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The rain was cool and quiet on Gamma Cygni 4, and it ran in streaks through Spock’s hair and down the back of his neck. He shivered despite his thick, water-resistant sweater, and turned to see if Kirk was as cold. He did not appear to be. The captain was wearing a loose flannel shirt in a pale green plaid, buttoned only most of the way up, and a pair of jeans that Spock suspected were artificially stressed. His face was placidly enthralled as he watched the rain, a light mist coating his golden hair. It was suddenly strikingly obvious to Spock how accurate his captain’s status as the youngest in the fleet was. He looked positively boyish.
Kirk glanced over to see Spock staring at him and smiled. Spock hurriedly looked away.
“Are you not enjoying the rain, Spock?”
Spock’s mouth twitched in a grimace.
“I am not sure I understand the appeal. I am very unused to rain, after all.”
“I see. Does it ever rain on Vulcan?”
“Rarely. And when it does precipitate, it is in the form of violent storms and flash floods. I have not experienced this sort of...gentle rain before.” Spock attempted a surreptitious glance at his captain, but, realizing he was being watched as well, kept his eyes abashedly on the scenery.
“Are you not cold?” Spock asked as another stray raindrop wormed its way down his spine.
“Cold?” Kirk looked at him curiously. “No. It’s something like 80 degrees out here. I find it quite pleasant, actually.”
“I suppose we have different definitions of ‘pleasant’.”
“Are you cold?”
Spock repressed a shiver.
“Not actionably so.”
Kirk studied him for a second, frowning.
“Well, let’s keep moving,” he suggested. “We’re almost there.”
“An eminently logical suggestion, Captain.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Kirk replied, beginning to stride forwards. “Oh, and Spock…”
“Yes, Captain?” Spock followed a few feet behind, only to halt as Kirk stopped and fixed him with a sideways smile.
“We’re off-duty. Call me ‘Jim’.”
Spock swallowed.
“As you wish...Jim.”
The name tasted strange in his mouth, but pleasant. It filled him with a sparkling curiousness, almost an excitement. He let it settle on his tongue and followed as Kirk—as Jim—pressed forward. The grass was a pale aqua mint under Spock’s patent boots, and a few steps ahead it compressed to leave prints from a pair of worn sneakers. The rain was beginning to pick up, and Spock quickened his pace so that the two were walking nearly side by side. Jim noticed this and smiled, but his excited gaze was quickly drawn back to their destination.
“Here we are,” he murmured, dashing a few steps before coming to an abrupt halt. Spock, concentrating more on the rain-speckled golden head in front of him than anything else, had to stop himself with a lurch to avoid a collision. Drawing his eyes away to examine whatever it was they had arrived at, he involuntarily drew in a sharp breath.
The hill they were standing on dropped off suddenly a few feet away. A rolling sienna plain extended lazily toward the horizon, bordered by jagged bluish-gray mountains. It was barren of vegetation, excepting the dry yellow grass and a few sparse trees, leafless and stark in their bleached skins. As Spock watched, a bright streak of lightning jolted into the top of one of the bordering mountains and arced across the field to the opposite range, forking out as it traveled as if trying to catch the raindrops.
“Nyroka.”
Spock turned to meet the intensely golden eyes.
“‘The Plains of Lightning,’ as they’re more commonly known,” Jim continued. “Aren’t they breath-taking?”
“They are certainly...fascinating.”
Spock’s voice was shakier than he would have liked, and he cleared his throat. Jim chuckled amiably.
“I should have known you would say that.”
There was a silence as they both watched the eerily still plains glimmer with the hint of lightning. Spock suppressed a flinch as a warm hand clapped his back.
“That looks like a good place to sit.” Jim was pointing to a large, flat boulder that hung over the edge of the cliff. Throat sticking, Spock nodded silently. The hand fell from his back as the captain sprung ahead lightly. Spock followed more cautiously.
“Be careful,” Kirk called, “it’s a bit slippery.”
Spock did not point out the obviousness of the statement.
Upon reaching the flat stone, Jim sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. He patted the empty space next to him.
“Come join me, would you? It’s only a little damp.”
The stone was in fact verging on flooded, but Spock was wearing a fully waterproof outfit. Or at least it was advertised as such; he had never actually tested it for himself. Regardless, he tentatively sat down, leaving a scant foot of space between himself and his captain. He stretched his long legs out so that his heels hung off the edge of the rock, suspended over a steep drop. Although he could not feel it through the high-tech fabric, the boulder was definitely more than a little damp, as he discovered when he put one arm behind himself for support and ended up slipping backwards. A muscular hand caught him, although he did not think he needed the help.
“You all right there?” Kirk asked through an imperfectly stifled laugh. Spock nodded, flushing. Luckily, another flash of lightning arcing across the valley distracted them both. Jim grinned excitedly. “I think the storm is picking up. We’ll get a real show pretty soon here.”
Indeed, the light rain had become a steady pour. Spock’s hair was soaked, and the water streamed in cool rivulets down the sides of his face. He shifted his weight on the wet stone.
“I have read about this place and its associated phenomena,” Spock said, somewhat uncertainly. Jim looked at him in interest, and he continued with more confidence. “The relatively high content of charged ions in the atmosphere, combined with the reactivity of ore deposits found in the ample mountain ranges in the region, leads to a much higher than average occurrence of electrical storms.” As he took a breath to continue, another fork of lightning jumped between the cliffs and reflected in Jim’s golden eyes, which nonetheless remained intensely focused on him. His throat caught, and he continued with less conviction. “There is a...series of formulas for determining the relative likelihood of lightning strikes, but…” he trailed off.
Jim nodded amiably.
“That’s certainly interesting, Spock. Have you—”
He jumped suddenly as if struck. Spock tensed in surprise.
“Are you all right?”
Jim exhaled in a relieved half-chuckle.
“Yeah, ah, I’m fine,” he said, trying to manage a reassuring laugh. “I got a bit of a shock is all.” He smiled. “I didn’t mean to shock you too.”
Spock blinked uncomprehendingly.
“You did not—oh.” He stopped himself as the play on words became clear. “It is trivial. I was merely concerned that you had been injured.”
“I guess even up here there’s enough electrostatic energy to cause a few minor...disturbances.”
“More than a few, I would say.” Spock was studying the landscape. Kirk followed his gaze.
Every so often, somewhere between the sheets of rain, a miniature spark of lightning would form, jump luminously in between raindrops, and vanish with a crackle. Jim shook his head.
“Incredible.”
Another streak of lightning crossed the open plains.
“How exhilarating.” Jim watched the sky shimmer indecisively. “To be this near to such...danger. It serves to remind you how alive you are, and what a beautiful oddity that life is.” He glanced at Spock. “In the face of such unhindered, and for that matter, unhinderable, chaos like this, the little risks that worry us from day to day suddenly seem so...mundane. Wouldn’t you say?”
Spock met the steady honeyed gaze silently.
“That is certainly one conclusion to draw,” he said finally.
Kirk made a quiet ambiguous noise and turned back to watch the valley. Spock allowed his eyes to linger on the rain-soaked hair and eyelashes, then turned back as well.
“‘And we are vagabonds, we travel without seatbelts on to live this close to death,’” Jim recited.
Spock blinked. He ran the quote through his extensive mental database, but returned no results.
“Who is that?” he asked. Jim looked at him with a sideways smile.
“Why, Spock, I thought you had all the classics memorized,” he teased. Shifting his position to lean forwards, outstretching one leg and keeping the other close, he rolled his shoulders back and stared out at the plain. “That’s Colin Meloy, a 21st century author and songwriter. A line from one of my favorite songs by him.”
Spock cocked his head.
“I do not believe I am familiar with it.”
“No, I wouldn’t have expected you to be.”
Spock pulled his legs in and crossed them, leaving streaks in the pooling rainwater.
“Perhaps we could listen to it together sometime.”
Jim flashed him an affectionate smile.
“I would love that.”
Spock contemplated for a second.
“I do have one question, however.”
“And what is that?”
“What is a… ‘seatbelt?’”
Jim laughed aloud. Spock raised an eyebrow, nonplussed.
“I think it’s an old, uh, safety device,” Jim attempted to reply while chuckling, “for vehicles. Automobiles and the like from back then.”
“I see.” Spock shifted his weight. “Why is my asking about it amusing?”
“Sorry. I’m not laughing at you,” Jim reassured him. “I don’t know. Something about it just tickled me.”
Spock gave a bemused shake of his head.
“How predictably imprecise.”
“Ah, indeed.”
A comfortable silence fell over the two as they watched the lightning dance through the valley, striding on tiptoe from mountain point to mountain point. The rain pounded, drumming upon the mint grass in silver sheets. Spock’s hair was drenched and dripping, and his face and all down his spine was coated in a cool pleasantness. Vagrant sparks blinked into being around him, danced excitedly between raindrops, and exploded luminously. Thunder rumbled at a frequency almost too low to hear, resonating across Spock’s breastbone. Shivers emanating from the base of his neck ran down his spine and shook themselves out all the way down his limbs as if trying to escape his slender frame. He told himself that it was the cold, even though he had mostly acclimated to the temperature, and not the tantalizing proximity of a soft, unsuspecting hand on the stone next to him. He swallowed and tried to force his shaking muscles to still themselves, but was unsuccessful. The air he was breathing in was heavy with vapor, so very unlike the desert he had grown up in, and it clogged his lungs and his senses.
Without meaning to, Spock let his gaze drift to the tousled blond head staring out at the valley. Lightning danced frantically, caught within the amber halos of his eyes. Entranced, Spock’s thoughts beat bravely, and he began inching a tentative hand towards the fingers resting in a pool of rainwater. At nearly halfway there, a scant six inches away, he stopped. Jim’s hand was still, but it seemed to pulse with a golden aura. Spock steeled himself and once more pressed forwards.
A stray spark materialized in the few inches in between their hands, reaching out to grab both of them. There was an audible pop and they jumped in concert at the shared shock. Jim’s eyes flicked to the origin of the spark, catching Spock’s hand in its unfinished pilgrimage. Terrified of what he was about to do, but too far in to stop himself, Spock pushed forwards the last few impossibly long inches and caught Jim’s hand by two fingertips. He pressed their index and middle fingers together and felt a shuddery pleasure wash over him. They stared at each other, two pairs of glassy pools reflecting the lightning. Hesitant, fingers still interlocked, Spock began to lean inwards. His movements were incremental, tentative with uncertainty, watching the flickering hazel eyes intently for any sign of guidance.
Jim couldn’t wait. He wrapped his free hand around the back of Spock’s head and pulled their faces together into a kiss. Their skin crackled with static as they pressed their lips together, Jim’s fingers clutching Spock’s tangled hair and keeping them locked tight. Spock brought his own hand around and pressed it into the flannel-clad back, pulling their bodies closer. It was painful to a certain extent, as everywhere their bare skin touched, a static discharge was released, shocking both of them. But it was a cathartic, enticing kind of pain, and in a way it only made it more pleasurable. Spock could taste rainwater and a tinge of salt and the sharp, fresh, clean flavor of ozone on the soft lips. Ignoring the warnings of his ego, Spock released the fingertips he had been maintaining a link with and instead grasped the entire hand, interlocking their fingers. The beat of his heart in his side slowed from its frenetic pace to match the rhythm of the pounding rain, and the beat of his mind slowed even further to match the gentle pulse of Jim’s halcyon thoughts.
Jim pulled away from the embrace with a dazzled smile. He laughed, soft and nervous and overwhelmed with emotion. His hand fell from Spock’s hair and onto the bony shoulder. Spock raised a concerned eyebrow. Had he done something wrong? Violated some element of human culture he was unfamiliar with? Was he simply unimpressive in his lack of experience, unmoving to someone so well traveled? His grip on the warm hand weakened, and the psychic flow faltered. But Jim only gave a curious shake of his head.
“You never fail to surprise me, Spock,” he murmured.
With this, he leaned back in and they shared another kiss under the cool torrents. Spock stroked the rain-drenched palm with the backs of his knuckles, and shivers of electricity, real or imagined, ran up his slender fingers. A warm human tongue pushed between his lips tentatively, seemingly intrigued, perhaps by the natural chill of Vulcan internal organs. He responded in kind, at least as hesitantly. The experience was far more familiar to Spock’s counterpart, but no less exciting. Jim’s exploratory efforts had returned a peculiar sensation; Spock’s breath and tongue imparted a curious foreign taste. There was a cold freshness to it, almost a tang. I wonder if all Vulcans taste like that, Jim mused. I probably will never find out.
They stayed locked in the embrace, ignoring the tumult of rain around them . A few stray raindrops slipped in between their lips and brought a clean earthiness to the encounter. Their heartbeats, while far from the same frequency, seemed to pulse in conjoined rhythm. Spurred on by the intensity of the storm, Jim slipped a bold few fingers under the hem of Spock’s sweater and pressed them into the cold flesh. They sputtered with static on the damp skin, and Spock shivered, arching his back.
A lightning strike exploded into the cliff face they were sitting on, barely 20 feet away from them. They wrenched their faces apart, each in his own separate momentary panic.
“Holy shit,” Jim muttered involuntarily as a few vegetation fires hissed into nonexistence. It took him a second to realize that he had grabbed Spock protectively around the chest when he had heard the crash. He released the grip grudgingly and stood, cautious of the wet stone. He extended a hand to help Spock up, which was taken with little hesitation.
“Maybe we’re a little too close to death after all,” he joked.
“You would appear to be correct. I suggest we return to the ship before another such occurrence.”
“I concur. I’ve had plenty of lightning for the time being, anyways.”
They set off, away from the point. There was a few meters of uncertain silence, then Spock boldly reached over with one hand and caught Jim’s middle and index fingers with his own. A quiet smile spread over Jim’s face, and the two continued walking.