Chapter Text
“Run it by me one more time, will you?”
Kirk sighs. “It’s an ‘immersive botanical experience,’ Bones. Didn’t you read the brochures Spock sent…?”
“Back to front,” the doctor insists, blue eyes alight with mischief. “Just wanted to hear you admit it, is all.”
Before Jim can open his mouth to ask what exactly ‘it’ is referring to, Spock exits one of two elevators in the hotel lobby with a tricorder in hand. He doesn't bother looking up from the device when he says, “Conditions appear optimal.” Just keeps on tapping away with those gorgeous hands of his.
McCoy snorts. Kirk catches his eye and offers a stern look as if to say ‘Behave.’
The doctor rolls his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I still think the two of you are nuttier than a pile of squirrel dung, doin’ all this.”
“So you’ve said,” Kirk snaps back, though he can’t quite keep the smile off his lips. “Now walk us to the car, will you?”
“What am I, your butler?” McCoy grumbles, though he leaves with the both of them all the same.
“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” Kirk tells his cranky friend through the aircar’s open window. He gestures vaguely to the empty backseat of the vehicle before he adds, “There’s plenty of room in here.”
“How tempting,” is the doctor’s dry response.
Spock shifts in the passenger seat, still fiddling with that damn tricorder of his. Jim tries not to be endeared by his level of focus. “How far away did you say this place was, Commander?” he asks, mostly just to say something.
“And why’s he the one driving?” McCoy questions in turn.
This time Spock actually looks away from the device, turning his whole body to face the driver’s side of the aircar. "Vulcan credentials are not recognized on Eris at this time, Doctor,” he explains, somehow managing to sound both scathing and uninterested all at once. “The same is true of expired Terran credentials, though I believe this to be the case on Earth as well—”
“Oh, don't act so smug—”
“Gentlemen,” Jim interrupts, sensing the inevitable trainwreck from a mile away. “Let’s stay on track here. Bones, I’ll comm you when we get there and again before we leave. We should arrive in… what would you say, Mr. Spock? Maybe an hour?”
“That depends, Captain. Do you intend to obey the speed limit?”
Both humans burst into laughter at once. “Good one, Spock,” McCoy says, and then, “I should get going now. You two be sure to come back in one piece, though— you know how I hate the death and injury paperwork.”
Kirk snorts. “Love you too, Bones,” he teases, flashing the doctor one last smile before he rolls up the window and drives away.
❀ ✿ ❀
Spock’s the one who suggested they do it in the first place, surprisingly enough.
Kirk would’ve been more than content to spend the entirety of their semi-impromptu shore leave reading and drinking wine in his hotel room. Maybe even playing a game or two of chess with his first officer if he happened to be so lucky. That’s how he tends to do it, anyway, and— well. Eris isn’t exactly known for its sightseeing opportunities.
In fact, it’s hardly ‘known’ at all. The place might as well have been a ghost town when they first arrived.
To put it simply: Kirk wasn’t exactly swimming in options for how to spend this much-needed time off. Which was just fine by him, mind you. Being a starship captain provides more than enough excitement to round it all out quite nicely.
But then, the night before they were set to arrive on the aforementioned planet, a certain Vulcan knocked on the door connecting their quarters via a shared bathroom.
(In truth, even if the sound hadn’t come from that particular door, the fact that it was Spock would’ve been obvious. The Vulcan has a very distinctive way of knocking, you see. Not any special sort of rhythm or tempo — just your standard one-two combo — but it’s… different, somehow, than the way anyone else knocks on Jim’s door. Weightier, maybe. To put it in simpler terms: it’s Spock. And Jim’s pretty certain he could recognize the man anywhere based on that and that alone.)
“Enter,” Jim had called out, aiming for nonchalance.
Which is when Spock all but stomped into the room, PADD in hand. He stood in front of Jim for a few hesitant seconds, looking absolutely lost. Then he cleared his throat and announced, “I wish for you to accompany me on an excursion.”
“Down on Eris, you mean?” Jim asked, and Spock hummed his confirmation. “What’s there to do down there besides sleep and drink…?”
“A botanical garden located on the planet’s surface boasts a most unique and immersive experience. Participants are given the opportunity to shrink to approximately eight percent of their initial size. This allows them to experience nature from a wholly different perspective for the duration of five to six hours.”
Jim gestured to the PADD in Spock’s hand. “I’ll take a look,” he allowed. And look he did.
The brochure was… convincing. Kirk won’t even try to deny that. It included image after image of participants — mostly human — beaming like children, dwarfed by tulips and daffodils alike. Some were quoted calling it ‘an experience to remember.’ One even suggested the reader would regret passing it by.
“Fine,” Jim had conceded in the end, handing the device back to his first officer with a slightly-worried smile plastered across his face. “But we’ve gotta run it by Bones first. If he says it’s okay, then I’ll go.”
(Famous last words.)
❀ ✿ ❀
“So, Mr. Spock,” the Captain muses, aiming for a conversational tone with his eyes glued to the empty stretch of road before them, “Just how long is this little trip supposed to take us, anyway?”
"If we continue at our current rate of speed, we should arrive at our destination in no less than one point oh-six hours. I would advise you, however, to take a look at the signs as we pass them. Those who built these roads were kind enough to provide us with an upper and lower speed limit."
Kirk chuckles. “Is that your way of telling me to slow down…?”
Rather than respond verbally, the Vulcan raises a single brow.
The gesture, as per usual, says it all.
The two of them ride in near-silence — other than the occasional beeping from Spock’s tricorder, that is — for around thirty minutes. Only then, once Kirk has run out of topics to occupy his own thoughts, does he open his mouth to ask, “What’s your favorite flower?”
“...Pardon, Captain?”
“I’m a fan of lily of the valley myself,” Kirk says by way of explanation. Then he shifts his posture just slightly, angling more toward the Vulcan to his right, and playfully adds, “How about you, Mr. Spock? Can you even bear to choose just one…?”
Spock huffs, powering down the device in hand before meeting his captain’s curious gaze. Kirk can’t ignore how the action sends a shiver up and down his spine — nearly makes him gasp aloud in surprise when he sees genuine wonder reflected back at him — and then, before he can make sense of it, Spock is answering:
“Pla-kur ritsuri is a desert ephemeral native to my home world. It fares best in high elevation, blooming for one singular week each year, and is known for its striking blue pigmentation. I suppose, if I were forced to choose one singular flower, that would be my ‘favorite.’ I also quite enjoy the Himalayan poppy.”
Jim smirks, happily surprised that his second-in-command is playing along despite the inherent illogicality of his query. It’s a struggle to force his eyes back onto the road before he says, “I’m fond of dandelions, too. Especially when they turn all white and fuzzy and you get to blow the seeds away in the wind….”
Spock hums. Pauses for a second, and then: “Is a dandelion not a weed?”
Kirk barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. When he flickers his gaze back to Spock, the Vulcan appears visibly confused. It’s all too easy to take pity on him, which is why the human smiles and explains, “That’s an issue of perspective, my friend.”
“Is that so?”
“I think about it like this: at the end of the day, what’s a ‘weed’ besides a plant growing somewhere you don’t want it to be? The ones we know best — clovers, crabgrass, dandelions — are notoriously tough to get rid of, sure, but that doesn’t mean they’re inherently bad. It just means they’re… resilient. And I happen to think resilience is a good thing.”
Kirk considers sneaking another glance at Spock. Instead he just tightens his grip on the steering wheel and forces his gaze to remain on the road ahead.
“Resilience is an admirable trait,” the Vulcan eventually agrees, and Jim hums. Waits for Spock to say more.
It’s the responding silence, of all things, that gets Kirk’s face heating up quicker than a damn forest fire. When he finally works up the courage to lock eyes with Spock yet again, he finds familiar brown orbs boring into his own with an intoxicating sort of intensity.
❀ ✿ ❀
It isn’t that Kirk wanted McCoy to come with them. He just… well. He sort of expected it to happen, is all. Might’ve even been counting on it when he agreed to join Spock in the first place.
“You’re coming with us, right?” he wondered aloud, tone nonchalant, once the doctor had cleared him for the excursion.
To which McCoy snorted, both looking and sounding downright condescending when he asked, “Why? You lookin’ for a chaperone…?”
It was a fair yet brutal question. The kind the cranky doctor had gotten all too comfortable shooting Jim’s way whenever the chance happened to present itself, as of late. “ Bones ,” Kirk started, entirely uncertain of where that sentence might end, but his friend just smiled and shook his head.
“You’ll be fine, Jimmy. It’s only Spock after all.”
As if that wasn’t the whole crux of the issue to begin with.
❀ ✿ ❀
“Are we sure this is the right place?” Jim asks once he’s put the aircar into park.
Spock’s only answer is a simple, “Yes.” It would sound clipped coming from anyone else, but filtered through that no-nonsense Vulcan tone of his… well. You could almost call it ‘kind.’
“And we’re sure it’s… open?”
Kirk only asks because the entire parking lot is stranded. The planet of Eris, whilst beautiful, hardly boasts any sort of robust public transit — especially so far from the city’s epicenter — which makes the stark lack of cars at this particular moment even more disconcerting. Surely, if any locals were present, there’d be some evidence to show for it. Instead there’s just… nothing.
“The place looks stranded,” Kirk continues, still awaiting some sort of response.
Rather than a verbal reply, Spock offers a single pointed look in his captain’s direction. He gestures for Kirk to follow him, hardly waiting to confirm the Captain’s cooperation — just assuming Jim will be right behind him.
Which, of course, he will.
The building doesn’t look more impressive once they’re close enough to see it in detail. It’s small and shabby and weather-worn — not much bigger than a shack, really — and the sign on the outside seems to be missing several crucial letters (so much so that even the UT gives up on deciphering the damn thing, despite Erisian having been officially added to its language database several months back).
Kirk’s just about to ask if the place is stranded yet again when the door swings open to reveal an Erisian woman, her smile wide and arms outstretched. “Welcome, welcome!” she announces, and Kirk half-expects to be pulled into an unwanted hug.
Instead, the Enterprise’s command team is subjected to perhaps the most peculiar hand-wave Jim has ever encountered. The stranger raises both arms above her head, fingers spread out as far apart as she can physically manage. She wiggles each of the appendages — which are much longer than human fingers, with what looks like an extra joint on the end — for at least ten seconds before letting her arms fall once again by her side.
“Greetings,” Spock responds. He replicates the strange gesture to the best of his ability, then adds, “I am Spock. I presume you are Iriimi?”
“You are early,” the Erisian responds, though she doesn’t look or sound upset by that fact. Her gaze flickers to Jim, who feels only slightly foolish whilst mimicking those same hand movements. When she smiles this time, Iriimi is close enough for Kirk to see two rows of pointed teeth shining at him from between thin, white lips. “Please, join me inside.”
“Shall we, Captain?”
“I’ll meet you there. I just need to let Bones know we made it in one piece first…”
McCoy picks up on the first ring. “No way you’re there already,” he says, and Kirk smirks in private self-satisfaction.
“Traffic was light. What can I say?”
“Mhm. I bet it was. Car’s still in one piece, I hope?”
To which Kirk scoffs, wishing his best friend were here in person to be on the receiving end of an absolutely scathing look. “You’re a real trip, Doc. You know that?”
“Says the man hellbent on losing us our damn deposit just ‘cause a certain somebody asked him for a ride to the middle of nowhere. Tell me, Jimmy — you ever heard of a little girl by the name of Thumbelina?”
Kirk sighs. “Really, man? That’s what you’re going with, after having more than an hour to think of a better line?”
“Poor girl was dealin’ with frogs and mice as suitors, floatin’ down the river on a little leaf—”
“C’mon , Bones. Spock’s waiting for me inside. I only called to let you know we made it in one piece. Now that I have…”
The doctor tuts like he’s scolding a naughty child. “Fine , fine. I won’t keep you from your flower prince any longer. I’m just glad to hear you didn’t wrap that damned death trap around a tree on your way to Wonderland.”
The line goes dead before Kirk gets the chance to tell the cranky bastard that he’s mixing metaphors again.
❀ ✿ ❀
“So this, uh— this bargey fruit—”
“Bareggi, Captain. That’s three syllables.”
“This bareggi fruit,” Kirk continued, refusing to acknowledge the correction directly, “Are we sure it isn’t, y’know… dangerous?”
“No more dangerous than the local cuisine, I’d imagine.”
With a sigh, the captain used both hands to push his chair away from the table that separated the two of them. He then forced himself to stand, eyes scanning the entirety of Spock’s hotel suite before locking back onto the Vulcan himself. “I just thought we learned our lesson with shrink rays, is all. Remember those people we rescued on, uh— what was it called, again? The former penal colony from a few months back…?”
“Achilles VII.”
“Right, thanks. If we didn’t intercept their distress signal, those Achilleans would probably still be stuck in tiny little cages eating breadcrumbs for meals as we speak — that is, if they were even breathing at all!”
That’s when Spock blinked, his brown eyes as thoughtful and perplexing as always when they bore right into Jim’s. “Such is the beauty of this particular experience, Captain. The shrinking is achieved through wholly natural means. Centuries of Erisian history serve as proof of its undoubtable impermanence. Where is the risk in undergoing temporary change within a controlled environment?”
Kirk couldn’t argue with that. Not convincingly, anyway. So instead he said, “Just promise me one thing, Mr. Spock: if I end up staying tiny forever, will you carry me around in your pocket while you work? Make sure I don’t miss out on all the action…?”
The look that made its way onto the Vulcan’s face was one of (adorable) exasperation. Spock must’ve opened and closed that oh-so-kissable mouth at least fifteen times before seemingly deciding to keep it shut and say nothing at all.
At which point Kirk forced himself to look away from that tempting pair of lips, staring his Vulcan directly in the eye instead. “It’s a long-shot, I know. But logical or not — will you be so kind as to humor me, Spock? Set my mind at ease?”
(And if the human’s face just so happened to resemble that of a sad puppy whilst he made that particular request? Well. That was hardly Jim’s fault.)
“...Very well, Captain. Though I see no logic in doing so, I promise to honor your wish to be kept in my pocket in the event that you fail to return to your natural size.”
“In that case, Mr. Spock, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s excursion.”
❀ ✿ ❀
“Sorry about that,” Jim announces as he enters the shed. His eyes scan the small, square space — quickly locking onto Spock’s familiar form — and a smile creeps its way across his lips without his permission. “Bones was being Bones. He says ‘hi,’ by the way.”
Which isn’t exactly the truth, he’ll admit, but James T. Kirk can read between the lines better than just about anyone. He knows what the doctor really meant when he compared Spock to a certain tiny prince.
“It’s Iriimi, right?” Kirk asks once he’s locked gazes with the Erisian woman standing behind a small wooden counter. He waits until she nods in confirmation to add, “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Iriimi. I’m James Kirk, but you can just call me ‘Jim.’”
The responding swoon is all the proof the captain needs to know that some things are truly universal. Like his appeal, for example. Especially with women.
(Not that he particularly cares , mind you. All that matters to Jim’s foolish human heart is whether or not a certain pointy-eared genius is affected, too — and it seems the jury’s still out on that front.)
Iriimi flashes another sharp-toothed smile in the human’s direction. Something within Kirk’s lizard brain pricks at the typically predatorial display. Makes him want to grab at his belt for a phaser that isn’t even there. Instead, though, he steadies himself and asks, “How exactly does this work?”
The pale-skinned alien flushes slightly at the attention. “I am preparing the fruit for you now,” she manages, and Kirk smirks. “You will need to choose new clothing. Please look in the chest by the door.”
New clothing? Kirk wonders. What’s wrong with the floral button-up and slacks he’s got on right now?
But then Spock turns on his heel and grabs for the aforementioned chest — so tiny it’s able to fit in the palm of his hand quite comfortably — and suddenly Kirk understands. “Oh,” he says, crowding in a bit closer to the Vulcan so he can view the thing properly, “I guess it makes sense that our clothes wouldn’t get small along with us, huh?”
“Indeed. Shall we consider our options whilst Iriimi works…?”
Which is how Kirk ends up rifling through a collection of tiny, simple garments — ultimately singling out one royal blue robe and one golden-yellow, for Spock and himself respectively. “It’s only fitting,” the human argues, and Spock seemingly doesn’t have the heart (or, maybe more accurately, the logical standing) to disagree.
“I shall defer to your superior judgment on this matter,” the Vulcan deadpans, and Kirk snorts.
“Thought you would’ve learned to do that on instinct by now.”
Fifteen minutes later they’re standing over two identical platefuls of perfectly-sliced pale-yellow fruit. “Looks sorta like canary melon,” Kirk manages, and his first officer hums beside him.
“I was similarly reminded of the Vulcan yon-savas.”
“Is that the one that made my tongue tingle…?”
Spock raises a brow. “I believe so, yes. My mother likens the taste to that of a particularly spicy terran pineapple.”
“She’s a wise one, Lady Amanda,” Kirk muses, thinking back to the time he and Spock visited Vulcan together during their last shore leave.
In truth, Kirk had always privately wondered how any human could stand to live among such a stoic group without being driven to madness in the process. Then he witnessed Spock’s mother in action. He saw how her every word and movement was perfectly subdued — always hinting, ever-so-vaguely, at a warmth underneath — and Kirk realized she wasn’t trapped on Vulcan at all. If anything, Amanda Grayson was in her damn element there.
It was impressive. Maybe even a bit chilling.
(Especially when Kirk had a moment alone with the woman, sans Vulcans, and got to watch her transform into somebody else entirely. Got to see that, yes, Spock’s mother was capable of wide smiles and boisterous laughter — capable of joking , even, if you can believe it. Which only led to more unanswered questions about the half-Vulcan’s upbringing. About what kind of mother he might’ve had behind closed doors, where prying eyes couldn’t see.)
“What d’you think she’d say about us coming to a place like this?” Kirk asks, mostly just to hear Spock respond.
Spock’s lips twitch up into an almost-smile. His eyes twinkle just slightly when he says, “She’s the one who suggested this location.”
“She is…?” Kirk questions, befuddled. Before he can ask anything more, Iriimi clears her throat.
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” she croaks, both looking and sounding just a tiny bit terrified, “But the fruit will lose its effects if aerated for too long.”
And so the off-duty command team reluctantly breaks their prolonged eye-contact, gazes returning to their wide-eyed alien host. “Sorry about that, Iriimi,” Kirk insists, but the Erisian just smiles pointily and presses onward.
“The shrinking will begin with a tingling sensation, occurring five to ten minutes after ingestion…”