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“Anyway, I reassure her again, promise I won’t freak out, I’m in Starfleet, after all, it’s not like I’m xenophobic, and we already established it’s not like a sexual thing or something, but she’s all nervous anyway—”
“You realize I actually have classes, right?” Leonard downs another swig of coffee—real, Terran coffee, not the crazy Klingon stuff the campus cafe is always promoting—and dryly reminds Jim, “Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’ve finished all the grunt work and have time to laze around listening to your ridiculous conquests.”
Jim, nursing a cup of that very Klingon garbage because he’s too adventurous for his own good, snorts. “Trust me, Bones, I’m well aware of your grumble-worthy med school grind. But I’m telling you, this was a crazy encounter; you’d be missing out if I didn’t tell you.” He has the audacity to wink, the sun catching his smile and neatly-cropped hair, looking every bit the handsome player that so many of their classmates think him. Except Leonard knows him better. He’s a surprisingly intelligent romantic that values adventure and new experiences and would happily settle down for the right one—which will probably come in the form of a starship that he’ll eagerly throw himself all in on. While he’s still striving for that dream, out on the campus lawn, he drives Leonard nuts, recounting, “So finally, she takes off the bandage, and, I kid you not, she has—”
“Seven tentacles and a neural nub,” Leonard interrupts. Jim blinks. He startles, then slumps, because Leonard obviously ruined his punchline, but as Leonard points out, “I’m a doctor, remember? You really thought you were gonna shock me with alien anatomy?”
Anyone else, any of Leonard’s past close friends that couldn’t last through his bitter divorce like Jim has, wouldn’t take the dressing down well. But Jim’s good-natured enough to handle Leonard’s thorns, and he just chuckles. “In my defense, there’s only a handful of them on Earth, but I guess that’s what I get for underestimating the Federation’s database. Should I even bother telling you about the popcorn thing?”
“Ugh, don’t—”
“Cadet Kirk?”
They’re loitering in public, the sprawling campus grounds bustling with life all around them, so an interruption shouldn’t be a surprise. But Leonard nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t hear the intruder coming—one minute he’s chatting with a fellow human, and the next, a tall, slender Vulcan is rigid at his side. It’s clearly a Vulcan, from the exactingly primped uniform to the classic black bowl cut, to the jut of green-tinted ears and sharply arched brows. The young man appears about their age, maybe closer to Jim’s than Leonard’s, but it’s hard to tell with long-lived species. He looks exactly the same as every other Vulcan cadet to Leonard, but Jim’s eyes light up like he’s front-seat at a supernova. They must’ve met before, and it must’ve gone well, because Jim’s friendly to most people, but not like that. He shifts his weight onto the other foot, subtly aiming his whole body at the newcomer like he’s caught in a strong orbit. He greets, familiar and warm, “Spock.”
‘Spock’ has no reaction, save an infinitesimal blue hue in his chiseled cheeks. If Leonard weren’t in the medical field and on high alert, he probably wouldn’t notice. Completely ignoring Leonard’s presence, Spock asks, “May we speak?”
Jim gestures with his not-really-coffee-filled-travel-mug. “Go ahead.”
Spock casts an unimpressed look at Leonard and tightly clarifies, “Alone.”
Leonard opens his mouth to counter, ‘Well screw you too, pointy,’ except Jim cuts in, looking puzzled, “We usually study alone; you could’ve asked me tomorrow. Now I’m curious what’s so urgent.”
It’s still subtle, but Spock’s definitely blushing. He stiffens like Jim’s casual comment was a cruel accusation. Vulcans always strike Leonard as unreasonably sure of themselves, but Spock seems to hesitate before answering, “It... is not pressing. It may wait.”
Then he turns on his heel, like that’s that, except Jim’s free hand darts out to grab his wrist. There’s no skin-on-skin, a cultural taboo even Leonard knows of, just Jim pinching the hem of Spock’s sleeve. Spock freezes. He turns back to Jim, Jim still holding on and their eyes connecting, and Leonard could swear there’s a fabled mind-meld happening and they’re having a whole conversation. Leonard knows that’s not how it works. Apparently they’re study partners, and it’s probably recent—the Grazerite Jim used to study with transferred away only three weeks ago. It’s no surprise Jim’s already found a replacement. It’s a surprise that replacement’s Vulcan. Leonard keeps expecting Spock to recoil from Jim’s touch, but he doesn’t. It isn’t until his gaze slips to their hands that Jim retracts his.
He asks, “What is it?” And it’s friendly but firm, like a command to answer. He’ll make a good captain someday, if his shenanigans don’t get him expelled first. Spock glances back at Leonard, who somehow feels like a third wheel, even though he had Jim first.
He barks a gruff, “What?” He imagines whatever it is can be said in front of him. Spock’s Vulcan, after all. It’s not like he’s one of Jim’s many simpering admirers.
Donning a grin, Jim prods, “Alright, now I’m really curious. Did you get a surprise communique from your dad or something? Or you changed your mind about my Kobayashi Maru proposal?”
Frowning, Spock curtly says, “No.” He almost looks annoyed at both suggestions. He’s right on the verge of oddly emotive for a Vulcan, but still way too chilly by Leonard’s preferred human standards. Leonard chugs another mouthful of coffee while he’s waiting—it’s already lukewarm. It’s crazy they can fly circles around the sun but not keep coffee hot. Spock opens and closes his mouth a few times and eventually asks, “Do you recall our first study session?”
“Vividly,” Jim laughs. “I made an ass of myself, which I swear isn’t normal. Hopefully by now you believe me—I’m usually more graceful than that.”
Spock looks momentarily miffed by the ‘ass’ expression but doesn’t ask. Leonard’s just grateful he’s not asked to testify about Jim’s ‘grace.’ For the most part, Jim’s exceptionally competent, hardly a clumsy person. But he tells Leonard, “I’d tried some Saurian brandy for the first time the night before. Frankly, it’s amazing I managed to wake up in time for our meeting and get myself to the library without walking into any walls. I was actually feeling pretty good about my recovery time, until I tripped over a chair and fell right into Spock.” His eyes twinkle when he looks back at Spock, zero regret inside them. Leonard can hardly imagine them toppling over each other to the floor, breaking the no-contact Vulcan taboo every which way, and Spock still agreeing to see Jim again. Then again, Jim can be charming right through mistakes. He throws Spock a pleasant, “Sorry,” that Spock doesn’t acknowledge.
They look at one another, muffled chatter all around them, a few birds cawing overhead on their way to the water. Leonard’s about to awkwardly clear his throat when Spock finally says, “You made a statement after the incident. I have only just been informed of its meaning.”
Jim tilts his head, waiting, probably having forgotten whatever lame joked he said. It must’ve contained a human colloquialism that went over Spock’s head, until overhearing it weeks later and, apparently, having it explained to him.
When Spock falls silent again, Jim prompts, “And?”
Another glance at Leonard, like he shouldn’t be there, but now he’s vaguely invested in the bizarre drama and stays put. Spock’s cool voice sounds begrudging, gritting it out, like it kills him to admit: “The... sentiment... is mutual.”
Jim, clearly clueless to anyone with any understanding of human emotions and how little humans remember the casual comments they made weeks ago, asks, “It is?”
“Yes. You proclaimed that you must have been ‘falling for me.’ I did not understand the phrase at the time, and, before having the chance to properly speak to you, would have been initially unamused by the statement. However... after spending an admittedly limited time in each other’s presence, I believe I could... tolerate the development.”
It takes everything in Leonard not to start guffawing like a drunken Tellarite. He stares at Spock, who looks as though he’s undergone an extraordinarily painful trial by having to admit that, and then Jim, who looks flabbergasted. It’s all come together for Leonard. They met up awhile ago to study, Jim was hungover and tripped, he made some inane joke about ‘falling for Spock’ after he fell, Spock was perplexed, they bonded over that studying, Spock’s decoded the idiom, and now he, a stiff green-blooded robot, has made an ass of himself in front of two emotional humans. It’s hilarious.
Jim must figure it out too, because his confusion visibly abates, and Leonard awaits the polite rejection.
“Spock... do you want to get coffee?”
Leonard half wants to insist the rejection happen in front of him for his personal amusement. Spock throws a puzzled look at the mug already in Jim’s hand. Jim seems to realize that and grins. “Okay, or lunch. Dinner. Something. Do you want to have a date with me? That’s when two consenting adults go—”
“I am aware of the term.”
“And?”
“I would find that acceptable.”
Jim’s smile is dazzling. Spock obviously appreciates its radiance. He’s still frowning, yet somehow, if possible, looks happy.
Leonard’s shocked. They’re probably both shocked too. It seems way too soon for Jim to have melted through a cold Vulcan exterior. But the two of them are looking at each other like they’re from one of those wild races that have predestined soul bonds. It’s weird.
Jim loves weird things and tends to follow his heart, so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that he tells Leonard, “Catch ya later, Bones.” Then he marches right off with Spock, and Leonard’s left there alone, wondering how he failed a simple human marriage while his bestie’s out there getting tentacles and Vulcans.