. Now that it has become clear that you are capable, at least in some limited extent, our hypotheses will have to be reexamined.” He pauses, then continues slowly, “It is possible, in fact, that you will never require a bondmate as we have presumed you would.”
Spock takes several tense moments to process what the ambassador has said, and what he has not. If Sarek believes that Spock may not require a bondmate, then it must mean that he believes it to be possible that Spock will never experience his Time, that he may never burn as Vulcans do. It is almost too much to hope. The thought of pon farr fills him with a fear that he is utterly unable to suppress; the possibility that he may never have to live a slave to its agonies and indignities is impossibly seductive.
“Will I be required to submit to more tests?” he asks.
“Yes,” Sarek says simply.
Spock merely nods. Aside from the time spent at school, medical tests have easily accounted for the majority of Spock’s life to date. It is his duty as the first Vulcan/Human hybrid to submit to them in order to provide as much information as possible. He dislikes doing so, but that is irrelevant. They are logical, and he is still Vulcan enough to accept that as the superior argument.
“It would also be wise,” the ambassador continues, “to avoid allowing James Kirk to pull you into a dreaming state until the healers have been able to determine-”
“My apologies,” Spock says, even as a part of him is reeling in shock at his temerity in interrupting for a third time, “but I am unable to agree to that. I have promised James that I will not leave him to face his nightmares alone. I gave my word, and I will not break it.”
“That is admirable,” Sarek allows, “but perhaps an unwise promise to have made.”
“Nevertheless, it was my choice, and I will accept the consequences,” Spock says stubbornly. “He is . . .” He falters for a brief moment, but then he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. “He is my friend.”
For a moment he thinks that the ambassador is displeased. To his surprise, however, Sarek does not attempt to argue. Instead he favors Spock with another slow, thoughtful nod and sits back ever so slightly in his chair.
“I believe that perhaps your mother was correct. This seems to be a primarily . . . emotional matter. I cannot advise you, in that case, except to warn you to take care. You have chosen to embrace the Vulcan way, Spock; you must master your emotions rather than allowing them to master you.”
“I am grateful for your counsel,” Spock says with a returning nod. “I shall follow it to the best of my ability.”
For a brief moment, Spock imagines that Sarek’s lips almost seem to twitch. “I am certain that you will.” He stands, already turning towards his desk. “Your mother will have your morning meal ready for you. I will make an appointment with Healer Selv for you to be examined after your classes have concluded.”
Spock stands as well at this clear dismissal. “I will return home immediately afterwards,” he says, and leaves the room without waiting for a response.
He will write James after his appointment with Healer Selv, he decides. There is still much of the city that they did not yet visit in their shared dream, and he would very much like to finish their tour. The calculations to determine when they will next have an opportunity to sleep at the same time should be simple enough.
When his mother sets a bowl of sectioned duf-krus-savas berries in front of him, Spock only just manages to suppress a smile as he begins to eat.
>>Part 11
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot . . . ish
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: PG
Warning: Jim's recurring nightmare.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The title is from a William Carlos William poem. I can't even take full credit for the idea, and all of the adorable can be traced directly to momo_girlie and her painfully cute drawings. *fangirl flail*
Summary: Vague A/U. What would have happened if Kirk and Spock had known each other as children? Yes, another one of those.
Author's Note: Aaaaand we're back to the fluff! Not quite "go see the dentist immediately because your teeth are about to fall out" fluff, but respectably sweet and sugary. No pictures again for this part, but if momo_girlie wanted to draw something from this bit I could suggest one of the bits in particular. o.o
Part 1│Part 2│Part 3│Part 4│Part 5│Part 6│Part 7│Part 8 | Part 9
Spock is aware, as he rises from his bed, that something is amiss, though he can not identify the evidence that has led him to that conclusion. As he stops to catalogue, he realizes that his time sense seems to have deserted him: he has no idea how long it has been since he fell asleep, though the continued darkness of the garden outside his window indicates that it has likely been less than a few hours.
He makes his way through the house, which is as empty and quiet as it always is at this time of night. He is uncertain exactly where he is going, but his feet move as though they, at least, are confident of his destination. I-Chaya lifts his head as Spock passes him, and Spock takes a moment to scratch lightly between his ears. After a moment he moves on, heading for the side door that leads to his mother’s garden.
When he steps outside the sky is a dull gray, the air is heavy and wet, and Spock realizes quite abruptly that he is dreaming.
Fascinating.
He has never dreamt before, and finds himself uncertain of the protocol. He can, he is certain, wake himself with very little effort. The idea is a tempting one; emotions seem to infuse the very air here, and though he is maintaining his controls against the terror, despair and horror that he finds himself steeped in, it requires a significant amount of effort. He can conceive of only one explanation for why he has found himself here, however, and he will not leave his friend to face this alone. Thus determined, he sets off through his mother’s flowers to begin his search for James.
Beyond the borders of the garden the sandy soil gives way to grasslands where the ground squelches wetly beneath his steps. He takes a moment to marvel at the shoes that have somehow appeared on his feet, then carries on through the rotting fields. The sense of James’s mind is all around him, but there is a mental current that seems to draw him in towards the center of that presence, and Spock follows it as best he is able.
There is a small group of buildings in the middle distance; Spock does not want to approach any closer. There is something about their appearance, something that he recognizes as somehow wrong despite having never seen them before. Each one of them is the same deep red, and they appear oddly blurred around the edges, as though his eyes are unable to focus properly. The current of James’s mind carries him away from them, and he goes gratefully.
A scattering of trees has grown up around him when he turns, the edge of a forest that deepens farther on. The sense of James is strong here, and Spock looks around expectantly. His friend is nearby, he is certain.
“James?” he calls, and a small, startled rustle sounds nearby.
“Spock?”
He is unprepared for the sight of his friend as he steps out from behind a nearby tree. James is thin, entirely too thin; his cheekbones stand out in strong relief, and Spock can see the sharp jut of his collarbone where his shirt hangs too loosely. His hair hangs down into his dirty face, matted and tangled with bits of leaves and pine needles. He stares at Spock in dawning horror before he shakes his head sharply and darts forward to grab Spock’s wrist.
“How did you get here? You’re not supposed to be here.” James casts a fearful look over Spock’s shoulder. “You can’t yell like that,” he whispers. “They might hear you.”
“They?”
“The monsters.” James is already tugging him along, visibly terrified and surprisingly strong despite his wasted body. “The ones in town. I had to hide from them; you can hide with me.” His lip trembles as he glances over his shoulder again. “I think they want to eat us.”
“James.” Spock pulls them to a halt with a significant expenditure of effort. “There are no monsters.”
“There are. You haven’t been here very long, you don’t know. But I have a really good hiding place, they’ll never be able to find us-”
“James.” Spock is using all of his strength to hold them still against James’s insistent tugging. Before he thinks better of it he reaches out to grip his friend’s free hand, hoping to startle him into attention. “We do not need to hide.”
“Aren’t you listening? Do you want to end up like me?” James turns to face him again, and Spock nearly stumbles back in surprise when he sees that James’s eyes have clouded over and now stare blindly at nothing at all.
“This is not real,” Spock says unsteadily. Then again, with more force, “This is not real. James.” He releases his grip to bring one hand to James’s temple. “You are dreaming. There are no monsters; your eyes function perfectly adequately; you are asleep, and if you wake you will find yourself in your bed in your own home.”
“Dreaming?” James blinks; Spock concentrates his will, and James’s eyes begin to clear. “I’m . . . oh god. Spock? Wait, but if I’m dreaming-”
“I am also asleep,” Spock informs him. “Our planets’ cycles are not frequently aligned, but it seems that tonight is an exception. I hypothesize that I felt your distress through our link, and that your mind pulled me into your dreaming state. Your mental strength seems to be quite formidable.”
“My mind,” James whispers, looking around. When his eyes find Spock’s again they are bright with tears that begin to fall as he shakes his head. “I don’t want this to be my mind.”
“It is only a nightmare.” Spock touches James’s temple again, attempting to project a sense of calm into his friend’s mind. “This is only a small part of your thoughts. When you wake again, it will fade as it always does.”
“But you won’t be there.” James squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head again, dislodging Spock’s hand. “I don’t want to have this dream anymore, Spock. I don’t like it.”
Spock considers. “I do not believe that I can block it from your mind,” he says a moment later, “but you need not suffer it alone. The next time you find yourself here, seek me out.”
“How?” James whispers, opening his eyes again.
“Can you sense me now? Beyond what you see in front of you, can you feel me? Focus.”
James’s brow wrinkles as he concentrates, and after a moment he nods hesitantly. “I think so.”
“Remember that feeling, and when you are in need, follow it to find me again.”
“Will that work?”
Spock hesitates. “I do not know,” he admits, and to his surprise James smiles.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good,” Spock says with a nod. “Now wake up, James.”
He opens his eyes to find himself lying in his bed with the morning sun beginning to brighten the room around him. His time sense tells him that he has been asleep for six point seven hours and Spock rises with a satisfied nod, ready to begin his day.
The letter from James arrives two Vulcan standard days later, and Spock very nearly smiles as he reads it.
Dear Spock,
You’re not going to believe this crazy dream I had last night. Or maybe you will. I’m not sure. I think that maybe you were there, in my head. But I’ve dreamed really weird things before, so it might’ve just been a regular dream and I only thought you were there. I don’t know.
If you know what I’m talking about, write me back and tell me, okay? And if you don’t, I guess it’s just my screwy head.
The healer did say the link was okay, right? Just double checking.
Your friend,
Jim
Spock replies immediately, aware that it would be almost one full Terran week between the time that Jim had sent his letter and when he will receive Spock’s response.
James,
I am indeed aware of the dream your letter referenced; I trust that you found, when you woke, that there were in fact no monsters waiting for you.
It has occurred to me that we are unlikely to be often asleep at the same time. I did, however, believe I felt your presence in my mind two days ago, during my astrophysics lesson. Is it possible that you attempted to contact me at that time?
The healer that my parents consulted confirmed that our link, while unusual, is no cause for concern. Be at ease, James, and write back quickly.
Your friend,
Spock
The next dream happens three days later.
Spock finds himself rising from his bed again, almost immediately aware this time that he is, in fact, still asleep. He hurries from his room and downstairs, out into his mother’s garden. The sky is the same heavy gray, though in places Spock can see the color of Vulcan’s skies struggling to break through. He has barely started down the path when the gate opens and James steps hesitantly through.
“Spock!” He looks almost surprised, but pleasure quickly overtakes his expression. “Hey, I was looking for you!”
James is gaunt and dirty once more, but his eyes are bright with wonder as they take in the Vulcan garden. Spock feels a curiously strong sense of satisfaction take him; he is pleased to have James here, to be able at last to show his friend his home.
“It’s dry here,” James says in wonder. “And the plants are . . .” A shadow of a frown crosses his face. “But it’s everywhere, they said so . . .”
“James.” Spock steps forward to meet him. “You are dreaming again.”
“I-oh. Oh!” James’s eyes widen. “I forgot. I was looking for you because I . . . because I had that dream again.”
“Yes.” Spock considers the clear signs of malnutrition on his friend’s thin frame. “Are you still hungry?” James rubs at his stomach, nodding, and Spock reaches out to pluck a fat duf-krus-savas berry from the bush next to him and holds it out to him.
“It looks like an orange,” James says, and starts to peel away the rind, only to hesitate a moment later. “What if I’m allergic?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Then it will be fortunate that you are not actually consuming it,” he points out, and James laughs.
“Right.” His fingers make quick work of the rest of the rind, and he pops several segments into his mouth at once. His eyes widen, flicking back and forth between Spock and the fruit in his hand as he chews. “Doesn’t taste like an orange,” he says when he’s swallowed, and eats half of the remaining sections in one go. “’S good,” he mumbles around the mouthful.
Spock picks several more berries, handing each one to James in turn. With every mouthful he becomes less gaunt, as though the food is putting flesh back on his bones even as he eats it. By the time he finishes the last mouthful he is the boy Spock knows once more; still dusty and smudged with dirt, but now it seems no worse than any time he and James have spent a full day playing outside. Spock allows himself another moment of fierce satisfaction.
“So.” James is wandering through the garden now, peering at the different plants as Spock follows close behind. “Where are we?”
“This is my mother’s garden on Vulcan.”
“We’re at your house?” James looks up in surprise and takes in the sight of the house that looms above them. He swallows visibly. “Wow.”
“I am pleased that you are finally able to see it,” Spock admits, and the astonished look falls off of James’s face to be replaced with a warm smile.
“Me too. It’s nice here, too. I mean, the weather. Isn’t Vulcan supposed to be wicked hot? And how come I knew what that fruit would taste like even though I’ve never had it before?”
Spock makes a mental note to investigate the odd turn of phrase, but ignores it for the moment in favor of addressing his friend’s question. “I believe that you are experiencing things through my perception,” he says. “I enjoy the taste of duf-krus-savas berries, and I find the temperature quite comfortable at this time of year.”
“Makes sense.” James looks around again, then back at Spock. “So we’re in your mind now?”
“It is a logical conclusion,” Spock agrees.
“Cool,” James grins. “I got your letter,” he says suddenly, and apropos of nothing. “I wrote back, too, but you probably didn’t get it yet. I had another dream a few days ago; not . . . not this one, just a regular dream. But I was looking for you anyway, I don’t remember why. I found you trying to explain Surak’s teachings to the warp core. We were on a starship,” he adds by way of explanation, and Spock blinks.
“Why would I be attempting to converse with an inanimate object? It is-”
“Illogical?” James grins. “Dreams usually are. Anyway, I think that’s probably what you felt. You know, when you were in class? Did I distract you?”
“Only for a moment. It was . . .” Spock considers, recalling the sensations that had overtaken him that day. “I was aware of your presence, but of nothing beyond that.” He lifts his eyebrow again. “I certainly do not remember attempting to educate the warp core of a starship.” James laughs, and Spock does his best to suppress a smile. “I am glad, however, that you were able to find me even while I was awake.”
“Yeah. It was . . . sort of different. Not like this.” James reaches out to touch the leaves of an indukah tree. “I didn’t know I was dreaming until I woke up, and it didn’t feel this real.”
“Interesting,” Spock muses. “It would seem that while we are both sleeping, we can access each other’s minds in a way very similar to a meld, but are unable to reach the same level of contact when one of us is awake.”
“Is that normal?”
“I am uncertain. Vulcans do not dream, and my mother has developed sufficient control over her own mind that she does so only rarely. I have only been linked with a dreaming mind four times in my life, though it has never been like this before.”
James is frowning, though it seems to be in concentration rather than irritation. “Why do you think it’s like this with us? Our link is just like a family one, right?”
“Indeed.” Spock considers the question. “Perhaps it is because your mind was seeking mine? I doubt that my mother, when she dreams, would have cause to seek me out.”
“Makes sense,” James nods. He looks around again. “So . . . what now?”
Spock takes a moment to consider again. The answer comes to him almost immediately, and he reaches out to take James carefully by the wrist.
“There is someone I wish for you to meet.”
When they make their way inside the house the sehlat is there to meet them, pushing his head eagerly against Spock’s chest in a bid for attention. James’s eyes grow almost impossibly large as he takes in the sight of Spock’s pet.
“This is I-Chaya,” Spock says, releasing James’s wrist in order to scratch the sehlat between his ears. “Or, I suppose, my memory of him. I-Chaya, this is James.” He glances over to see James standing a careful, wary distance back. “There is no need to be anxious; he will not harm you any more than I would.”
“I can’t believe you were freaked out about Argus being big,” James mutters, but steps forward with a tentative hand extended. I-Chaya takes one cautious sniff before nudging James’s hand so that it lands atop his head, and James laughs. “Aww, you’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”
“I-Chaya was quite fond of me,” Spock says, stroking the side of the sehlat’s head that James can not reach. “As you are my sa-kai, it is logical to assume that he would be equally fond of you.”
James smiles as he scratches gently behind one soft ear. “Hey, Spock? You said this is your memory of I-Chaya. And this is your memory of your house, right, and your mother’s garden?”
“Indeed.”
“So . . .” James glances over, and Spock’s heart thumps hard in his side at the familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Will you show me around the city? Since I never got to come here in real life. We can ride I-Chaya, and you can show me all the cool stuff there is to see.”
“I am uncertain how much cool stuff there is in Shi’Kahr, but I would be pleased to offer you a tour.” He ponders for a moment, trying to imagine where James would most like to visit. “We can start with the Suta temple in the Old Quarter.”
From then on, it is like any other pretending game that he plays with James. They travel through his memories on I-Chaya’s back, ignored by the vague outlines people of that Spock conjures around them. They travel from the temple to Spock’s school, to the Terran Embassy where his father works, to Vulcan Space Central and the Vulcan Science Academy. James takes it all in with wide, eager eyes. Here in the safety of his mind Spock can forget his fears of how James may be treated as a Human among Vulcans, and focus solely on the pride that suffuses him at his friend’s excitement and exclamations.
They are in the midst of the Artisan Quarter when James abruptly seems to flicker; a moment later he has disappeared, leaving Spock alone with I-Chaya in the midst of the faceless crowd. Presuming that James must have woken, Spock readies himself to do the same.
When he opens his eyes he is greeted by the sight of his father seated on the edge of his bed, the fingers of one hand still pressed lightly to Spock’s temple. Spock’s mother stands at his side, holding tight to her husband’s shoulder.
“Father,” Spock greets cautiously. “Mother.” He pauses, unsure. “Is something wrong?”
“Spock.” His father’s voice, deep and strong, instills in him an automatic sense of stillness. “Would I be correct in presuming that you have just been dreaming?”
Though there is no judgement in his father’s voice-no inflection of any kind, in fact-Spock has to fight against a flash of guilt. “I was.” His father moves back, allowing his son space as Spock sits up. “Is that troubling?”
“It is . . . unexpected.” He rises, and Spock’s mother’s hand falls from his shoulder. “When you have bathed and dressed, attend me in my study. If you are late for school I will ensure that you are excused.”
As he leaves, Spock’s mother offers him a reassuring smile. “I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you’re finished,” she says, and then Spock is left alone in his room with the warmth of James’s smile still lingering in his mind.
He dresses carefully, trying not to linger overlong on his preparations despite the nerves that are attempting to swamp him. His father’s study is reserved for topics of great seriousness. It is where he informed Spock that he had chosen T’Pring as his koon’ul-veh, and where Spock had gone to explain himself after his ill-fated attempt at an early kahs-wan. It was also where he had had his mind examined by a healer to ensure that his link with James was benign. Try as he might, when he is in that room Spock was unable to think of his father as his father; within its walls he is always Ambassador Sarek, and Spock is merely a young Vulcan boy attempting to explain himself.
As he makes his way downstairs Spock recites his lessons for emotional control, determined as ever to be flawlessly Vulcan in his father’s presence. He does not bother to knock before entering; his father is expecting him, and it would be illogical to pretend otherwise.
“Spock.” The ambassador nods in greeting, and glances pointedly at the seats grouped together at one side of the room. “Sit.”
Spock obeys, perching straight-backed in the chair closest to him. To his surprise, the ambassador sits as well, settling into the seat across from Spock and carefully steepling his fingers. For a moment he simply regards Spock silently, perhaps considering how best to begin.
“Your mother and I are concerned,” the ambassador asks at last. He pauses; Spock, uncertain if a response is required, stays silent. Sarek lifts an eyebrow. “Do you understand why?”
Spock takes a moment to fully consider the possibilities before he answers. “Vulcans do not dream.”
“Indeed, we do not. Our brains do not emit the cholinergic PGO waves that trigger what Humans refer to as a REM state.” His gaze seems to sharpen on Spock’s. “Rapid eye movement has never before been witnessed in a Vulcan.”
He has Human eyes. With his classmate’s taunt replaying in his mind, Spock can only nod.
“You have never shown a tendency to dream before,” Sarek says, but pauses as soon as the words are spoken. Whether the response he finds is revealed on Spock’s face or through their parental link, Spock can not say, but the ambassador’s eyebrows lift slightly and Spock struggles not to squirm. “How many times has this happened before?”
“Only once.”
Spock hesitates, unsure of how much to reveal. Ambassador Sarek seems almost omniscient, however; it would be illogical to conceal the truth when it would certainly be easily ascertained.
So he explains the circumstances of that first dream, how he found himself drawn to the distress in James Kirk’s mind. He reveals James’s attempt to seek him out within a dream, and shares the conclusions that the two of them have reached. Through it all he carefully monitors the ambassador’s reactions, but there are precious few visual clues to be seen and Spock has always found their parental bond to be tentative at best.
“I see,” Sarek says when Spock has finished, and for several long moments there is only silence. “That is . . . interesting,” he says eventually, “and concerning. I do not believe that-”
“Healer Selv said that the link that James and I share is no different than a healthy familial bond,” Spock says abruptly, and though he is astonished at his own daring he does his best to keep his shock from showing in his expression. Sarek raises an eyebrow and nods slowly.
“That is true. However-”
“Furthermore,” Spock interrupts again, “he confirmed that it poses no threat to my bond with T’Pring.”
Sarek’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Indeed.”
“I fail to see, then, why my link with James is a cause for concern.”
Sarek fixes Spock with a keen stare. “In itself,” he says carefully, “it is not. However, the very fact that you are able to dream is most decidedly a cause for interest. When you were born, the healers were certain that your brain was almost entirely Vulcan in structure. None of us believed that you would ever be capable of something so Human as dreaming. Now that it has become clear that you are capable, at least in some limited extent, our hypotheses will have to be reexamined.” He pauses, then continues slowly, “It is possible, in fact, that you will never require a bondmate as we have presumed you would.”
Spock takes several tense moments to process what the ambassador has said, and what he has not. If Sarek believes that Spock may not require a bondmate, then it must mean that he believes it to be possible that Spock will never experience his Time, that he may never burn as Vulcans do. It is almost too much to hope. The thought of pon farr fills him with a fear that he is utterly unable to suppress; the possibility that he may never have to live a slave to its agonies and indignities is impossibly seductive.
“Will I be required to submit to more tests?” he asks.
“Yes,” Sarek says simply.
Spock merely nods. Aside from the time spent at school, medical tests have easily accounted for the majority of Spock’s life to date. It is his duty as the first Vulcan/Human hybrid to submit to them in order to provide as much information as possible. He dislikes doing so, but that is irrelevant. They are logical, and he is still Vulcan enough to accept that as the superior argument.
“It would also be wise,” the ambassador continues, “to avoid allowing James Kirk to pull you into a dreaming state until the healers have been able to determine-”
“My apologies,” Spock says, even as a part of him is reeling in shock at his temerity in interrupting for a third time, “but I am unable to agree to that. I have promised James that I will not leave him to face his nightmares alone. I gave my word, and I will not break it.”
“That is admirable,” Sarek allows, “but perhaps an unwise promise to have made.”
“Nevertheless, it was my choice, and I will accept the consequences,” Spock says stubbornly. “He is . . .” He falters for a brief moment, but then he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. “He is my friend.”
For a moment he thinks that the ambassador is displeased. To his surprise, however, Sarek does not attempt to argue. Instead he favors Spock with another slow, thoughtful nod and sits back ever so slightly in his chair.
“I believe that perhaps your mother was correct. This seems to be a primarily . . . emotional matter. I cannot advise you, in that case, except to warn you to take care. You have chosen to embrace the Vulcan way, Spock; you must master your emotions rather than allowing them to master you.”
“I am grateful for your counsel,” Spock says with a returning nod. “I shall follow it to the best of my ability.”
For a brief moment, Spock imagines that Sarek’s lips almost seem to twitch. “I am certain that you will.” He stands, already turning towards his desk. “Your mother will have your morning meal ready for you. I will make an appointment with Healer Selv for you to be examined after your classes have concluded.”
Spock stands as well at this clear dismissal. “I will return home immediately afterwards,” he says, and leaves the room without waiting for a response.
He will write James after his appointment with Healer Selv, he decides. There is still much of the city that they did not yet visit in their shared dream, and he would very much like to finish their tour. The calculations to determine when they will next have an opportunity to sleep at the same time should be simple enough.
When his mother sets a bowl of sectioned duf-krus-savas berries in front of him, Spock only just manages to suppress a smile as he begins to eat.
>>Part 11