He was giving serious thought to poking Spock awake. All things considered, it probably wasn't the best course of action, but the idea had burrowed its way deep into Jim's mind and refused to relinquish its vindictive appeal. Having just arrived at their two-story farmhouse, Winona had gone in to put away the groceries they'd picked up— telling Jim to 'Wake Spock gently', among other non-important things.
They'd driven all through the night, Jim and Spock sleeping sporadically on the rare stretches of road where potholes didn't keep jostling them into wakefulness. Somewhere long about hour four of their long drive, however, exhaustion had finally overwhelmed Spock: who fell into a sleep so deep not even the blaring radio they had used to help keep Winona awake roused him.
Mom had muttered something about jetlag, and trying to get their guest acquainted with Iowa's time zone in that same 'wake him up' speech, but Jim hadn't been paying enough attention to care. The caffeine buzz from his coke had only lasted the first fifteen minutes of the drive back to Riverside; and unlike lucky Spock here, Jim had issues sleeping for long periods of time in anything but a bed.
And apparently they were both supposed to make it though the day awake in order to establish a normal bedtime. Yeah. On fall break? Riiiigggghhht. But who was he to burst Winona's bubble so soon?
Well, if he couldn't get any shut eye until sundown, neither could Spock. Jim was trying to be nice to the kid, sure, but some kind of order had to be established if this thing was going to work, and Jim was a leader by nature. A grin (only slightly vindictive) split his face as he raised a tanned hand, pointing finger taut, perched just above Spock's bellybutton.
The poke was swift and forceful, like a declaration of mock war. He was delighted so see shivers run up the Vulcan's sides stemming from the impact point, waiting just 0.2 seconds before (with a protective flourish of his arms) Spock bolted upright.
It was even better than Jim had expected.
Laughing in his loud, 'whoop'ing fashion, he almost missed the split-second transition from 'shocked-frightened child' to 'composed near-adult' that Spock's face made. Seeing that the other boy was most definitely not laughing, (and sincerely hoping he didn't get stuck with the one alien transfer student devoid of a sense of humor) Jim was quick to sheepishly explain himself.
"Mom says we can't go to sleep until nine at tonight. It's only eight in the morning right now, and we just got home." Right. This was pretty much the closest thing anyone but Winona got in lieu of an apology from the Kirk. At least it was progress from 'The look on your face- Priceless!', he figured happily.
Spock's expression didn't change, so he assumed that meant all was cool. Right up until the other boy responded in a subdued voice. "I apologize. I did not realize I was expected to acclimate to this time zone quite so quickly."
It wasn't the response Jim was expecting, and made him feel mildly… guilty, actually. Huh. Weren't many things that could do that, nowadays. If not passive acceptance of this treatment, he was expecting a 'What the hell, man?", snide look or any other gesture that would generally accompany being rudely awakened by a near stranger. Not an apology. It made him feel like the bad guy.,
Jim hated feeling like the bad guy. That was Frank's job.
With a kind of resigned temperament, he decided he was going to have to handle this one with care until he knew how Spock reacted to things. Which was a damn shame, because he'd been really looking foreword to seeing if the old 'hand-in-a-glass-of-water' trick worked on other species. Keep in mind that Jim's brand of 'making nice' with others was not always very conventional (or effective, for that matter.)
His reply was as uncomfortable as his train of thought. "Uh…no problem. Just thought you'd like a heads up before mom comes back out here guns blazing." Which was absurd, really, because Winona would never go 'guns blazing' on anyone but those she felt comfortable enough with to chastise (or genuinely bad people), and Spock fit into neither category. Still, sharing the blame helped ease the guilt, and Spock seemed to accept the comment gracefully.
Honestly. Sassing this guy was going to be like kicking a puppy, if this was how he reacted to ill-treatment. Still feeling like amends were in order, he hopped out of the tall vehicle, holding the door open for his placid acquaintance. He got a gentle nod for his efforts, and while it wasn't what he was used to, he was slowly coming into the idea that hey, maybe understated is just Spock's style. All the more power to him, Jim supposed, but he'd never met anyone who'd made it work for them before.
Maybe Spock would be the exception. Fervently blessing the unknown for their impeccable timing, James led the way inside without fear of running into his big, ugly asshole of a stepfather. It was a Monday (the first Monday of break, he realized with a sense of childish satisfaction), and tall-dark-and-ugly had left for work already, leaving nothing but dirty dishes in the sink and tire tracks on their driveway. He liked to fancy it was forever, but somewhere in the back of his head he had resigned himself to the fact that Frank would, without fail, be coming back every night at ten-thirty.
Still, a kid can dream, can't he?
Pulling two tall stools away from the small, rickety dining table and placing them next to each other near the kitchen counter, he gestured for Spock to sit down. The boy did so, with far too much grace for someone who was just rudely awakened.
"You drink milk, right?" It was blunt, but that's the only way Jim knew how to talk when he was tired and out of his comfort zone. Spock didn't seem to mind terribly (but then again, Spock didn't seem to mind anything.) "Yes. As long as it's organic."
Jim shot Spock a funny glance. He didn't even think they had cows on Vulcan; how'd he know about organic stuff? Not that it was an issue, since his mom seemed entirely too invested in health food, but it was an interesting thought. He filed it away for a later day. It'd probably be better to start conversation on a more… mundane topic, and work his way up to the weirder thoughts that occasionally graced his conciseness. Watching his mom dance in and out of the kitchen with groceries, humming happily, he finished pouring two glasses of whole milk and sat down next to his new 'friend', pushing the second mug over to Spock's side of the counter.
"So, what're you in for?" If his attempt at humor was appreciated, the Vulcan did a damn good job of hiding it.
Spock went through a mental checklist of 'socially acceptable replies' to a question such as that, and decided that this was neither the time nor place to inform him that, by Vulcan standards, he'd had a mental breakdown. Too many ways that could be misinterpreted.
"After much provocation and unsavory name calling directed at my maternal figure, I assaulted a peer. They say his ribs will heal flawlessly within the next year, and his broken nose was reset expertly." It wasn't exactly why he'd been sent here, and it'd happened nearly five years ago now, but it was certainly a contributing factor.
Frothy white milk came shooting at breakneck speeds out of James's nose, and Spock supposed that mustn't have been the right thing to say either. Hacking in discomfort, the human's wide, watery eyes turned to Spock in abject disbelief.
"You're shitting me!" Before Spock had the time to even consider the potential implications of that sentence, Kirk had moved on, mouth running a mile a minute as he wiped furiously at the milk still dripping slowly from his nostrils.
"I mean, I'd kind of assumed you were just a basket case by this point- no offense- but beating the shit out of someone 'cause they told a 'your mom' joke? Dude, that's, just… fan-fucking-tastic! I can't wait to take you to school with me, man. I've got a couple of people you just need to meet before I get my head shoved in the girl's toilets for being a newbie; Oh god, Vulcan fistfights…"
He broke off from this train of thought with a dreamy look on his face, putting his elbows on the table (and, consequently, in the snot-milk he'd exhaled not a minute ago) and his chin in his hands. Awe and good humor surged though the link at Spock, and although he had been told multiple times his actions were something so be ashamed of, he couldn't help but take pride in the juvenile sense of vigilante-ism James seemed to get out of the story.
In the subdued, so-barely-there-it's-hardly-even-valid way Vulcans could take pride, at least. Damnit. This was a bad influence.
Jim sobered up quickly enough, sniffing loudly one final time before reaching for the paper towels, cleaning up, and staring back at the Vulcan like he had something to prove.
"I drove a car off a cliff once."
…And apparently it had become a game of 'dangerous exploits' one-upmanship. The sense of fun that Jim instilled in the back of his mind made Spock give the unofficial tournament serious thought; before dismissing it as illogical and returning to his drink.
Spock's smile was in his eyes; tone unchanged, the perfect picture of composure. "I have no doubt that you did indeed."
There were a few seconds of comfortable silence, James basking in the glow of his 'victory' before:
"Wait- hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"
Spock simply stood up and went to ask Winona where he should unload his belongings. What was a 'basket-case', anyway?
----HowAreYouFeeling?---
Spock had concluded that the best way to wean this connection was to ignore it long enough to weaken it.
And so, in true recluse fashion, Spock spent the rest of his day exploring the Kirk-Malcor's expansive back-yard and looking into the fauna that lived there. Every time Jim came within earshot, he would studiously move on to another section of the field, putting as much effort into being scarce as possible without making his attempts obvious. He wasn't trying to kill the blonde's self esteem, after all.
As many of the freshman's classmates were aware, however, avoiding James T. Kirk was much easier said than done.
The Malcor-Kirks owned an old, grey bloodhound; its morose-looking eyes and drooping ears fascinating Spock. The big thing had taken a liking to him as well, it seemed; because it was now following him on his exploits, and barking back at him whenever he murmured something softly to himself. Not very constructive to hiding, to say the least.
Eventually a bored Jim caught up to him again, as Spock had resigned himself to the fact that he would. Time had flown by far faster than Spock had expected. It was now about six P.M; and James looked exhausted. Vulcans needed far less sleep than most other species, so Spock was alert enough for the both of them; but the way his blonde bunkmate dipped and swayed tiredly on his towards he and the old pet pulled at Spock's heartstrings.
James seemed genuinely delighted that the dog had decided Spock was good company.
"That's Delilah." He chimed happily. "I got her when I was four, and we've been best friends ever since." The animal in question seemed to nod, as if in agreement. It was an interesting bit of information. Spock had been under the impression that the title 'best friend' was only bestowed upon other sentient beings that could stimulate the other person intellectually as well as provide a suitable escort and companion. Did James prefer the company of animals to that of his own species?
He got the impression that his human host was much more social than that; but that would leave only that he 'd either found no suitable human friends or no other humans found him to be a suitable friend. And, while the boy could be somewhat obnoxious and bossy, Spock imagined that if he were human, he would've found the Kirk's company quite pleasant.
If he were human. As things stood, all the boy really was to him (at the moment) was a problematic accident waiting to be fixed, so Spock could properly try and sort out his mind. Not that he'd ever articulate the sentiment to Jim's face, about the friend situation or the 'problematic annoyance' thing (because while he may be untrained in the area of earth etiquette, he knew neither conversation was likely to go over very well.)
But he digressed. What had they been speaking of? Ah, yes. They had been talking about the dog. A sudden, violent resentment welled up inside of him, that he was so broken he couldn't even keep a single topic in mind.
"She is a rather remarkable specimen." Spock commented tonelessly, feeling very out of place in the face of Kirk's affection for the canine that poured through their strangled link.
"Yep!" James agreed whole-heartedly, petting Delilah vigorously as her slim tail waved frantically from side to side. "Mom wants'ta know what you'll eat for dinner."
Spock wasn't sure he'd heard that right. You ate what you were served, no matter what, so long as it wasn't potentially harmful to your health or compromising to your personal standpoint on consuming meat and animal by-products. Maybe this was another one of the selective oddities that his father warned him he'd have to accustom himself to? Spock's response was slow in coming: "Whatever she deems suitable, so long as one dish at least would be acceptable to a vegetarian."
In the end, politeness never hurt; ignoring, of course, the slightly wounded look that marred Jim's face at his indifferent tone. Regardless, he nodded in a slightly offended manner. "Not a problem." Jim's words curt and defensive in the face of Spock's Vulcan scorn.
The whole 'ignore him' plan wasn't working out too well. Instead of having the desired, logical effect of creating a rift between them, it just left Spock with a mild headache and less-than-desirable emotions that could be summed up by the word 'cranky'.
They were about five minutes away from the house, Spock and his canine companion having wandered farther than they realized in their explorations. Had Jim really walked all this way just to try and ask him what he wanted to eat?
A burning, unpleasant emotion began to simmer in his head. Maybe… maybe he should try and be a bit less… scornful, around these humans. Could be constructive to keeping peaceful relations- 'Bullshit,' an entirely emotional voice sneered at him from the human half of his personality, 'I just feel guilty because I got called out on being an icy, anti-social jerk. I'm just acting exceptionally Vulcan to save face since mom and dad kicked me out.'
It was mean and cutting and self-loathing, but Spock knew on some level that it was true. Being Vulcan was supposed to fix all these problems! By shunning his earth heritage he was simply trying to eliminate the niggling, insecure, hateful part of him that continued to plague the back of his mind. It wasn't working so well, but what other options did he have at this point? Besides drowning is his own emotional deficiency, that was.
James, shoulders slumped and dark circles ringing his eyes, snapped him out of his self-imposed mental analogy. "I know you've been ignoring me. Just because we're sharing a room now doesn't mean we have to be 'best friends' or anything; you don't have to go out of your way to shun me. I'm not gonna get my feelings hurt."
The remorse and resentment that surged through their link implied otherwise, however, and suddenly Spock felt like he'd been caught with his proverbial hand in the cookie jar.
Ok. Maybe his plan wasn't the most sensitive idea- but c'mon, he was grasping at straws here. Jim continued, oblivious to the already paramount discomfort Spock felt over the whole ordeal. "I know I'm not the nicest person to be around, but could you not be an asshole about it?" The Vulcan flinched. He hadn't known he would be contributing to existing social complexes and pre-conceived ideas of social ostracization.
Jim, leading the way home with an oblivious Delilah trotting along next to him, hadn't looked back to see the impact his words may or may not have had. He kept his shoulders squared, chin up, and eyes foreword, even in the face of exhaustion.
"It's just, I mean- you seemed nice enough this morning, is all. Thought you might wanna be friends." There was a slight pause, Jim's worry filled with regret inside of embarrassment overwhelming Spock as well. "Forget I said anything."
Except Spock couldn't. Because another little idea in the back of his mind, one that sounded surprisingly… Vulcan, actually, made itself known at this point. It was ancient, primal and mildly frightening- if Spock were so predisposed to fear. Which he wasn't.
Wani yasha Yatara, no James itisha wanimo emafa kito la-t'hy'la. ' The terminology that side of his subconscious used to describe James made Spock pale considerably. It would explain much…
…but be completely illogical and nonsensical.
Maybe he'd gone crazier than he'd initially thought.
Regardless, it was obvious running away from the problem (and therefore being forced to wallow in the hurt feelings it caused in James) wasn't doing much good. So maybe, as hesitant as he was to admit it, the whole 'friends' thing wasn't such a terrible idea.
But… how was he supposed to go about apologizing? It was apparent that exhaustion didn't put Jim in the best of moods, and common sense states that directly after one is chewed out is not the optimal time to go about making amends.
An indirect approach, perhaps? It had a better chance of working than anything else that popped into mind, and if it did away with the pit of all-encompassing negativity his disposition had caused in the blonde…
Bottom line, it was worth a shot.
"…How did you say you went about driving an automobile off a precipice when distinctly underage?"
James spun around to stare at Spock, while the Vulcan tried to put on his best 'might-be-remorseful-if-I-weren't-so-emotionless' face. Three seconds of dull, tense silence. And then a slow, sugary grin stretched it's way across the distinctly human face.
"You really wanna know?" Spock had a feeling Jim was going to tell him even if he didn't. And for some reason, he had no problems with that.
Spock could tell that Jim was still more than mildly upset with him; but that, like all things, could be fixed with time. Spock had a feeling this was going to be simply fascinating.
They were still conversing animatedly when Winona caught sight of them outside the kitchen window.
----OneMoreQuestion---
A/N: Yes, that's Vulcan Spock's subconscious uses. I thought it'd be weird to have his Vulcan instincts communicating in Federation standard. I didn't know what order to put the Vulcan words in, so I just used the English format: Subject, Verb, Object. And keep in mind that t'hy'la could also mean 'closest friend' or 'brother', so no romantic stuff has budded quite yet. Sorry. The language comes from the Vulcan Language Guide by April Publications.
To add the prefix 'la' to something marks it as honorable or important. Wani yasha Yatara, no James itisha wanimo emafa kito la-t'hy'la.' Basically means: 'I am Vulcan, and James is my mentally-bonded, esteemed friend/brother/lover.'
Which is pretty much just Spock's protective Vulcan side reminding him that Jim is important to him now, and he needs to stop being an ass. Keep in mind this is all fan language and such.
Woo! Two chapters up in three days! You know how that happened? I was motivated by reviews! :D