A/N: Eee, over 200 reviews! Thanks so much, all. And to the OP: I'm so glad you're still reading. I was afraid I'd bored you away…
According to my current plan, there should be 2-3 more Spock centric chapters, plus the Jim centric chapter, before the birth. I really want to get to this point, and I'm on a definite writing kick at the moment, even though the Jim chapter is still being uncooperative. Ah well, I will somehow wrestle it into submission.
x
Tomorrow is a holiday and at the end of the day, the school empties quickly. Spock retreats into the library anyway, taking a table at the back to himself and pretending to read until he is quite sure it is safe to start on his way to T'Pring's. It has been another long day and he's exhausted and achy. Still he's looking forward to the rest of the afternoon: T'Pring, too, passed the Academy exam and he wants very much to congratulate her as he is not allowed to do in public.
It is only as he is crossing the courtyard that he realizes he is not as alone as he thought. There is still one other student left on the grounds, lurking in the shadow against one of the walls, half hidden and yet still perfectly recognizable by his posture, his above average height, the broad set of his shoulders. Spock sees him and his muscles tense. He knows Stonn is watching him. He knows Stonn is waiting there just for him. He prepares himself for the encounter but does not let his pace slow or falter, does not give the sullen figure more than a half-second's glance.
"You are not even going to say hello?" Stonn calls out, just as Spock reaches him. "That is not very polite, Spock."
"I apologize, but I am in a hurry."
"No, you are not."
Stonn steps in front of him abruptly, and Spock is forced to stop, to look up from his feet and meet Stonn's gaze. He could try to step away but Stonn would follow him. He would match his every movement and he would be faster—stronger too if it came to that, and Spock cannot let it come to that. He is not sure what to do but he knows he cannot simply run.
"Was there something you wished to say to me?" he asks instead. He takes on a superior and condescending tone, hoping to show Stonn he's not afraid of him, but immediately regrets it. The last thing he wants is for Stonn to think he is being challenged, and that is exactly what he seems to think now, the way his eyes narrow and his hands twitch into fists in anticipation. He takes a half-step back and runs his gaze up and down Spock's body, sizing him up. Spock is immediately embarrassed at this attention, and keeps his neutral posture only with difficulty—he is itching to curl his arms around his stomach, to hide it and protect it.
"There's something not right about you," Stonn declares finally, as if he had just that moment come to some amazing discovery. "I do not know what it is yet, but it is something. I have been watching you, Spock. You have been acting strangely, avoiding the rest of us more than is your habit. Are you self-conscious because you have gained so much weight? Do not think I have not noticed," he adds, perhaps at some twitch of surprise in Spock's expression. "Everyone has noticed." He examines Spock's body again, gaze mocking this time, and cruel. Spock feels himself flush under the scrutiny and knows that Stonn notices this, too.
"You look even less like a Vulcan now," he says.
Spock tries to not listen. He tries to run through formulas, arithmetic problems, the periodic table of elements on Earth, anything he can think of so that he is not hearing Stonn's voice. But it still gets through. He has managed to avoid wondering what his classmates have been saying behind his back, has convinced himself that perhaps they really do not notice his disappearances or his changing shape—that he does not matter enough to them to be worth the effort of speculation. But at the very least he means something to Stonn. Stonn has been wondering, has been turning over this problem in his mind.
"You have been trying to hide it," he is saying, "wearing sweaters even though it is too warm for them." He reaches out and tugs at the side of Spock's sweater, and Spock steps back involuntarily at even this semblance of a touch. Stonn pulls his hand back but gives Spock a dark look. He continues, "I have noticed. But it does not make any difference. Your size is still quite visible. I do not think you should worry though," he adds, "it is not possible that you could become any uglier than you already were."
Spock has heard worse. He's sure he's heard worse. He tries to pack up all of Stonn's words, his unimaginative insults, and put them away where he does not feel them. Still he's not sure how much more he can listen to.
"Is there anything else you wish to say to me?" he asks. "Or have you exhausted your insults?"
"We are not finished," Stonn insists, though Spock knows he's searching for something more he can say, something truly cutting that will finally make Spock break. In the pause that follows, Spock tries to step to the side, but Stonn blocks his way just as Spock knew he would.
"Do not think you can outrun me," he says. "Not looking like that." The way he says that, it is as if Spock were nothing more than a lowly and disgusting bug. Still he's right that there is no escape. Spock feels an edge of panic slip past his defenses.
"I do not wish to run," Spock corrects him. "I only wish to return home, as I do not believe that there is any reason to continue this conversation."
"This conversation will continue until I am satisified. Why are you still at this school, Spock? You are not a real Vulcan. You cannot ever hope to succeed here. You could not even take the Academy exam without having to leave school for a week afterward."
"It is not your concern if I had personal reasons for taking time off," he answers, and despite his efforts his voice is already growing louder, his words fast on top of Stonn's. "Nor is it your concern if I have gained weight, or if I choose to spend time by myself."
"I have made it my concern—"
"Why? I pose no threat to you. I can give you nothing. I have nothing you want. I am not even bonded to T'Pring any longer—"
He regrets the words even as he says them. He had not meant to bring T'Pring into this argument, and not only because, at the mention of her name, Stonn's anger flares, and he steps closer into Spock's space.
"Do not say her name. Do not even think about her. This is not about her."
He is right and Spock sees it now, sees it clearly like he should have long before. Stonn's jealousy over Spock's bond with T'Pring might have been the cause of his long-standing hatred, but it is no longer the factor it was. Stonn hates Spock because Spock is different, because Spock is part human, because, quite simply, he is used to hating Spock. He knows nothing else.
But it is too late. Stonn's breath is flaring out through his nostrils and his eyes are locked threateningly on Spock's. He is daring him. "This is not about her. Do you understand me?" he repeats, and shoves Spock's shoulder roughly. Spock feels something in him start to crack at the touch.
"Do not touch me," he warns, and Stonn hears him, hears that warning in Spock's voice, but he does not listen. This is what he wanted: to bring Spock to the edge. To prove that he has emotions, that he can be controlled through them, even if in the process Stonn must reveal the same of himself.
"Do not tell me what to do," he answers, and shoves at Spock again, harder this time and with two hands, and at the unexpected force Spock loses his balance and falls to the ground.
He is not really hurt. He does not think he is really hurt. He did not fall hard. But he cannot be sure; he can't help but be afraid. Something in him snaps, fear and anger and desperation exploding, heartbeat pounding in his ears and his breathing fast and flaring, and he does not who he is anymore or where he is or anything except that he must eliminate this threat. He pulls himself up with some difficulty and takes advantage of Stonn's hesitation to shove him back and pin him against the wall. He puts his arm against Stonn's throat to hold him still, not enough pressure to choke off his supply of air but enough to threaten, enough to show him just how much power Spock holds in this moment. He has him. He could kill him, if he wanted to.
He does not want to. But it is several long moments before his breathing slows and his heart rate returns to normal and he is again capable of reminding himself: he does not want to. Still, he has never been this angry in his life. Even as he feels his calm return he still vows that if anything, anything at all is wrong with his child he will hunt Stonn down, and there will be no hesitation then.
Stonn stares at him with wide eyes, too frightened, for the moment, to speak.
"You will not touch me," Spock repeats. His voice is so low, so angry, that he does not even recognize it as his own. "I will not warn you again."
He's kept Stonn pinned too long, though, and even as he watches, the other begins to regain some of his composure, at least enough to reason that Spock would not dare do him serious harm. "Or what?" he spits out.
"You are in no position to argue with me," Spock reminds him.
"Aren't I? You are not going to kill me. Eventually you will let me go. And you know that if we were to have a fair fight you would not win." He looks at Spock steadily. "By this reasoning I see that I am still in control."
Spock meets his gaze with equal strength but he knows that, despite his current position, he is beaten. He cannot fight Stonn. But now that he has threatened him so violently, now that he has come this far, Stonn will expect or even force a fight and nothing will convince him to let Spock leave quietly and continue home unharmed. He does not know what he can do. He only knows that his first priority must be to protect the child, at whatever cost.
"I will not fight you," he insists.
"You will not have a choice."
"I will not fight you," he says yet again, ignoring Stonn's words, speaking almost over them, "and you will not attack me. You may think that I have wronged you and that you have the right to respond with violence against me but," and he'd hoped he would not hesitate here, but he does, the slightest half-second that Stonn's sharp ears pick up, "but my child has done nothing against you and it would be against every law of our society that you should harm it by harming me."
He does not let go of his hold against Stonn's neck. He is afraid of Stonn's response; he must be in control until he knows what the other will say.
His first reaction is simply one of stupid incomprehension, and though Spock had expected this, it lasts much longer than he might have predicted.
"What child?" Stonn asks finally.
"The child I am carrying," Spock answers with every shred of fake calm he can manage, and finally steps back from Stonn, who rolls his shoulders and stretches his back now that he is no longer pinned against the hard wall.
"I do not believe you. What you are telling me is completely impossible."
"The difference between 'improbable' and 'impossible' is a central one. I believed you to understand that difference and apologize if I was mistaken," he quips in return. Beneath, he is barely holding back his shaking. There is no going back from his confession—bad enough that he had to say it once, now he must work to convince Stonn that it is really true.
Stonn's eyes narrow but he has no comeback. He can only demand, "Prove it," in a hard and daring tone.
He seems to think that Spock hesitates because he is being caught in his lie, and he takes a step closer again. He is too close, and Spock feels the beginnings of violence stirring in him again. Not knowing what else he can say, he blurts, "Why do you think I am so large? I am not simply gaining weight, Stonn."
"You will never be a proper scientist if you consider such a statement to be proof," Stonn answers, even as he looks up and down Spock's figure once more. Spock has never felt more ugly, more digusting, than when Stonn looks at him in this manner.
He knows he has no choice. Not if he wants to end this interview, not if he wants Stonn to leave him alone, not if he wants this threat to his child to finally be out of his life. "I can—show you," he says finally, more reluctantly than he would wish.
Stonn tilts his head. "I suggest you do so."
Spock feels his cheeks burn a dark green and his heart beat hard, painfully hard, in his side. He does not wish to. He is scared and ashamed. He feels that he is betraying his son or daughter even as he is trying to save him or her. Still, slowly, carefully, he lifts his sweater, so that the shape of his round, protruding stomach is fully visible to Stonn's eyes. This is not the shape of a body that is merely gaining weight, and Stonn knows it as well as he does. He stares in lurid fascination for several long moments.
"Do you believe me now?" Spock asks, pulling his sweater back down into place.
"You seem to be telling the truth," Stonn admits, and Spock takes a small, if temporary, pleasure in this pained assent that he, Stonn, was wrong after all. He no longer seems ready to fight; he does not even appear to be angry, shocked out of all of his previous emotions. Yet if Spock hoped he could make a quick retreat once he diffused the impending fight, he was mistaken. Stonn's face is lit up by curiosity, and he will not be letting Spock leave any time soon.
"I cannot argue with the evidence you have presented," Stonn says, "but I cannot help but retain a certain amount of disbelief." He crosses his arms against his chest and paces to one side of Spock and then the other, his manner scientific but exaggerated, grossly mocking. Spock stands still where he is. He stands perfectly, perfectly still. "After all," Stonn continues, now stopping on Spock's other side and tilting his head to meet Spock's eyes, "there must be another father, and who would want to touch a hybrid freak like you?"
Spock holds his hands clasped tight together behind his back. He cannot believe that Stonn would be this direct, this crude; perhaps he merely believes he has nothing to lose, now that he has pushed Spock to the ground, now that he has felt Spock's arm against his throat; or perhaps he feels that this is an opportunity that he will never get again and one that he must seize.
"The other father is human," Spock admits quietly.
"I should have known," Stonn answers, his tone mocking but disgusted. "That explains much. Humans have unexplainable taste." He takes a step back and looks Spock over again, gaze lingering first on his middle, then on his face. "Or perhaps he simply found you exotic. Perhaps you were an experiment to him. Yes…he must have found you quite curious. Some sort of sideshow attraction."
Do not listen to him, Spock tells himself. He does not know what he is talking about. He is simply jealous. He is trying to make you angry. He is trying to play with your emotions because it makes him feel important and better about himself and his failings, but you are in control, and you will not let him bother you. You are above this.
But he does not quite believe himself. A small voice is saying that maybe Stonn is right. Maybe he was naïve to ever believe in the human boy's affections, naïve to think that he had any interest in Spock beyond his ears and his eyebrows and the green tint to his skin.
Your face is completely green…I like green, it's okay.
It's true the boy had said he wanted him. Wanted. That was the very word that he had used. But perhaps he was lying, or exaggerating, or perhaps the word in Standard does not carry the same weight as its Vulcan equivalent. Perhaps it was a shallow, passing, interest, a curiosity, that the human was alluding to, and nothing more.
Stonn is still talking. "And of course once he showed any interest in you, you would respond. You knew that no self-respecting Vulcan would ever willingly have you. But this human…you were enough for him. You must be quite desperate for attention, though," he adds, a fake, forced, contemplative tone to his voice, "to let someone like him touch you."
"You do not know him," Spock bites out.
"I do not need to."
"Why are you so interested in this, Stonn? It is nothing to you."
Stonn shakes his head. "On the contrary. This is the business of any true Vulcan with pride in his civilization. You are just as much a traitor as your father, Spock—more so. Bad enough that he took a human woman as his wife and brought her to our planet. At least he followed our conventions. At least he did not dishonor his family by creating a child with an alien without first establishing a bond. How do you expect anyone to regard you as a true Vulcan if you do not even behave as one?"
His anger bubbles within him once more at the old slur against his father but he controls himself, not least with the realization, sobering and dull, that Stonn's accusations against him are none other than the ones his father leveled against him when he first revealed his pregnancy.
All he says out loud is, "Your obsession with me might once have been harmless, even interesting, but it is now excessive and gives you no honor. I request that you step aside and allow me to return home."
"I am not obsessed with you," Stonn sneers, but his defense is too quick, and to distract from it he continues, "Not like the others will be when they find out."
Spock's eyes widen involuntarily at this, and this time he does take his hands from behind his back and wrap them around his stomach. He realizes only now that he has simply replaced one threat with another, and that he is not any safer than he was when Stonn pushed him to the ground. He is cold with this knowledge, and can't help but ask stupidly, "You intend to share this news?"
"Of course. How could I keep it to myself? That would not be right." Stonn shakes his head, and steps closer into Spock's space again. "I want everyone to know what I know about you."
He does not say any more, just stares, and Spock runs through every possible bargain he could make to stop Stonn from saying a word. There are not many. He was correct when he said that he has nothing Stonn wants. He has nothing to offer.
"How can I convince you to change your mind?" he asks finally, reluctantly. His voice is rasping and unsteady.
Stonn tilts his head, making a show of considering. "You cannot," he decides after a moment, "because there is nothing I would enjoy more than announcing your happy news to our classmates."
"You are sure?"
"Yes."
"Think. Anything."
Spock is sure Stonn will simply refuse again and he has given up hope, already shamed that he has been brought so easily to beg. He will not do so again. It is not worth this ugly feeling of worthlessness already spreading through him.
The same pleading tone to his voice that so disgusts him has caught Stonn's attention, and this time he really does seem to be considering Spock's offer. He comes to a decision abruptly. "I will not tell them. But only if you show me."
His first thought is simple confusion, and he reminds Stonn slowly that he has already shown him. The round bump in his middle was perfectly visible to Stonn's eyes, and there is really nothing more to show. But Stonn just stares back with his cold and mocking stare and pretends he does not hear the condescending tone Spock has managed to infuse into his voice. "No," he answers. "Show me."
He reaches boldly for Spock's face but Spock hits his hand away, roughly, instinctively. He understands, now. He understands, and it's sick. It is an invasion of his privacy, a violation of his very person—he cannot believe that even Stonn would ask such a thing of him.
"You do not know what you are asking," he says, and his voice sounds like a threat.
"I do."
He tries to sound confident, but Spock can hear clearly enough that he is already uneasy with his own suggestion. But he can't back down from it now. These are the terms he gave and Spock must accept or reject them, and if he rejects, if he calls Stonn's bluff, he will have no one but himself to blame for his secret becoming public knowledge.
He cannot do it. He never even considers it. The idea of his pregnancy becoming known no longer seems so terrible; it is not a secret he can hide forever anyway: even if he is lucky enough to conceal his growing size until the birth, the child itself will be impossible to hide and an explanation must be given. No. The damage Stonn can do is limited, but if Spock lets him sift through those most private memories, he will not be able to live with himself any longer.
He takes a step back, bows his head in concession. You win. "I do not accept your offer," he says. "I have tried to keep my pregnancy as secret as I can but I knew it would inevitably become known. If you will spare me the trouble of having to announce it myself," and here, at the last, he looks up and meets Stonn's gaze, sees the look of part defeat, part relief on his face, "then I can only thank you."
x
The encounter with Stonn leaves him rattled for much longer than he would like to admit. He goes to see T'Pala that afternoon and explains what happened in the vaguest terms he can, but she declares that the baby remains in good health. Even with this knowledge he cannot truly relax. He came too close. He came too close to failing, yet again, to protect his child. And he came close to something else too: if Stonn had not regretted his own request, if he had been more insistent, if he had forced Spock—he feels a twist in his stomach every time he thinks about it.
He's walking through the library gardens, wandering aimlessly down one path and then the next, hoping to inspire the baby to shifts its position to one less uncomfortable, when he sees her. She is sitting quietly on one of the benches, doing nothing, thinking. It is just after noon and the hottest part of the day. She's the first one he's seen since he left the cool indoors ten minutes before. They hadn't intended to meet and he's not sure if he's allowed to sit next to her, though he wants to, but when he dares to meet her eyes T'Pring gives him the smallest of nods.
When they speak, they do not look at each other.
"Stonn told me what happened," she says. "I pretended I did not know anything of the matter."
"Thank you."
"I could hardly act differently. As far as I am aware, he has not told anyone else."
"Yet."
"Yet," she nods once, subtly, in agreement. "You should not have told him."
"I had no choice."
In her silence, he reads her disbelief. He does not know what Stonn has told her, the whole truth or a part truth or mostly a lie, but he has no desire to give his own account of the events of that afternoon. He will let her believe whatever she wishes.
When she sees that he is not going to defend himself on this point, she continues, "He did not cause you any harm?"
"No."
His denial, quick and insistent, a bit too loud, seems to satisfy her, and she does not press him further.
"I do not defend his actions," she tells him. "The way that he acted toward you was quite inappropriate. His bullying is childish and tiresome, and completely unacceptable."
"It should be," Spock agrees. "And yet he finds much more acceptance among our people than I do."
There follows a tense and uncomfortable silence, but he does not regret his words. He wants T'Pring to hear this, wants to hear her admit it too.
"Not with me," she says, and then excuses herself perfunctorily, and leaves.
x
Spock does not tell his parents about Stonn, his threats, or his decision. He does not tell anyone. He keeps his secrets to himself but he waits for the day when they are no longer secrets.
Three days after his encounter with Stonn, he goes to see T'Lin. Classes are over for the day but she stays several hours later, and he knows he will find her in her office when he knocks on her door. She tells him to come in and, though she was not expecting him, she shows no surprise. T'Lin never shows surprise. Or any other emotion.
Spock has put off talking to her about his situation, as she will later refer to it, for months, though he has known it was inevitable—just as he knows that it is inevitable that one day his child will be born, inevitable that the other Vulcans will see it and wonder about it, inevitable that he will become responsible for the care of a new, living, being. There is no need to think of such things.
He sits down and tells her that he must speak to her, and she nods and signals for him to continue.
"Perhaps you have noticed," he begins, "that I have not been keeping up with my studies as well as I once did. I have taken leaves of absence, my test scores are decreasing, and I am no longer at the head of my class."
"There are always students that fall behind," she answers, as if there were nothing unusual in Spock's situation—perhaps, as if she expected no better from him. Still she tilts her head slightly to the right, inquisitive as to his meaning.
He keeps his voice and manner businesslike as he responds, as close to her own tone as he can, and as if his announcement were a relatively ordinary one. "I only wish to explain myself by informing you, as I realize I should have done months ago, of my particular circumstances. They are unusual—"
"Please be direct, Spock."
"I am pregnant."
He cannot meet her gaze after he says it. He looks down at his hands and wonders if she has let, at last, some expression onto her face.
"I do not understand," she says finally, as if he had merely spoken too quickly or too quietly.
"I am carrying a child," he repeats. "I have had to take time off for medical reasons relating to my pregnancy, and I have been finding it difficult to keep up with my studies while also enduring the constant mental and physical strain of this condition." This time he is speaking quite fast, but T'Lin picks up every word. He knows she does, because she does not ask him to repeat, only sits and takes her time in finding a proper response.
He knows that she has the right to expel him, if she so wishes. There is no precedent, and there is no rule. But it is within her power to choose that he not degrade the name of her institution by continuing to study there even when his personal disgrace is known. Still he hopes that she will be lenient, especially as he has come to her himself, and told her the news before it could reach her through other channels.
She does not ask him to explain the circumstances of his situation, nor does she offer any disbelief. He looks up just in time to see her gaze linger at his middle, and this is quite enough evidence to dispel any doubts she might have had about his truthfulness. The only question she asks him is when he is due.
"In thirteen weeks," he answers. When there is no immediate answer, he tries to add, "I apologize for not informing the school earlier—"
"I understand," she interrupts. "Your situation is a private one. Under normal circumstances you would be under no obligation to inform anyone but your own family. However I do believe it was best that you informed me. You will not be able to attend the final weeks of class this year but if you believe you will able to make up the work over the break, you may return next year and finish your studies here."
She does not sound as if she really believes him capable of completing his studies now, but as she has not said so aloud he cannot defend himself, and he only nods and thanks her for her time and for the opportunity she has given him.
"I realize my situation is unusual," he ventures, just before he leaves.
"It is," she answers, already turning back to her work. She sounds bored with him, he thinks, he is almost convinced, until she looks up at him again and adds, "And I do not approve of it. I cannot. But you are one of our best, Spock. You must continue."
