Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single Vulcan in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a bondmate.
As emotionless and logical as the species may be, their marital union is one closer than that of any other species known to the Federation. It is a joining not only of lives, but of minds– without which a Vulcan may live, but not to their highest potential. Once one has bonded, that bond becomes a cornerstone in their health, control, and reputation. This holds even truer to those with high compatibility; such bonds are widely coveted, though not often found.
And so it is no surprise that when the Vulcan ambassador’s son makes a rare appearance at a Federation gala, one of the prime topics of gossip in the room is avid speculation on who he may select to pursue.
Jim Kirk’s never been one to find the indulgence in gossip an enjoyable pastime, but his friend delights in the concept, and so he is subject to the practice as his captive audience, willing or not.
“I don’t understand the fuss,” McCoy clicks his tongue, looking out over the room from the pair’s table. He absently swirls a glass of bourbon in his hand. “Mr. Spock doesn’t dance, and he’s hardly said one measly little word to anyone all night. Who would want to get mind-married to a statue?”
“And you’re such a ray of sunshine to be around,” Jim dryly replies with lifted brows, unable to contain his slight smile of satisfaction at the indignation that takes over his friend’s features.
“I am goddamn glowing.”
“Sure, Bones.”
McCoy takes a long sip of his third drink of the evening, his eyes narrowed above the glass.
With a sigh under his breath, Kirk turns to survey the attendees around them. From his seat, he has a decent view of the dance floor– which, just as foretold, is entirely void of Vulcans. Mr. Sarek is easy to spot in his ambassador robes with his Human wife on his arm– Amanda Grayson, Jim recalls from the brushing up he’d done in preparation for the event. It takes over a minute more of searching, however, until he finally spots the ambassador’s son.
Mr. Spock stands alone at the opposite wall, tall enough to easily be seen through the crowd. Even for a Vulcan, he looks downright grim. His face is entirely void of emotion, save for an intense, dark gaze that verges on disdain as he watches the ongoing dance. In comparison with the relatively jovial air of the gala, he sticks out rather glaringly.
Still, Jim can understand the fuss. Aside from the importance of his family name, the Vulcan is a sight for sore eyes, to say the least. Even if that stony nature didn’t draw attention to him, his tall stature and angular features would. Combined with sharp ears and a straight, severe cut of bangs, his features are both handsome and incredibly intimidating– just how Kirk likes it.
His eyes linger on the view for no more than a handful of seconds before the dark eyes sweeping the room land on him. Caught within his gaze, Jim freezes up, and any intelligible thought high-tails it from his stuttering brain. Adrenaline and fluster mingle within him; either the room is getting hotter, or his face is getting warm.
“Earth to Jimmy?”
Hazel eyes blink, and he tears himself away at last to glance back at Bones, who’s watching him with a curious look. “I swear, every time we drink, you get even more of a lightweight than you already are.”
Jim looks back at the Vulcan, but dark eyes have already found another subject of interest, leaving him with only a ghost of heat that continues to swarm his face.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles into his drink, gladly accepting the excuse.
----
Jim may not have the same level of fuss around his family name, but he does pride himself on getting a modest amount of attention.
Though he’s never been a fan of the stuffy nature of events like these, he’ll never turn down the opportunity to dance with an attractive man. Over the course of the evening, he’s invited to four dances, all of which he accepts with a charming smile and a gleam in hazel eyes. What he may lack in excess fortune, he more than makes up for in looks, and while he isn’t particularly vain, he would never shy away from a compliment or two.
If he did, anyways, he’d get more than an earful from his mother. Her firstborn had inherited not only his father’s name, but stands to inherit his estate– leaving her second son in need of a decent marriage. Accepting dances from and engaging in conversations with the bachelors in the room eases Mrs. Kirk’s anxieties on the subject, which is more than enough for Jim to entertain their attention. A night saved from nagging is always a worthwhile endeavor, considering that if he has to hear about his need of prospects one more time, he might begin sprouting gray hairs out of pure spite.
In any case, with a little eye candy to savor, Jim manages to have a decent evening.
Coming off the high of his fourth dance and beginning to become painfully aware of his sore feet, he glances towards the table he had left minutes ago, though McCoy is nowhere to be seen. Probably at the bar for the hundredth time of the night. With a slight roll of his eyes, he makes a beeline for the nearest empty chair. With its position against a wall in a sparsely populated area, he’s somewhat relieved for a brief break from the sheer noise that overflows the ballroom.
It’s quiet enough that he can finally hear himself think–
Which hardly lasts a minute before a conversation strikes up a couple tables down.
He doesn’t immediately recognize the woman, though at an angle where she is obscured by her conversational partner, he doesn’t have much to go on aside from her high, dark updo and the sound of her voice. The man she is speaking to, however, is instantly recognizable, even with his back turned to the blonde–
That stature, those pointed ears. Mr. Spock.
“–do not see the purpose of such an endeavor,” the Vulcan’s voice filters through the air between them, just barely audible at this distance over the chatter and music. Jim’s never heard him speak before, and isn’t expecting the deep tone that leaves him– or the heat he can immediately feel rising to his face in response.
“The purpose? Mr. Spock, have you ever heard of having fun?”
“I do not see the practice of dance as ‘fun’, particularly when there are no partners present that I find worthwhile to dance with.”
Kirk barely contains a scoff.
“Nobody at all? I don’t believe that. There’s plenty of attractive people here.”
“Attraction is not the only merit that I judge a potential partner on.”
The woman shakes her head, jostling red hoops that dangle from her ears. “You don’t have to get married to someone just because you dance with them. There’s not much more you need.”
“I do not find the notion of dancing itself enjoyable, and as such, I would not partake in the activity unless I intended to utilize it for the purpose of courting.”
“And there’s really nobody here you’d want to court? What about Ben?”
“I do not find Mr. Finney agreeable.”
“Okay, then. What about the younger Kirk brother? James, I think?”
Jim’s brows shoot upwards. Despite feeling somewhat uneasy about eavesdropping, he leans forward slightly.
A pause. “Mr. Kirk appears frivolous and is somewhat plain.”
The blonde’s mouth parts. With a slight shake of his head, he huffs under his breath.
Well, who would want to accept a dance from someone so rude, anyways?
“You’re impossible, Mr. Spock.”
“I have already informed you that I do not intend to court anyone present. You may ask for my opinion on every available partner in the room, and my answer will remain the same. Your line of questioning is illogical.”
“You’re illogical.”
“I do not find…”
The remainder of his retort is lost to the voice that sounds at the blonde’s other side:
“Jimmy! I was wondering when I’d see you tonight,” Pike greets him warmly. “I’m sure you’ve been too busy on the dance floor to bother with the old folks.”
“I’m never too busy to chat with you, sir,” Kirk smiles, rising to his feet and resolutely jamming his irritable mood to the back of his mind. “How’s teaching been treating you?”
“Not much excitement in a university, I’m afraid,” Christopher complains, though his good humor does not drop. “My days would be at least a little interesting with more students like you. Are you ever going to apply one of these years?”
“One of them,” Jim smiles tightly, shooting a glance towards his parents across the room. “According to my mother, being a student would make me too busy and damage my prospects. I’ve been studying at home instead.”
“Winona always has been a bit…”
“Neurotic?”
Pike laughs, a conspiratorial glint to his gaze. “You said it, not me.” His eyes flick behind Jim, then light up. “Oh! You should meet one of my students. She recently moved abroad for the semester, but I see she’s back in town for the evening.” He waves, raising his voice over the crowd, “Ms. Uhura!”
Jim freezes, hoping desperately that that polite smile is still plastered to his face.
Please don’t be her, please don’t be her, please–
“Dr. Pike,” a familiar voice returns, more jovial than before. Jim takes a step towards Pike and turns to make room for her–
And, apparently, for the Vulcan who’s followed.
“Sick of the desert yet?”
“Oh, not at all,” Uhura smiles, her bubbly nature a sharp contrast to the storm cloud beside her. “I’m glad for the opportunity. And Mr. Spock’s family have been gracious hosts.”
Jim blinks.
Gracious.
Must be the parents, then.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Christopher replies. “Have you had a chance to meet Jim? I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about him.”
“Just that I’m frivolous and somewhat plain,” Kirk chimes in before he can catch his tongue, holding eye contact with the Vulcan as he speaks.
Aside from the slightest twitch of dark brows, Spock does not react.
“I don’t think that’s a very fair assessment,” Uhura smiles, her expression somewhat embarrassed and apologetic. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Kirk.”
“And you, Ms. Uhura,” Jim returns, dropping his stubborn stare from the Vulcan to instead nod towards the woman. “I hope you aren’t dragged to these events by Mr. Spock’s family too often, though. The gossip gets old quickly.”
“Neither myself nor either of my parents have ‘dragged’ Ms. Uhura to any location,” the Vulcan suddenly interjects, his posture straightened somewhat. “My father believed the gala to be an ideal socialization opportunity for our guest, and she agreed to the–”
“Figure of speech, Mr. Spock,” Jim corrects. “And a rather common one. Perhaps you could use more socialization with Humans, too.”
“I am aware of many of your species’ illogical choices in phrasing,” Spock dismisses, his brows rising. “I simply choose not to humor them.”
Kirk huffs a short laugh, the sound flat. “If you’re so disinterested in–”
“Alright–” Pike clears his throat, bringing a hand to the blonde’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go check in with Leonard? I saw him trying to catch your attention.”
For a long beat, hazel eyes do not drop from brown, his chin raised, gaze steady. Then, Kirk offers a forced smile. “Sure. Nice meeting you, Ms. Uhura. Mr. Spock.”
“Nice meeting you,” the woman echoes. The Vulcan simply nods.
Not so talkative now, are you?
Kirk forces himself forward on aching feet, concealing a sigh beneath his breath. Though he’s well aware it’s no use to him, he continues arguing silently with the Vulcan in his head until he spots his friend at last near the bar. By his slightly wavering stance, Jim estimates that he’s about a drink and a half deeper than when they last spoke.
“What’s gotten into you?” McCoy drawls, leaning his weight back against the wall.
“Me?”
“That face you’re makin’,” his friend elaborates. “Looks like you’ve been sucking on a lemon.”
Kirk attempts to smooth his unconscious scowl, letting out a long breath. “I would rather have been doing that than talking to Mr. Spock.”
“Mr. Spock?” Leonard echoes, his eyes widening slightly. “What, did he come onto you?”
“No,” Jim denies, the notion almost making him laugh. “The opposite, actually.”
“Well, to hell with ‘im,” his friend slurs emphatically, “you’re too good to get mind-married to him, anyways.”
Despite himself, a small smile overtakes Jim’s features.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Still a damn shame that someone so handsome has a mouth like that.
The blonde signals to the bartender for a drink, eager to loosen up from the stress of the evening. As he leans against the countertop and turns to survey the room, however, he notices that several pairs of eyes are already surveying him.
As soon as he makes eye contact with the masses, they quickly look away–
All of them save for his mother, whose expression is one of pure fury.