Chapter Text
It was something his mother used to do. Spock had observed her many times, had questioned it the first time:
‘Why do you write your thoughts?’
‘To help me clear my head, ashal-veh.’
Spock almost frowned. ‘Your head is… unclear?’ It looked perfectly clear to him. Perhaps Mother was ailing.
Amanda smiled at him, beckoning him closer. ‘It helps me feel clearer. When I am worried, or unsure, I take my thoughts and I write them down – see? Then I can examine them, see if the worries really are so bad, or if I have not been paying enough attention to the good. It is logical, really.’
Spock did not answer. It was entirely possible to do all of those things within the privacy of your mind, without committing your internal monologue to a physical form. Thoughts did not take up tangible space in the brain, human or Vulcan.
Amanda laughed. ‘I can see from your face that you are not convinced. Come, Spock, I will show you.’
She had, but it had not clarified the matter all that much. Spock had never found cause to copy his mother’s actions, not in his adolescence or in his Starfleet career.
Until now.
It was his mother’s habit, but it was Doctor McCoy who had set him upon this path. After his faux-casual queries towards Spock’s health had gone ignored one too many times, he had complained that Spock had been moping for too long (offensive), that he could hear Spock thinking from the other side of the ship (ridiculous) and finally delivered his exasperated advice:
“Whatever’s going on in that big old Vulcan head of yours, why don’t you just write it down? It’s something we humans do, and let me tell you, it’s a damn sight better than wallowing. Or talk to Jim. The two of you are close enough.’
Spock objected to this – his head was no larger than a human’s, and indeed it was within the average percentile for this quadrant of the galaxy – and to the doctor’s advice. Admittedly, the second part was more because he liked to disagree with Doctor McCoy on principle than because it was bad advice.
Perhaps it was… logical. He had been somewhat preoccupied, of late. And he could not talk to Jim. Not about this.
Spock observed his padd, lying on the table before him. He picked it up and willed his own Vulcan judgement to fade so that he could begin to write.
Proposal: prospect of selecting the captain (James T. Kirk) as mate
By Commander S’chn T’gai Spock
Negatives:
- Illogical
- Emotional
- Regularly enters dangerous situations with little regard for own safety; could die
- Easily affected by hot weather conditions; could die
- Easily affected by cold weather conditions; could die
- Easily affected by radiation, disease, poisons, mind control, cloning, etc; could die
- Inefficient body composition; needs more food to survive, yet tires faster
- Ill-tempered when woken
- Ill-tempered when in the wrong
- Frequently in the wrong (but can be guided to the correct path with minimal grudge-bearing)
- Does not accept medical advice with good grace
- Tendency to get captured
- Tendency to become irate when captured; could die
- Excessive flirting (with others)
- Friend
Positives:
- Friend
- Intelligent
- Compassionate
- Strong (for a human)
- Subjectively pleasing to the eye
Spock reviewed his list. After a moment’s thought, tamping down on something that could, perhaps, have resembled the human notion of embarrassment, he added another item.
- Smells nice
Footsteps outside his cabin, followed by a familiar voice.
“Spock? You in there?”
Spock pushed the padd away (slowly, and in a dignified manner; no panicked jolt to be seen).
“I am, Captain,” he called.
The door slid open and Jim entered. He looked tired after a long day on the bridge but he smiled at Spock.
Vulcans did not blush. Vulcans would not blush.
“I thought we might – what’s this?”
There was another item that Spock should have added to his list of negatives.
Jim, like many humans, had a tendency to enter Spock’s personal space with a casual ease that would cause many a Vulcan back to stiffen. Spock did not mind. It had taken him a little time to get used to the captain’s tactile ways, but he had never found cause for concern in the way Jim leaned in next to him when they looked at reports together, his golden head close enough that Spock could see the small details others did not: the sweep of his eyelashes, the dimple in his cheek. He did not mind when Jim set a hand on his shoulder on the bridge, or seized him for comfort or help or in celebration.
He did mind when Jim, coming close enough to see the writing on his padd, immediately stopped and looked at it curiously.
“Nothing,” said Spock, illogically, and Jim’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise.
“Well, it must be something if you…”
He trailed off. He had spotted his own name. He was reading.
Spock reached swiftly for the padd and Jim grabbed his wrist to stop him.
Spock could shake him off. Should shake him off. He didn’t.
Jim stared down at the list.
Spock was confident in the knowledge that he knew Jim better than most (better than anybody? No, impossible to say without proper analysis of everyone who had entered Jim’s life prior to his own relationship with the captain). Confident in the knowledge that his understanding of Jim was deeper than the rest of the Enterprise crew, at any rate, with the exception of Doctor McCoy.
But he did not know how Jim was going to react to this. To the proposal, let alone the list.
What he did not expect was for Jim to say, in a surprisingly controlled tone, “You are aware, Mr Spock, that these are not things I can change?”
“I am aware, Captain,” said Spock stiffly.
There was a period of silence. Jim’s gaze travelled further down the list.
“Although,” Spock said, “whilst your statement is correct for the majority of items on the list, there are some that can be changed, for example your unwillingness to submit to Doctor McCoy’s medical expertise – ”
“What does subjectively pleasing to the eye mean?” Jim demanded.
Spock usually enjoyed meeting Jim’s gaze. His hazel eyes were often filled with human warmth, and much of the time that was directed at Spock himself. Trust, affection, simple pleasure in his company. Right now, however, he found himself battling the urge to fix his own gaze at a vague point above Jim’s head instead.
“I believe you have a saying,” he said with as much dignity as he could gather, “‘beauty is – ‘”
“Yes, yes. We do. But people usually use that saying when they’re talking about someone who’s not – ” Jim broke off.
“When they are talking about someone who is not generally considered aesthetically pleasing to all.”
Jim turned away from him, stalking to the other end of the cabin. “Yes, that,” he muttered.
“Jim.”
Jim did not turn around. Spock was visited by a fleeting memory; his father’s composure flickering for just a moment whilst his mother shouted at him over some small disagreement. Spock had witnessed his father pinching the bridge of his nose in a rare show of frustration when he thought nobody was looking. At the time, Spock had thought it curious. Now, looking at Jim’s obstinately turned back, he felt he understood Sarek a little better.
“Jim,” said Spock again. “Am I correct in surmising that you are not offended by the existence of the list, or by the proposal itself, but by the idea that I question your overall attractiveness?”
“No,” said Jim in what was quite obviously a lie.
“I do not question your attractiveness,” Spock stated. “Now that that is out of the way, may we move on to the wider concerns?”
“Now that that’s out of the way,” Jim mimicked. Spock noted sarcasm in his tone, but he did at least turn round.
“I see no reason to mock – ”
“Oh, I’m not mocking you. What wider concerns?”
Spock resisted the half-human urge to shuffle his feet awkwardly. “I have never expressed to you that I wish – I wish for – ”
Jim’s eyes softened. He came closer.
“ – for you,” finished Spock, which was uncomfortable and stilted and not at all what he wanted to express, but it would have to do. “I did not intend for you to see this, it was merely a way of… examining my thoughts. I understand, of course, if you are uncomfortable and wish to – ”
“Spock,” Jim interrupted (something else for the list). “I’m not uncomfortable.”
‘Wrongfooted’ was the sort of absurd phrasing that Doctor McCoy or Jim himself would use, because feet were impartial body parts and could never be wrong, but Spock thought it could potentially be applied to his situation.
“No?” was all he said.
Jim gave him a little smile. “I’m not uncomfortable, no. I was a little surprised, but really that’s more to do with finding you in here scribbling away in your diary than – ”
“I do not scribble in a diary,” Spock said immediately.
Jim ignored him. “I’m not blind, Spock, I’ve noticed that you – that we have a certain closeness that isn’t, ah… strictly platonic. At least, not from my side, and I did wonder…” His expression grew thoughtful. Then he gave a sudden laugh. “Bones is going to be unbearable, you know. This – the two of us – it’s his favourite hypothesis. He’s been telling me for months to stop dancing around you.”
“Has he.”
Jim grinned at him. “Think you can stomach proving Bones right?”
“I could bear it,” said Spock, “possibly.”
“I hope you can.” Jim came closer still. He was within touching distance now. Spock looked at him and felt the two sides of himself, usually so at war with each other, call out as they always did. He wanted Jim with everything he was, wanted human love and touch and understanding, and Vulcan possession and pride.
Jim made a move as though he was about to kiss Spock in his human way, then halted himself and looked up at Spock with slight hesitation.
“Is that – do you want to - ?”
“I am quite alright with that, Jim.”
Jim did. He had to stretch up to kiss Spock. Spock found that he liked that very much.
The list of positives began to expand in his mind, no need for the padd – though it had done its job.
Soft lips fits into my arms can protect can take care.
Jim pulled back a little. His face was still so very close. When Spock opened his eyes he could see the marbling of Jim’s irises. Jim was warm and familiar in his arms and Spock felt, finally, at peace.
Jim, being a human, and an exceedingly annoying human at that, did not let him enjoy the moment for long.
“You think I smell nice?”