Spock had never seen a human child before, though he'd always thought he'd rather like to. His mother was human, after all. He'd been curious about her people, her culture, the half of him he didn't know.
But this wiry, sandy-haired child was... oddly subdued. He followed quietly during his mother's tour of home, his blue eyes bright as they darted about, taking in his new surroundings and making connections and conclusions at a rapid-fire pace. Compared to the human children in the documentaries shown at the academy, the boy was an anomaly, too solemn and reserved to be representative of the loud and bombastic nature attributed to his race. For the first time, the Vulcan child considered the possibility that his mother was not an aberration, a miracle of cell mutation, nurture, and genetics. What if, as unlikely as it seemed, it was not that the boy and his mother were special, but that the Vulcan teachings themselves were wrong? (This would bear for further pondering later.)
As the tour dragged on, he began to grow strangely self-conscious regarding the austere decorations, the sterile hallways and rooms with little to no personal touches, so much so that he found himself darting sideways glances at the boy often. There was little expression to be found, however, yet another anomaly, so he focused on the streaks of dirt clinging to his cheekbones, the purplish bruising tainting a healthy pink flush.
"And that's the kitchen," Amanda said with a chipper finality. Spock looked up. They were standing in their living room, beside the kitchen entrance. Ambassador Kirk hadn't presented them with much forewarning before presenting them with her child to care for, so there was no signs of prep, though Spock was sure his father could have a decent meal ordered in little time if it came down to it.
She paused, waiting for the human child to offer some response or comment, but after a brief, yet visible struggle, the boy simply asked with a flat, lifeless tone, "When will my mother come back?"
Spock watched as his mother's eyes grew glassy, her smile twitching before crumbling, and felt a sudden flare of anger at the boy that left as soon as it came.
Though his expression remained placid, the human child's small fists trembled. Instead of waiting for an answer, he continued matter-of-factly, "Frank tried to kill me, didn't he?"
Her hands fidgeting, as though yearning to reach out and hold him, she told him carefully, "You're mother didn't share with me all the details, but… From what I gathered…" A deep breath filled her lungs. She steadied. "I think so, dear."
The boy stiffened. A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another. He choked out a harsh laugh, "It was just a stupid car!" Then he grew quiet, remembering himself and where he was. Stranded on a planet where emotions were treated like weapons. For a reason Spock couldn't quite place, he regretted the loss, missed the glimpse they'd been given of the boy's true feelings, before he'd bottled them up once more. Contained them. Like a Vulcan.
"Sorry," the child said wetly. "I'm not feeling well. Can you show me where my… where I'll be sleeping?"
At his mother's subtle nod, Spock showed the boy to his room, a hastily prepared guest room that would serve until either a new room could be appropriated or the boy's mother returned for him.
The boy didn't come to dinner that night, though Amanda cooked scrabbled eggs and toast for the occasion, something Spock had been told was like an Earth delicacy. This happened for several days, until at last the boy's hunger outweighed his despair. At first, he snuck food from the kitchen – slices of bread that wouldn't be missed except to the observant eye.
Then he started finding wrapped leftovers left for him, labeled with his name and a smiling face, or a note explaining how happy the Vulcan family was to welcome him. It didn't take long after that before Jim was joining them for dinner.
Weeks after his adoption, James T. Kirk was officially enrolled in the Vulcan Science Academy.
It was with no small amount of frustration that Spock watched as Jim retreated within himself once more. He'd heard his father argue against sending him to school for this exact reason, but his mother had insisted that Jim needed to be around other children his age.
Secretly, Spock wondered why he wasn't enough.
Their classmates and teachers watched Jim with wary gazes, as though he were liable to explode at the drop of a hat. They skirted past him in the hallways, never making contact. And Spock was a grade above his adopted brother, so he didn't see how he was treated in classes, but intuition told him it was more of the same. It was hard to endure Jim's bullying, as well as his own, though the bullying didn't seem to bother the human so much. He reacted to taunts with smirks, even the occasional derisive snort, "You call that an insult? Why don't you check your encyclopedia or dictionary or whatever and try again?" But to Spock, the mockery – though nothing new – stung deeply. Jim provided his tormenters with a new target, giving them a grand total of three – his mother, his human blood, and his new adopted brother.
But Spock never wished him gone. Jim was clever and creative, witty in a way that could make even Sarek briefly quirk a smile. So when he discovered the human boy being cornered by three Vulcan boys behind the school, each of them older, taller, stronger than him, Spock very nearly lost his composure. Before he could insert himself into the conflict, however, he caught the cocky tilt to the boy's head, the relaxed slouch to his shoulders. Saw the calculations running through his eyes.
Jim smiled, "Isn't instigating a fight like this a very human thing to do?" Spock hesitated at the corner, his heart lodged in his throat. The bullies balked, indignation flashing across their faces. "I mean, you guys are supposed to be better than us, right?" And here, the boy leaned forward with his hands in his pockets, deliberately entering their personal space to throw them off-balance. "So why are you trying to copy the behaviors of Earth children?" A cheeky wink. "Not very logical, is it?"
"Spock likes you," one of the would-be bullies tried. "It is likely because he is part human himself."
"Really? You're going to bring him into this?" Jim rolled his eyes. "Spock doesn't like me, okay? My mom foisted me on his family, so he tolerates me. I've spent more time with him than you and I can tell you he's been a model Vulcan." He stopped, adding almost as an afterthought, "More so than you, anyway."
Nearly identical with their shiny bowl cuts, waxy skin, and cool composure, the trio considered his riposte, nodded, and then one of them turned to hit the tallest, leaving a visible scuff on his cheek. This continued, each of them aiming to leave visible, if shallow injuries, as Jim cried out in panic and horror, "What are you doing? Hey, stop it!" He tried to get in-between, only to get pushed roughly back.
When he righted himself, he looked furious. Understanding was slow in coming - Spock had guessed their intentions after the first blow - but come it did. "You're trying to frame me. Is that it?!"
The boys stopped. "Oh no," one exclaimed without feeling, his gaze fixed on Jim. "It seems we have been assaulted by the Ambassador's wild human child. What do you think will happen when the Council finds out?"
A second added, clearly enjoying Jim's seething anger as he fought to curb his reaction, "Sarek will hear about it for sure."
"I'll tell them you're lying," Jim said quietly.
"And who would believe you?"
Spock chose that moment to step out into the open. "I would."
In his hand he grasped a phone, its display alight with a video of the boys hitting each other. It seemed impossible that Vulcans could lose any more pigment to their complexions, yet the boys clearly paled. Jim, meanwhile, breathed an audible sigh of relief.
The Vulcan children beat a hasty retreat at the same time Spock dragged him away.
"Hey, Spock?" Spock ignored him, intent on getting them both home, and more than a little upset, though he would never admit it. Jim repeated himself, but when Spock refused to respond, he dug his heels into the concrete, bringing them to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, halfway down the street.
Spock spun on him with a glare. "It is not to you to decide, Jim Kirk, whose presence I do and do not desire in my home." Surprised by the outburst as much as the words, Jim's eyes went wide. He looked away, but not in time to hide a flash of guilt before Spock could see it. "Do not presume to do so again," he added softly, his grip on the human relaxing marginally. "Please."
And if Spock believed that Jim was out of surprises for the day, he was proved wrong yet again, because he threw his head back and laughed, wiping at his eyes with a toothy, heartfelt grin, "Sure thing, Spock. Whatever you say."