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“Why don’t you have any books around here?”
Spock stares at him for a moment, then slowly asks, “You mean old fashioned paper constructions, or—”
Jim waves his hand before their usual misunderstandings get out of hand. Kicking the underside of his oversized chair simply because there’s nothing better to do in the sterile Vulcan Embassy waiting room, Jim announces, “I don’t care, I’ll even take a holo I-spy at this point. Just... y’know. The other embassies all have stuff for kids to play with!”
Confusion sets in on Spock’s features again. For someone that tries so hard to be blank around everyone else, he has particularly expressive eyebrows. In Jim’s opinion, anyway. Sometimes, when they’re alone together, he thinks Spock might forget about that tight attempt at control. “An embassy is not meant for the entertainment of children; why should it encourage such things?”
“Because sometimes the admirals that visit—” And Jim pauses to nod his head towards the door his mother disappeared through with Ambassador Sarek probably an hour ago, “—have kids that get bored as hell when they’re left with nothing.”
Spock frowns. His dark eyes flicker down, and he leans back in his seat. Like Jim, he’s too small to reach the back without shuffling backwards, knees then unable to hang over the edge. It takes Jim a second to recognize his mistake. “Oh, I didn’t... I didn’t mean you’re nothing... I’m not bored with you.”
“You said you were bored,” Spock states simply. Then, like meeting a challenge, he looks back around and says, slanted eyebrows drawn, “And how do you think I feel? You just visit sometimes. I am here all the time.”
Jim grins so fast that he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop it. Only a deep-seated sense of fondness for his sole embassy companion keeps him from pointing out how illogical that all sounds. If Spock’s father were around, Jim’s sure he would never admit to such a human fallacy as boredom, like Jim so often complains of.
Then he has to sit back and realize he isn’t really bored, because he does have Spock. And he only gets to see Spock on these visits, and even then, only sometimes. The times Spock spends on Vulcan makes Jim loathe his mother’s diplomatic job—there’s no one else near his age at any of the other places except a stubby Tellarite he doesn’t like half so much as Spock—but then when Spock comes back, Jim’s eternally grateful. There’s no one so interesting at school, no one he enjoys as much, and there’s a certain way of talking, of just looking, that’s so uniquely Spock that Jim just can’t get his fix anywhere else.
When he was younger, he used to secretly wish his mother would marry Sarek, even though he can’t think of a blander step-father, but the passing years have taught him that’s not going to happen. And maybe it’s for the best. Sometimes, Jim thinks being brothers with Spock, as close as he sometimes feels to the boy he only sees maybe twice a month, might complicate things.
Finally, Jim catches a subject change, and he leans over the railing of his chair, reaching for Spock’s face. Spock turns away on instinct, and Jim’s fingers brush the space just behind his exotic ear. “Whoa—what happened here?”
As though self-conscious, Spock lifts his own hand to check the cut Jim’s already fingering. “I-Chaya scratched me.”
Perking up at the mention of Spock’s bear-like ‘pet,’ Jim presses, “Why didn’t it get healed?”
Spock pauses. “I... did not wish to tell my father.” Jim scoffs. He noticed, and Spock’s not even a part of him. Technically. Not family, is what he means. But then, he’s the same height as Spock; maybe when tall-as-heaven Sarek looks down at Spock, all he sees is a black bowl cut. Jim can just picture Sarek’s stern look at Spock roughhousing with an animal, or whatever happened, and he understands the sentiment of not wanting to tell.
Instead, he presses, “Tell me a story.” When Spock simply looks confused, a look that’s both common and adorable on his foreign features, Jim continues, “If they’re not going to give us anything else, we’ll just have to use our imaginations. Tell me a story about you and I-Chaya going on adventures.”
“We do not have what you would consider ‘adventures.’”
Jim rolls his eyes. “I know. That’s why I mentioned our imaginations.” Spock simply looks at him like he’s gone mad, and it occurs to Jim belatedly that there might not even be a Vulcan word for imagination. Sighing, he decides instead, “Alright, I’ll tell you a story.”
“One that did not occur.”
“Well, don’t say it like that, you’ll spoil it. It’s an adventure. Like we’re making our own books.”
That seems to resonate better with Spock, who nods in acceptance of their newfound literary prowess. He turns sideways in his seat, crosses his legs, and leans over the railings that divide them, clearly listening intently.
“Alright,” Jim starts, ready to start pulling words out of nowhere, because unlike his half-alien friend, he’s never had a problem with his imagination. He pulls on tales of his father for inspiration, and he begins: “Our story starts on a Federation starship—a huge, awesome one—”
“Galaxy class?” Spock interrupts, looking interested already, like he always does when Jim deliberately tries to draw him in.
“Sure, galaxy class. We’re in a big, awesome galaxy class starship.”
“We?”
“Well, of course,” Jim says, lifting an eyebrow like it’s obvious. “I’m the hero of the story, obviously, but you’re my sidekick. I’m captain of this ship, and you’re my first officer.”
“I monitor communications,” Spock interrupts again, possibly in reference to his mother’s language contributions to the Federation. But Jim shakes his head.
“I can’t take a communications officer down with me, now can I? I’d need you on the ship. No, you’re my... my science officer.”
Spock nods as though this is an acceptable compromise, and Jim’s mind flickers into another possible change: maybe they’d be in a shuttle instead, Jim the pilot and Spock his copilot, and it’d just be the two of them. In the whole universe. But he’s already started, so he shakes his head and goes on.
“So we’re traversing the galaxy, and we pick up an alien beacon. What does it say?” He looks at Spock expectantly.
Spock blinks. “I do not know; you are the one telling the story.”
Jim stifles a quick laugh. It’s too easy to laugh at Spock. Lovingly, of course. “Well, you’re helping me tell it. What’s the message say?”
“Then I am the communications officer.” There’s a gleam in Spock’s eye that could be smugness and makes Jim want to giggle uncontrollably.
Only because he so likes Spock, he concedes, “Alright.”
“Very well. In that case, it says...” Spock pauses, searching the room. But it’s barren and small, and they’re alone, like they always are. Finally, he settles on, “Peaceful greetings from the Sehlat home world.”
Jim lifts an eyebrow, grinning wide. “Good one. So we found a planet full of Sehlats. Are they inviting us to land, Commander?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Okay, so we land the ship—”
“We land a galaxy class starship? It would be more prudent to beam down.”
“Nope, my story, my rules.” In reality, he just doesn’t want to admit he slipped up, but it’s fine. “We find a big open valley to land the ship in. The landing party is just you and me.” Spock lifts an eyebrow, but Jim insists, “We don’t need anyone else. Besides, my first officer has experience with Sehlats. I believe we’ll do just fine.” And if they don’t, Jim will add phasers to the story. “The Sehlats are already there to greet us. The leader steps forward on two legs, one paw extended.” Spock looks skeptical, but Jim keeps going. “They’re happy to see us, because they need our help.”
“Our help?” Spock asks. “That was not in their transmission.”
“Nope. They were worried the message would be intercepted.”
“Impossible. I am an excellent communications officer.”
“Of course, Commander. I have full confidence in you.”
Spock nods in acceptance, and Jim, starting to really get into it, leans further over the barrier between them, so their faces are only a few centimeters apart. They’re not in the waiting room anymore; they’re on some strange planet far, far away.
“For months, they’ve been raided by Orion pirates. They want to join the Federation for our protection.”
“I will send a coded message to the Federation immediately,” Spock insists, but Jim shakes his head.
“No, no—there’s no time. We’ll have to stop the pirates.”
“Can we do that?” Spock lifts an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of their fictional abilities. But Jim, all confidence, nods.
“Of course! In fact, we’re the galaxy’s two greatest heroes. We promise to protect the Sehlats. Call the ship, Commander.”
Spock, to Jim’s delight, lifts his hand and unfurls his palm quickly, as though snapping open a communicator. “Ship hailed, Captain.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh no?” Spock looks genuinely startled as he repeats Jim’s cry.
“The communicator’s full of static. The ship’s under attack from the pirates!”
“We did not see them on sensors,” Spock insists, looking adorably concerned for their fictitious ship.
Jim, feeling a similar pang of worry for his fake ship, replies, “They’re too fast for us. But it’s alright. We have the best crew in the fleet. We’ll have to figure out what we can do from down here. Recommendations, Commander?”
Seeming to consider the options, Spock looks down before looking back up into Jim’s eyes. “I believe we should interview the Sehlats, Captain.”
“With pirates attacking?”
“We cannot assume, simply because their forms are pleasing to us, that they have been completely forthright with us. Furthermore, it would be wise to seek any shelter they may offer while we are under attack.”
Jim nods emphatically. “Excellent. Yes. See, this is why I promoted you to first officer.”
Spock practically beams.
“So we follow the Sehlats—”
Just then, the door behind them opens, and Jim nearly jumps in place, Spock looking just as startled. Jim was so absorbed in his fantasy world that he almost forgot why he was waiting here.
Sweeping out of Ambassador Sarek’s private office, Jim’s mother smiles down at him and Spock. “Sorry about the wait, sweetie,” she tells him, but Jim shakes his head.
“We’re fine. Uhm, are you sure you’re done?”
Lifting a delicate eyebrow, his mother smiles warmly at him. Jim feels his cheeks growing hot in embarrassment, but he doesn’t have to say any more; his mother knows how much he enjoys Spock’s company. He glances back at Spock, who’s turned a cute shade of green, and his mother draws him back again. “Actually, I’m afraid I’ve been called away for some important talks with the Grazerite Embassy—”
“Awww, Mom, no!” Jim immediately whines, “Those people go out of their way to just be boring as hell!”
“Language,” she scolds him simply, “and I know you don’t enjoy visiting there. Which is why, as I’ll be gone for two days, I’m giving you the option to stay here.”
“Here...?” Jim blinks. Images of being all alone in his house, Sam being gone for the summer, flicker through his head. Behind Jim’s mother, the door to the office opens again, and Ambassador Sarek steps out, looking as stoic as ever.
“Yes. Ambassador Sarek has kindly agreed to babysit you. Would you be alright with that?” Her smile lets him know that he can refuse, but it would mean he’d go with her to the Grazerites.
Jim doesn’t even have to think about it. He’s already fighting to keep down his smile. He’s never been with Spock for a full day before, let alone two. The idea of having a sleepover with Spock... he looks back around and finds Spock simply trying to conceal surprise. Jim’s tempted to ask, ‘thoughts, Commander?’ but he knows Spock won’t want to display any imagination around his father.
So instead, Jim just beams up at his mother with an instant, unwavering, “Yes.”
Behind him, muffled with the same excitement, his first officer squeezes his hand.