Spock wondered the cool streets. Nothing has been going right the past few weeks and it had finally pushed him over the edge. He trudged along the dark sidewalk, carefully avoiding the shady figures passed out on the ground. A chilling breeze blew through the city and Spock drew his hood further over his head.

It has only been a few hours and Spock is already questioning his decision to leave. He is a logical person, he takes much pride in being so, but this wouldn't be considered logical. No Spock thought I need to get away. The only logical way of doing so would be leaving. He came up to a seedy looking bar, but Spock wanted to get inside all of a sudden, so he entered.

It took a minute for Spock to adjust to the drastic change of scenery, overwhelming noise and the proximity of the patrons taking a minute to sink in. Once he felt as though he could think straight he carefully made his way to the bar, making sure not to make eye contact or have his hood knocked off. Spock sat down at an empty bar stool and ordered a simple glass of water, alcohol never being all that attractive. His water arrived shortly afterward and he drowned it quickly. Instead of ordering another he contented himself with listening to the other patron's drunk conversations.

All of them seemed the same. The man to his left was trying to hook up with a girl, telling her how many pushups he can do 1-handed; there was a man a few seats over singing "I'm My Own Grandpa" in an incredibly nasal voice. And then there was the man (just barely, he has to be, what, 23?) who was staring into his vodka silently. There was something about him that drew Spock in and wouldn't let go, so he leaned in closer and said, "So why are you here?"

Spock didn't really expect any reaction, he didn't even know why he asked in the first place, but nevertheless the blond looked up. He had the bluest eyes Spock has ever seen, they seemed to search his very soul and he swallowed hard, mouth unusually dry. How unusual Spock thought, but before he could dwell any longer on the prospect the Blue Eyed Man answered him. "Huh?" Well, he responded at least.

Spock patiently repeated the question to his inebriated companion and waited while his sluggish brain processed it. Once it did, the man turned to him and pierced him with a quizzical look. "Why do you care?"

The question wasn't asked rudely, but with genuine curiosity. It threw Spock off guard. Why did he care? This man is no one but a random stranger in a bar, one of a hundred faces he's seen. No one special. He shouldn't even be in this bar, too much of a risk of getting recognized. But something made him want to ask, made him want to know. In reply Spock just shrugged.

The man pondered his reply for a few minutes, studying him. The close scrutiny was making Spock uncomfortable and nervous. Did this blond haired beauty (yes, this man was attractive, that means absolutely nothing) recognize him? What would he do if he did? Was he safe? Spock was just about to bolt when Blue Eyes answered.

"Got fired." Two words were spoken, but they reassured him. He was safe still, and that knowledge inspired him to pursue the conversation.

"That is unfortunate."

"Yeah, and I'm broke. Blew all my money coming here in the first place. But no worries, got a job all lined up. Jim, by the way."

Spock nodded while he calmly gave his alias, because Spock is nothing but prepared. "Sam. So where are you from?" Spock asked while flagging down the bar tender for another water.

"America. Didn't seem much like home anymore, so I packed up and left. A friend of mine helped smuggle me on a plane that happened to go here. And the universe gets a kick out of being ironic.

Spock felt lost at that last comment, but he decided not to comment on it. The man was drunk and it was highly unlikely that he understood what exactly he was admitting. Hopefully he did not know who he was admitting it to. It also was spoken more bitterly than the rest of his answer and it no doubt had some more deep personal meaning. He instead said, "You did not wish to stay with your family?" Spock was well aware of how most families don't stay as close as his, children move out, but they don't usually just 'pack up and leave' the county.

Jim snorts and shakes his head. "No, we aren't exactly the Brady Bunch. I have a dead dad, a runaway older brother, a mom who's never home, and an asshole of a stepfather. It's fine. I'm far away and it's fine. I'll be fine because this friend of mine got me this interview and I'll be fine. I always am."

It didn't seem like Jim was convincing Spock as much as he was himself.

Jim ordered another drink and threw it back wildly, wincing as it burned down his throat. "Jesus, life's a butthead, ya know?" Spock shook his head, slightly amused by his drunken accusations. But he quickly sobered when he saw the look on Jim's face.

"It seems to me that everyone hears stories of the great people in history when they were kids and you told yourself that one day you will be one of them. You'll be great, so great that people can't help but remember you. But the truth is only 1% of the people actually get there and the other 99% are left to wonder where they went wrong. You spend your whole life in the shadow of a great man, others telling you that you will be just as great, and you believe them. But how do you leave your mark on history? How will you know that when you die you haven't only moved the dirt it took to bury you?" Jim shook his head and drowned another shot,

"We shouldn't feed kid's head with lies. The odds are that you'll turn out nothing more than another screw up that wasn't worth the sacrifice. They were right in saying that he should be alive in your place." Jim trailed off, lost in his own head.

Spock looked at this man whom he's met not ten minutes ago. Spock has never thought about any of that, never had to worry about purpose and being remembered. His name alone took care of that for him. But there were people out there struggling like the man next to him. There are people who don't move anything but the dirt it took to dig their grave. Spock often thought about the poor and less fortunate, it kind of came with the job description, but he never truly dwelled on how many people struggle with just being noticed. Spock has a great, privileged life with a loving mother and a comfortable home. No, you had a great, privileged life. But he could help those people, and Spock found that he was fully ready to take the initiative. But that started with him getting up off this stool.

"I suppose you just have to do your best," and with that Spock got up and left Jim to go home.

All right, wringing my hands here! I have a lot planned for this story, and I'm excited to continue, but I'm absolutely terrible at actually coming through and writing it…. But reviews do inspire me (however cliché that sounds). I'm also drawing a TOTAL blank on what to call this sucker (HATE the current 1) so I'm open to suggestions.

Ideas? Questions? Comments?

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