Work Text:
As a boy growing up in Iowa, Jim had always looked up. From a young age he’d known his future was in the stars, not the soil. He hadn’t dreamed in the way other children around him had, with plans for partners and wedding ceremonies and settling down on a comfortable planet somewhere. Jim’s partner would be a ship, his family a crew, and being made captain would be wedding enough for him.
So it was curious and amusing, several decades later, returning to Iowa with Spock in tow. A spouse, for all intents and purposes, partner both on the bridge and in their private lives. The wedding they’d skipped, and they hadn’t come home to begin a farm but rather for a few days of much-needed rest.
The house had been shut up for years, and like any house that had sat empty for that long, it had accumulated an impressive layer of dust that took an hour of dedicated scrubbing before Jim was confident telling Spock to sit down.
“I’m surprised my mother kept the title to the place all these years,” he said, coming back from the kitchen. He dried his hands on a dish towel and flung it over his shoulder. “She moved us around so much after my father left Earth, I figured that she had sold it.”
“It is fortunate the lawyer was able to find our address in San Francisco.”
Spock’s black robes were austere against the backdrop of the simple living room. He had positioned himself on the center of a love seat beneath a double window and held his back very straight. The sofa’s floral pattern was badly faded where it faced the sun, but Jim could still remember the sight of his mother and father sitting together with their Sunday coffee the last winter their family lived together.
He smiled.
“The kitchen is a little old fashioned, but everything seems to work. Are you hungry? We’ll need to go to the market.”
“In a while. I am enjoying the quiet.”
“It’s different without the sound of the engine.”
“Indeed.”
Spock folded his hands on his knees. Struck by a rare lack of words, Jim cleared his throat and motioned to the window.
“You should really see the land while you’re here. You’ll never get fresh air like this on another planet. Care for a walk?”
“It would be beneficial after sitting for so long.”
“I thought you enjoyed the drive?”
“An inefficient mode of transportation, but I concede your point that the views are excellent.” Spock stood and seemed to reconsider what he had just said. He touched a finger to his lips and added, “Your driving has improved.”
Jim knew all too well the decorum Spock had conjured to make that statement. Gracious was putting it mildly. He’d white-knuckled it most of the drive. Best to play stupid and let him think the compliment had landed.
“Has it? Why, thank you, Spock.” Jim approached and pecked his cheek, then retreated to the kitchen. “Perhaps you’d like to drive on the way back?”
“Yes.”
The kitchen towel absorbed Jim’s laughter.
They changed into lighter clothes and decided on a walk along the worn path that ran the length of the property. Jim had packed a red button-down and cuffed it as his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed. After years of formal military dress, they were pale from the lack of sun, but if they started to burn he would simply roll down the sleeves. Spock, being desert born, had opted for a thicker gray shirt with sleeves that covered his wrists. The neck opening, however, was cut in a deep vee that revealed more skin than his modesty would usually allow.
“Is there something wrong with the way I am dressed?” he asked after the third time Jim had glanced away.
“Just thinking how handsome you are.”
“Ah.”
Spock’s expression didn’t change, but Jim thought he perceived a slight greenish tint at the point of his ear.
It was rare the two of them were truly alone like this. Even in his private quarters, the computer was standing by, and the crew could always reach them. Here, in relative isolation, comm set to emergency-only, he felt brave enough to stroke the tip of that ear, but his fingers only got as far as Spock’s shoulder. They cupped it affectionately.
“Have I said thank you yet? It means a lot that you’re accompanying me, Spock. I hope you know that.”
“You have said it six times.”
“Ah. As long as you know.”
“Have I not sufficiently demonstrated my enthusiasm?”
“You did get in the car,” Jim said.
“Precisely.”
Jim laughed from the pit of his stomach. “You’re a wonder, Mr. Spock. I doubt there’s another person in this universe who can make me laugh as much.”
Spock glanced at him. “I was not attempting to be humorous.”
“I know. Mark it down to my humanity.”
Though the path was well established, they seemed to be the first people to walk it in some time. Weeds obscured its edges and the dirt showed no signs of foot traffic, human or animal. The occasional weed was trampled underfoot and Jim willingly breathed in the sweet, familiar grass scent that would always make him a little homesick. He said as much and Spock raised an eyebrow.
“We could attempt to cultivate it on board.”
“Yes, we could, although I’m afraid it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Negative. The genetic material would be identical to the plant you specify.”
“Ah.” Jim knit his eyebrows together in thought. “How do I explain… Your harp, Spock. Would you prefer to play it on board the Enterprise or on Vulcan?”
“I see. It is the location of the grass that matters to you, not merely the grass itself.”
“Precisely!” Jim said. “I’m glad you understand me. When I was a boy, I loved lying out in the fields to watch the stars. I’ve been to every conceivable location a man can reach and I’ve never managed to find any place that gives me such a feeling of calm.”
“It is the nostalgia, perhaps.”
“You’re probably right. I imagine you feel the same way about your home.”
“It is true that I feel most relaxed on Vulcan. However, I am pleased to be with you.”
With a smile, Jim motioned vaguely to a field off of the path. It hadn’t been worked in several years. Grasses had overtaken it, but from the square lines of distant trees, it was obvious this had once been farmland. Something large, probably a piece of equipment, stood in the center and had long been overgrown by weeds and was now a rounded, green statue surrounded by worshiping dandelions. Off to the side, an aging red barn stood watch.
“I should’ve packed a picnic,” Jim said. “This would’ve been an ideal spot.”
“Would it please you to sit on the ground for a while?”
“Only if you wouldn’t mind.”
Spock walked off of the path to a spot where the grass bent underfoot but wasn’t so tall. He sat and crossed his legs beneath him. Jim happily spread out and lay back against the ground. The grass tickled his neck and arms. The sun, which had been behind a cloud cover all morning, peeked out and cast warm light over the landscape.
“You should lie down, Spock! Really get the full experience.”
“I am fine sitting.”
Jim laughed and noticed him examining a dandelion growing near his shoe.
“Observations, Mr. Spock?”
“A curious duality. This plant, while considered a nuisance in San Francisco, is quite pleasing in the context of this field.”
“I’m sure the farmers would consider them nuisances as well, but yes, I see your point. They’re actually quite pretty.”
Jim picked a yellow bloom and tucked it behind Spock’s ear.
“Is there a significance?” Spock asked.
“Not really. It’s something you do for a person that’s significant to you, like a token.”
“Shall I do the same for you?”
“I have a better idea.”
For the next few minutes, Jim scoured the ground around them for dandelions with the longest stems and collected two dozen. From memory, he wove the stems together the way his mother had taught, using the next stem to hold the previous in place, until he had a circlet that he placed on Spock’s head.
“There,” Jim said with a pleased sigh. “I only wish I’d thought to bring a camera.”
He stroked Spock’s cheek.
“I’m so happy. Do you know that?”
Spock’s eyes flicked away and back. “Jim…”
“No, I know you don’t like when I get too emotional. I won’t say anymore.”
But Spock shook his head. “I was not objecting to what you said. The cloud behind you would indicate a storm is approaching.”
Jim turned his head. A heavy cloud he had not noticed when they set out from the house was advancing from the north. Sporadic lightning cut the gray at the horizon.
“Something tells me we ought to make that grocery run sooner rather than later.”
Jim got to his feet and helped Spock to stand. They’d walked a good distance from the house, at least a half mile, and the storm seemed to be taking the same path they would follow home. Inwardly, Jim cursed himself for not checking the forecast, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The first rumble of thunder reached his ears and he increased his pace.
“How long do you estimate we have until that cloud reaches us?” he asked.
Spock glanced over his shoulder. “At its current speed, ten to twelve minutes.”
“We’ll be lucky to make it back before the rain.” Jim patted his stomach. “Maybe I ought to take a walk more often.”
“Dr. McCoy will be pleased to hear it.”
“I’m not going to tell him I said that, and neither will you.”
“Yes, dear.”
Jim laughed and whipped his head to the side. “Who taught you to say that?”
“My mother often uses the expression when speaking with my father. Was my usage incorrect?”
“Just unexpected. I thought I was lucky enough when you finally called me Jim again. I never expected pet names.”
“If it pleases you, I will use them more often.”
“Not too often. I don’t want to become spoiled.”
Another roll of thunder, this one closer, could be felt underfoot. By now they could see the house and as the first raindrops darkened the path, the pair of them broke into a jog. They made it inside the door before the sky opened up. Jim pushed the curtains wide and knelt on the love seat to watch the rain.
“I’d forgotten how quickly they can roll in.”
“It is similar on Vulcan. There was often little time to prepare for a sandstorm.”
Spock had gone to the kitchen. From the double clink of two things being placed on the counter and a following rush of water, Jim surmised that he was making tea. The dark cloud that had chased them inside continued its approach and covered the bulk of the sky. Grass and leaves whipped past the window, which vibrated from the wind’s force. Was the seal sound? If the winds got any worse, he would check the shield as a precaution.
A few minutes later, Spock joined Jim in the living room and offered him a steaming mug.
“Was there tea in the cabinet?” Jim asked.
Spock shook his head. “I brought a canister with us.”
“See if you can find the weather forecast, would you? I want to know when this rain is going to stop. If it’s going to continue, I’ll have to go to the store now, before it gets dark, otherwise we can go out for dinner and pick things up then.”
Spock fetched a padd from his travel bag and tapped the screen.
“This county is under a tornado watch,” he said. “According to this report, it would be wise to take shelter.”
“A tornado, really? It’s been years since I’ve seen one.”
“Did you make a habit of it?”
“Not in so many words, but they’re a fascinating weather phenomenon. This wasn’t the most engaging place for a child—not for me, anyway. I used to watch for the tornadoes to form. My mother would have to drag me down into the cellar in bad weather.”
“Did you not have an energy shield?”
“They’re necessary here, of course, but my mother was old fashioned. She’d grown up without them and didn’t trust the technology to hold against the winds.”
The tea was the good, strong Vulcan kind that Spock preferred and that Jim had come to like over the years. He took a stinging sip and set the mug aside to cool.
“So. What should we do to pass the time?”
“Are you not going to watch the storm?”
“I was thinking of an activity I could do with my eyes closed.”
“Shall I put the sheets on the bed?”
“We might need the bed, yes, but the activity I have in mind is a bit more physical than sleep, if you take my meaning.”
Spock’s lips twitched and he openly sighed.
“I believe you are, as you would say, hitting on me.”
“Why, yes, I am hitting on you, Spock! It’s good of you to notice. We have this whole house to ourselves and no one to interrupt us. Doesn’t that excite you?”
“You will recall that Starfleet is able to reach us here in an emergency.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but no voices over a speaker, and no worrying that sound is going to travel between quarters. Understand?”
“Jim, if you wish to engage in intercourse, there is no need for obfuscation.”
“I wasn’t certain you were in the mood.” Jim looked away from the storm and at Spock, who had fixed him with a steady gaze. “It’s fine if you aren’t.”
“So you have said.” Spock laid a hand on top of Jim’s and traced his thumb over the veins. “How is your tea?”
“Hot.”
Spock laughed under his breath and kissed Jim on the mouth.
Jim had always heard, like most people his age had, that Vulcans were passionless outside of the blood fever, but like so many of the pervasive stereotypes about Federation species, this one had proved to be little more than xenophobia. It varies from person to person, Jim was sure, and Spock was half-human, but there was no mistaking his passion when he chose to display it.
That was the difference. As a human, Jim had rarely been expected to conceal his enthusiasm—certainly not in the bedroom. But Spock was fighting against years of self-discipline that had restricted his to the few grunts he could not hold back.That was changing with time, however. He often made the first gesture, like now. Jim reveled in the easy pressure of Spock’s lips against his, the cool brush of his fingertips.
Would Spock’s modesty insist they retire to the bedroom? Jim kept quiet about it as Spock undressed him on the love seat. The Kirk family had lived off-planet by the time Jim had been old enough to fool around, so he had no memories of similar activities in the room. Yet while it was, as Spock would say, illogical, Jim found it difficult to relax without his clothes on.
“I know she isn’t here, but it feels like my mother is watching us,” Jim confessed when Spock asked why he had gone rigid. “Like she’ll appear in the kitchen doorway at any moment!”
Jim covered his face with his hands and laughed heartily. “Next time, remind me to book a hotel somewhere we’ve never visited before.”
“You would wish to explore it.”
“True! But think how exhilarated I’ll be after that.”
Spock chuckled and sucked on Jim’s neck, just over his pulse point. “Would you like to continue, or should I leave you with your memories?”
“You’re a tremendous tease. Overwrite the memories, Mr. Spock! That’s an order.”
Spock raised his head and an eyebrow.
“You were clear, both with Starfleet and with me, that there would be no abuse of power in our interpersonal relationship.”
“How good of you to remind me. Then please, Spock, love of my life, help me make a new memory of this place.”
Lucky for Jim, Spock complied.
The tea was tepid by the time Jim sat up to drink it, but the weather had not improved. If anything, it looked more severe than it had half an hour ago. Thunder sounded every few seconds, a steady rumbling against the patter of rain. Behind the storm clouds, the sky was a bright, eerie pale gray.
As a precaution, Jim switched on the weather shield. Immediately, the rainfall ceased its assault on the house. The thunder, while still audible, was muffled and the house no longer strained against the wind.
Spock had gone into the bedroom for a dressing gown and brought one for Jim as well—a luxury that had taken getting used to, but like he’d come around to the bitter tea, Jim had learned to appreciate the slither of cool fabric against his skin. He slipped it on and settled back against the cushions.
“We really should have gone shopping before we unpacked,” he said. “It’s coming down in buckets.”
“Is there a reason we cannot shop in the rain?”
“Comfort. I don’t care so much about me, but you’d prefer if we went out later, wouldn’t you?” Jim sighed and laid his feet on Spock’s lap. “I don’t know what to do with myself. When is the last time I took an actual vacation?”
When Spock made a face that meant he was thinking about it, Jim held out a hand.
“Don’t answer that. We’re on vacation now, and that’s what counts.”
Spock’s hand settled over Jim’s ankles. For several minutes they said nothing. Jim looked at the ceiling and tapped a foot in the air.
“Should I unpack one of your books?” Spock asked.
Jim smiled at him indulgently. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Spock disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a hardcover book bound in blue linen. He placed it in Jim’s hands and went to refill their mugs. Jim opened the book on his lap and found the place he had left off reading. He squinted and sighed.
“Spock, have you seen my reading glasses?”
“On the table.”
“So they are. Thank you.”
The words sharpened as Jim set the glasses on his nose, and he sunk into a dreary London of long ago. Spock brought out fresh tea and a plate of the cookies Jim usually ate at home.
“When did you pack these?” he asked.
“I knew you would want them.” Spock looked out the window. “Strange.”
“What is?”
“The behavior of the clouds.”
Jim placed a finger on his current sentence and glanced outside. Particles of ice were pinging off of the shield. Behind them, the clouds rotated like a slow turntable. No cone, not yet, but the size humbled him.
He cleared his throat.
“Ah. Well, I did promise an authentic Iowa experience, Mr. Spock. It shouldn’t be any worse than reentry, as long as the shield holds.”
Spock looked at him. “What is the probability of failure?”
“I’ve never checked the odds. I can’t remember it coughing more than once or twice when I was a boy.”
“Once alone is concerning.”
“Would you feel better if we went down to the cellar? The view won’t be as good, but if it would give you peace of mind…”
Spock shook his head and resumed his seat on the couch. A moment later the power flickered and he paused with the mug partway to his lips.
“Perhaps, as a precaution…”
Jim stood and offered a hand. “Say no more. I remember the cellar being quite comfortable. We’ll have to go outside for a moment. Would you like to change?”
Without a word Spock stood and retreated into the bedroom. When he emerged, he had changed back into his black traveling robes. In his hand was the bag they had brought. Jim dressed in his clothes that had been strewn on the living room floor and picked up the plate of cookies.
The weather shield covered an area ten feet larger than the house on all sides, which left room to walk from the side door to the shelter without feeling the storm. This close to it, Jim could hear the ping of hail striking the shield. A pile of ice had gathered at the base. He handed Spock the plate and knelt down to unlatch the cellar door.
Years of disuse had caused the door to stick. He held his breath and pulled with the strength in both arms.
“I’d forgotten how heavy this is,” Jim said, laughing as a piece of ice struck his shoulder.
He watched it fall next to his foot. Another joined it. He wrenched the door open and gestured for Spock to descend the stairs.
“After you.”
Jim looked back to see a flickering in the shield. Where the hail struck it, the energy field shimmered and sparked. A hole the size of his fist opened and let through a blast of wind before it reestablished. Jim hurried down the stairs behind Spock and secured the door overhead.
Spock had found the light switch and the fan that pumped fresh air from the outside. After years of being shut up, the air in the cellar was stale and dry, but as it wasn’t exposed to the surface, it had remained clean. His mother had insisted on the creature comforts: a padded bench that he and Sam used to share when they were young, a fold-out shelf that served as a table. Jim lowered it and Spock set down the plate.
“Nothing left to do now than wait it out,” Jim said.
Fitted into the wall was a petite readout of the weather and the shield’s condition. A warning message winked from the lower left corner. There must be something wrong with the power backup. Jim positioned himself to face the screen and patted the seat beside him.
“It’s nothing like the furniture at home, but it’s better than a bare slab of metal.”
The cellar door groaned and rattled, then fell silent. Jim coughed and pretended he hadn’t heard it.
“So! What all would you like to do while we’re here in Iowa? Feel up to camping?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Would that not defeat the purpose of traveling to your home town?”
The door rattled again and Jim laughed.
“There’s a small memorial to my father along the main road,” he said rather loudly, “if you’re interested in that sort of thing. Cookie?”
He held out the plate.
Spock dipped his chin. “Jim.”
“Hm?”
“Are you attempting to distract me from the fact that the shield is failing?”
“Ah. So you’d noticed?”
“Indeed.”
Jim set down the cookies and rested his head against the wall.
“And here I was thinking you’d fallen for my act. You’re quite right, Mr. Spock, which you’ll confirm if you look on the panel just over your shoulder. I suppose it’s beyond the expiration date. If only my mother were here! She’d wag her finger and say she told us all this would happen.”
“I am certain my mother would feel the same way about the technology. She has never been comfortable during storms on Vulcan.”
The door rattled again and this time the wind howled like the rush of an approaching train. Jim held his breath. Several seconds passed and the noise stopped, then started again, then stopped. Over Spock’s shoulder, the lights on the panel flashed and stuttered.
Power source unsteady. Shield failure imminent.
The howling resumed and the screen went dark. The fan stopped suddenly and the lights overhead switched off. Only a faint blue glow remained from a line of luminescent paint that marked the edges of the cellar. Almost immediately, the air grew warm.
Jim reached for Spock’s hands.
“It is only darkness,” Spock said. “There is no need to be nervous.”
“Nervous? I’m not nervous.”
“Your pulse says otherwise.”
“I could still be turned on from earlier. Have you thought of that?”
Although Jim could hardly see his face, he thought he perceived the quirk of an eyebrow.
“Did you not tell me,” Spock said with a hint of amusement, “less than an hour ago, that you used to watch these storms as a child?”
Jim laughed. “It seems I’ve gained a bit of common sense over the years.”
“We have been in far more dangerous circumstances. Living on the Enterprise carries a greater risk than a tornado.”
“Logically, I know that, of course. Blame it on my mother’s influence.”
A terrible whining filled the cellar. The storm must be overhead. Jim gulped and closed his eyes as he imagined it stripping away the roof, overturning the car. If the house was destroyed, they could walk into town once the storm had passed. He’d spotted a hotel on their drive in. They’d stay the night, then catch the first transport back to the west coast. The next time he was desperate for quiet, he’d have Spock plan it.
Spock’s fingers settled over Jim’s cheekbone and temple.
“May I?” he asked.
Jim nodded and Spock initiated the meld.
Jim found himself on the reddish plains east of ShiKhar playing with two young Vulcan boys. Play might have been too strong a word. They stood, the three of them, like statues overlooking a canyon. A short distance away, a large bear-like creature grazed.
“What is this?” Jim asked.
The smaller of the two Vulcan boys pointed to the horizon. The sky there was darker, a wall of darkness that seemed to grow closer, more imposing, the longer they stood there. As the winds increased, Jim understood.
“A sandstorm?” he asked.
The young Spock nodded.
“I was so fascinated by the landscape that day that I did not pay attention to our surroundings. By the time I noticed the storm, it was too late to reach the house on foot. Had it not been for I’Chaya, we would not have made it to safety.”
The desert scene grew bright and faded. Spock, as he appeared today, faced Jim against a glittering star field.
“There is no need to hide your emotions from me. You are human; I accept you as you are. Do you not know how precious you are to me?”
Jim swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I do.”
“I know you desire more assurance than I am able to give you. It is difficult for me to say these things face to face, but Jim, there is no one I would rather spend my life with. You asked what I would like to do while we are here. My answer is that it does not matter as long as you are there. That is how I feel.”
Within the dream world, he reached for Jim and held tight to him until the connection faded.
Jim always felt a little woozy coming out of a meld. Unable to stand right away, he slumped forward against Spock’s chest. While they had been connected, the wind had died down. He could hear the steady patter of rain against the metal door. The lights were still out.
“It’s gone past,” he said.
“Shall we go outside?”
“In a minute.”
He replayed Spock's words in his head until the dizziness faded, then pressed a kiss to his cheek and got to his feet.
They opened the door to a brighter sky. Although it was still gray overhead there was blue in the direction of the hills. The dark clouds had moved to the west and only a light drizzle fell over the house. Jim surveyed the aftermath. Leaves and branches from the nearby trees were strewn across the lawn. The storm had torn some of the shingles from the roof and felled a wooden fence that ran along the dirt road, but it had left the house intact.
Jim picked up a few pieces of the roofing and carried them inside to the trash. As he dried his hands on a towel, he realized they were trembling from the adrenaline and laughed at himself.
“If we've lost power here, they've probably lost it in town as well, but we might as well drive over that way. There used to be a great little diner on the main drag. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”
From behind, Spock’s arms slipped around his waist. Jim jumped.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Then my stealth was a success.” Spock nipped at his ear. “I will eat whatever you like, on one condition.”
“Name it, Mr. Spock.”
“Let me drive.”
The diner was not the same one from Jim’s childhood, but the food was satisfying. They filled their stomachs and two bags of groceries and returned to the house. The power had been restored, so the interior lights were on as they approached. Remnants of the storm had blown away, revealing a starry sky, and Jim was rocked by another wave of nostalgia.
“I have an idea,” he said after they put the groceries away.
He took a pair of chairs from the dining room and carried them onto the porch. When they’d been in town, they’d bought a bottle of red wine that Jim uncorked. He poured two servings into stout juice cups and cheered the roof for its steadfastness.
“And to you, of course,” he said to Spock, who accepted his glass with a nod. “It’s better to lie in a field, but the grass is still wet. I used to lie out here for hours watching the stars. Back then, do you think we ever looked at the same one at the same time: you from Vulcan, me from here?”
Spock did not answer right away. He sipped his wine and canted his head to one side. In the nearby fields, insects trilled an evening symphony. After a few seconds, Spock cleared his throat.
“I believe the correct response is, I hope so.”
Jim laughed. “A very diplomatic answer. Yes, I hope so as well.”
In one movement, Spock set his glass on the windowsill and from his robes produced the crown of flowers that Jim had made earlier that day. With a fond expression, he laid it on Jim’s hair.
“Reasoning, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked.
“It is, as you say, a token.”
All his life, Jim had looked toward the sky, longed for it, the glittering universe beyond his windows, that colossal unknown. But as Spock reached between the chairs and took Jim’s hand, he returned to Earth, eyes drifting to the long fingers wrapped around his palm: a meeting of worlds, of minds, a frontier Jim had never sought to explore. He was so overwhelmed by the constellation of emotions that his eyes flooded and he laughed at himself while drying them with a flannel sleeve.
“Is something the matter?” Spock asked.
”Not at all,” Jim assured him and laid his head on Spock’s shoulder. “But I think I’ll close my eyes for a while.”