Chapter Text
The room is cold, which Jim has learnt is a sign that Spock is in a bad mood. It’s probably because of the way Jim shouted at him about what happened with McCoy. They haven’t communicated with each other since then but Jim can feel Spock’s presence in the room. It’s a strange feeling, like they’re some how linked or connected to one another. Jim manages to convince himself that it's probably just residual affects from the meld.
“Okay, so Uhura--” Jim starts, but his PADD beeps as soon as he’s stepped fully over the threshold into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
Δ Do you wish to engage in a meld again?
He stares at the message for a few seconds. The room hasn’t warmed up at all, meaning that Spock’s mood hasn’t improved since Jim’s arrival, not that Jim expected it to.
“If that’s what you need then sure, Spock. Yeah,” Jim answers, then smiles slightly. “Hey, maybe I’ll get to share some of my memories this time ‘round.”
Jim sits on the bed, shuffling back until he presses up against the wall like last time. He rests his PADD on his crossed legs, looking at Spock’s message when it beeps.
Δ Your mind is comforting. I apologise if that sounds strange.
The message surprises a small laugh out of him. Someone finding his mind comforting in any way is a hard concept for Jim to entertain. It feels like his head never shuts up some days, brain always thinking about something, or just replaying embarrassing memories he really didn’t need to be reminded of at inopportune moments.
“How my mind is a comfort to you is beyond me,” Jim says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall behind him. “To someone as logical as you are, being a Vulcan and all, it must seem all over the place. I’d have thought that’d be annoying, not comforting.”
His PADD beeps and he tilts his head down to read the message.
Δ I believe someone, most likely an Earthling, is responsible for saying “there is order in chaos”. I believe that, perhaps, applies here, to your mind.
Jim hums his mind agreement and returns the back of his head to the wall. “I guess so but we can argue about that later. Meld with me,” Jim grins to himself somewhat stupidly. “Let my mind comfort you.”
It’s strange, feeling those cold fingertips on his face again. They feel like they’re tracing the small laugh lines, the barely there wrinkles, to the side of his mouth and eyes. It’s the faintest touch, more like a brush than a press, almost not even there but he can feel it even if he doesn’t say anything about it to Spock. He’s contemplating bringing his hand up, seeing if he can feel Spock’s skin underneath his own touch, when Spock initiates the meld, their minds meeting and coming together.
His mind narrows to a singular white point, once again dissipating into darkness and then faint colour as Spock introduces him to a new memory. Well, it should be one memory but it feels like several at once, images of Pike sitting down opposite Spock as often as possible. Spock pretending to be annoyed about it but being inwardly pleased with the interactions. A ghost of a smile on Spock’s lips as Pike grins back at him. And Jim notices something about how Pike looks, maybe it’s the time difference between Spock knowing him and Jim knowing him, but he looks a lot younger - he lacks a significant number of wrinkles and the greying hair that Jim recalls. It’s slightly off-putting, and then Jim realises that - considering how close Spock and Pike seem to be in Spock’s memories - Pike probably aged considerably after Spock’s death due to grief and stress.
The memories recede, the images in his mind fading rapidly back to black, and Spock’s voice echoes in his head. “My apologies. My mind is cluttered. I am at fault if that was too overwhelming,” he sounds distracted, somehow, despite being in the middle of a meld.
“It’s okay, Spock. Just show me what you--”
“What I am comfortable with,” Spock completes the sentence for him and Jim feels a sense of sheepishness at how predictable he apparently is.
“Yeah, that,” Jim replies, somewhat uselessly.
Spock says nothing in return, but Jim gets a sense of him trying to focus on what he wants to show him. The blackness narrows again, and the memory comes forward much slower than the memories with Pike, like Spock’s trying very hard to present them to him one by one.
The setting of the memory is what Jim recalls being the large main hall that the Academy uses for important assemblies and announcements. And, apparently, graduations. Images are clipped together, of Spock sitting nervously (although he would of course never admit to being nervous to anyone out loud) in his seat, not talking to any of the other students around him as they wait for each of their names to be called so they can collect their degrees in the subjects of their specialities. Images of Spock walking up to collect the physical copies, representations, of his achievements in the last four years he has spent at Starfleet Academy - a representation of his academic achievements but his social failures. He has not spoken to anyone other than Pike in a friend-like fashion. As he clutches the certificates in his hand, what he feels is not success, but instead failure. He feels alone.
When he looks up, standing with the rest of his classmates on the Science track (he knows the names of maybe five or six of them, other students that he was required to work with on group projects) for their graduation photograph, Spock sees his mother on the upper level of the hall, leaning on the railing and grinning down at him. She’s proud, he can feel it through the parent-child bond between them. She’s so proud of him, even when he feels like a failure to himself. The picture for the graduates of the Science track is taken and he moves over to the graduates from the Command track so he is present for that photograph too.
The crowds disperse and, somehow - the memory is not presented clearly to Jim - Amanda and Spock meet outside in front of the Academy building. She places her hands on his arms, smiling at him for a moment, before pulling him into an earnest hug. Thoughts of pushing her away pass through Spock’s mind, embarrassment at being hugged by his mother in front of the other students at the Academy. Only, he remembers that he doesn’t care, that the other students don’t care about him either, that it doesn’t matter so he wraps his arms around her shoulders and hugs her back, face pressed against her shoulder.
“I am so proud of you,” Amanda says, voice muffled slightly. Spock finds, to his own surprise, that he believes her.
“Thank you,” he answers, and she seems to take that as the sign to end the hug. She retreats and so does he, hands behind his back and his fingers clutching at themselves and his graduation papers.
“You father is sorry he couldn’t be here,” she tells him, and though she sounds apologetic there’s also something in her voice that sounds annoyed at Sarek. “He’s around, in the city, but some important diplomatic business came up. He told me he’d be occupied for the entirety of our stay.”
“I understand,” Spock says, and he does. To his father he is a failure for not attending the VSA, it’s as simple as that. To indulge any part of his human side is an insult to Sarek as a Vulcan regardless of the fact that he married and fell in love with a human. IDIC indeed.
“I’m glad you do because I don’t,” Amanda frowns. “Quite frankly, I find it straight up unacceptable and he should be ashamed of himself, missing his own son’s graduation when you’ve achieved so much. Science and Command track. It’s incredible.”
There’s a sense of pride followed immediately by a sense of shame at feeling pride in himself. “He rejects me because I rejected the Vulcan Science Academy. I rejected the Vulcan way,” Spock tries, but Amanda grips his arm tightly.
“You rejected nothing. Embracing your human side is not a rejection of your Vulcan side. It’s a step towards them being able to co-exist rather than being at conflict. He’ll learn that eventually, I just wish he’d learn sooner rather than later,” Amanda sighs and releases her hold on his arm. She straightens her dress, adjusts her head scarf. “Now, I’m going to take you out for dinner.”
“Mother...”
“No, Spock. I know what the Academy is like. When you’re studying, you forget to eat, and I’m willing to bet you haven’t eaten properly in a while,” she says, and it hits closer to the truth of skipped meals than she realises. In the memory, Spock goes tense but he follows after her as she walks away from the Academy building. “Now, we’re on Earth together, in San Francisco. It’s a rare circumstance. My favourite pizza place from when I was a student is just down the road. I'm not passing up the opportunity to have you try pizza.”
“Mother, no,” it sounds like an exasperated plea but Spock remembers this part fondly, along with the fondness that his mother feels when they eat pizza together and he refuses to eat it with his hands, using a knife and fork instead. The memory fades and Jim feels the conflict of the residual emotions that still linger within him from the memory.
As far as Jim can tell, Sarek didn’t meet Spock once during the time that he and Amanda were in San Francisco, but Spock did manage to spend a lot of time with his mother. There are happy memories there (Amanda taking him to the beach and Spock enjoying it despite despising the feeling of water on his skin, Amanda taking him shopping, Amanda taking him out for various meals that he can’t quite finish, a particularly prominent memory of Amanda making Spock play an old Earth board game and Spock losing terribly), and that brings him a sense of peace, to know that Spock enjoyed himself at least sometimes during his too-short life.
The next memory is Pike again. They’re in his office - smaller than the one that Pike has now - and Spock is sat in a chair in front of a desk, Pike waving his hands animatedly as he circles around the room.
“Five years! They bumped the voyage date forwards Spock. Five years and I’m on a starship again, Captain, and you’re on one for the first time as a First Officer,” Pike grins. “It’s gonna be great, trust me. I can see it now, me in the Captain’s seat, you on the bridge at the science station.”
“The science station on the bridge is usually reserved for the Science Officer,” Spock points out, and while his posture is tight with one leg crossed over the other and his hands clasped in his lap, through the meld Jim gets the sense of bemusement that Spock felt at the time.
“Well, you can do both right?” Pike asks, both hands on his hips now, not in confidence or to be assertive, just naturally resting there. “You’re more than capable. Probably more competent than other members of the crew that will already have experience with serving on a starship.”
Spock stares at Pike for a long while, contemplating the offer. There’s a conflict between his emotions: pride at Pike’s faith in his abilities, shame in feeling pride, a slight hint of disbelief as Spock thinks Pike may be playing a joke on him that he does not understand. Finally, pressure. A pressure that tells him he won’t be able to cope with the dual position. But he handled the dual Command and Science courses with an ease that had never been seen at the Academy before. He can do this too.
“I will attempt to do my best,” Spock answers to Pike’s offer and Pike grins at him.
In the grin that Pike gives him he can tell it’s not a joke, can gauge the sincerity of the offer that Pike made. His to-be Captain has full faith in his abilities and so Spock will have faith in himself too. It’s going to be three years before the ship launches on its maiden voyage anyway. He has a long time to revise his knowledge and prepare for their five-year mission.
Then there are memories of whispers in the lecture halls when he’s teaching classes, students who think they’re talking to each other quietly enough that he can’t hear them. A human wouldn’t be able to hear them, but he’s not wholly human - Vulcan genetics have leant to him increased hearing abilities. Spock hears every whisper, every off-handed quiet comment, in every class that he teaches. Students who are supposed to represent the Federation when they graduate and join their own starships or starbases on their own missions, commenting on aspects of his appearance (the same ones that students used to comment on when he was a student himself).
Strangely enough, now that he’s a professor and not just a student, derogatory comments extend to the topic of his sexuality. Jim gets a distinct feeling of something that shouldn’t be talked about by Vulcans and, even though Spock’s dead now and even though he rejected aspects of his Vulcan heritage, Spock doesn’t expand on it. Spock doesn’t define his own sexuality to Jim either, just conveys to him the comments of the students, wondering how he’d fuck, if he’d fuck, if he’d already fucked; surprising levels of heteronormativity and hypersexualisation paired with insults towards the suggestion of asexuality. He hears all of it when the students whispering at the back of the lecture hall think he can’t.
And one day, Spock decides to confront them.
“If you wish to share something with the class, feel free to do so,” he announces, comment directed to a cluster of four or five students in the back corner of the lecture hall, giggling quietly to themselves.
“No, sir. Nothing,” one student answers back for the group, cocky smile plastered across his face and body language oozing arrogance. Something about him - maybe the smile and the arrogance combined - reminds Jim of how he was, how he sometimes still is.
“As you would know if you listened during these classes, Vulcans have superior hearing abilities compared to humans,” Spock says, and Jim gathers this must be a Xenobiology class. “I can hear everything you’re saying and I hope you’re assured by the knowledge that I will be writing reports about all of you to the Academy board.”
The students around the boy settle down but the student who spoke before still grins. Leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, he says, “What, Vulcans too prude to have us discussing them having sex?”
“I do not believe it’s a suitable topic of discussion--” Spock tries, but the student cuts him off.
“This is Xenobiology though, that covers sexual reproduction. When are we going to learn about how Vulcans get it on?”
“The Academy lacks resource materials from Vulcan therefore the syllabus does not include information about Vulcan reproduction, however we have ample material on the reproductive behaviours of other species such as Andorians, Klingons--” he’s cut off again.
“But you’re Vulcan! You could just tell us yourself,” the boy exclaims, leaning forward. “Or-- you’re half human right? Yeah. Or maybe because of that you’ve got trouble, if you know what I mean."
“I, I’m--” Spock stutters. He never stutters. Vulcans don’t stutter.
“Maybe your dick doesn’t know where it belongs,” the boy laughs. “Like, you don't belong either, do you? You're just some mutt hybrid.”
And it feels like the first memory with the children on Vulcan again, and although Jim couldn’t understand what they were saying then as they spoke solely in Vulcan he gets the feeling that it’s very similar to what’s being said here, barring the comments about Spock’s mother. In the memory with the boy, Spock’s lost for words, staring at the student. He feels lost.
“One thing’s for sure, and it’s that kids like you sure as hell don’t belong in Starfleet,” a voice says at the very back of the lecture hall and when Spock looks up, looks away from the student, he sees Pike. “Class dismissed and you--” he directs it to the boy, finger pointed at him in a way that seems threatening “--you go wait in my office because we’re going to have a very long talk about what Starfleet stands for and how you should respect your professors instead of acting like an ass.”
The students slink out of the lecture hall as quietly as students can. Spock listens to the rustling of textbooks and PADDs being shoved into bags as Pike waits for them all to leave before he walks down the stairs to where Spock is stood in front of now empty chairs. He’s rigid, absolutely still and completely tense. It’s only when Pike places a gentle hand on his arm that Spock’s head snaps up to look at him.
“Are you alright?” Pike asks and the concern painting his voice makes Spock feel sick in a way that doesn’t make sense.
“I am fine,” Spock replies.
Pike doesn’t seem convinced because he frowns at Spock, his other hand coming up to rest on Spock’s other arm. Both hands squeeze and Spock feels an unfamiliar sense of being grounded. “I thought you said Vulcans couldn’t lie.”
“Perhaps one who is half-Human can,” Spock says and it almost sounds like a joke, might have been if he didn’t feel so... infinitesimal, perhaps. Small.
Gentle hands on his arms guide Spock back so he’s sitting on his desk. Like this, he’s even taller than Pike but he feels like a child. Maybe it's because the way Pike is acting reminds him of his mother, gentle and knowing what to do even when he himself feels completely lost.
“Do you need a hug?” Pike asks, and it could also be a joke but something in Pike’s eyes makes it seem like a genuine offer.
Spock doesn’t say anything in reply but apparently he doesn’t need to because Pike’s arms are wrapping around him anyway, pulling him close. He hesitates for a long time before he hugs him back, hands tentatively splaying over Pike’s shoulder blades before his fingers dig into the fabric of the other man’s uniform. Even if he is rejected by all others, Spock feels as though if even this one man is here for him then maybe it will be okay. The next lesson, the student has been removed from his register and Spock decides not to question it futher.
Jim gets a distinct sense of uneasiness as the memory fades and Spock stops projecting memories into the meld.
“That is as much as I am comfortable sharing right now,” Spock’s voice says inside Jim’s head. “If the meld is too long we run the risk of my mind becoming attached to yours. If you wish to show memories to me we can do it now or we can initiate another meld again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow seems good,” Jim answers, because if he’s honest he’s not ready to share his worst moments with Spock just yet. “And I need to talk to you about something but we can do that outside of the meld.”
Spock doesn’t answer him after that, instead withdrawing from the meld and withdrawing his mind from Jim’s own. His head aches, the white noise louder than it had been the first time. There’s a distance that he feels from his body, like he’s not in it any more, unaware of the positioning of his limbs. Cold fingertips ghost his cheeks and he remembers to breathe in, letting the breath out in a shuddering sob. That must be the emotional transference from the meld again, enhanced repressed Vulcan emotions colliding with outwards human emotionalism.
He breathes in and out a few more times, the first few breaths continuing to be sobs but the ones after that coming to him easier. Just as he gets his breathing under control, there’s a knock at his door and he remembers the deal he made with McCoy about drinks. Hastily, he wipes his eyes and slaps his hand against the control panel besides the door to open them and let McCoy in.
“Jesus, you look terrible. What happened?” McCoy’s hands are on his arms, like Pike’s were on Spock’s in the memory and Jim finds himself fighting the surge of emotion that he feels, a remnant of the meld. “Shit, Jim. Are you crying?”
“No, no. Bones, I’m fine,” but his voice breaks and his cheeks are wet and McCoy is having none of it.
“Jim, and when I say this I mean it in the nicest of all possible ways, you look like shit,” McCoy tells him as he shoves Jim down into the chair at his desk. He pulls a pack of tissues out of his pocket and passes one to Jim, watching him like the mother hen he secretly is as Jim uses the tissue to wipe at his eyes. “Tell me what happened, and I want it to be the absolute truth. If someone did something I'll sort it out, and then I'll sort them out.”
“Bones, really, I’m fine. I promise,” Jim says, but McCoy still stands in front of him, one hand on his arm as Jim wipes at his eyes. McCoy doesn’t look like he believes him at all. “It’s, uh, it’s just residual effects from the mind meld.”
“Mind meld,” McCoy asks, pulling his hands back to fold them over his chest.
“Vulcans are touch telepaths so they can do this thing called a mind meld--” Jim starts to explain but McCoy just lets out a frustrated sigh.
“I know what a mind meld is, Jim. I’m a doctor, of course I know what a mind meld is,” McCoy looks calm, but that’s dangerous, because if he’s calm that means he’s going to explode. “What I trying to fathom is why, why you would want to meld with a god damn ghost!”
“He was showing me his past,” Jim tries to defend himself but McCoy just glares down at him.
“I don’t care if he was giving you the gosh dang secret to immortality, Jim! It is not safe, under any circumstances, for an emotionally compromised Vulcan to initiate a meld with anyone, never mind a human!” McCoy is in full medical rant mode now, waving his hands around. “You noticed how he’s not messaged you on the damn PADD yet? You know why? It’s because he knows I’m fucking right, Jim! He could have seriously messed with your brain if he wasn’t careful, without even meaning to!”
“Yeah, but he didn’t,” Jim says and it’s not the right thing to say, it’s absolutely the wrong thing to say if anything, because McCoy’s glare increases in intensity, so much so that Jim winces.
“But he could have, Jim, and that’s what fucking matters,” McCoy leans his hip on the desk, his voice low now, not shouting any more. “There are complications that Vulcans face when melding with species other than Vulcans. Because humans are a generally psi null species they can sometimes come out of melds with headaches or - in worst case scenarios - minor brain damage. And that’s with a Vulcan who isn’t compromised. If a Vulcan melds with anyone when they’re emotionally compromised then you could come out of a meld like you’d come out of a lobotomy.”
The PADD beeps and McCoy looks like he wants to snap it in half. Jim picks it up and opens up the message.
Δ I took all possible precautions before initiating the meld. However, the doctor is right in that I could have caused you undue harm. If you wish we can cease our melds and continue the sharing of our pasts in words at a later date.
“What does it say?” McCoy demands, arms folded across his chest again.
“He said he was being careful but that he’s going to stop melding with me because you’re right,” Jim frowns and throws the PADD down onto his desk. He scrunches up the tissue McCoy gave him and stands up, throwing it in the bin on the way over to his wardrobe.
“Good, because I don’t want him to hurt you without realising he’s hurting you,” McCoy sighs, turning to keep his eyes on Jim.
“I understand, but I can make my own decisions, y’know,” Jim says, stripping his uniform shirt and jumper off and pulling a new, more casual one on in its place. “I’m perfectly capable of assessing risk and weighing up choices."
McCoy gives a huff of breath that might be a laugh. “Oh yeah? That what they told you when they took Command track, huh? ‘Cause when I signed up to Medical and Science they told us to ignore everything that our senior officers said about their health if we thought they were lying, because chances are if you’ve got a medical degree then you know what’s best for them better than they do.”
“So you see me as your senior officer one day?” Jim grins at McCoy as he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans.
“Hey, you told me you aimed to get Captain status as soon as possible. I’m just assumin’ I’m gonna have to pander to your needs way after we leave the Academy,” McCoy says and he’s smiling back, which is good. “I bet you love getting hurt as much as humanly possible.”
“Oh, you’d better count on it,” Jim grins even wider and McCoy stands and waits as he pulls on his boots.
“How drunk y’wanna get, kiddo?” McCoy asks, ruffling Jim’s hair as he walks past him on the way to the door.
“I dunno. Very?” Jim answers and McCoy laughs at him.
“Bye, bye, ghostie!” McCoy calls back to Spock as they leave the room.
“His name is Spock,” Jim protests but he mumbles his own fairwell as the doors close too. It’s as he’s leaving the Academy building all together, following behind McCoy as he’s lead towards the city lights, that he remembers that he never spoke to Spock about what Uhura said.
----
‘Very’ is a pretty good qualifier for how drunk they get. It’s 1AM and they’ve just finished playing air hockey (McCoy using his shoe instead of the mallet because “it’s more familiar, Jim. I don’t know that mallet but I sure as hell know m’shoe”) when the bar staff kick them out. McCoy leans on Jim heavily, so heavily that they almost fall over in the middle of the street. Almost.
“’Member last time I interrupted you n’Spock?” McCoy asks, trying to time his steps with Jim. What happens is they end up walking in a way that’s reminiscent of the scene where they’re off the see the wizard the wonderful wizard of Oz.
“Mm,” Jim replies, trying very hard not to stand on his friend’s feet.
“Y'said y’didn’t do the thing,” McCoy says with a conviction, like he believes the words make sense.
“The thing?”
“Yeah, thing wi’ ya hoo ha,” Leonard expands and God his accent is thick when he’s drunk.
“You sound like a drunken southern hillbilly, Bones,” Jim laughs, butting his head against Leonard’s shoulder as they trip off the sidewalk but somehow manage not to fall flat on their faces.
“I dunno how long y’ve known me, Jim-boy, but if there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that I am absolutely a drunken southern hillbilly,” Leonard replies with a sloppy grin and Jim laughs, too loud and too high pitched. “So y’don’t do the hoo ha.”
“Nuh-uh,” Jim says. “Don’t ever really feel like that towards people. Kissing's nice though.”
“Y’wanna kiss,” Leonard asks. “Nothin’ but kissin’. I can do that.”
“You’ve done nothing but kissing since your divorce, Bones,” Jim points out, wrapping an arm around Leonard’s waist to help get his balance again.
“Not even that,” he answers, forlorn.
Jim snickers and shoves Leonard up the steps outside the front of the Academy building. The main building is locked up for the night, so they stagger their way around the campus trying to remember which way the dorm buildings are. At some point they lay down in the grass, next to the railing that looks out at San Francisco bay, and stare at the stars for a long time. They get up after Jim starts pulling up handfuls of grass and shoving them down McCoy’s shirt.
As they trip into Jim’s dorm together, his PADD beeps on his desk. He ignores it in favour of throwing himself onto the bed, face pressed against the pillow so firmly that he has trouble breathing. When he lifts his face, he sees Leonard shaking the left over grass out of his shirt, right onto Jim’s once pristine dorm room floor. While Leonard is unlacing his shoes, Jim uses his toes to wriggle his heels out of his boots, kicking his legs to see if he can hit Leonard in the face with one of them. One smacks against Leonard’s hands as he fumbles with his laces and Jim giggles, high pitched and gleeful, as Leonard swears and swears and swears beautifully.
McCoy doesn’t so much as get into the bed next to him as he does collapse on top of him, pressing his face into Jim’s ribs as he shifts around on the bed. Jim shuffles down as Leonard pushes himself up and their heads gracelessly smack together.
“So, kissing,” Jim reminds him as he rubs at his own jaw, Leonard running fingers through his own hair over the spot where Jim’s chin had collided with his skull.
“Yeah, kissin’,” McCoy mumbles.
He presses one hand gently against he side of Jim’s neck before following through with his lips and Jim feels a sensation similar to what melting must feel like. The PADD beeps violently on his desk, like several messages have been sent at once, and Leonard pulls back briefly to knock it onto the floor with a clumsy hand, accomplishing absolutely nothing other than knocking a PADD onto the floor. Still, Jim pulls him back down again and they continue kissing, open mouthed and lazy.
It’s so lazy, in fact, that Jim falls asleep at some point, his mouth slowing gradually and then all together. McCoy must have fallen asleep soon afterwards too, because when Jim wakes up he’s spooned up behind Leonard on top of the covers, his hands on the other man’s chest underneath his shirt. It’s a Saturday and even as his PADD gives a quiet little beep, he closes his eyes again and presses his face against Leonard’s shoulder blades, ignoring it in favour of sleeping off as much as he can of what’s likely to be an awful hangover.
----
“You're such a shithead,” McCoy says as he jabs Jim in the side of the neck with a hypo full of the best hangover cure on campus, Leonard’s own special recipe. “I can’t believe you feel asleep while I was kissing you, you asshole.”
Jim doesn’t say anything, just grins at him even as his neck aches from where the hypo was administered. It's probably not even really the hypo that hurts so much, more like the force at which it's shoved into someone's skin.
“Am I a boring kisser? Am I not good at it or somethin’? ‘Cause last time I checked I thought I was pretty good at it,” the look on McCoy’s face would best be described as a pout if the face that the look was on wasn’t the face of Leonard McCoy. “I know we were both drunk but people don’t just fall asleep while other people are kissing them.”
Jim must be infuriating because he just widens his grin. The noise McCoy makes is close to a growl, but more grumpy.
“Y’know what, fuck you too, kid,” McCoy says as he stabs himself in the neck with a hypo before throwing both of the empty containers into a medical bag that Jim has no idea how they managed to keep track of throughout the night.
Jim places a hand on McCoy’s arm. “No more kissing?” he asks.
“Maybe,” McCoy says, not grumpy anymore so much as he is conflicted. “But not as a relationship thing, y'know. I like you but I’m not prepared to like you like that.”
“I understand, Bones,” Jim says.
McCoy gives him a vague smile instead of a reply and slaps Jim on the shoulder. He mumbles a quiet “take care, kiddo” before he leaves.
He lets himself fall back on the bed, throwing his arms out to either side of him. He could go back to sleep, has half a mind to do so really, to sleep off the remnants of the hangover that McCoy’s cure can’t get rid of, or to just catch up on sleep that he’s missed out on because he’s been studying. But it’s then, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, that Jim’s PADD beeps, quieter than usual, and Jim’s reminded that he’s been ignoring Spock. He bends over, nearly falls off the bed, as he scoops the PADD up from off the floor, swiping across the screen to unlock it and check the messages.
Δ Welcome back. I trust you had a pleasant time getting inebriated.
Δ Please refrain.
Δ I do believe that your current actions are against one of our previously agreed upon rules.
Δ Jim.
Δ I am incredibly uncomfortable with your actions.
Δ Are you awake?
Δ Evidently not.
Δ Hello.
“I am so sorry, Spock,” Jim says, simple and sincere. “I was drunk and I absolutely didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Δ I am, as humans would say, over it.
“And I’m still sorry. I broke our rules,” Jim replies. He lays back against his pillows, holding his PADD against his chest, tilted so he can read the messages as they arrive. “And I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Δ I am ‘all ears’.
That was probably a joke, but Jim ignores it in favour of getting to the point. “Uhura was telling me about something, stuff about you. Not your past or anything, just to do with how you are now, as like, a ghost, I guess,” Jim tries to explain, hyperaware of how clumsy his own wording is. “She said that the best theory for why you’re still trapped here is that your katra has some unresolved conflict with the Academy. Does that make sense?”
Δ In an abstract way, I believe it does make sense in some contexts.
“Right,” Jim runs a hand through his hair and gets up off the bed, walking around the room as he tries to explain what Uhura had told him. “Uhura found this story from pre-Surak times about this t’hy’la couple where one of them transferred her katra to the mind of the other one before going into battle. She died so her bondmate got a mind adept to transfer the katra back into her body. She came back to life and they were able to live happily ever after, blah blah blah. Uhura thinks it’s possible that if you meld with me, you could transfer your katra to me and--” Jim rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly as he comes to a standstill in the middle of the room “--she thinks we’d be able to bring you back to life again that way. But, you, uh... you committed suicide so I’d understand if you didn’t want to do that but a mind adept could resolve the conflict with your katra and you’d be able to move on instead of haunting your dorm room. Or, or you could stay. Stay in purgatory, I guess. I dunno, it’s up to you. But that’s just what we, um...”
Jim swallows. This is all hard to say for some reason and he doesn’t know why. “That’s just what we found out,” he finishes, a little bit lamely.
Unsurprisingly, Spock is quiet for a long time. No messages, no signs that he’s even there for at least five minutes. It’s getting to the point where Jim thinks he’s scared him off for good and he feels a little bit stupid as he stands stationary in the middle of the room, seemingly having spoken to himself. Eventually though, the PADD beeps and he picks it up from where he had left it on the bed.
Δ I will think about it.
“Okay, okay, yeah,” Jim rambles as he ruffles his own hair. “Cool. Is there anything you wanted to talk about?”
Δ I wish to further test the limits of my abilities.
“We know you can meld with people, and send me short messages while I’m out of the room,” Jim lists off what they already know. “Maybe you could try to like, use me as an anchor? I guess that’s the word. Just so you can go out of the room and stuff. I don’t doubt it gets boring in here when you’re on your own.”
Δ While that is a reasonable suggestion, if I engage my mind with your mind for too long I will run the risk of forming a weak bond with you.
“Hey, we’ll just take it in baby steps then,” Jim replies with a shrug. “You build up your resistance to my mind or whatever.”
Jim tucks the PADD under his arm and moves over to the door, hitting a button on the control panel and waiting as it slides open. He positions himself on the threshold, half in and half out of the room.
“We’ll try now,” he says, voice down in case anyone is in the hallway. “You do whatever you need to do and message me on the PADD if there’s a problem.”
Spock doesn’t reply on the PADD but Jim can feel coolness spreading over the skin of his right arm, sapping the warmth from him in a way that seems both foreign and familiar given that he’s somewhat used to the feeling of cold fingertips instead. If he closed his eyes then maybe he’d feel the individual fingers wrapped around his arm.
Δ I am, as they say, ready as I will ever be.
With a nod, Jim steps out of the room, just over the threshold. Carefully, he takes steps back until the door sensors no longer detect him and the doors to his dorm room slide shut in front of him. Warmth keeps leaving his arm but he tries to ignore it as his skin starts to feel vaguely numb. “You okay?” he asks, looking over to where he assumes Spock is.
Δ I was not prepared for it to be this simple, I must admit. I am finding it easier than expected. The room is not pulling me back to it as it was when I attempted to leave previously.
“Good,” Jim says with a smile. “That’s good, more than good actually. It’s great. Do you want to walk around a bit? It’s been a year or so since you saw everything and stuff.”
Δ It would be a welcome change of scenery.
Jim scoffs. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that,” he answers, tucking his PADD under his arm again. By this point his arm is unbearably cold, goosebumps have risen on his skin and his bicep is almost fully numb. “Oh, and Spock? Could you change arms because I think I’m gonna get frostbite.”
There’s not an answer on the PADD but he feels the shift as soon as it happens, both arms cold before the warmth starts to seep back into his right arm even as it starts to leave his left. They make it all the way down the hallway without anything eventful happening and, judging by how his left arm is still getting colder, Jim assumes that Spock is holding up just fine. It’s a Saturday so most students are either out in the city or held up in their rooms. Those who aren’t are attending extra curricular clubs or they’re outside in the sunshine. Seeing as Spock’s from Vulcan and judging from how he used to turn the thermostat up as high as it would go, Jim thinks Spock probably misses the sun so he heads towards the doors that lead outside.
“This okay?” he asks, quietly so as not to attract the attention of a group of students sitting on the steps outside of the Academy building. His PADD beeps and he slips it out from under his arm, holding it in both hands.
Δ More than.
“Awesome,” Jim breathes and keeps the PADD in one hand, hyperaware that something could go wrong. It probably won’t but just in case, he wants to have the PADD to hand and ready.
He strolls down the steps, leisurely and resisting the urge to jog so as not to lose Spock by moving too quickly. The bay is to his left and the city is to his right, so he turns left and follows the paths down to where the railing is. He leans against it and breathes in the sea air.
Δ It’s a strange feeling, being able to feel air pass through you while occupying what I believe is a semi-physical form.
“Strange how? Strange unpleasant?” Jim asks. He focuses on the feeling of the breeze against his skin but he can’t possibly comprehend what it would feel like for it to pass through him.
Δ Not unpleasant, but I would not say it is enjoyable either. It is vaguely uncomfortable and yet preferable to not being able to feel anything.
Jim bends down and scoops up a fist full of pebbles, precariously balancing his PADD as he throws each stone into the bay, one by one. “What can you feel?” Jim asks. “When you meld with me, can you feel my skin?”
Δ The first time I could feel it faintly, the second time I could feel it fully. Right now, it would be very possible for me to misjudge the placement of my hand and accidentally place it inside of your arm instead of on the surface.
He can’t stop himself from huffing a laugh at the message. If he could see Spock he’d probably throw a pebble at him. Instead, he tips them out of his hand, watching the splashes they create in the water below the railing, lost in the waves.
“Do you want to go anywhere in particular? And how long do you think you can stay out of the room for?” Jim asks, moving away from the railing, two hands firmly back on his PADD. “Because I don’t want to accidentally mess up this ghost thing you’ve got going on.”
Δ I have no preference. I’m not sure if the presence of the Academy building is comforting or disconcerting. I do believe I will be able leave the room for indefinite amounts of time as long as I remain in contact with you.
“See, I was totally right about the whole anchor thing,” Jim replies and grins, to his right hand side (Spock has swapped arms again). “We’ll stick to the campus for now. I don’t want something to go wrong because we’ve walked too far away.”
There’s a patch of grass next to a couple of rose bushes and a flower patch and Jim finds himself compelled to lay in the grass there so he does, grass tickling the nape of his neck in a way that reminds him of when he was five or six, sitting in fields with his brother. Or when he was twelve or thirteen, sleeping in the grass on Tarsus IV because there was nowhere else for him to go, but that’s not important right now.
Δ Your reasoning is sound.
That’s all Spock says and Jim leans his head back, closes his eyes. The silence feels comfortable, and the fact that he can still feel Spock’s hand on his bicep means that the Vulcan is sitting in the grass next to him, an image that makes Jim grin to himself.
“What do ghosts look like anyway?” he asks. “I saw you in the mirror that one time but you were barely there and all blurry.”
His PADD beeps and he holds it in the air above his head to read the message.
Δ I believe I am somewhat transparent.
First he’s grinning, then he’s got one hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh even though it’s pointless. “Oh yeah?” he says with a grin, turning his head to squint at where Spock should be, trying to see past the glare of the sun above him. “Are you wearing anything? Or do ghosts walk around naked?”
Δ I am wearing what I wore at the time of my death.
Jim stops smiling. “Oh,” he breathes, a bit shocked. He uses his elbows to push himself up into a sitting position. “I’m sorry.”
Δ You were unaware.
It takes a long time for Jim to decide whether he’s going to ask about Spock’s suicide or not but eventually he decides to ask because really, what has he got to lose. “So do you want to talk about how you died at some point or is that off limits?” Jim asks, then adds on because he thinks it sounds a bit dismissive. “Because if you’re not comfortable talking about it then I absolutely understand.”
Δ In the absence of being able to conduct a meld, I would at least prefer to discuss it in a more private setting.
Jim swallows, nervously running his fingers around the edges of his PADD. “You know, we could meld again like we planned to. Bones doesn’t have to know about it,” he says slowly. “I mean, it’s gone fine both times so far.”
Δ Both times you were reduced to tears.
He instinctively turns to where Spock is, shooting him a self-assured grin. “There’s nothing shameful about crying, Spock.”
Δ Nothing shameful for humans.
“Hey now, that’s a really problematic attitude,” Jim counters with a frown. “I know Vulcans suppress their emotions because otherwise they’d express them at a level that could be dangerous, but bottling it all up inside and not telling anyone is not good for you, no matter what people like Surak said. There’s no shame in feeling, Spock, and that’s what I disagree on. Suppress it because of safety reasons, but don’t be ashamed of it.”
He realises the words might have hit too close to home as soon as they’ve come out of his mouth, a view that’s reaffirmed by Spock not answering with a message. Jim just sighs, running a hand through his hair before pulling his knees together to sit cross-legged. He occupies his hands by threading his fingers through strands of grass.
“When I said I understood before I meant I understood because I’ve kind of being in the same situation but for different reasons,” he starts, a little bit unsure of himself. “I, uh, tried once. Only once though. Tried driving my dad’s - my dead dad’s - antique car off a cliff because Uncle Frank used to use it as this whole punishment thing. Guy had a real bad power complex. It wasn’t even the original plan, I originally just wanted to joy-ride it around a bit, maybe mess it up with some scratches. Anyway, I was going full speed and when I say this is an antique car I mean it was properly antique, rubber tires and everything. I could feel it jolt under me as the tires ran over rubble and stones and all those kinds of things. Some police officer showed up so I tried to ditch them, realised I was heading for cliff.”
He has to pause, steadies himself around a tightening in his throat that makes it hard to speak. The fingers he has in the grass aren’t threading through it any more, they’re clenched and Jim can feel the dirt that’s wedged itself under his fingernails. He tries to focus on that instead, working past the lump in his throat.
“And I thought about how my brother had just run away from home, how my mom was out off on some away mission, how Frank would beat my ass even if I did bring the car back as spotless as it had been when I took it out. So I floored it, headed right for the cliff with every intention of going off with the car,” he pauses again, loosening his grip on the strands of grass as his knuckles begin to ache. “I bailed out at the last second, obviously or else I wouldn’t be here. Thing is, even though I’m glad I did I still don’t know why I did. Because I pretty much had nothing going for me, ‘least that’s what I thought then. So yeah, when I say I understand I mean it. Like, even if I don’t understand completely, I at least kind of understand what you were feeling at the time.”
It takes Spock a few moments to reply, but eventually he does.
Δ What happened? Afterwards, that is.
“Uh, they called my mom back planetside and she was less than impressed. Though it seems she didn’t get the whole story, probably because Frank was the one who told her, because when I explained she was hugging me and saying she was sorry she had to leave me and Sam alone and stuff,” Jim explains as he picks the dirt out from underneath his fingernails. “Sam was long gone by then and even though mom tried as hard as she could to contact him, she couldn’t. So she thought it’d be best if she, uh, if she sent me...”
This is harder to talk about than what had been dubbed as the ‘Car Incident’ because at least he was in control of the car, it was his decision. Tarsus IV? Absolutely out of his control and there were times then that he’d thought about taking his own life but he had other kids relying on him. He was the eldest child on the colony at fourteen and there were people that he had to be strong for on Tarsus. So he stuck through the hunger pains and the cold nights and the deaths of the kids that he was supposed to protect. Only now is not the time to talk about it. Maybe at some other time, but not right now.
“She sent me to live with my Aunt and Uncle on her side off on some Starfleet outpost colony planet,” Jim says instead, carrying on like there hadn’t been a significant gap. Maybe if he acts uncomfortable enough about it then Spock will ignore that it ever happened. He pushes himself to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Do you want to head back now or do you want to hang out here some more?”
Δ I believe heading back would be a wise choice.
Δ Thank you. For sharing.
The pause between the messages is a couple of seconds long, like Spock hesitated before sending the second one. Jim tucks the PADD underneath his arm again as he walks towards one of the rose bushes.
“It’s cool. You’ve already shared so much with me, it’s about time I returned the favour,” he says, shrugging slightly. Carefully, he plucks one of the roses from the bush, peeling off the thorns left on the stem. There’s a student in some of his Command classes who is way too passionate about plants who would go insane about him ripping the stem instead of cutting it with scissors or something. Regardless, he tucks it behind his ear. “Do I look cute? Actually, don’t answer that.”
Spock doesn’t answer it, which he shouldn’t take as a blow to the ego. Either way, they head back to the dorm building and it takes him a while afterwards to notice that his arms had stopped getting cold to the point of frostbite, that Spock seemed to have literally warmed up while they were sat together on the grass.
----
Jim spends the rest of the day studying, but casual studying. The kind where you’re on your bed with your textbook on your chest and chances are that you’ve dozed off several times already, but beds are infinitely more comfortable than desk chairs. He must have dozed off properly at some point because he wakes up in the middle of the night and his textbook isn’t on his chest any more. A quick look around the room shows it’s on his desk. He also becomes aware that his sheets have been pulled on top of him. Additionally, he doesn’t remember putting the rose that he picked in a small glass of water.
He looks around the room, still feeling half asleep and still lying in the bed, curling his hands into the blanket. On the far side of the room, near his wardrobe, he can see a figure sat on the ground cross-legged. They’re glowing faintly, all soft lines and ambient blue glow. It takes Jim a few moments to realise that it’s Spock. Yawning, he presses half his face against the pillow and looks directly over at where Spock is.
“Thanks, Spock,” he mumbles, eyes staying open just long enough for Spock to look up at him in shock. His expression is surprisingly open for a Vulcan, but maybe that’s because he thinks Jim can’t see him. Regardless, Jim closes his eyes again and goes back to sleep.
----