Blood Type, I

Due to my encounter with Jim, I was appallingly late to my first period class, and felt bizarrely unsettled throughout it. It was not until the end of class that I fully comprehended the fact that Christine had been trying to talk to me. She was concerned about my hazy mental state, and looked suspicious when I attempted to explain to her that it was simply because I did not meditate enough (which was, from a certain perspective, true – I had meditated for the usual amount of time last night, but it was not adequate in trying to understand, or deal with, the walking headache that was Jim Kirk). Despite her obvious disbelief at my excuse, she did not pry, respecting my need for privacy, and smoothly changed the subject to talk about the impending trip to L'Psuh.

The rest of the morning seemed duller than usual. It was difficult for me to analyze Jim's words and actions: he wanted to be friends, and yet did not think that we should be, but whatever reasons were behind his misgivings had nothing to do with my atrocious mental invasion. And would he change his mind again? He seemed particularly susceptible to emotional vagaries, something a human would describe as "running hot and cold" – but without, I think, the sexual connotations.

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I was ambushed when I walked into the cafeteria for lunch.

Jim Kirk had been lurking near the doors and when I walked in, he pounced, throwing his arm across my shoulders in a disgusting violation of my physical space and stealing my lunch bag from my hand. When I tried to pull away, he tightened his grip.

"Ladies," he said suavely to Christine and Janice, who I had been walking with, "I hope you don't mind if I borrow Spock for lunch today. I promise I won't break him." He accompanied his words with a wink. Christine giggled and blushed, while Janice appeared as if she did not know whether to swoon because of Jim or to glare at me.

As I could think of no acceptably inoffensive or logical reason for refusing to sit with Jim, I allowed myself to be lead to a table in the corner of the cafeteria, attempting to shrug free of his arm without resorting to my superior Vulcan strength, which would undoubtedly result in his injury. Halfway to the table I asked him if he would not terribly mind releasing me.

"Liberate yourself from my viselike grip," he laughed, and tightened his hold further. It was…awkward…to walk with him in such a manner.

He finally let go of me when we reached our seats so that he could sit across from me. We were silent for thirty two seconds while he pulled an apple out from somewhere (crude Terran slang would dictate that the apple came from his ass, but that was highly unlikely – however, I did not discern any place where it could have appeared from) and I sat rigidly ignoring my lunch to study him. He broke the silence, stating with his mouth full of half-masticated apple:

"So I figured that if I'm going to be friends with you, I should do it all the way. I mean, I'm not the type of person that other people should hang out with, but screw that."

"You are making less sense than usual. Please, clarify."

"Um…I can't." His voice might be tinged with sadness – if so, it is too slight for me to confirm.

"Do you engage in habits that would make you a bad influence? Do you often seek to destroy relationships? Do you - "

"Nothing like that! Not really. I'd rather not say right now. But how about a deal? I'll tell you if you agree that you'll give this friendship thing a try. I'm going to try to make this work out, and I want you to too."

The conditions of his proposal puzzled me. "I have already agreed to enter into a platonic relationship with you. Additionally, it makes no sense for you to tell me why we should not be in such a relationship after we are actually in it."

"…Damn. I should have known you would call me out on that with your Vulcan super-logic and everything. But that's not really the point. The point is that you've just said that we could be friends, but haven't given any proof of that with you actions. I want to know if you'll be committed, if I can trust you. And I need to trust you before I can tell you anything. Unfortunately, I don't think you'll trust me unless I tell you. It's a nasty little catch-22."

His logic was admirable, for a human, except for one thing: "But have I not given you physical evidence of my friendship? I am sitting here with you rather than with Christine and Janice."

"But you're not comfortable with me. You didn't like me touching you – and please don't give me that Vulcan personal bubble crap – you haven't eaten your lunch, you're clutching the edge of the table so hard I think you're going to break it in a moment, and if you sat any straighter I'm pretty sure your spine would snap backwards. You say we can be friends, but you act like you have a pole up your ass." He sighed, his hazel eyes somber.

"I am seriously reevaluating my opinion to enter into a friendship with you, your observational skills notwithstanding."

"What?!" His gaze snapped up.

"Please refrain from being so base."

"That offended you?" He started chuckling. "You're such a prude! I like that!"

I did not dignify that with a reply.

My attention was diverted from Jim when I noticed the approach of Hikaru Sulu, one of the young men Jim lived with at Captain Pike's. When Jim accosted me and dragged me to the table, I noticed that the group of people he usually sat with – Sulu, Pavel Chekov, Montgomery Scott, and Nyota Uhura – had watched our progress with varying expressions of amusement and annoyance, and I had quickly forgotten them when Jim and I began our conversation.

"Jim, I just found out that you'll be blood typing in Xenobio today," he said in an agitated manner, "I thought you would want to know." His attention turned to me. "You must be Spock; I'm Hikaru." He held out his hand for me to shake.

"It is very nice to meet you," I returned, but declined to take his hand which seemed to discomfit him, and after a moment of what he surely felt as awkwardness, he lowered his hand to his side.

"Really? Thanks, Hikaru. I'll have to pass on class today then. I'll go now, Spock – the bell's about to ring anyways," Jim said and got up hastily from the table.

"You are not attending class?" I was confused by that. I knew of the practice of skipping, or 'playing hooky', though it was abhorred to the point of being taboo to mention on Vulcan, where education was of immense importance, but I could not understand how an intelligent person like Jim would so frivolously decide to skip a class.

"Nope. Ditching can be healthy sometimes – you know, take off some of the mental stress. Whatever. See you around." He turned to leave, but then paused. "And think about what I said, our little illogical deal on trust."

And, suddenly, like one of Vulcan's sandstorms, he was gone in as abrupt a manner as he had arrived.

In honor of J.D. Salinger, I have included a "Catcher in the Rye" reference. If you can catch it - kudos to you.

Also, I wrote two single-chapter fics that got some amazing responses - which means I really want to write more ('cause fanfiction has turned me into a review whore), but that would mean that updates on "Sporks" would take about a week. I think I probably will start to write some other stories, so I just wanted to give you guys a heads up. I will always be working on "Sporks" (because I love it best), and I promise to update at least once a week, but I won't be working at the rate which I started at (I think I got the first few chapters out within a few days of each other).

Thank you for reading.

(This is a disclaimer.)