Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Jim. 

And though he was born into an unfortunate world, there was nothing unfortunate about him whatsoever.

His father had died so he could live, and the sorrow that his mother felt she did not show for the sake of his happiness.

His childhood was torn from a dream, something out of a fairytale: laughter lost in the meadows that surrounded their family estate, warm folk stories told cooped up around the fireplace to keep out the cold, adventures through the forest picking peaches.

For the longest time, it was just Jim and his mother and their little world on the borders of the kingdom, with no worries, no cares, nothing of that sort.

Winona Kirk tried to teach Jim everything about the world: how fencing, chess, how to bargain a good price, the growth process of a peach tree, chemistry, art, architecture, sewing, how to climb anything.

The only sadness Jim felt was when his mother left on business for a few weeks, but even then, he had the company of the servants and the chef, Montgomery Scott who always made the best tattie scones and Lorne sausage, which was made when Jim had a cold or just felt slightly under the weather. Naturally, all of the servants loved him and found his ability to attract animals adorable and he loved them back with his big heart and warm smile. 

Life was perfect. 

But all of that ended when he was twelve years old. 

Winona made the realization that she could not give him everything, and so she married a widower, once married to a countess, by the name of Frank Carlisle. He had two sons around Jim's age: Harry and Caleb Carlisle. From the moment Frank stepped into the house, Jim knew there was something evil about him, his thundering boots, and his gruff voice that made him want to run and hide. 

When Winona was around, Frank was pleasant and patted him a little too roughly on the back, but as soon as she was out of sight, he started ordering him around or, at best, straight up treated him like he didn't exist.

Harry was the worst though, because Frank had obligations to Winona to be nice to Jim, and Harry didn't. He was rough and square-shouldered, built like an ox much like his father, and acted like one. He made it his mission to make Jim's life a living hell. Caleb was quiet and Jim didn't actually mind him so much. Unlike Harry, he was wiring and small. 

It was when he was sixteen that things truly became bad, a warm summer day like any other. 

"Jim! I'm leaving, come give your mother a kiss!" Winona yelled from the bottom of the main staircase, which was a beautiful dark oak color that went up through the house in a spiral.

It reminded Jim of a tree trunk growing through the middle of their beautiful home that he and his mother had spent painting trees and flowers across the walls in intricate designs. Yes, the house would be at the center of all of Jim's future problems, that beautiful stone estate with white trimming and shutters painted with pink blossoms, with a steel gate that was overgrown by roses and moss, with a garden encased by a stone wall that eroded over the years from the constant rain. It was enchanting and Jim was enchanted by its everything. 

"Coming!" Jim bound down the stairs, skipping every other step until his feet meet the cold wood floor(he was not a fan of shoes in the house) and wrap his arms around his mother who beamed in response. They stayed like that for not long enough before Harry and Caleb strolled into the hall. As he pulled away, Jim let out a tired sigh, "Do you have to go?" 

Winona pursed her lips, her hands dropping from her son's shoulders. "I do. But I'm going to Harendale, I can bring you something back," Then she turned to acknowledge Harry and Caleb who were hovering nearby, "I can you bring all something back, what do you want?" 

"New boxing gloves," Harry said instantly, giving his shitting eating grin. 

"Some new fabrics?" Caleb shrugged awkwardly and Harry nudged him roughly, glaring at him. 

"Sounds perfect," Winona concluded with a motherly smile. "And you, Jim?" 

He would've liked some new books, or maybe a telescope considering the lense in his had just recently cracked, or maybe a new pair of boots that shined in the sun. But instead, he smiled to himself and said, "Bring me the first branch that brushes your shoulder on your journey." 

Winona narrowed her eyes in surprise but nodded all the same. "Alright, then I'm off. I'll be back in just a few weeks." 

"Promise?" It was something he always asked. 

"Promise." Was always her answer. 

But fate had other plans. 

A week and a half later, at midnight, Jim was woken from his sleep by a dull knocking. Naturally, he never slept very well when his mother was away, so he rose to his feet, not even dressing other than putting on a pair of trousers, and shuffled down the stairs with a lit candle to see what the sound was. It was a knock from a door as another thudding echoed through the hall. 

"Kirk Estate, how may I be of service?" Jim smiled, despite the drowsiness that weighed him down.

The smile instantly fell when his eyes examined the gentleman at the door, holding his hat in one hand, and the other was folded behind him. His eyes were cast downward and for several seconds, he couldn't speak. Behind Jim, Frank and the stepbrothers hovered in several doorways, shaken from sleep and looking just that. 

"Sir..." The gentleman stuttered, "I apologize Mister Kirk. It's your mother..." 

"My..." Jim's heart swelled with pain as if a rope was wrapped around his heart and tightening, tightening with every passing second of silence. 

"She took ill on the road, sir. In...in her last moments, she only spoke of you. You and your father-"

Jim heard a gasp behind him, most likely from Frank followed by mumbles ("We're ruined!" "My boxing gloves!" "Oh no...") before they all shuffled away, leaving Jim and the gentleman alone. 

"She wanted you to have this." 

The gentleman held out the hand that was previously behind his back, revealing a hazel twig. Jim could hardly hear ever the pounding in his ears so he sucked in a deep breath, holding back the tears threatening to pour down his face, and said in his calmest voice, "Thank you. This must have been very difficult for you. Good night." 

And once he closed the door, he inhaled, just trying to breathe.

It can't be true. . . she's not . . . n o . . . 

"Mom," He whispered, his voice breaking as he clutched the branch, sliding down the door and hugging his knees as he cried into the night. 

And that was just the beginning. The very next day, Frank dismissed all of the servants in an attempt to save money, leaving Jim to do all the work, and work he did. It was mindless, endless work that distracted him from the true pain and bitterness that had grown around the raw hole in his heart. From then on, there were no niceties between Jim and Frank. 

Jim was an orphan servant who worked to pay off his debt of living. 

He owed Frank for providing food, clothes, and a roof over his head. 

And Frank never let him forget it. 

Frank had him moved to the attic, six floors up in a spiraling, dusty tower-like structure, filled with old furniture and rotting wood, but Jim made the most of it. He cleaned it up and cleared the windows of their curtains, pulled out some of the old furniture to form a make-shift bed, and tried to just get through the days. Because that's all there was, nothing but getting through. 

He did all the chores and very narrowly avoided Frank's fists, sometimes couldn't even avoid it, worked until his knuckles bled or his eyes couldn't stay open a minute longer. 

And there was always more work in the morning, and Harry was always willing to provide him with more if he finished early. It was a little bit comforting that Caleb would come out some mornings and help him feed the animals, ask how he could help. 

And the hazel twig? 

Jim found a special place for it out in the forest near the estate, the forest that stretched for miles and he felt wonderfully lost in. Because it was his and his alone. None of The Carlisles ventured off the property let alone into the woods. 

It was perfect because Jim knew if he ran, ran into the woods, Frank would never find him and he'd be safe. 

He planted it, and with the help of rain, love, care, and a little bit of magic, it grew into a blooming, glorious tree. 

Chapter Text

3 YEARS LATER

Jim woke up shivering. It was a cold winter night, unusually cold, and the wind hollowed through the cracks in the ceiling. He curled himself up under his thin blankets, but even that wasn't warm enough and he felt hollow as if the chilly air was blowing right through him. 

After a minute, he couldn't take it anymore and sat up with a new idea. With that, he grabbed his pillow before pulling the heavy attic door open and slipping down the flights of stairs as the wooden boards creaked under him. 

He let out a sigh of relief to see the flame in the stone fireplace in the kitchen was still glowing and settled down in front of it, overcome with the refreshing feeling of warmth that blanketed him. His eyes felt heavy and he let them, sinking into the wonderful place one goes to right before dreaming. 

"BOY!" A voice shook the house and the blond sat up in a fit of panic. 

"BOY, WHERE'S MY BREAKFAST!" The thundering voice shrieked again and Jim stumbled to his feet, rushing out the door with a bucket for water. He returned shortly, dumping the water into a kettle for boiling and began cracking eggs into a pan after starting the fire on the stove. It was a race to get the eggs cooked and the water for porridge and tea boiled properly. Then, with three fumbling trays, he glided up the grand staircase to his stepfamily's bedrooms.

First came Harry's and Caleb's bedrooms. 

Harry growled when Jim entered, barely stirring from sleep.

Caleb was already up and early, reading near the window, and thanked Jim softly, too shy to look him in the eyes. 

And then there was Frank. Jim knocked on his door tentatively. This one interaction would define whether they would have a good day or a bad one, and Jim could practically feel the heat from his stepfather's anger through the wall. 

"Come. In," Came the muffled response and Jim pushed the door open, only to be enveloped in cool darkness. Frank loved to keep his room as cold and dark as the dark side of the moon and Jim had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light difference from the hallway. 

Frank was sitting in his bed, the shadows across his face too drastic for Jim to read his expression, but the blond already knew what was coming. 

"Boy, do you know what time it is?" Frank asked calmly, which was scarier than him yelling and screaming, and Jim felt his heart twist sourly. 

"I.." He had to stop himself from making a sassy remark and bite back his tongue for once in his life, "I'm not sure." 

"You're not sure? Well, look outside." When Jim didn't move, he continued in a harsher tone. "Look. Outside." 

Jim moved quickly to the shut curtains and pushed them back, only to be enveloped in blinding light. It couldn't be more than seven-o-clock, but it was still very bright to him. He regretted looking back now to see the expression on Frank's face: terrifying anger. 

"What time is it, Jim?" 

"It's too late," He whispered, knowing any other response would mean a black eye. 

Frank nodded.  "That's right. It's too goddamn late! You were supposed to be up hours ago, you filthy maggot!" 

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered instantly, just trying to cool Frank off, manage a way out of this situation. 

"You're what?" Frank put a hand to his ear in a mocking tone. 

"I'm sorry," The blond spoke louder, and he bit his lip so hard to keep from snapping back that it started to bleed. 

"That's right you're sorry! You're living under my roof, and I take care of you, feed you, clothe you-" 

Beat me, Jim screamed in his head. 

"The least you can do is work a little. Because you were such a lazy cow getting out of bed, you have extra chores." 

Jim was about to open his mouth to say something but shut it when he saw the murderous look on Frank's face. 

"No problems?" Frank sneered a yellow, evil sneer. "Good. Sweep the floors, wash the curtains, clean the windows, wash the walls as well as do your other chores and I'll think about forgiving you for your mistake." 

Jim left the room without saying a word, despite every bone in his body telling him to go back in there and slap that guy around. 

In truth, Jim had never raised his hand to anyone, not even a fly. In fact, he liked animals more than he liked humans. They were far superior in every way. 

So, like every day, Jim began his chores. Feed the chickens and check for any more eggs, feed the cows, let the horses out to stretch, leave some food out for the lovely little mice that scare Harry half to death. His favorite part of working was probably being outside and taking care of the estate. 

He was determined to finish his chores before lunch, and with a ton of work, he found himself done by eleven-thirty. It was a miracle, and he felt his heart spring with hope. All that was left was to prepare lunch. 

And that he did too, setting out a glorious assortment of food(something he learned from the chef). He should've known setting out a fourth plate was asking too much, even on a good day. 

Frank looked at him like he was an alien as he set down the fourth plate. They were all situated at the long oak table, already beginning to eat, except Jim of course who was still setting things down. 

"It's a lot to ask for you to cook the food and still sit with us," Frank stated and Harry nodded deviously. "You'd probably like to eat downstairs and rest those tired legs of yours." 

"I can sit and eat here just the same-" 

Harry broke his sentence with a grimace. "Like we'd allow you to sit with us, Cindersoot! You're covered in dirt and manure like some animal!" 

Caleb said nothing but Frank said, "You'll soil my good chairs!" 

"They're my mother's chairs!" Jim snapped before he could stop himself, and Frank stood up, leaning his hands against the table. The blond became impossibly rigid, in the way a prey tries to hide from a predator. 

"You're an impudent, disgusting servant who belongs with the rats in the sewers and your mother should've known to ship you off to boarding school when she had the chance!" 

Jim took a step back, and even though Frank hadn't physically touched him, it hurt more than his fists to hear that alcoholic bastard talk about his mother like that. 

"That's right. If I wasn't so nice, I'd sell you to work in the colonies or in a factory! But your foolish mother demanded I keep her little mole until you grow up!" Frank removed one hand from the table, using it to point a grubby finger at Jim. 

"As soon as you turn 20, you're out of here! You can go live in the forest with all your other animal friends because then you WON'T BE MY PROBLEM ANYMORE!" 

The last part he said as Jim marched away, overwhelmed with the words spinning around in his head. He was going to the basement, in search of a mirror, and finally, his hand touched cold metal. 

When he raised the handheld mirror to his face, a gasp escaped him and the mirror slipped from his fingers, shattering on the cobblestone floor. 

He saw a barely recognizable face covered in dust and soot. Sure enough, he was dirty as ever.

What would his mother say? 

Jim rushed out of the house, barely hearing his own breath. He went immediately to the stables where his horse, Nila, a Black Arabian was waiting for him. Without even bothering to put on a saddle, Jim took her out and mounted her, intertwining his fingers through her hair and telling her to go, go, go. 

Anywhere but here. 

And soon the wind met his ears and the world was blurring in colors of green, grey, and blue, but he didn't care. 

All of the horrible things that had ever happened to him were running through his head like an open cut wound, all of the insults, comments, bruises, beat downs, everything that had ever gotten him down came rushing back at him tenfold.

His eyes stung as fresh tears slipped down his face, cold and neverending as they poured relentlessly down his cheeks and across his nose. He pressed his face into Nila's hair hoping, they would go away, that this would all just go away and he would be back at home with his parents telling him stories of pirates and treasures and lost princes.

When he thought they were deep enough in the forest, he stopped, knowing exactly where he was. Naturally, he had this forest mapped out in his mind like a familiar world he often visited. 

They had stopped under an apple tree and Jim climbed up, grabbing handfuls(for him and Nila) but a spark of something caught his eye. 

15 yards away there was a man squatting behind a bush, holding something. 

Jim quickly determined, with mortification, it was a gun. 

And the smooth business end of it was pointed at a stag in the distance. 

No, not today, Jim growled under his breath, jumping down from the tree armed with apples. 

"HEY, YOU!" He shouted, scaring the daylights out of the man in the bushes. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" 

And naturally, with two armfuls of apples, Jim began throwing them at the stranger who dared hunt a poor stag in his woods. 

Chapter Text

"HEY, YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" 

Jim started catapulting the apples at the man in the bushes, who stood up in shock, covering his face from the fruity assault. The deer was long gone by now, but that had become the least of this hunter's problems. 

"DON'T" -An apple was thrown- "YOU" -Another apple thrown- "KNOW BETTER THAN" -Yet another- "TO HUNT" -and another- "A POOR ANIMAL?" -and finally one more "HE DID NOTHING TO YOU!" 

Jim was about to pick the apples on the ground back up and throw them again, but the stranger held up his hands and cried, "Wait!" 

The blond huffed and stopped the motion of his arm throwing the apple, but he kept it raised and ready to fire, eyes narrowed in judgment. 

"Are you going to listen to me?" 

"Maybe," Was Jim's flatly veiled suspicious reply. 

"I...I apologize if I am trespassing. I was not aware anyone owned this forest-" 

"I don't own the forest, it belongs to the animals. And you tried to kill one of them, acting like their lives are any less important than yours!" 

"I-" 

"All of you city folk are all so entitled to owning or killing things, like it's some kind of game! To own things, people." 

"It is hunting. It is what is done." The man said plainly, as if it was obvious. 

"Just because it's done doesn't mean it's what should be done," Jim stated, letting his hand fall down to his side. "If you don't want to get pelted with apples again, I suggest you leave." 

The man raised an eyebrow, appearing almost shocked. He was a Vulcan, based on his straight-across haircut, pointed ears, and stoic expression.

Oh no, Jim took a step back, he couldn't be older than 20. 

He almost didn't hear the Vulcan speak. 

"What?" 

"Do you know who I am?" The Vulcan asked, amusement brightening the golden oak in his eyes.

"It wouldn't matter to me if you were the damn prince! In fact, if the prince tried to kill a stag in his own territory, I would tell him off just the same. Privilege doesn't excuse unethical behavior." 

"His? You are familiar with the stag?" 

Jim felt a harsh heat against his cheeks. "We...we are acquainted. What are you doing this far out in the forest anyway?" 

"I should ask the same about you." 

"I asked you first." 

"Very well. As I said, I am hunting." 

"Yeah, well I've never seen you out here before." 

"I have never ventured this far." 

"Are there others I have to pelt with apples?" 

"Not here, no. It is just me. Why are you here? Do you live here?" 

"What? No! Of course, not! Sometimes I wish I did though. It's very quiet." 

"Yes, yes it is." 

Jim hadn't realized how close they'd gotten until he was staring into those dark pools of chocolate that seemed to hold a million secrets. 

"I-" Jim took a step back, dropping all of the apples except one. "I should go. Um, don't hunt in this forest."

He mounted Nila who had trotted up behind him and offered the apple to her as a tribute for allowing him to ride her all this way, stroking her mane gently and coaxing her to move. Nila was his horse, as he was her rider. Anyone else would get bucked off like a pesky little tic. 

"And tell your friends that too. If I see you in these woods trying to hurt the creatures who keep it alive, I'll throw more than just apples at you."

Both of them knew it was an empty threat, even though Jim was serious about protecting the animals who couldn't protect themselves, and as he rode away, he felt himself smile to himself about the stranger in the woods. 

Chapter Text

He didn't know how he ventured so far out. He should have known, considering he hunted at least once a month, but now he was thinking that he didn't know the forest at all. 

No, that was a lie. All Spock was thinking about was the young man from the woods. 

He was no gentleman, but definitely no commoner. It was like he was on an entirely different plane of existence. Like he was a spirit of the forest. 

But Spock wasn't about to claim that he saw a spirit in the forest. That man was entirely real. 

And it would be illogical to deny one's curiosity and fascination about the Guardian of the Stags, whose eyes were bluer than glistening sapphires and as deep as the rolling seas. 

After the man rode away, Spock just stood there for the longest time, trying to memorize the details of their conversation and every inch of his face. 

"Your highness!" Someone called out to him and he turned to see the captain of the guard, Christopher Pike, riding toward him on horse, and trotting beside him was Spock's horse, Heming. It was a strange name and he hadn't chosen it, but he respected the wishes of his mother who had named the purebred stallion and kept it in her honor. 

"Your highness!" He called again. 

"Captain." Spock blinked at the use of his royal title. "Is there something the matter?" 

Pike smiled at this. "Your father would have my head if anything happened to you! C'mon, kid, the hunting party is waiting to return home." 

"Alright, I will be just a moment." 

Spock looked around and tried to picture how the forest looked so he could find it again, and with that, he picked up a bruiseless apple and mounted Hemley before leaving with the captain. 

~~♟~~

"He has been like that all day, all flittery and head in the clouds! Whatever happened in those woods-"

The duke stopped talking as soon as Spock rounded the corner into his father's library. The king was sitting on one sofa with a doctor checking his blood pressure while the duke sat opposite of him, sipping from a china teacup. 

Spock stood at the entrance of the library as not to be rude, but Sarek beckoned him in. 

"Son, Sasak tells me you seemed to have an adventure in the woods." 

"I did, father," Spock responded, hands folded perfectly behind his back. The prince never did like the Duke of Raal very much. There was something in his mannerisms that irritated Spock. 

"Would you care to elaborate?" 

"I ventured away from the hunting party for what appeared to be five minutes." 

"Did anything fascinating occur?" 

Spock almost smiled but continued to keep his face mutual, even when Sasak's face twisted. "Not that I recall, other than getting away from Captain Pike." 

Sarek turned back to the duke with a content expression present in his features. "I believe you heard my son, Sasak." 

"I did, your majesty," Sasak grated out. 

"Now, if you have nothing further to say, my son has come to seek my company." 

"Yes, your majesty." The duke stood up stiffly, and as he walked past Spock, he whispered a curt acknowledgment, "Your highness." 

"Sasak," Spock acknowledged in reply, waiting until the library door closed before he sat down on the sofa across from his father. The doctor followed the duke out, leaving the two men to themselves. 

"Tell me," Sarek looked at his son with all-knowing wisdom swirling in his eyes, "Is there a reason Sasak should be concerned for your well-being?" 

Spock clicked his tongue. "You know he reports only the worst of me. His detailings are biased." 

"I suppose...though there is something different about you." 

"Clarify." 

"Something has touched you. Your spirit." 

Spock leaned forward in his seat, somewhat shocked. He opened his mouth, but words didn't form, so Sarek continued. 

"Or," He raised an eyebrow, "someone." 

When Spock didn't answer, the king sighed, letting his posture slump the tiniest bit. 

"You are not obligated to tell me. If it is important, I will find out." 

Finally, Spock managed one measly word, "How?" 

The one word could've been implying anything or put into any context but Sarek knew what he was asking. "When you are my age, you will come to realize people are much easier to read than they tell you." He paused to take a breath. "Your eyes. They glow like your mother's, an occurrence pertaining to interest and/or something exciting that has entered your life." 

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, a comfortable, knowing silence. Where a conversation is exchanged without words. 

"Father," Spock leaned back against the sofa, letting his head tilt upwards to look at the ceiling which was designed like a map of ShiKahr. "I have come to ask you advice about someone I have offended." 

"Is this the same person who has touched your spirit?" 

"...Yes." 

"How did you offend them?" 

Spock felt the faint heat of shame gather in his features. "That is not important," He answered quickly. 

"Well, how serious was the offense?" 

"A moderate offense." 

Sarek rubs his chin absently before his eyes widened slightly with the spark of an idea. "Whenever your mother became upset with me for something I did not understand, I brought her a basket of apricots." 

Spock was about to shoot that idea down, but the more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He knew little to nothing about the stranger from the forest, but if he wanted to get to know him more, he should consider what the stranger has done so far. He made a very short mental list. 

- hates guns

- does not like hunting(especially as a sport) 

- animals are our friends

- has a strong arm 

- did not recognize Spock and wouldn't care if he had 

The most logical conclusion from the list of observations was that Jim was a farmer who protected his land and the animals who lived inside of it. A basket of apricots could be the key. 

"A basket of apricots, you say? Are you certain it will work?" 

Sarek smiled a Vulcan-smile, meaning he didn't move a muscle in his face, yet you could tell he was happy. "It has never failed me before." 

Chapter Text

Several weeks passed before Jim would see the stranger in the woods again, though his mind often wandered back to him and what would've happened if he'd stayed. What would've happened if he indulged the little voice in his head telling him to turn right back around and ask the Vulcan's name. 

But then he would shame himself on the reality that if anyone knew he was a lowly orphan servant, they would want nothing to do with him. So, he cooked and he scrubbed and he worked mindlessly until all thoughts of the stranger had subsided, but even then, they were at the back of his mind like gentle waves lapping at the shore of his mind. 

But one day, Jim had finished his chores early and Frank had eaten a large breakfast, meaning he was taking a nap. He snuck out with ease, but instead of taking Nila out to ride, he decided to walk. It was a lovely day, at least, Jim thought it was. It had rained yesterday, a beautiful curtain of glistening blue tears that blanketed the forest in dew. The dew, when hit with light at the right angle reflected it and it appeared to glow. Hundreds of thousands of these beautiful dew drops gave the appearance of stars all around him. Jim loved stars, he loved their glow and how far away they seemed. He couldn't believe he could see that far out, millions of miles into space where there could be anything out there. He had a deep, growing yearning to find out. 

When he got to the river that ran from the mountains through this forest, he yanked off his boots and socks, rolling up his pants before wading into the water. A shiver racked his body from the striking temperature. It was still early spring, but it was already warm enough to not need a coat. 

During this period of early spring, there was a special medicinal plant that grew near the river's bank. And unlike the costly herbs from the market, this actually worked to save lives and ease pain. It was the single greatest discovery of his life, and for almost 9 years now, he always came to this river and picked the flowers. 

And so that's what he was doing, in the river, pants and sleeves rolled up, barefoot and not expecting to see a soul. But he was wrong. 

As he harvesting the plant, there was a clearing of a throat, a gruff sound, and when Jim looked up toward the sound, there was--his eyes were tricking him it couldn't be--that Vulcan man from before! 

At the shock of it all, Jim's foot slipped out from under him and he toppled back into the river, much to both of their surprise. He felt strong hands around his waist, pulling him up from the 2-foot deep water and he was clutching fabric in his hand, just trying to get back some stability. 

Finally, the situation came back to him. He was soaking wet and what he was clutching was the Vulcan's shirt. Great...well, at least Jim was absolutely positive this was real. 

"What are you..." He gasped, still a bit out of breath "...doing here?" 

"I have been walking these woods every day in search of finding you." 

Jim opened his mouth and then promptly closed it before following the Vulcan out of the river. It did not fail to escape his notice that they were both sopping wet. Jim didn't enjoy being wet, so he peeled off his trousers and took off his shirt, leaving him in a tank top and boxer shorts, and hung the wet clothes on the branch of a tree, hoping they'd dry soon enough. 

"So you've really been walking through the forest just in case I happened to be-" 

Jim looked back at the Vulcan to see the gentleman staring at him eyes wide and completely bewildered. And then he realized he had basically stripped down in front of some guy he barely knew who was probably--definitely--from the city and probably--definitely--not used to farm people and their tendency to put function over fashion. 

"Oh, um--sorry about the lack of clothing and everything," Jim felt a sting of heat rising in his face again, "I'm just not a big fan of wet clothing or anything like that." 

"You should not apologize. I was simply not aware of the custom of shedding clothing." It also did not fail to escape his notice that there was a gentle verdant blush across his face as well when he unclasped his soaking robe and shed it like skin. 

Jim watched the robes fall from his body in one graceful motion and his mouth gaped open in awe. 

Underneath the Vulcan robes, the man was just wearing a simple black undershirt and meditation trousers. He was so thin and pale which was so different to Jim's body which was bulkier and tan from years of work outside. 

There were no words exchanged when The Vulcan hung up his robe on the tree branch next to Jim's clothes and Jim had to admit.

He was kind of impressed by the nerve of this guy. No that wasn't the right word.

The lack of snobbishness. 

From when Jim went into the city to buy food and supplies, he always found city folk uptight and rigid, completely entitled to the world and everything in it. 

But this Vulcan had not judged him since the moment they met(granted, it's only been a short amount of time) and actually seemed open to the "ways of the country" or whatever that meant. 

"You've been walking through this forest to try and find me?" 

The Vulcan nodded. "Indeed I have. After our last meeting-" He looked down almost shamefully "-I considered what you said and would like to apologize for my behavior on the day we met with-" He paused again and turned around to reach for the basket he must've dropped when Jim fell into the river, grabbed it and held it out for Jim to take "-a basket of apricots." 

"Apricots," Jim whispered incredulously. 

"Yes." 

"Thank you, that's...actually really sweet," He beamed for what felt like the first time in too long. "But why apricots?" 

"When my father upset my mother, he would ask her forgiveness with a basket of apricots, her favorite fruit." 

"Ah. Well." Jim was still processing the fact that someone had actually gotten him something. For free. No strings attached or anything. "I love apricots. Care to eat one with me?" 

The Vulcan almost looked surprised by this, but then it was once again replaced by a stonelike(but somehow warm at the same time) expression. "I would like that." 

And that was how two boys, barely men, once strangers, eating apricots and talking as if they always did this sort of thing as if this was always how their lives had been. 

It was a nice day, a beautiful one, Jim would conclude several hours later when he finally forced himself to part from his Vulcan friend. As he started to walk away though, he remembered he didn't even know this stranger's name. 

"Wait! Hey!" Jim raised his hand to the Vulcan who was several meters away. 

"Yes?" He semi-yelled back(the distance between them required yelling). 

"I didn't ask your name!"

The Vulcan pondered this for a second before answering. 

"My name is Spock!" 

Jim couldn't help but smile at that. Of course his name was Spock. It fit him perfectly and somehow that name already felt familiar to him, but he wasn't given the chance to dwell on it too long because Spock yelled back: 

"And your name?" 

"Jim! My name is Jim!" 

It felt way too good to say that. And by the way a little, almost unnoticeable smile perked on either side of Spock's lips, Jim knew he liked hearing it just as much as he liked saying it. 

It would take five hours and a restless night thinking of Spock before Jim realized he'd forgotten all about those river herbs. 

But then again, he didn't mind so much. 

~~♟~~

Spock practically skipped all the way to the palace, but thankfully his Vulcan blood prevented him from doing anything more than nod to passing citizens a little too eagerly. No one knew he was the prince in his casual robes and it was quite refreshing to step away from his duties to the crown and venture through the woods with someone who belonged to no social class and seemed to come from another world entirely.

What would Jim think if he knew that Spock was the prince? Would he become indifferent and want nothing to do with royalty? Would he see Spock for what he was not who he was, for what everyone in the country saw him as: this mighty, untouchable prince?

No. He decided with finality. And in his mind, he saw Jim taking the throne beside him, changing the country with his strong convictions, with his warm heart and passionate soul. The way that man talked...it was empowering and inspiring on an entirely different plane of understanding.

Spock had never felt so...taken with anyone in his life before, not like this. It was strange, new, exciting, scary, and yet somehow wonderful.

"I tell you, father, I have never known anyone like him in my entire life," Spock paced his father's library with steady and unrelenting vigor.

Sarek arched an eyebrow curiously from where he sat on the plush sofa, looking perfectly content on watching the show before him. "I believe you." 

"I experienced a sensation beyond my educational understanding, an awareness that has been awoken in my person following the day I met him." 

If Sarek were human, he would have laughed. Instead, he simply sniffed, wringing his hands gently in his lap. "You sound as if you are the first gentleman in Vulcan's history ever to see a handsome face." 

"He was not a handsome face," Spock countered, but then immediately reconsidered, "He is handsome, but there is so much more to him, father-" 

"How can you know? You have only met him twice. How can you know anything about him?" 

Spock stopped pacing to stare his father right in the eyes as he said, "You admitted to me you knew mother was the one right away." 

"That was disparate. Your mother was a princess." 

"You would have loved her regardless." 

Sarek shook his head the way all fathers shake their heads when they are most definitely lying. "I would not have seen her because it would not have been becoming. My father would have told me what I am telling you and I would have listened." 

"You would not." 

"I would." 

"You would not." 

"I would." 

"You would not." 

"You are correct," Sarek finally relented, relaxing his shoulders as he let out the tiniest sigh. "I loved your mother. Not social class nor a wall nor a kingdom could stop me from doing so." 

The doctor, who had been in the room this entire time, checking Sarek's blood and vitals. 

Spock looked from his father to the doctor. "How is he?" 

The doctor glanced at them both nervously. "Your majesty-" He started and then paused for a very long time as if the words on his tongue were too painful to say. 

Sarek raised a hand up. "It is alright. If it is that difficult to say, I already know." 

Spock couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Father-" 

But Sarek cut him off by standing up. "Come, son. We must not be late for your portrait painting." 

And that was that on the discussion of the king's health. 

As they walked down one of the many palace corridors, the Duke Sasak, as well as Captain Pike, joined them. 

"Your majesty," Spock already dreaded the words coming out of Sasak's mouth "-I assume you have talked to your son about his behavior in the forest?" 

"I was not aware it was your business," Spock replied, earning a warning(but slightly amused) look from his father. 

"Your business is my business, Highness," Sasak said coolly, though his eyes were narrowed in anger. "We should not have let the stag and all other game go." 

"Just because it is what is done does not mean it is what should be done...or something like that," Spock smiled to himself, thinking fondly of the memory of Jim. 

Thankfully, they entered the painting room to find a grumpy-looking Vulcan already preparing to work on the canvas. 

"Please make him appear...marriageable. The target is to entice possible brides. Even if he will not listen to a word I say," Sarek folded his hands behind his back, observing his son get into position for the portrait. 

Spock shifted uncomfortably on top of the not-horse wooden thing. "These portraits will be sent abroad in hopes of attracting the high and mighty to attend this ball you insist upon?"  

"It is a beloved tradition among nobility," Sasak noted, already working on reports as Captain Pike fixated his gaze out the window which overlooked the garden hedge maze, a beautiful green world that Spock's mother had cherished and took care of(mostly) by herself. 

"At which you will choose someone to wed," Sarek added and Spock resisted the urge to roll his eyes, something his mother used to do often. 

"If I am forced to marry, can I not marry an honest and true countryman?" 

Sasak actually scoffed at this. "And what will this country boy provide us? We are a small kingdom bordering greater and stronger kingdoms. It is a dangerous world and an advantage like this one could change the power of our country substantially-" 

Sarek interrupted Sasak with a nicer version of what he was trying to say. "I wish to see you and this kingdom secure." 

Spock let his head fall the tiniest bit before nodding. "Agreed, father. On the condition that the invitations are sent to everyone in the kingdom and not just the nobility." 

Sarek looked from Captain Pike to Sasak who both silently agreed(Pike more than the reluctant Sasak). "Then we have a deal." 

~~♟~~

In the next two weeks, Jim and Spock would see each other once. It was a busy few weeks, especially for Spock who had been assisting his father in the preparations for the ball. In those hours, they talked about everything and nothing, they talked about their dreams, hopes, and wishes while also keeping their family, social status all withheld. 

It was for the best, they each told themselves. He would look at me differently and I don't know if I could handle that. 

Spock did tell Jim about the ball and how every eligible person in the country was invited, rich or poor. He also told Jim he wanted to see him there and Jim promised him he would. They would meet again and possibly share a dance(Jim didn't tell Spock he had never learned to dance outside of when his mother tried to teach him when he was seven then quickly gave up on the matter). 

But his mind was on other things than dancing. 

And so that day, he raced home and told his stepfather and stepbrothers of the news and they jumped for joy. For the rest of the week, Frank was talking about how he could best get his son to win the heart of the crown prince or something stupid like that. 

When Jim had (cautiously)asked Harry why he'd ever want to marry someone without knowing them, Harry cackled as if Jim was the dumbest person in existence and said, 

"What the hell does knowing the guy have to do with it? It's about the money!" 

Caleb understandably was less eager about the ball and told Jim he was only going for the food and drink that was bound to be divine. 

For the rest of the week, Harry was going on about how rich he was going to be while Frank was talking about what they could do with all of that money, and Jim, well Jim didn't have the time nor the patience to think about this great, handsome prince and all of his money because his mind was spinning around Spock, the apprentice. He practically begged Frank to go and Frank eventually agreed if Jim could finish all of his jobs(plus extras) and put something suitable on and Jim did. 

He worked so hard, his hands cramped up and slaved every night until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer fixing up one of his dad's most precious items: a beautiful set of clothes meant for a king. 

There was a story his mom used to tell him about how she used to belong to an esteemed family of great nobility. She said she grew up the daughter of a courtier and lived in wealth in comfort, but she gave it all up to marry Jim's father. At the end of her telling him, he always asked whether it was worth it and she would sigh, close her eyes, and smile. 

"Wealth is nothing compared to having someone like George Kirk. All I ever hope is that you find someone who will sweep you off your feet as your father did mine." 

She never gave the name of her family and never mentioned them outside of this story, but Jim eventually found out after her death and many hours of searching his mother's maiden name, this name of nobility and wealth. 

Beausoleil. 

Jim never saw his mother as Winona Beausoleil but always as Winona Kirk, but as he put his father's courtier clothes on, he felt a sense of pride and couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if he had grown up as a noble. 

It didn't matter, He brushed those thoughts away and focused on the outfit that fit him so perfectly, he could practically hear his mother saying, "You look just like him." 

He was transformed yet still just as he was, wearing these clothes. 

And he smiled to himself, preparing to go to the ball to find his Spock.

But we both know that this is not how the night went at all, and Jim's dreams were quite literally torn from him by his evil stepfather and brother. 

~~♟~~

Jim found himself in the garden, sitting on the ledge of the water fountain where he and his mother had once studied the life cycle of frogs. The fountain was dried up now and tainted with overgrown moss, just like her memory. 

Then the cold, wet tears were sliding down his face as he looked at his ragged outfit. Like he could ever be anything other than a lowly servant is what Frank said to him. And maybe he was right.

The last few weeks had clouded his senses, what with Spock and all, to what the real world was like. It wasn't a fairytale with lovely dreams woven together like an intricate tapestry. This was a world where you were torn down and drowned out if you had any original thoughts or ideas of your own. 

Obedience was survival. 

Defiance meant death. 

And who was he kidding with Spock? As soon as Spock found out the truth of him being some dirty servant, he'd up and leave him in the dust. 

"You're so fucking wrong." 

He jumped at the sound of a gruff voice and for a second, fear coursed through him at the thought that maybe Frank had returned. But instead, there standing in the middle of the garden, was a literally glowing figure dressed in white robes. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked tired of everything in the universe. 

Jim quickly went to wipe the tears off of his face with the back of his dirty sleeve. "Who are you?" 

"Who do you think I am?" 

"I don't know," Jim gave him another look, "a door salesman?" 

The guy straight up laughed sarcastically before narrowing his eyes even more. "Very funny, Jim." 

"You know my name?" 

"Well of course I know your damn name! I'm your goddamn fairy godfather for heaven sakes!" 

Of course, Jim thought to himself, I'd get the grumpy one. 

"Listen, kid. You've been taking a lot of shit over the years from your doorknob-of-a-person stepfather and your idiot stepbrother. Now, finally, I'm allowed to step in-" 

"You weren't allowed before?" 

"There are a shit ton of rules that come with being magical. Including no drinking, which I'm still working on getting repealed-" 

Jim gave him one of those looks his mother used to give him when he was rambling and this guy seemed to get the point. 

"Everybody calls me Bones. I'm supposed to fix all of your problems." 

The blond perked up. "Like get rid of my stepfather?" 

Bones winced and shook his head. "Sorry, kid. Big stuff like that you have to do on your own." 

This was getting really annoying. "Okay, so what exactly do you do?" 

"Well for starters," Bones smiled evilly, "I'm getting you to that fucking ball." 

Chapter Text

~~Jour 1 du Bal~~

Jim stepped out of the golden leaf-lined carriage, already overwhelmed by the glorious palace lit up before him and the thousands of steps that led up to it. His shoes clinked against the fine stone, and he was still surprised from when Bones first insisted wearing glass slippers was the only way to go to a ball. 

"They're glass," Jim grimaced. 

"They're magic," Bones had corrected him. "And really comfortable."

Here he was, truly at the steps of the palace and the only thing that was stopping him from going was now himself.

Bones had transformed his tattered clothes into fine white silk lined with blue sheer fabric and intricate designs and a pair of white gloves as well as fixed his unkempt hair and placed magic on him to keep his stepfamily very much unaware of his presence. There was glitter in his hair, across his nose, and it made his skin sparkle. Looking in the new flowing water fountain's reflection, Jim hardly recognized himself. 

"Jim, wait! There is something very important you should know! The magic only lasts until the last stroke of midnight and will come back every day at six pm until the last day of the ball!" 

Jim had laughed at this.  "I'm not going to be there for six hours. I'm just there to eat some food and find Spock."

"Yeah," Bones grumbled, "That's what they all say."

It was a journey climbing up all of those steps, but ultimately worth it when the guards just opened the large doors for him as if he belonged. It was a wonderful feeling, to belong. He slipped in past the name-caller to avoid any unnecessary attention and just looked. 

He took in the sight of the ballroom that stretched forever in all directions. The floor looked like liquid gold and glowed against the 20,000 candles that filled the intricate gigantic crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling, a ceiling which sloped upward in an arch and was painted with flowers and text(the flowers were the symbol of the house of Surak, or the house of royalty while the text was what the country lived by and stood for). 

Compared to the vibrant and beautiful design of the ballroom, the nobility that occupied it was rather plainly dressed(color-wise, there was nothing plain or common about their clothing). All Vulcans had chosen neutral earth tones for their robes and the humans were dressed in reds and pinks and oranges, warmer colors. Even most of the foreign visiting nobility was wearing something along those lines. Maybe there was a dress code and Jim didn't get the memo? 

Because Jim was kind of sticking out like a sore thumb. 

He searched every face in the large crowd for Spock's and when he couldn't find him, he decided to venture out through a garden pass hidden behind lovely satin curtains. When the thick curtains closed behind him, so did the light and soon he was blanketed in comforting darkness followed by the overwhelming number of voices being drowned out. He was on a balcony with steps leading down in what looked like a private garden which was still somehow on a balcony that had steps leading down to a grand hedge maze that was almost dizzying. 

Jim couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at the thought that maybe Spock wasn't here but he continued to keep his hopes up. 

Maybe he just got here and I missed him? Maybe he's still taking his time to arrive? 

And so Jim decided he would wait thirty minutes for Spock to show up, and if he didn't by then well...then Jim would probably just stock up on a bunch of palace food(c'mon, they're royalty they have plenty to spare) and then leave. 

Jim carefully walked down the stairs, being mindful that he was indeed wearing magical glass slippers, and smiled when he saw the adorable little courtyard with climbing roses growing along the balcony wall. 

His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, so please remember that Jim did not see the crown prince sitting at a table on the edge of the balcony playing chess by himself(and passing the time until his father called a toast). At least, he didn't see him until it was too late. 

All he saw was a handsome prince in dark green robes that blended perfectly with the cerulean darkness standing up in shock and then Jim was bowing just like his mother taught him to in the presence of royalty, and burning with embarrassment. 

"Your highness, I'm so sorry for disturbing you, I didn't know this was your personal place-" 

At the same time, the prince was saying, "It is of no consequence, I assure you-" 

And then they both stopped talking. Jim straightened himself and just stared, baffled by the familiarity of that baritone voice and the prince stared right back. 

After about a minute of silence, Jim found his words again. 

"Spock?" 

"Jim?"

"You-" He couldn't believe it. This was not happening, not to him of all people. Spock. A prince! The prince! "You're the prince?" 

"I am. And you, a nobleman. I cannot believe my eyes." Spock dared to take a step closer. "You look very handsome, Jim." 

Of course, the farmboy blushed(partly from embarrassment and part from flattery because on one hand, Spock had called him handsome, but on the other, Spock actually thought he was nobility and Jim didn't bother to correct him). 

"You also look really nice all decked out with a silver crown on your head," Jim couldn't help but smile, still very much baffled by Spock being a prince and trying his best to blink away the bewilderment. 

"I admit it is not the preferred item to wear," Spock gestured to the silver band decorated with tiny but beautiful jewels with less than impressed taste and Jim nodded in agreement. 

"Wow," Jim wheezed suddenly with a realization hit him. "So when I said I didn't care if you were the damn prince the first time we met--oh god! I attacked the prince with an armful of apples-!" 

"Jim," Spock's hand ghosted his forearm gently. "Your actions were justified and mine warranted such an assault. The first time we met-" Spock glanced down at his hands almost shamefully "-my behavior was regrettable and below par." 

Jim laughed at that, remembering the look on his face right after he turned around and right before Jim started pelting the apples at him. It was a look of pure terror mixed with shock. "You're too hard on yourself. I was too hard on you. Literally. I thought about those bruises that must've developed from those apples for weeks!

"Yes, well you have a very good arm," If Spock were human, he would've laughed too, because Jim did that to him, invoked that kind of warmth in him. "Do you play chess?"

Well, that was out of the blue. "I-yes. A little." 

That was a bit of an understatement. He was pretty good at it when he was a kid before...all of the other stuff. 

The first few minutes were admittedly awkward and Jim was still mulling over the fact that his friend was indeed royalty, but soon after that, they were talking as if they were just two kids in the forest again and nothing of rank or wealth mattered. 

To both of their surprise, Jim won. 

"Checkmate," Jim stared at Spock wide-eyed like he didn't know how he got here either. His strategy was kind of all over the place, unlike Spock's which was perfectly logical and brilliant. It probably would've worked against anyone actually following the unspoken rules of chess. 

"That is very unusual," Spock noted, his eyebrows furrowed in almost confusion. "Do you care for a second round?" 

"Yes," Jim replied a little too quickly and felt that slight heat rise in his cheeks, but Spock just smiled his Vulcan-smile(which meant not changing a single muscle while somehow conveying warmth) and they played again. This time Spock won and then Jim was insisting they play again until they both tied. 

"I think we now officially say I am the king of chess," Jim grinned and Spock only shook his head in mock disagreement, amusement glowing through his features. 

"I believe we both won the same number of times so it would likewise be logical to conclude I am the king of chess." 

"We'll just have to be kings together, then," Jim smirked, but then the smile faltered when he realized the implications of what he just said, and he wasn't the only one based on how the prince's--Spock's eyebrows raised. "Well," He coughed, "You know what I mean, not like-" 

But he was caught off by the low chime of the clock and the sound of bells filled the balcony. 

...The magic only lasts until the last stroke of midnight...

"Oh my god!" Jim stood up, nearly knocking the chessboard off of the table. "Is it that time already?" 

Then he focused back on Spock. 

"This has been great and you're really great, but I have to go now so bye see ya 'round!" By the end of the sentence, Jim was clamoring down the steps and walking through the hedge maze. There was a shout of protest behind him, but it was lost in the wind. 

There was steps leading down to the front of the castle, way smaller and less grand than the steps he walked up, so this told him this must be another way to leave the palace which was good. The last thing he needed was to run into rich snobs on his way out. 

But damn...what a night! Chess, Spock--the prince!

Jim got into the golden leaf carriage quick enough and they were gone into the night. 

~~♟~~

Spock was so surprised by Jim's sudden leaving that all he could do was yell something, but then he was gone. It was strange. Jim was so strange, yet completely wonderful. That much was obvious. There was much to process and much more to do. 

"You are sure there was no one with the name Jim at the ball?" Spock looked at the name-caller with narrowed eyes. 

"Every guest gave their name. Not one of them had a name of Jim, James, Jimmy, or any sort like that." 

"It is inefficacious, son," Sarek sighed, though he was very intrigued by the effect this person had on his son. "Your only hope is whether he will appear again at tomorrow's ball." 

"I anticipated this would not happen," Spock finally gave up and dismissed the name-caller who definitely looked grateful to be relieved of this interrogation. "It does not make sense. The guards let him in." 

"But he gave no name." 

"Precisely." 

"I must admit I am now very eager to make an acquaintance with this 'Jim'." Sarek noted as they walked down the hall, his hands calmly behind his back and Spock's pace slowed for just a second. 

"Clarify." 

"He is intelligent. If I were someone who did not want the attention of the name-caller, I would avoid him too." 

"You assume by this that he is humble and respectable because he does not want attention?" 

"I assume he is more interesting than any noble who arrived at this palace before him," And Sarek left him there in the hall to visit the Queen Mother's garden, his wife's garden, something he did every day. 

~~Jour 2 du Bal~~

Jim was suddenly very glad that this whole ball centered around Spock because sure, they shared a wonderful moment in that private garden playing chess, but it was time to get real. Spock was a prince. A PRINCE. And Jim was just...well he was just a lowly servant. 

But Spock doesn't think so, A voice in his mind countered back. 

Spock sees what he wants to see in me, Jim countered the counter-voice. Not what's actually there. 

And strangely enough, for the first time since the ball, he pushed thoughts of Spock away and decided he would not think about him all night. Yesterday he totally forgot to try any of the food which was kind of the whole reason he came to the ball(besides you-know-who) and today was going to be his day. Jim entered with all of the other guests like usual, completely speechless by the golden glow of the ballroom once more. 

"May I have your name, sir?" 

"Uh-" Jim whipped around, a hand gripping his shoulder and he would've smacked the guy on instinct but luckily he remembered his manors. "Excu-Pardon?" Yeah, that sounded like rich-people-speak. 

"Your name, sir. It is simply a formality." 

"Oh uh. Calvin." 

"Calvin...?" The name-caller trailed off, expecting Jim to answer with more. 

"Oh..." And then Jim got an idea, "How dare you even enter my presence without getting to your hands and knees! Impudent, disrespectable-" 

And sure enough, the poor name-caller was suddenly blubbering, and getting on his hands and knees. Jim took this time to disappear into the crowd, leaving the name-caller behind and going straight to the buffet table. He was starving and didn't waste another second in shucking his gloves and plucking at the little tea sandwiches. 

As he took a bite, his eyes began to water. God, this food was heavenly. Beyond words and Jim allowed himself a little groan of satisfaction. After having three sandwiches, he went to the pastries--the raspberry-filled glazed pastries made him want to cry. 

To think! All of these rich people sitting up here in their palaces and enjoying amazing luxuries like this every day! It would take Jim two years of working a proper job(and not just at the market) to even think about affording just one.

Rich people. 

"Finally someone who's actually enjoying themselves," A voice behind him caused him to turn and sure enough there was a lovely young woman in a crimson off the should gown with golden accents. She was absolutely breathtaking, but every mannerism she displayed screamed 'Sapphic Goddess'. 

"You're the famous Lady Nyota of house Uhura! The first woman to join the royal guard! You're second only to Captain Pike!" Jim was gushing at this point, but he had the right to gush because she was the coolest person ever! She started learning the ways of the sword when she was just eight years old, she was a damn legend!

But Nyota just put her hand up to silence him, chuckling softly. "Are those raspberry pastries any good?" 

"Yeah, they're actually really delicious," Jim admitted and she shrugged before grabbing one(at this moment, Jim realized Nyota was not wearing gloves, to begin with, which was as badass as it gets at a Vulcan party). 

"Mm, yeah you're right, this is pretty good," She nodded through a mouthful of pastry. "Who are you, I feel like I haven't seen you before, but there is something familiar about you. Have we dueled?" 

Jim burst out laughing. "Me? Duel? Never. People call me Jim." 

"Jim...?" She trailed off, expecting him to finish with his surname and why did everyone need to know his last name so bad? Why can't rich people just accept one name? 

"Just Jim," Was his cheeky response because he really didn't want to get into anything about family right now. 

"Okay 'Just Jim' what brings you to the ball? Want to marry a prince?" Nyota grinned wickedly, leaning in. 

"What? No, of course not!" Jim was probably bright red at this point. He unconsciously let out a scoff, thinking about why Spock would want to marry him of all people. "I'm just here for the food. You?" 

"We grew up together and are good friends. Nothing more." 

"That's cool." Suddenly, a spike of curiosity surged through him. "So what was Spock like as a kid?" 

Nyota grinned. "Well, he was pretty stuffy and uptight when it came to rule-following. Oh! And he always had his head in a book, practically devoured books. I eventually got him to try out fencing, but other than that, he's not a physically inclined person, if you know what I mean." 

And Jim shared her devious expression. "You know, that strangely makes sense given-" 

He was cut off by a warm, smooth voice behind him. "Nyota, it is good to see you have made an acquaintance with Jim." 

Spock. Of course. 

Uhura's eyes widened as she looked Jim up and down in amazement. "You're the Jim?" 

"I...think so?" He didn't really know how to answer that one. Maybe there was more than one Jim at the ball? 

"Oh my god, Spock's been talking about you nonstop-" 

"Nyota," Spock cut her off, gruffly. "I believe Lady Christine requires your attention." 

"Right," There was that wicked grin again, "Okay, you two lovebirds have fun!" 

And she was gone, leaving them alone(ish) near the banquet tables and Jim couldn't help but notice the slight verdant blush that had situated on Spock's sharp features. It also occurred to Jim at that moment that he had been staring at Spock this entire time and even more surprising, Spock had been staring right back. 

That warm, fuzzy feeling came rushing back.

So much for forgetting about Spock. 

A song started playing and the music was like sweet honey to his ears: warm and soft, flowing and filling the room. The song was La Valse de L'Amour and it sounded like pure raw love that came from the gentle hum of the orchestra, a chorus of beautiful strings being played and plucked in perfect harmony. Jim closed his eyes and pictured the vibrant colors of music swirling around him, glowing in the darkness. He was not aware he was swaying softly to the music and was also not aware of the little smile that moved across the prince's features. 

Jim was pulled out of his reverie when Spock put a warm hand on his shoulder. 

"Would you honor me with a dance, Jim?" 

"I-" Jim bit his lip. He wanted to dance to this divine song, but his dancing skills were very rusty to say the least. The last time he'd danced was when his mom was teaching him when he was eleven, and he remembered it so clearly because she twisted her ankle and couldn't walk properly for a week. Literally, the last thing Jim wanted to do was disable the prince at a dancing ball. "I'm not a good dancer." 

"We will just have to see." 

And before Jim could properly protest(which he did very weakly), Spock was pulling him onto the dance floor and then they were dancing.

Jim had to admit.

Spock's gentle but secure hand on his waist was a wonderful feeling. Even more wonderful was the feeling of Spock's hand in his as they danced. Ethereal and magical on another plane. 

Oh, wait. 

Their hands. 

They weren't wearing gloves. 

Jim had gloves before...where did they go? And why wasn't Spock wearing gloves? 

They were so Vulcan kissing right now. Practically making out. 

But then, Jim registered that he didn't care so they continued to dance around the ballroom. The music filled the space between them and it seemed as if there was no one in the ballroom but them, and they were dancing on starlight, on magic and dreams and the most beautifully crafted fantasies. 

This didn't even feel real. It felt like an illusion, like Jim could blow it all away with one heavy breath, so his breath caught in his throat and he allowed the music to carry him and Spock far away. To dance on the moon's shadow across the water. 

He was smiling so hard it almost hurt, but he couldn't control the joy that practically radiated off of him as Spock spun him around delicately and then pulled him back into his arms with inhuman-like grace. 

Spock was good at everything. Chess. Dancing. He was handsome, smart, strategic, kind, humble, honorable. 

Looking at him now, Jim knew in his heart if Spock asked for anything, anything at all, Jim would say yes. 

Yes, Spock, take me far away. I'll follow you blindly to the ends of the earth. Always. 

Suddenly the dance ended, and they were now back in the golden ballroom, and it became clear to Jim why it felt like the room was empty. Everyone in the whole damn party had stopped dancing to watch them and made space for them as they had moved around the ballroom, swept away with the music. 

Now they were all clapping and cheering as they were watching the duo in a wide circle around them and once again, Jim felt a sting of embarrassment. 

"Shall we collect sustenance and find a place to eat it?" 

"I'd like that a lot," Jim whispered and Spock, whose hand was still holding Jim's, guided him past the crowd to the banquet table to stash some food. Jim took at least seven of those raspberry pastry things because holy Jesus, they were good, while Spock occupied himself with the healthier side, taking several sandwiches wrapped in a silk napkin. 

When the next dance started, they were off, slipping silently into the corridor and running down the hall until Spock found the room he was looking for. When he pushed the great oak doors open, they revealed a beautiful library with towering marble bookshelves and the wall opposite them was entirely glass.

"I can't believe you live here," Jim blurted out before he could stop himself. Well, it was true. Spock seemed to have the world at his disposal, anything he wanted, everything Jim wanted, it was here. Spock had never known hunger or fear of when his next meal was or anxiety of paying taxes. And that's when it hit Jim really hard. 

Spock had everything and Jim had nothing. 

What could Jim possibly give him that he'd want? 

The answer-

The toll of the clock tower thrust him into the real world. Midnight. 

Jim dropped the pastries on the rich crimson carpet and sprinted past Spock, murmuring a rushed, "I'm sorry, I have to go" but instead of the prince just standing there in shock like last time, Spock was jogging after him this time, but Jim was faster. 

He'd always been a good runner, and the way Spock yells his name as he bolts down the palace stairs echoes in his mind like a hollow phantom calling to him and plagues his thoughts until he's so exhausted, his eyes can't manage to stay open a second longer. 

~~Jour 3 du Bal~~

It takes a lot of courage for Jim to climb those steps once more. He's standing at the bottom, tapping his glass-slippered foot on the perfectly cut cobblestone, trying to reason actually going into the ball in the first place. He already did everything he came to do: eat food and meet Spock. And now he's done that so what's the point of going in? 

There's no point. 

Spock's probably pissed off that he keeps running away like a dog with his tail between his legs, but Jim just couldn't bear the look of disappointment that would imminently settle on his face as soon as he found out who Jim really was. 

So even though there was a 3000% chance Spock would not want to see him and probably kick him out of the ball in front of everyone, he climbed those steps one last time. Because he had spent so long thinking about whether to go to the ball or skip it altogether, everyone else was already inside and he was entirely alone. 

The climb somehow felt longer than normal, and a shiver went down his spine at the shape click his shoes made against the stairs. 

Just a quick pop-in, then dash. Nothing more, Jim told himself before amending, No one more. 

Just one last night to be a prince, to be nobility, to mean something even though he knew in his heart he never really belonged here. They were all fancy with their lace doilies and pearl necklaces and hand-rolled Aldebaran cigars. 

Upon his reaching the top step, the guards opened the doors for him without hesitation, without even bothering to ask him if he was really nobility. Because to them, he was. 

The halls were almost hauntingly quiet, with just the distant harmony of the ballroom orchestra echoing through the halls to delay the silence. Now that he was here, Jim had no intention of actually setting foot in the ballroom.

He wandered the halls and stared at the grand murals that filled them, beautiful figures dancing and writing and reading, all of the things Jim wished he could fill his days with. 

He turned down one corridor that appeared to be a hall of paintings, handsome faces looking down solemnly at him, all similar in appearance, dressed to the nines. He stopped at one portrait, a portrait of a woman in navy blue silks, a beautiful golden crown on her head, and dark chestnut locks that fell across her shoulder. She was actually smiling, and by her hair and lack of pointed ears, Jim had to conclude that this was the famed Amanda Grayson, the first human to take the Vulcan throne after Zephram Cochrane. In the portrait, she looked so serene and her eyes smiled down upon him in a way no words could describe. 

His eyes trailed down the long portrait and stopped at another face, which was unusual, because all portraits that hung from the halls only had one person in them, but this one didn't. Holding Amanda's hand was a small Vulcan, a child who couldn't be more than six years old in Terran years. His eyes were bright like his mother's, despite his stoic expression. 

The sound of footsteps caused him to turn. He knew that light-footed yet deliberate tread and mentally prepared himself for what he could possibly say. 

"Look Spock, I'm sorry-" 

But when he turned, it wasn't Spock. It wasn't Spock at all, but an older Vulcan who was dressed in rich oak-colored robes. 

"You're the king aren't you, King Sarek," Jim scanned the stone-like expression of the Vulcan who stood before him, hands behind his back, but he completely disregarded the question. 

"She does look very lovely in that painting, would you not concur?" 

So coy, just like his son. "Y-yes. She was really beautiful." 

"Indeed." Sarek's gaze lingered a little too long on the portrait before he focused his intentions on Jim. "So you are the Terran man my son talks frequently about." 

"He does?" Jim inquired a little too quickly. 

Sarek nodded. "It is an honor to meet the person who has so infatuated the Crown Prince of Vulcan." 

Jim felt heat simmer in his cheeks again. "The honor is all mine. Though I'd hardly say 'infatuated'-" 

"You are correct. 'Infatuated' is not a strong enough term for what my son so evidently feels for you." 

The heat only intensified and Jim wanted to catapult through the stars at that very moment. Spock has feelings for him. Oh no, Spock has feelings for him. 

"Tell me, Jim, why are you so eager to leave the palace?" 

"It...it's complicated." 

Then, much to Jim's surprise, The King of Vulcan said, "Try me." 

"There are obstacles. Dating someone as fantastic-" Jim let out a breath and felt a smile threaten to press against his lips "-as Spock, who has everything, well. I just don't have what he has." 

Sarek arched an eyebrow. "A crown?" 

"A choice." 

The king's eyebrows furrowed. "I see." 

"Let's just say it wouldn't work out between us," Jim sighed, knowing that was the truth and nothing was going to change between them. He just had to let it go. 

"Well, as you are here, may I suggest spending the duration of your stay with my son other than roam the halls?" 

Jim put on his best smile and nodded. 

Sarek offered his arm and Jim, of course(because he's the king what else are you supposed to do??) obliged and Sarek lead him back through the corridor, stopping at the fine oak doors that led to the ballroom. The guards, on seeing the king, immediately opened the doors for him and it...

to Jim, it felt like magic. 

The doors opened to the ballroom and the dancing and music that had been going on stopped. Sarek led Jim down the beautiful golden stairs and through the crowd which parted like the Red Sea for him. Every person in the room bowed in respect. And sure, it may have been to King Sarek, but it was a wonderful, jittery feeling watching all of these people just effortlessly bowing, people who would overlook him in the crowd on a regular day, probably bark orders at him. 

Most of the people in the room were murmuring to each other about "who is the gentleman" and "I've never seen him before" and Jim kept his head held high the entire time because just this once it felt great to be noticed. 

They exited the ballroom on the other side, weaving through a smaller, less showy door that led outside to the hedge maze Jim had gawked at before. 

Sarek unhooked his arm from Jim's and gave him one last piece of advice. "Spock is in there." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Jim, do not underestimate your power in this world. You possess much more than you perceive." 

Jim nodded once, slightly confused by those words, but they had to mean something. 

He walked down those stairs and into the hedge maze alone, and when Jim looked back to the stairs, Sarek was gone.

There was no going back now. 

Jim headed into the maze, weaving his way around the towering walls of plants. It was a wonder how nobody got lost in here, seriously. Jim was getting a little sick just looking up at the walls that created the intricate labyrinth. When Jim turned a corner for what felt like the millionth time(it really wasn't), the maze opened up to a secret garden lined with several different flowers that smelled of sweet honey and tea. Everything from dahlias to lilies colored this beautiful garden and in the corner, there was a colossal oak tree that made the once-towering hedges appear minuscule. From one of the branches hung two large wooden swings next to each other. 

At first, Jim thought the two swings were just moving gently against the breeze on their own, but then his eyes fully adjusted and he saw a figure swaying gently in one of the swings. A beautiful figure with smooth pale skin and gentle eyes, only soft curves in the moonlight under the robes he was wearing. 

Jim's breath caught in his throat and he just spent a long time staring before finally gathering the courage to speak. 

"Spock." 

The prince looked up, eyes wide in disbelief. "Jim." 

The name sounded ethereal, leaving his lips like that, so beautiful. It felt weird with all of this distance between them, so Jim took several steps forward until he found himself standing in front of Spock, wringing his hands awkwardly as the Vulcan looked up at him. He almost cried with relief when Spock silently gestured to the swing next to him. Jim was so glad to get off his feet and started swaying himself in the swing, trying to find the right words to proceed. 

Spock didn't deserve to be led on like this, and the first thing he needed to do was-

"Look...I'm sorry about-" 

"There is no need to apologize. Your reason for running was not out of malice." Jim felt that familiar fluttering in his stomach when he heard Spock's deep voice, soft and genuine, like a butterfly's wing beat.  

"N-no! Of course not!" 

"Then...why?" 

Here comes the hard part. Jim practically choked it out, "It's hard to explain. There's a lot you don't know. About me." 

"I suppose so," Spock exhaled, and finally--finally--Spock met his gaze. "But I would like to." 

Wow. Spock is hot. Snap out of it, Jim mentally scolded himself. The whole point of being here is to shut him down. In a frantic attempt to change the subject, Jim focused on the only thing(other than Spock) on his mind. "How long've you been out here? Isn't this whole party in your honor? You should be in there, celebrating, not sitting out here...with me." 

The corners of Spock's mouth upturned in the tiniest, most unnoticeable way. But Jim noticed. "I find your company very satisfactory, Jim." 

"Yeah, this whole ball is about you finding a match, right?" 

"Is it not obvious who I have chosen?" 

"Um-" At the realization that Spock was talking about him, Jim's face seemed to be on fire and the temperature felt 10 degrees hotter. "...oh." 

For a second, Jim actually considered life with Spock. A wonderful, perfect life of moments like these, eating whatever they wanted, always being together. Fancy clothes. long walks through the garden. Chess. No cleaning up after people, no indentured servitude, no abusive people, no one could hurt him...but that's when the dream faded. Because that kind of magic stayed within the confines of a book and nothing more. Spock needed to know what he'd be getting and Jim hated every word that came out of his mouth: 

"Spock, you can't marry me." 

The prince's demeanor stiffened ever-so-slightly, and though Spock tried to hide it, it was obvious he was disappointed. "Are you opposed to it?" 

Oh, Spock, why are you the way you are? Jim wanted to throw himself into a black hole at that second. "Well, no. Definitely not. You're fantastic. You're everything a person could want in a friend, husband, partner! God, look at you! You're gorgeous and smart and funny and an amazing dancer and brilliant and thoughtful-" 

Jim was cut off when Spock grabbed his face and pulled him into a bruisingly perfect kiss. There was just a second of awkwardness before Jim's lips slid open and Spock, emboldened by the gesture pulled Jim to him, his hands sliding down his waist and bringing him in by the hips. Jim's hands found their way into Spock's hair, and the silky softness was like touching starlight. As if on cue, fireworks went off in the distance, highlighting Spock's sharp features in blue, pink, then white light. For just a second. Jim believed, wanted to believe that this could be his endgame. But then the dream faded and Jim pulled away. 

Well, as much as he could. His forehead was still pressed against Spock's and their lips brushed against each other's. 

"Spock..." Jim huffed shallowly, "You don't want to marry me." 

"Why would I not?" Spock didn't even seem to mind this position, this newfound yet familiar closeness between them. 

"I'm not...like you," Jim tried, but Spock just blinked in confusion, "You and your perfect hair and beautiful ambitions and ideas." 

"Why is that?" 

"Spock I'm being serious. You can't marry me." 

"Jim-" 

That word! Goddammit, that word! His name, it was his name, and yet when Spock said it, it was different. So much different. What would that word sound like coming out of Spock's mouth if he knew about who Jim was, just a lowly, forgettable servant, living under the boot of a horrible, awful man?

Jim suddenly stood up, breathless and practically shaking. "I was wrong, I can't do this. I just-I just can't. God, if he even knew I was here, he'd skin me alive. What was I thinking?" 

"What are you talking about?" Spock stood up, any traces of their kiss now gone and it was replaced by concern. But Jim was already walking through the maze, trying to remember the way back, Spock almost at his heels. 

"Spock please, you don't understand-" 

"Then help me understand." 

A warm hand wrapped around his, pulling him toward Spock, whose eyes were full of concern and worry. Jim could drown in this embrace. Always. 

But then there was that damn bell. That horrible alarm that roused him from the dreams of the night and drove him to his nightmarish hell that thrived in the light of day.

I never want this to end, please tell me it's going to be okay, Spock, please tell me we're going to be okay-

His eyes stung as he forced himself to pull away. Jim tried to stay strong, but his voice broke. "I can't." 

And he was running once again, always running. Up through the stairs. But instead of going through the ballroom, he went up through the side corridor, Spock right behind him as always. 

"Please. I must find you again. How can I find you again?" 

Jim stopped running for just a second. Turned around before he could stop himself. Grabbed Spock's face in his hands. 

"Beausoleil." 

And then he was running for real this time. Spock may have been a Vulcan, but it was like Jim was born to run, he was made to run. Running from Frank, from Harry, The Ball, and now Spock. 

"Jim! Wait!" He heard behind him, but kept running, whispering a soft, broken, "I'm sorry..." into the wind. 

"Jim!" 

Jim left him in the dust as he pushed open those heavy doors and stumbling down the stairs. The first set of stairs is fine and he covers them with ease but as soon as he turns into the second set, something squishes under his feet and then he's not moving. 

Why isn't he moving? 

Looking down, the middle of the staircase is covered in pitch like a rolling black carpet, a trap set just for Jim. 

Goddammit, why did Spock have to be so smart? Jim should've known better. 

He glances behind him and sees Spock jogging down the stairs, making up the distance that Jim put so effortlessly between them. 

For a second, Jim considered risking it all and getting caught. 

But the bell chimes again, and shakes him from his reverie. 

In that moment, Jim was infinitely thankful Bones told him to wear slippers instead of boots because Jim slipped out of those shoes and continued to run down the side of the stairs, barefoot, and just scarcely made it into the carriage. 

The only problem: 

He left two beautiful glass slippers on the stairs and a very smart prince behind in a world that never belonged to him, as much as he tried to convince himself of it. 

Chapter Text

As soon as Jim got home, he was determined to write everything down as to not forget it. Like writing down a dream, because it only remained true to his memory. His fingertips were stained black from the efforts of the ink for days following his writing. He admitted losing the shoes, the one thing that was supposed to remain after the magic left was a bit of a bummer, but he was determined to stay hopeful. Jim stored the several beautiful pages in a big envelope and tucked it under one of the floorboards that came undone, next to all the little trinkets he found and kept. 

His stepfamily was extra harsh to him following the events of the Ball mainly because they were sour about the strange arrival of some "slutty prince-stealer", but he hardly noticed, so swept up in the afterglow of it all. Although he knew in his heart he and Spock could never be together, he allowed himself the small luxury to dream about it, let his heart wander, and imagine what could have happened had Jim been royalty. It seemed the week following, he saw everything through rose-colored glasses, and sometimes he would just get so carried away up in the little attic that he let his feet shuffle across the floor and pretend he was dancing with the prince once more. 

Spock, on the other hand, was not as happy as Jim in this matter. Quite the opposite actually. 

"There is nothing. No record of Jim arriving to the ball at all," Spock sighed, pacing across the room while Captain Pike chuckled from where he sat behind the beautiful oak table.

"Out of all the people at the ball, you had to go and pick that one." 

"It still does not solve the issue of Princess T'Pring," Sasak finally said something, after staring judgmentally at the two of them for the last 20 minutes. 

Spock stopped his pacing to look at Sasak. "What about Princess T'Pring?" 

"You abandoned her throughout the duration of the ball," He responded simply. 

"I did not abandon her. It was clearly obvious she did not seek my company." 

"We should be diverting our efforts into sealing your bond to Princess T'Pring," Sasak emphasized and straightened his posture, his hands twisting in his lap. 

"She does not want it and neither do I. Your efforts would be fruitless." Spock did not bring up the fact that T'Pring was probably making out with her private guard, Stonn at this very moment. 

Sasak closed his mouth tightly and stood up. "As it seems you and Captain Pike are thoroughly occupied with the 'runaway man', I shall take my leave and allow you to continue your work without me." 

Spock said nothing, only nodded as The Duke left and for a few seconds afterward, the room was silent. 

Captain Pike chuckled again, "Wow, kid. I've never seen anyone stand up to Sasak like you do." 

"I believe it is partly because of my extensive time with the Royal Guard as part of my upbringing," Spock didn't smile, but his eyes portrayed warmth that made up for his lack of expression. 

"My men searched all night for your Jim, but he's nowhere to be found." 

"He does not want to be," Spock actually sighed, because he was terribly frustrated that the one person who showed him a new part of himself disappeared in the wind. What had Jim meant when he said "if he even knew I was here, he'd skin me alive"? 

Was Jim in trouble?  Why was he so eager to run? Spock heard what Jim was saying while they danced. It was an accident, Spock would never deliberately read someone's thoughts especially without their verbal consent, but as they danced, Spock believed they were his thoughts, and when they stopped, that was when they realized they were Jim's. 

Yes, take me far away. I'll follow you blindly to the ends of the earth. Always. \

And yet, Jim ran. 3 times he ran. 

"Have there been any advancements on the name Beausoleil?" 

Pike shook his head. "No one knows anything about it."

Spock opened his mouth but was cut off by the doors opening abruptly, and in walked a servant who bowed respectfully. 

"Prince Spock, your presence has been requested by King Sarek." 

"Tell him I am busy-" 

"It is urgent, your highness." 

That was not what Spock expected to hear, nor wanted to. And without another word, he followed the servant out into the corridor and practically jogged to his father's chambers to find Sarek sitting in bed with the healer nearby. They were whispering quietly as if the curtain of Death already hung over them.

Sarek looked pale, too pale. And thin. 

They both stopped talking when they noticed Spock in the doorway. 

"You summoned me?" Spock looked from his father to the doctor for answers. 

"Yes," Sarek beckoned him further into the room before turning to the healer. "You are dismissed." 

The healer nodded once, glancing at Spock with somber eyes on his way out, closing the doors behind him. 

Spock sat down against the edge of the bed immediately. "Father, your health-" 

Sarek cut him off. To him, there were more important things going on than his health. "Have you found him, yet?" 

"Pardon?" 

"Jim. Have you found him yet?" Sarek repeated, looking at Spock eagerly. 

"No...I have not. It seems no one knows the meaning of Beausoleil." 

"It is French," Sarek grated out. "It means 'fair sun'." 

Spock arched an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"The name Beausoleil once belonged to the Vulcan court as one of the first Terran noble families in Vulcan. It has not been spoken aloud in 24 years." Sarek paused to look up into his son's eyes that looked so familiar to Amanda's: big and bright, full of light and dreams. "Your mother had a childhood friend, Winona, who was the heiress to her parents' several estates and wealth. When she was 19, she left all that she was owed in order to marry a merchant, George Kirk." 

"You believe Jim is their son?" Spock leaned forward, eyes wide in realization. 

"If he was, your Jim would be the sole heir to every Beausoleil-owned property as well as their wealth. He would be the last, as I have heard James Beausoleil passed away not long after his daughter's estrangement and delegated all of his wealth to her line." 

"Wow. This is very...good news." 

"That is not all. The Beausoleils have a summer estate on the outskirts of Vulcan. In the country, near the forest." 

"Thank you, father! This is extremely helpful," Spock's little smile faded as soon as he remembered his father's health. "How are you?" 

Sarek shifted against the several pillows holding him up. "Why ask when you already know?" 

"I had hoped you would correct me." 

There was that dreaded silence that hung in the air, weighed down the light to allow the darkness to unfold before them. 

Finally, Sarek spoke, "I heard you have been giving Sasak trouble for wanting you to marry the Princess T'Pring." 

"When it is quite obvious both parties are uninterested, one can hardly argue for its continuance." 

"Do not be so harsh on him," Sarek sighed softly, "He means well in protecting the safety of the kingdom. He wants to see you safe as I do." 

"We have everything needed for survival here in the kingdom, and we are strong and fortified as it is. I ask your permission to pursue the man from the ball as my bondmate." 

Sarek's eyebrows arched curiously. "And if I do not give it to you?" 

"Then I will go anyway." 

The king closed his eyes contentedly, and for what felt like the first time ever, Sarek smiled softly. "Good. Then you must go and find him. You have my blessing to bond. You have earned every right to do so, my son." 

"Thank you, father." 

"Now go. All I have heard for the past few days is about the forgetful boy who loses his shoes," The king's eyes danced with amusement and Spock had the urge to laugh. 

"I will." But Spock made no attempt to move. They both knew he would not be leaving his father's side. Sarek stared at Spock, blinking slowly, the creases around his eyes softening ever so slightly. 

"You have your mother's eyes. Have I told you that before?" 

"You have not." 

"Well, it is true." Sarek's little smile returned, and his mind wandered back to happier days. Specifically one day, the day he met Amanda and the world opened up at his feet. Except he did not fall. He walked every step of the way, wanting to love Amanda with all of his being. This was said without words. There were two things publically known about Sarek: he was a fair ruler and a fine person, and that Amanda had made him that way. There was no doubt that Sarek had loved her and she had loved him. He'd long since awaited the reunion of their souls. "Your mother has that look of mystified wonder that always sparks conversation..." 

Spock stayed until his father's eyes closed for the last time. 

~~♟~~

They wasted no time. Within a week, Spock was king and he put together a small(but elite group) to go find Jim. It consisted of himself, Captain Pike, Lady Uhura, Lord Sulu(one of the best knights under Uhura), and their royal physician, Doctor M'Benga(in case Jim was somehow injured or something needed his attention) as well as 5 guards. Spock believed the more people he would bring on this quest, the less Jim would be inclined to come with him. Jim was the type of person who did not seem to cater to a whole crowd that springs up on him, and the last thing Spock wanted was to overwhelm him. 

Spock saw a stranger in a brown cloak walking along the side of the road and stopped his horse to ask a question, "Pardon me, can you direct me to the Beausoleil estate?" 

The man looked up, taking off his hood and his blue eyes shown in the light. "Just down the road, take a right when you hit the large willow. You can't miss it." 

Spock nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir." And then they were off once more in pursuit of Jim once more. 

"The pleasure is all mine, Spock." The brunette chuckled, watching the horses kicking up dust until they were nothing but distant outlines against the horizon. He continued on walking, for it was a fine day to walk. He mumbled, "These damn kids running around each other like mosquitoes." 

~~♟~~

At the fifth pounding on the door, Frank pulled himself up from his bed and stumbled to the door, yanking it open and barely managing to wrap a robe on, despite it being 4-o-clock. 

"Who the fuck--oh lord!" The King! Frank lowered himself to the ground. "Your Majesty, it is an honor-" 

"Indeed," Spock cut him off, already impatient with this clearly drunken-looking man. "May we come in?"

"Y-yes, of course!" He opened the door in to allow the entire party entry into the house, which looked very well-kept, despite the haggard appearance of this man. They made their way to the common living room and Nyota and Hikaru sat down, getting comfortable, Spock and Pike still standing while the rest waited in the hall. 

"Are you the master of this estate?" 

The man grinned proudly. "Yeah, she's all mine." 

Who was this man? What was he doing in this house? For a second, Spock thought he was too late. "What is your name?" 

"Frank Carlisle, highness." 

That name. Spock didn't know how he knew that name, but he did. 

"...if he even knew I was here, he'd skin me alive..."

Those words came rushing back to him, the fear in Jim's voice. He was talking about him. This man. Spock had the sudden urge to beat him into the dirt, beat him bloody until he looked like a swollen apricot. He was responsible for hurting Jim. Spock wondered the second time he met Jim what those purple bruises were doing staining his skin like that, why they were even there, but now it all made sense. Spock didn't make any sudden moves, took a deep breath. 

"You are certain you own this estate?" 

"Yes," Frank amended, "It was my wife's. Before she passed away." Frank ducked his head, trying to convince Spock of his sadness, despite not feeling anything particular about Winona's death. 

"Your wife's name?" 

"Winona." 

Winona Beausoleil. Now they were onto something. 

"Is there...anyone else in the house?" 

Frank smacked his lips together, wiping his grimy hands on his shirt. "No. Just me and my two boys, Harry and uh-Caleb." 

Lies. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, I'm bloody sure! Unless you count the rats." 

Spock was trying to be nice about this, honestly. He wanted to do this the Vulcan way: calm and logically, but the pre-Surakian blood in him was boiling. Liars make the greatest enemies. 

Suddenly, someone burst into the common room from a door in the main hall, resembling Frank uncannily with his face beet red. "I'm going to beat that stupid cow-licking animal lover! He washed my clothes and never returned them-"

He stopped dead as soon as he realized they had the company. His mouth dropped wider than Spock had ever believed a human's mouth could open. 

"Harry, this is King Spock," Frank forced out through gritted teeth. 

Harry's face pressed into a false smile that looked like it was hurting him and he dipped to the floor gracelessly. "Your majesty, it's an-" 

"Honor, yes I know." If Spock were human, he would've rolled his eyes. "Who were you referring to just now?" 

"What?" Harry glanced nervously at his father who was glaring warnings into his soul. "Oh um...no one. Nothing." 

"Where is your other son?" 

"He's sitting right there on the couch down the hall." There was a skinny little bean, curled up in a chair at the end of the hall. He didn't look much like Frank at all and seemed to be enveloped in a book. At least he didn't bow or anything, in fact, he didn't even acknowledge the king's presence. 

"And you are positive there is no one else in the house?" 

"Yep. Just us." Frank reaffirmed, gripping Harry's shoulder so tightly that he winced in pain. 

As if on cue, a hauntingly beautiful voice floated in through the open windows, filling the silence in the house and igniting something familiar in Spock's katra. 

"...in dreams, you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for you keep..." 

Spock honestly glared at Frank, who gulped harshly, looking from each of the people who were in the room staring at him too. 

"...no matter how your heart is grieving,  if you keep on believing,  the dream that you wish will come true..."

Pike chuckled and crossed his arms tightly. "You were saying?" 

Frank shifted on the balls of his feet, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly "Well I-" 

"Or does your cat have the vocal range of a professional bard?" 

"I will go investigate." Spock stepped forward with newfound confidence. There was no more time for games. "Take me to Jim immediately." 

"Your majesty-" Frank began to protest, but it was useless. 

"Now." 

Sure enough, Frank nodded, bowing his head and slowly but surely, led Spock up the winding creaky stairs to the attack door. The Vulcan tried not to actually murder him when Frank pulled out a large golden key before shoving it into the door and unlocking it. 

As the door swung open, Spock's heart lept into his chest. Finally, finally--after all of this time, all of this searching and waiting and wanted, finally he could be with Jim-

The door opened and the room was empty. 

No one was there. No signs of Jims or people for that matter. 

"He...he was right here. I swear!" Frank stuttered, his voice an octave higher than before. 

Spock took in the view of the room which was not in the best conditions(at all) but it still felt like...well, Jim. The floorboards were old and scratched(from moving furniture), but they were still clean as ever and there were boxes and old furniture stacked neatly in one corner. An armchair and an ottoman were pushed together to make a makeshift bed and were draped with several thin blankets. By the armchair, there was a stack of books, messily in a pile. One of them was open and looked overly-read: A Tale of Two Cities. Spock smiled to himself at the familiar name. There were several dried and pressed flowers hanging from the open wooden beams overhead with string as well as live flowers in all sorts of strange containers that worked as makeshift vases. It looked like a place with a lot of character. 

Spock directed his attentions toward the one window, a large bay window that was open and the glass panels were shuttering in the breeze. 

There was a hook above the window, a strong one used for hanging clotheslines, but in this case, a series of clothes were wrapped around it, tied together, and trailed out the window like a makeshift rope. Down the stone wall that led out into the garden. 

Once again, Jim ran away. 

4 four times now, Spock noted with a sigh. 

It didn't matter if Jim ran away a hundred times, Spock would find him, especially because he knew that if Jim really wanted to disappear, he would. 

Chapter Text

"He...he was right here. I swear!" 

"You locked him up like cattle?" Nyota's voice came in from the hallway. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

At least Nyota had the sense to be blunt with this man. Frank just gaped at her, saying nothing. 

Spock kneeled down in front of an open floorboard that revealed a little compartment with things hidden in it. Little things that were..very Jim. Spock noticed two notebooks and opened one of them curiously. Inside was a sample of what looked like dried sage and Jim's loopy wonderful handwriting making observations and writing how it grows, for how long, in what seasons, what're its uses. Spock skimmed through many pages and found them all similar, filled with actual dried plants or drawings of them with detailed observations and analyses. 

Very Jim.

Spock stood up at looked out the window into the forest. 

"I know where he's gone!" A voice yelled from the hallway and The Vulcan turned to see a skinny boy standing in the doorway. Frank glared daggers into him and was about to grind out some sort of threat, but Spock interrupted him. 

"Where?" 

"There's a hazel tree in the forest, past where the river forks. If there's any hope of finding him, he'll be there." 

"This boy's crazy, your highness!" Frank interjected, grabbing the boy roughly by the fabric of his shirt. "A horse hit in the head recently I-" 

"What's your name?" Spock elected to ignore Frank altogether, which was the only thing he could do to stop himself from knocking him out cold. 

"Caleb, your majesty." Caleb bowed his head the tiniest bit, which was an overwhelming relief to Spock after all of the bowing-down-to-the-floor he'd just put up with with Frank and Harry.

~~♟~~

Earlier...

When Frank slammed the door, locking him in the attic, his heart tore. He had figured it out, somehow, Frank had figured it out.

Jim was the mystery man from the ball.

It unfolded like a nightmare.

Jim mentally blocked out what happened exactly, but he could still feel the imprints of Frank's hands against his skin. He was on the floor when Frank slammed the door shut, and the room vibrated like an earthquake. 

Jim stood up, jangled the lock until his hand cramped, banged on the door until his knuckles bled, yelled until he lost his voice.

For what felt like an eternity, Jim wanted nothing more than Spock to find him, wrap him up in his arms and then carry him off into the sunset. He wanted to hear his voice so badly, wanted to feel his soft hands in his, he wanted all of Spock more than he ever wanted anyone in his whole life. 

There was no hope, it was useless. No one was coming to save him from this hellish existence. Not even that damn prince.

Spock. His name is Spock, Jim corrected himself. And he is the most wonderful person I've ever had the pleasure to know. 

A horrible realization unfurled in the pit of his stomach, cold and eating him out from the inside. 

The endings with the prince carrying someone off into the sunset were fairytales and just that.

This was a reality in which his only destiny was to suffer under the demanding hands of a man who actually believed he owned Jim. 

He sank to the floor in defeat and wanted too badly to curl up into a ball and disappear. This was one of those very rare moments where Jim felt absolutely helpless and alone, the last time he felt this way was on the first night of the ball. The world seemed to crumble in on him now as it did then, draining the life from him and sucking him dry until he felt boneless, weightless, in the worst possible way. 

But then he got an idea. 

Something Bones said to him on the night they met.

"...Big stuff like that you have to do on your own..." 

Sure, Spock wasn't coming to save him, but that didn't mean he couldn't save himself.

He had to do this on his own. 

He could disappear. By himself. Somewhere no one could find him, where no one could hurt him. Yes, he was going to do it, finally. 

Jim looked at the laundry in the corner of the attic--piles of laundry from all the washing he did last night, mostly Harry's clothes(god he had so many)--and suddenly knew exactly how he was going to escape. 

His hands worked quickly, knotting the fabric together. He unhooked the washline from above his window and replaced it with the line of clothes. Jim pushed the panels of the window open and threw the line of clothes down the stonewall, grinning when the last piece touched the ground. He tugged on the makeshift rope harshly to make sure it could actually hold his weight and it seemed fine enough. 

Abandoning the window for a second, Jim kneeled down on the floor, his hands skimming the course wood until he found what he was looking for: a loose floorboard. Jim pulled up the floorboard and underneath were all the little trinkets he collected over the years, little things that might have been meaningless to anyone but him. He collected herbs, dried them and documented them in a little science journal that his mother started and now he was continuing. The original journal was white with gold-leafed pages, and once JIm ran out of pages, he saved up a month's work of market money to buy a new one. It was brown leather with rough-edged pages, and not as nice, but he still treated it with care. It was nearly full. 

For a second, Jim brushed the cover fondly, thinking about taking it with him. 

No, he reconsidered. 

I'll buy a new one in the first town I stop in after crossing the kingdom border. 

For the past three years, Jim had been saving up money to eventually leave Frank and this abusive household, even though it hurt like hell to leave his childhood home and all of the memories of his mother with it, but he couldn't stand to take it anymore. 

He knew if his mother discovered what was happening in this house, she'd want him to leave too. 

Jim took the credits, which would be enough to last him six months without a job if he was careful. Jim looked at the other items in the floorboard, just small little things like ribbon and cut-outs from newspapers...there was also an envelope, cornflower blue and thick with pages of writing. 

Ah, yes. 

Jim's heart fluttered, and his hand withdrew. He was about to stand up and leave the envelope where it was, but an instinct overcame him and he quickly grabbed the envelope before he could change his mind. Grabbing a few more items(clothes, small items he could sell, light books), he stuffed them all in a knapsack and climbed out the window, not once looking back. 

It was easy enough climbing down the wall, and he smirked imagining Harry's face when he sees his laundry all ruined. 

This didn't feel real at all, but yet here he was.

Leaving. 

He didn't even notice he was singing some old lullaby his mother sang to him, and he went to the stable, greeting Nila and mounting her before riding out of the garden into the forest as fast as he could. 

The thunder of hooves echoed in his ear and the wind whistled behind him, and he never felt so free in his life. It was like his soul had opened a new door away from Frank away from deception, away from lying to get into the palace. 

Even away from Spock. 

But Jim convinced himself that it was for the best. It wouldn't have worked out anyway. Jim would've disappointed him somehow, so it was better to do it now before there was a relationship to ruin. 

And off he rode, leaving behind his childhood house and his childhood abuser in the dust. 

Of course, he'd have to visit his mother's tree before he left. That was a given and probably the hardest part about leaving. 

He was riding through the woods like thunder when suddenly Nila threw her hooves down, throwing him off her back and onto the ground. 

"Nila!" Jim cursed on the ground, pretty sure he'd have large bruises for weeks(which was not uncommon actually). Nila had never once thrown him off her. Maybe she was hungry? But even then, she would never do this. 

He tried to stand up, only to fall back to the ground gracelessly. 

His ankle. 

It was sprained. 

Of all the days to not be able to run, today of all days!

He tried again, this time leaning against the trunk of a tree. It was his right foot that hurt so much, sent electric pulses of pain through his body. 

It was a slow effort, but he eventually managed to stand up, looking like a rickety see-saw, and putting all of his weight on one foot. 

Jim turned around very slowly and realized where he was. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, and the last time he got lost was before Frank came along. He knew every tree leaf and twisted oak trunk, every patch of grass and bush. 

Here he was, out of all of the forest to get a sprained ankle in, was his mother's tree. 

Magic, no doubt, brought him here. 

There was a fallen trunk in front of the tree that Jim had always sat on to talk to his mother(or the essence of her). 

He was tempted to make one last confession. 

Before he could do anything however, the sound of horses' hooves turned his head. For a terrifying second, he thought Nila had run away, but no, she was waiting patiently for him--at least she could do that--no. The sound was coming from another horse. 

A white one in the distance coming steadily closer. 

"Oh fuck no," Jim couldn't believe his eyes. 

There was that prince, that stubborn, stubborn prince riding toward him with determination Jim had never seen in a person before. 

Jim had to give him credit. 

No one had ever wanted him this badly, tried this hard to love him, at least not in a long time. That time seemed like a distant memory but here Spock was riding toward him with that same determination and intent. 

Well, it's not like he could go anywhere. 

Jim actually tried to hobble to hide behind a tree, literally anything, but Spock's warm baritone voice cut him off. 

"James Beausoleil Kirk." 

He turned around almost sheepishly. "Yes?" 

Spock was just a few yards away, climbing off of his white stallion at this minute. Surprisingly, he wasn't dressed in traditional Vulcan robes but instead went with riding pants, boots, a regular tunic and jacket, and gloves. He had never looked more handsome with his hair slightly tousled from riding and his eyes sparkling with the morning light. 

"Do you have any idea how stubborn you are?" 

Jim chuckled softly. "Maybe a tiny bit." 

"So you really..." Spock gestured vaguely, searching for the words, "...desire to leave?" 

"Well, what other choice do I have?" 

"You have me." 

Okay, hot damn. Vulcans should never be allowed to say that sentence out loud. 

Jim sighed, looking down at where he was twisting his hands together. "Spock, I'm not good for you." 

Spock's eyebrows furrowed in that irritatingly adorable confusion. "Why?" 

Jim groaned softly. "I'm not noble, I'm not-not rich or a prince who can bring you power or advantages. I'm just me." 

"I could ask for nothing more," Spock stated in all seriousness and Jim knew it was true, but still, there was doubt. 

"Spock, seriously. Your country-" 

"Is strong and would do well to have someone like you on the throne," The Vulcan reaffirmed, taking a step forward. 

"You never give up, do you?" The blond sat down on the trunk, eager to get off his feet, specifically the sprained one, and despite it all, he couldn't help but smile the tiniest bit. 

"An unfortunate human trait, I believe," Spock's eyebrows arched in amusement, but his expression remained as determined as ever. 

He just didn't understand. He wasn't getting it. Why couldn't he see? "I just don't want you to regret marrying me!" 

A beat of silence passed between them before Spock's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Is that your main concern? That I do not love you?" The Vulcan took a step forward, gently taking Jim's hands in his and pressed each knuckle to his lips. "Jim, you cannot possibly believe that after all of this time, after everything we've been through that I do not care deeply for you." 

"Spock..." Jim was bright red and looked away, despite all of those words fueling the fire that was his love for Spock. Gorgeous, perfect, adorable, sweet, kind, smart Spock. 

Spock frowned and for a moment Jim thought he could read his thoughts. "If I have to spend the rest of my life convincing you of such, I will do so willingly." 

When this didn't seem to convince Jim, the prince suddenly lowered himself to one knee and Jim gasped. "What are you do-" 

He was cut off by Spock pulling something from inside his jacket. A shoe, that glistening glass slipper. "Would you be kind enough to help me find the owner of this fascinating shoe?" 

"It belongs to a lowly servant, a nobody," He muttered in response, still disbelieving that this was all real, that he must be hallucinating because this couldn't be happening.  

"You are so much more than a job, Jim," Spock said firmly, giving Jim's hands a gentle squeeze to reaffirm his point. "The person who wears this shoe is my match in every way. Please tell me I have not lost him."

Jim felt himself melting, but before he could continue, his beautiful Vulcan spoke the words everyone wished to hear at least once in their life, that everyone wanted and dreamed and hoped for. 

"James, I kneel before you not as a prince, but as a man in love, but I would feel like a king if you granted me the honor of being my bondmate. I am willing to wait until you are ready to bond, as long as it takes." 

Jim took a moment to admire this man, Spock, who was looking up at him with eyes full of starlight, with sleek ebony hair that contrasted his pale complexion.

He was all the things he could ever hope for in life and so much more.

From the very beginning, Jim had always known he'd fallen in too deep, that Spock drew him in with his warm honey-like voice and piercing expressions. He was a perfect dancer and a challenging chess opponent. He was studied and well-educated, witty, down-to-earth. He was gorgeous, soft and sharp and smooth and rough and stoic and humorous and kind and loveable and charming and generous and thoughtful and-

Well. 

The list goes on and on. 

But above all of that, out of everything else,

somehow, 

he chose Jim. 

Out of everyone he could have, he chose Jim. 

"Yes, always. I'm yours." 

The words were out of his mouth before he could overthink any longer and Spock--the stoic Vulcan--smiled. Not a subtle Vulcan smile, but a real, human one, and Jim couldn't resist(and frankly didn't try to) wrapping his arms around him, laughing and all jittery from excitement. 

Spock pulled him to his feet and Jim actually felt dizzy with how much air swelled in his lungs, how perfect this all seemed-

"Oh!" Jim screeched, and he would've fallen backward if not for Spock catching him in his solid embrace. 

Spock scanned him worriedly. "Jim, are you alright?" 

"It's my ankle, I think I twisted it--woah, Spock! What are you doing?" 

Spock had moved one arm under his knees and the other to support his back, scooping him up bridle style, and was now carrying him to the white stallion, with a smirk on his face. 

"Carrying you into the sunset, as all fairytales seem to end." 

...All I ever hope is that you find someone who will sweep you off your feet...

"You hopeless romantic," Jim grinned, wrapping his arms around his neck loosely and nuzzled his chest with his nose. 

"Only for you, Jim," The love-sick Vulcan whispered back. 

You will be entirely pleased to know that Jim got exactly what he deserved: a luxurious life, a beautiful kingdom, and a wonderful husband who loved him just as he was. Frank and his awful son Harry were stripped of their titles and sent to work in the palace laundry room as servants, never to be seen or heard from again by Jim. Caleb left his title behind of his own choosing and applied for a grant to improve the fabric store in the square, which was approved and his store became the most famous in all of Vulcan.  

As Spock promised, he would wait and give Jim time to adjust to royal life before they were married, and after a year of being engaged, Jim was ready to become the King-consort. They married in the forest in which they met, and as a tribute to their love, the forest was made into a national landmark where no hunting, fishing, or picking of any kind was allowed, of course, to preserve the life of the forest. This national park became known as Beausoleil Park, one of the most beautiful territories on the continent. The tar-covered slippers were put on display in the national museum as well, trapped not only in a glass case but in time for all to see how such a story, such a romance came to be. 

In truth, those shoes were not the only thing Jim left on those pitch-coated palace stairs. 

Legends tell that there were no greater or kinder rulers, and an era of peace passed through the kingdom unlike anything since the age of Solkar and Zephram two hundred years ago, but that, my friends, is a great tale for another dawning day. 

All that really matters is that Jim and Spock were entirely happy together, as they should be. 

The End.