Jim's words show up before anyone else's in his class. He remembers being about five and staring at the words on the inside of his forearm as he dangles from the monkey bars. He's too young to understand what they mean. That afternoon he drops his bag and lunchbox by the door and runs to his mother's office. He's not normally allowed in there, but in his young mind, this is an emergency.
"What does this mean?" He asked, holding out his arm.
She looks over from her computer with thinly veiled annoyance at the interruption and her eyebrows shoot up when she sees the words.
"It's what your soulmate will say to you." Her eyes are still scanning the words as if she doesn't understand them.
"But what's it mean?" he asks more firmly.
"I don't know." She just says, before turning back to the screen.
"Hmm…" He trips over his shoelaces as he walks out, closing the door behind him. By the time he's had his snack and done his homework, he's forgotten and it's hardly an issue anymore.
He grows up sparing glances at the words. He can't help but wonder, as everyone does, about his soulmate. What will they look like? And why would they say…
"Sweet Surak!"
He's about twelve when he finally just types the words into the computer. It's summertime in Iowa, and with his mom off planet again, and Sam off with his friends, Jim's long sense learned to pick the lock on his mom's office door in order to use the computer. He's not ashamed to say his mom's classic book collection in there is just as interesting –he's always been a bit of a nerd.
But apparently not as much of a nerd as his soulmate, though. Typing in the words shows him pages of pages of this Surak guy. He's apparently some great philosopher in Vulcan culture. Only a nerd would care enough to read the text-heavy pages he's found, and to like it all enough to use the name like that.
Is it a Vulcan? Vulcan's were so weird, with their stern faces and lack of emotion. Just the few he'd seen pictures of were kinda scary. He can't imagine being destined to be with one. He shrugs and closes the webpage before going to where he left his shoes. Maybe he can play outside some before Frank comes home.
He's sixteen when he falls for Lisa. She's got such bright eyes and more freckles than there are stars in the sky. She lets him kiss her, and put his hands all over her. Only when he asks her out to dinner does she shake her head.
With a small apologetic smile, she just exposes her forearm to him, turning it so he can see the words that weave between the freckles. He doesn't bother to read them -because he knows they're not what he said to her when he first met her. Just like his words aren't what she first said to him.
That night, for the first time, he really thinks about who his soulmate is. And he hates them. He doesn't want a Vulcan. He wants Lisa, who always let him hold her hand, even when his knuckles were split and bruised from Frank.
He doesn't let himself look at girls after that. Maybe that's how he starts to get a keen eye for what looks good in guys. He's eighteen when Gary lets him kiss him the way Lisa did. He puts his hands on Gary's chest and arms, and his own body practically sings in response.
"D-do you wanna go out sometime?" Jim is a babbling kid once more when he asks Gary out over the thumping sounds of the music. Why does he go to parties like this when the loud music is gonna make him deaf before he hits his twenties?
"What?" Gary shouts, the party's music practically swallowing his voice.
"I said," Jim's face flushes and he takes a deep breath before shouting once more "Do you wanna go out with me?!"
"Nah…sorry." Gary shakes his head. "I'm still waitin' on my soulmate. We can still make-out though?"
"Okay." And Jim hates himself for it.
They make out until Jim's bottom lip is swollen from bites. His brain is a mix of wants and don't-wants. His body seems to act on its own accord. In the dark corner of the living room, he ruts against Gary until he's coming in his pants. Gary moans, and Jim tries not to fall in love with the sound. It doesn't really work.
He's alone in Iowa for a couple of years in his twenties. Mom's off-planet again, after the shortest shore leave she's ever spent with him. He really tries not to blame her for all of that, after all, losing your soulmate is a pain he can't even imagine.
Sam's gone too, having his met his soulmate last year. They relocated to god-knows-where, and Jim tries not to feel bitter whenever he opens their Christmas card. He grabs his coat and heads out to drown his sorrows at the bar.
"Oh, sure, I speak almost every Earth language…" A girl at the bar says braggingly to a nearby patron. Jim tries to tune her out, knocking his head back to take another shot. "…Alien languages too. Klingon, Vulcan…"
Jim's head snaps back. Vulcan. He glances over at from his corner table. Even from the distance and minimal lighting, he can see her pretty well. She's got dark skin and long hair. He nods once to himself. Yes, of course it's a human. And a girl. So what if she happens to like Vulcan culture?
As he stands and takes a few wobbly steps her way. He's drunker than he thought, and it shows when he bumps a table.
"You got a problem, pal?" One of the guys at the table growls. Jim ignores him and instead calls to the girl at the bar.
"Hey!" Her ponytail whips as she looks at him over her shoulder. A flick of her eyes sizes him up. He knows whatever he says next is going to be the thing on her arm. He tries to choose his words carefully, but the alcohol is getting to him, making his mind slow.
Just then, the guy at the table stands abruptly. He grabs Jim's arm and Jim yanks it back from his grasp. "Back off, Cupcake." Jim retorts in his direction before looking back to the girl. She's just watching.
So she sees when the guy grabs Jim again and shoves him onto the table. Glasses spill and shatter around him and he quickly bounces back to his feet and throws a punch.
"Hey! Cut that shit out!" The bartender beckons for security, but the guy is gone fast.
Jim stands and winces when he sees the cuts on his arm. The spilled drinks sting, but he wants nothing more than to ignore the pain and run. The girl is beside him now.
"Are you okay?" She undoes her jacket and drapes it over his shoulders. With her arms exposed, he can see her words.
"Can I get a towel, please?"
He supposed, technically, he could say that now. A towel is certainly warranted when he's got several glasses of bourbon soaking through his pants.
But no, it's too late. She isn't his and he isn't hers.
"I'm fine…" His voice actually shakes as he pulls her coat from his shoulders and folds it in her arms.
"You're bleeding…" Her voice rises at the end as if trying to convince him of it. What does it matter? He can't really feel it.
He just shakes his head. If he talks again, he knows his voice will just break like a small bundle of twigs. He turns and stumbles out the door.
The shuttle is so packed that it's only a matter of time before the seat beside him is taken. His brain is foggy with sleep from having gotten up so early, but the half that's running entertains the idea of his soulmate plopping down next to him.
Someone does sit next to him. He looks frazzled as hell and smells like he may have already had a drink this morning. He mumbles something about his ex-wife before actually turning to Jim.
"…I may throw up on you." He warns.
"That's okay." Jim actually cracks a smile, surprised at his lack of disappointment. "But you'll owe me. Jim Kirk." He offers his hand.
"Leonard McCoy." He shakes it. "So, what brings you to the service?"
"Home got lonely." He shrugged. "Space might be better."
"Space is filled with danger and diseases." McCoy shakes his head bitterly.
Jim smiles again. He's not sure how, but he thinks they'll get along fine.
"Have you met yours yet?" Jim asked McCoy a couple of days into the semester. He's got a padd on the bed in front of him on the bed open to the coursework, but he's not really looking at it. His t-shirt leaves his words fully exposed, and his eyes can't help but wander to them.
"Nope." McCoy says, popping the word from his mouth. He's actually reading for the new classes tomorrow, his feet propped up on the desk.
Jim doesn't have to ask why. Getting married to someone that wasn't your soulmate is practically unheard of, as is such a nasty divorce.
"Aren't you curious though? Maybe this one's nice…" Jim reached up and traces his words with a fingertip.
"Maybe." McCoy just shrugs.
"Well, what's yours say?"
"You gonna keep bugging me or what? I can't concentrate with all the questions." McCoy's feet thump onto the floor when he drops them from the desk.
"Sorry." Jim doesn't even try to hide his grin. It's so funny how McCoy's grumpiness never seems to get him down. It only fuels his border-line obnoxious behavior. They bicker like they're brothers, and it's only been three days.
"What about you?" McCoy looks over, a glare in his eyes that Jim knows means he's just asking out of a chance to make Jim taste his own medicine. "What do your words say?"
"Nothing." Jim's eyes bore into the words on his padd. "I'm trying to concentrate…"
"No offense, but you're crazy." Hikaru Sulu says to Jim with a tiny shake of his head. "No one can do a command track in three years, let alone extracurricular clubs."
"Yea," Jim agrees. "I am crazy."
They're sitting cross-legged on the floor of one of the sparring rooms in the gym on campus. They'd just finished training for fencing, and Jim was trying to decide if he should tell McCoy that he thinks he pulled a muscle.
"You couldn't pay me to trek out to xenolinguistics club." Sulu chuckles, running his towel across the blade of the sword. It was only proper to clean their weapons and armor before leaving, but Jim hardly ever did.
"You trek out to fencing practice and botany club." Jim points out, laying back onto the sparring mat and splaying his limps out.
"Yeah, cuz those are actually fun." Sulu laughs again. "Why do you wanna be in that club? They meet so early…like before classes even start in the morning."
"I just do." Jim bites the inside of his cheek in order to maintain a neutral expression. The bottom line is that while, yes, such an advanced club would look good on his record, there's also good chance he'll find his soulmate there. Where else would someone who liked Vulcan culture go?
"Are they gonna let you in the club?" Sulu stands and Jim hears the rattling of him storing their equipment back up.
"That's the thing." Jim sighs. "They don't normally let in first years." He hates restrictions like that, even if they are apparently made with good intentions. good intentions felt like a leash. A leash that Jim wanted to pull at till it snapped. "They want me to meet with the club's president beforehand."
"I bet they're a hard-ass." Sulu sits back down next to Jim. Without his armor and sweats on, his arm is fully exposed in just his t-shirt. Jim's eyes curiously wander to the inside of Sulu's forearm. The words are in another language. Russian, maybe.
Jim doesn't look long, before Sulu catches him staring. His opposite hand slaps over it and he instinctively turns his body away. Jim's face burns hot as he turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut.
He hadn't meant to stare, but how was he supposed to know Sulu was so private about it? He knew some cultures hid their words, but no one ever bothered out in Iowa.
"Uh, I wouldn't know –about the president, I mean." Jim says, willing everything to go back to normal after that awkward bump. "I've never met them."
He did know the co-president, though. Nyota was nice enough, though Jim could tell his tendency to treat her as an academic rival really ruffled her feathers.
"So, you basically gotta go talk to some upperclassman that you've never met and beg them to let you in their club?"
"I can be pretty convincing." Jim puts his arms behind his head like a pillow.
"Uh huh." Sulu gets up and goes to get his bag and jacket. "When is this meeting?"
"In a little while…like three o'clock."
"Jim…it's three o'clock right now." Sulu puts on his jacket and swings his bag over his shoulder before going back to stand over him.
"Oh…shit." Jim bolts upwards and runs to the locker room. He can hear Sulu laughing the whole time as Jim tugs his uniform on over his work-out clothes without bothering to shower. "See you later!" Jim calls to Sulu over his shoulder as he scoops up his bag and runs out of the gym.
It's pouring rain outside, and Jim stands in the little alcove outside the doors and bounces from foot to foot. He glances to the thundering sky as if silently begging the rain to stop. He knows there's no use. He doesn't have an umbrella, so he's just going to have to run.
He darts out. Within the first two steps, water somehow seeps into both boots, chilling his feet. His bangs plaster down and the wet weight of his uniform slows him down.
"Hey, Jimmy!" Jim looks up ahead to see Gaila. Jim cracks her a small smile of recognition that he isn't even sure she sees from so far ahead. He likes being her friend, even if she's not his soulmate. Orion's didn't really do monogamy. Still, he liked being close with her and her Nyota.
"You need it?" Gaila holds out a spare umbrella.
"Thanks a million!" He doesn't slow down at all, just grabs it from her as he runs past.
"You can return it to Nyota at the xenolingustics club, if they let you in!" She calls after him before laughing. He hears her say something else, but he can't understand it over the splashing of his feet.
He tries to open the umbrella as he runs, but it won't budge. His thumb pushes at the tiny mechanism, but nothing happens. He wastes precious seconds by slowing to a halt to focus all his attention on the umbrella.
"Fuck…fuck it." He rolls his eyes before breaking off into a run again. He sees the building up ahead, and turns widely to cut across the yard rather than take the path. His feet squash into the thick layer of mud beneath the grass.
He finally bursts into the lobby. He's tracking mud and water everywhere, but doesn't stop. He presses the lift button and bounces from foot to foot anxiously as he waits. With the water trickling down the inside of his uniform, he's suddenly aware he has to pee.
"Come on!" He growls, just as the lift doors open and another student steps out. The student shouts something in Russian as Jim accidentally bumps him in his rush. "Sorry!" When Jim finally catches a second to breath in the lift, he realizes what language it was the younger student had yelled in. "Could it be? Nah…" He chuckles and shakes his head.
The meeting is in the same classroom that the club meets in. The lift stops and Jim rushes to the room. Through the window, he can see Nyota sitting up on a desk talking to someone else.
"Jim! You're so late!" She scowls at him as he swings the door open and steps in.
He opens his mouth to apologize, when he catches sight of the stranger in the room. They turn towards him, and he takes them in. It's a professor, in the tight black regulation uniform. His eyes travel up to the pointed ears and shiny black hair.
His breath catches in his throat and his entire body flushes. A Vulcan. His Vulcan.
Jim steps forwards just a fraction of an inch and his boots skid on the puddle of water that's already accumulated at his feet. Nyota gasps as Jim slides forward. His arms flail wildly. His grip loosens on Gaila's umbrella. It flies out of his hands as he steadies himself.
Jim reaches out and catches the handle as the pointed end of the umbrella soars towards the professor. The professor's eyes widen a just a fraction as the umbrella opens, spraying him with a shower of water.
"Shit! Sorry! Are you okay!?" Jim scrambled to close the umbrella.
"Sweet…Surak!" The professor squeezes his eyes shut and wipes at his face.
Jim feels as if all the water on his body freezes. His breath hitches in his throat again as the professor realizes what Jim also knows. His hands slowly pull from his face as if he's in slow motion. His eyes widen fully now and his dark brown ones look onto Jim's bright blue.
"Jim, you idiot!" Nyota seems relatively unfazed by the thick tension that'd seemed to suddenly fill the room like. She steps down from the desk and onto the floor before turning to the professor "Spock, are you okay?"
The Vulcan professor –Spock, takes a moment to respond. The while, his eyes never leave Jim's. He nods once, slowly. "I am…adequate, Nyota."
"Well, let's hear it then." She crosses her arms and turns to face Jim. "Why should Spock let you in the club?"
"Uh…" Jim's face heats up as he realizes with every second that he's not going to be able to salvage his first impression. He takes a deep breath to expunge all nervousness, and it doesn't work. He'd had a whole speech planned to woo the club president, but in this moment he can't remember any of it.
"Because…I'm good at languages." He says, straightening his posture and tightening his grip on Gaila's umbrella. "And I'm a fast learner."
Spock's face molds back into neutrality, and his gaze flicks up and down Jim's form once more. Jim can't help but feel like maybe he was just mentally undressed.
"Very well." Spock nods once. "I will see you at the first meeting monday morning, six sharp."
"Y-yes sir!" Jim nods once, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. Spock doesn't look his way again as he goes to the door. He steps precisely around the puddles on the floor and shuts the door curtly behind him.
As soon as he's gone, Jim can breathe properly again. All his muscles go slack, before tensing again. Something was wrong. Shouldn't Spock stay behind to ask for Jim's number or something?
"What the heck was that?" Nyota sounds more than just a little exasperated. "I thought you had a whole speech planned! What happened to the Jim Kirk theatrics?"
Jim just wordlessly rolls up his sleeve and exposes his forearm to her. She gasps and claps both hands to her mouth. After a minute of giggling, it doesn't stop. Her head goes back and she's laughing like crazy.
He rolls his sleeve back down and walks towards the classroom door. He should feel elated. He'd just met his soulmate. Wasn't like what he'd wanted since he was sixteen? So…why did it feel like nothing had even happened?
Spock was a late-bloomer. He was fourteen when the words appeared on his pale skin. Though illogical, he couldn't help but feel relieved. He had a soulmate. Now he would not have to remain bonded to T'Pring.
Vulcan's rarely had soulmates, and Spock hardly needs another reason to feel different. But it isn't alienating, the way his human eyes are. He sees it solely as a chance to get T'Pring out of his head.
"Shit! Sorry! Are you okay!?"
It's in Standard, a second inspection informs him. He can make out an apology, and inquiring of his wellbeing, but he's unable to decipher the interjection at the beginning.
"Mother…" Spock pads downstairs and into the dining room where his parents are sitting with their morning tea. He doesn't need to check his arm again, as the words are already assigned to his memory. "What does shit mean?"
"Spock!" Amanda Grayson almost chokes on her tea. Spock just quirks an eyebrow at her emotional outburst. "Where did you hear that word?!"
So, it is considered an impolite word. It's hardly the first rude word he's ever read, or even been called. This makes his mother's outburst all the more illogical. He pushes up his robe sleeve and turns his arm for both his parents to see. "It is what my soulmate will say to me."
"Some soulmate, using a word like that!" Amanda reaches out and gently touches his arm. Despite her judging tone, he can feel her elation through their contact.
"Father, does this mean I can break the bond with T'Pring?"
Sarek takes a long sip of tea before replying. "That may not be wise, son. You will need T'Pring in case you have not met your soulmate by the time Pon Farr takes its toll."
Spock suppresses the urge to groan in exasperation. He knows his father in only speaking from experience. Sarek hadn't met Amanda until after his fist Time. That Time had resulting in him needing to consummate his bond with his now ex-mate. Only after another decade did Sarek's ambassadorial work take him to Earth, and to Amanda.
"I will not need her." Spock tried to assure his father. "I will travel to Earth as soon as I graduate school, and I will meet my soulmate."
The fact that the words were in Standard meant they had to be human. In that moment, he knows he must go to them via Starfleet. He'd been torn between applying to Starfleet's academy in favor of his father's first choice of the Vulcan Science Academy. Now that he knows of his soulmate, he knows the choice is clear.
For the first time, he uses the concept of imaging to picture his soulmate. T'Pring is the female he's spent the most time around, so he imagines her with rounded ears and a downward arch to her eyebrows. The resulting image is hardly any better than the real T'Pring.
So, he changes things. In the following weeks, he pours over texts on humans, committing many of their physical and social quirks to memory. Amanda is a little more than pleased that he's taking up an interest in what is essentially half of his heritage.
This time, when he pictures his soulmate, she has the blonde hair and blue eyes that are recessive to humans. He finds the image very pleasing.
His schooling goes by fast, as all of his studying is spent with one goal in mind. Starfleet has the position of Science Officer among their ships, and Spock makes that his goal and doesn't look back.
"Are you sure, Spock?" Amanda hardly needs to crouch to look him in the eyes anymore. At eighteen, he's taller than her now.
"Of course. I have a soulmate. It is only logical that I break my bond with T'Pring." He turns to go into the chamber. T'Pring and T'Pau are waiting for him. T'Pring looks just as relieved when their bond is undone.
When he exits, he goes for where Amanda is waiting for him. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Stonn waiting for T'Pring.
He briefly wonders whether they will bond now, but he finds he does not care either way. Let Stonn have her. In the back of his mind he knows they're both so cruel, that they deserved one another.
Earth is absolutely freezing, Spock notes as he steps off the shuttle. Freshly twenty-three, Spock fits no were near the human cadets of his age. They bunch together, shoulder to shoulder as they all share a padd or a drink.
He hangs to the side of campus, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as he watches them. His eyes roam over a group of females. One has the blonde hair he's imagined. She looks at him with vague interest until her eyes flick over his ears. She scowls and whispers something to her friend, who apparently finds it very amusing.
He loses himself in his studies after that. He rises through the advance track and straight into interning under a professor who's going to be retiring next year. He still occasionally lets his eyes scan the lecture halls, settling on blonde females.
When he loses his footing and trips into one, it's his first day holding his own classroom. The black uniform is much less jarring than the red, but he still feels like an outsider. He's carrying a box of the last of the contents for his office, when he walks right into her. The contents of the box jostle as he steps back, quickly relaying an apology.
"Watch it, Pointy!" She growls, and with a second look, he realizes it's the same girl that'd sneered at him on his first day. She's still a cadet, and now he's a professor. He's very much above immaturity, but it's still somewhat satisfying to give her detention.
His reputation as intelligent gives him many opportunities for deployment. He declines all of them and settles instead on the opportunities for reprogramming many of the training simulations instead. His mentor, Captain Pike, thinks Spock is waiting to be assigned to the Enterprise. Spock assures him that he feels his intelligence is best suited for teaching at the moment. In reality, he is waiting for her.
The spring semester is such a relief, as it always is. The snow melts, and Spock can walk across campus without shivering to his bones. His pale skin begs for the sunlight he was used to on Vulcan, but that the winter months of being shut in his apartment never allowed. He spends afternoons by the ornate fountain, grading papers until the sun sets. He finds his health does improve after a while.
One particular afternoon, he catches a female cadet watching him. With dark skin and dark hair, she isn't at all what he pictured. But he doesn't even pretend not to stare back. He finds his emotions compromised in the small way of his heart slamming in his side as she approaches.
She greets him in beautiful, flawless Vulcan, her hand in the tradition salute. His face is unmoving as his heart sinks. She isn't his, and he isn't hers. He greets her back and complements her pronunciation.
"Don't you ever get wet when you sit here?" She asks, sitting with him on the ornate ledge of the fountain.
"Occasionally." He nods, and he notices the way her face falls. After a lifetime on Vulcan, human faces seem so easy, even if he doesn't always know what they mean.
"Sorry…" She trails her hand down her ponytail. "It's just…when I saw you, I saw a chance to practice my Vulcan. I also sort of thought…maybe…"
"I admit I also briefly suspected." He says to ease her discomfort. In reality, he supposed he knew from the start that she wouldn't be his. She was much too graceful to be his soulmate.
"What do yours say?" She asks.
"Soulmates on Vulcan are rare. Those of us who have one do not disclose our words outside of our immediate family." Truthfully, his father is the only other Vulcan he's known with a soulmate, and it's only by his example that he keeps his words to himself as private.
"Sorry!" She blushes. "Well, anyways, mine are in standard…so I should have known."
"As are mine." He nods. Despite it counting as disclosure, he finds he doesn't mind sharing just that bit.
"Is that why you came to Earth?"
"One of many reasons."
"Well, anyways, maybe you'd be interested in starting a club with me." Her mood immediately perks up again as she launches into the details. "See, a lot of my friends wanna learn Vulcan too, but I'm not so good at teaching with discipline…"
Starting the xenolinguistics club with Nyota finds itself not to be so hard. He counts as the teacher sponsor as well as the co-president. The board says the club will be open to members the following fall semester.
He is grateful he and Nyota have so much in common, that it's not even a discussion to exclude first-years. Starfleet has such a high drop-out rate after the first year and it would just clog the club with cadets who are more interested in socializing than learning.
That is why it strikes him as very strange when Nyota stops by his office after the summer break, just days after classes starts and before the first meeting of the club commences, and asks him if it would be alright if they let in a first-year.
"He's really nice." She says, a slight begging inflection in her voice.
"It does not matter whether he is nice or not." Spock says dismissively, turning on his computer to start his lesson plans. He finds the human concept of luck helped him evade being Nyota's teacher by one year. He knows his concentration would waver even if just slightly if he were constantly in her presence.
"Good, because I lied. He's not all that nice…very infuriating, really. But he's really smart. He's on advanced track, like you were, so you can tell he's serious."
"For what reason do you want a first-year in the organization?" He asks, fingers flying over the keys. Normally, he wouldn't listen to human reasoning, as it is usually all emotion, but Nyota is the most reasonable human he knows.
"He's my friend…" She says lamely, and he throws all preconceived notions about her reasonability out the window. "Well, just talk to him." She begs. "We can have a meeting and see if he can convince you. He really wants to be in the club…please?"
"…Very well." He suppresses a sigh. "Next Thursday, before my evening classes, I will have a moment. I will meet with…"
"Cadet Kirk." She supplies with the name, smiling widely. "Thank you, Spock."
It's all so fast, and somehow also in slow motion when Cadet Kirk bursts into the classroom. Spock looks him over and only has time to asses two things –blonde hair and blue eyes, before Spock hears those words.
"Shit! Sorry! Are you okay!?"
Spock freezes, going to look into the most startling eyes. A male? He'd never considered that possibility, though he realizes now that he should have all along. With his uniform slick to his skin with rain, Spock can clearly see the muscles in his arms. His smile is bright, and almost intoxicatingly so.
Somewhere nearby, Nyota is speaking. Immediately, Kirk rights his posture and babbles out his reasoning. Spock cannot properly hear. It is as if his ears are clogged with sand. Kirk's voice is nice and deep anyways, and his smile only grows.
"Very well." Spock nods, loving when Kirk's smile reaches optimum velocity. He suddenly decides that it would be nice to see that smile always. The idea of a soulmate that freely expresses their emotions is…oddly exciting, when compared to a childhood of being forced close to someone like T'Pring. "I will see you at the first meeting monday morning, six sharp."
Spock cannot stare any longer. He's vaguely aware that maybe he should say something, affirm what they both know, but he finds his body is moving of its own accord. The heat flushing his face and up to his ears is hotter than he's felt since leaving Vulcan. He steps around the puddles on the floor and practically leaps out into the hallway.
His heart doesn't still even after he is in his apartment. He quickly strips of his uniform and throws on his robe. He slows down to carefully light his incense and settle at his meditation. Two minutes into, and he can tell its fruitless.
He cannot reach the peaceful state. His thoughts are broken up by flashes of Kirk's smile. The dazzling of his eyes. Spock actually sighs as he gives in, going to his computer to pull up the academy database and type in Kirk's name.
Kirk is a recent resident of the city, from Iowa. The son of a Starfleet engineer, as well as of Starfleet's legendary Captain. George Kirk was a close friend of Captain Pike, and Spock briefly considers reaching out to his mentor about the situation before deciding against it.
He considers telling Nyota. After all, Kirk is her friend. And since he is all well, perhaps she could be an efficient confidant. He goes to compose a message, but for the first time, finds himself unable to form words. As his fingers hover above the keys, his inbox signals the tone for a new message. He expects Nyota, or a colleague, and blinks in surprise when he sees it is from Kirk.
Hey, it's Jim Kirk. You know, your ~soulmate~
Spock raises an eyebrow before typing a very logical response.
||For what purpose do the tildes serve?
Dramatic flair?
||Are you informing me, or asking me?
Informing?
|| I see.
Spock finds each response easier to deliver than the last. It is as if the words come to him by an outside source. He also finds Kirk's responses highly illogical, though he practically craves each new one.
Anyways, I was just wondering if I should bring anything to the club meeting? Besides my sexy self? ;)
|| What is ;) ?
It's a winking face. Turn your head sideways.
As fooling as it seems, even in privacy, Spock does so. He finds it does vaguely resemble a winking face.
||Addition preparations are unnecessary. Bringing just your "sexy self" will suffice.
holy shit!
|| You are quite fond of that word. I've had it on my arm for many years.
Yeah, sorry about that.
||Apologies are unnecessary. I will see you Monday morning, Cadet. It will do you well to remember to remain academically professional.
I'll try, but no promises!
Spock logs off and settles into meditation once more. He finds he is greatly looking forward to Monday's meeting.