"Hey, what was that all about?"
I will not discuss the subject aloud.
Jim nodded involuntarily. Fine, we'll do it here. What bug crawled up your ass?
If I am to understand your metaphor, you are wrong. I am not angry. Spock shifted in his seat.
There was a snort from the driver's seat. Okay, then what are you?
You sincerely believe me to be an appropriate model of parenting?
Well, yeah, you're great with David. Why wouldn't I think that? Jim reached over and touched Spock on the arm.
James, I have no idea what I am doing. At any one given time all I am doing is parroting what my mother said to me and hopefully achieving the opposite of what my father did with me.
An idea sprang up in Jim's mind. Your mom taught you to never be bored and your father wouldn't have responded in the first place.
Indeed. My mother refused to let me use the word, which I tried to circumvent by researching the thesaurus. It was only as an adult that I understood her purpose. And no, my father would not have responded. Knowing him, he would not have been present to respond regardless. Spock sighed.
"Hey, are you guys talking?" David posed.
Jim turned his head. "We were. What do you need?"
"I need a calculator."
"Oh. Talk to your father. He's just about anything you could ever need." Jim punched Spock on the arm lightly.
"Father, what's twelve times twelve? A hundred and twenty two?"
"You are close. One hundred forty four."
"Cool. Thanks." He went quiet.
"Did you need anything else?" Jim asked.
"How do you want me to ask if you're talking? I don't want to be rude and interrupt but I can't always tell when you're being silent and when you're talking. Unless one of you starts moving your hands." David gestured with his hands in example.
"I do that?" Spock exclaimed in shock.
"You just point. Dad moves his hands all over the place. Sometimes he forgets he's speaking in the bond and he cusses and says the really bad one but he uses his finger too." David giggled.
"Whoops," Jim breathed.
"Whoops indeed," his amused husband responded. "David, if we are conversing in the bond and you must speak please do so. Unless one of us has instructed you not to interrupt us, you will not be doing so."
"How did you know your parents were talking in the bond?" David asked innocently.
"My mother rarely used the bond in my presence. She insisted it was proper for her and my father to speak aloud in my presence so I would learn proper conversational skills. However, her Vuhlkansu was not the strongest so often she would either resort to Standard or simply not speak."
"Harsh, dude," Jim replied.
"Quite." Spock turned away again. Thank you, t'hy'la.
For what, babe?
If it were not for this trip I would not have learned to speak of my mother without … aching.
Jim reached over and fiddled with Spock's wedding band. You're welcome, love. I love to hear you talk about her. I'm glad you feel you can now.
Will you tell me more about your father?
Jim stretched in his seat for a moment and then disengaged the autopilot. "If I'm going to talk about him I have to have something else to focus on," he spoke aloud.
"Talk about who?" David sat forward.
"I'm going to talk about your Grandpa George, my dad." Jim hesitated. "Where to start?" He looked over. "Why don't you ask questions and I'll answer them?"
"Why did he join Starfleet?" Spock asked quietly.
"Heh. He'd grown up hearing about the Romulan Wars and he always thought it would be exciting to serve 'out there', you know, in space. So he joined up the day he turned eighteen."
Spock thought for a while, and David scooted forward. "Can I ask a question?"
"May I," Spock corrected automatically.
"Yeah. How did Pappa meet Gramma?"
Jim chuckled. "You're a romantic at heart, kid. My kind of man. Well, they met in Starfleet at a posting just past Alpha Centauri. She was this brash, do-it-yourself engineer and he was the up-and-coming star bridge officer. There were sparks in the beginning, but all the wrong kind. They hit like matter and antimatter. She broke it off with him and he sang an ancient country music song to her to win her back."
"What did he sing?" David chirped.
"'You Know Me Better Than That' by George Strait." Jim chuckled in memory. "I never tried it as a teen; I'm not that smooth."
"Sing the song to us, Dad!"
Jim sighed. "Do you want me to?" he asked his husband.
"I would be interested to hear of this song capable of reuniting lovers." Spock turned in his seat. Jim cleared his throat.
"Baby since you left me, there's somebody new,
She thinks I'm perfect I swear.
She likes my body, my class and my charm,
She says I've got a confident air.
She respects my ambition, thinks I'm talented too.
But she's in love with an image time is bound to see through.
Oh you know me better than that.
You know the me that gets lazy and fat.
How moody I can be; all my insecurities.
You've seen me lose all my charm.
You know I was raised on a farm.
Oh she tells her friends I'm perfect and that I love her cat.
But you know me better than that.
I miss picnics and blue jeans and buckets of beer
Now it's ballet and Symphony Hall.
I'm into culture clean up to my ears.
It's like wearing a shoe that's too small.
Oh I caught her with an issue of Brides Magazine
Staring at dresses and picking out rings.
But you know me better than that.
You know the me that gets lazy and fat.
How moody I can be; all my insecurities.
You've seen me lose all my charm.
You know I was raised on a farm.
Oh she tells her friends I'm perfect and that I love her cat.
But you know me better than that.
Oh she tells her friends I'm perfect and that I love that cat.
Oh but you know me better than that."
David applauded. "So that's Pappa George and Gramma Winona's song?"
"It is indeed. He won her back that night and they were married six months later. Just in time because a year later along came Sam." Jim smiled.
"Is your father the reason you have your talent vocally?" Spock questioned.
Jim guffawed. "No. Mom says he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. It's an anomaly that I can sing. We don't know where it came from."
"Ah." Spock hesitated. "Was he the reason you prefer ancient music to today's selection?"
"There you're spot-on," Jim told him. "I used to listen to Dad's music with Sam and we'd imagine Dad being with us. Sam researched the era and started listening to more music on his own, but I'm pretty stuck still with Dad's tunes."
"If the earlier song is indicative of your father's personality, it would seem you are very much his offspring," Spock observed. "Growing up on a farm, having qualities other partners would shun but having been honest with one person; I am able to see you in the song as well."
"I know. The stories Mom has told over the years made him alive to me. We may never have met but I think we would have gotten along great." Jim stopped abruptly. "You know what? This is the first time in a long time I've talked about Dad and not felt like I was having to compete."
Spock flushed a light green. "I used to view you in such a manner. The son of the great George Kirk. I believe I watched to see if you would fail simply out of scientific curiosity."
"Nothing new, Spock. Sam reveled in the spotlight; he took Dad's name and became a huge big-shot scientist and had a great family and did everything right. I fought it tooth and nail. Mom saw me as some sick echo of Dad and by the time I was a teen I wanted nothing to do with him. When you brought him up at my trial …."
Spock lowered his eyes. "I do not know how to adequately apologize for that incident."
"No, babe, it's alright. When you brought him up I realized I was never going to get away from him, so I might as well embrace him. Which I did, and I finally stopped running. It was great." Jim smiled.
