Chapter Text
Jim Kirk was 13 years old. It was summer, and a cool breeze fluttered the curtains in the family’s farmhouse kitchen. Outside, Jim heard the buzzing of a hummingbird’s wings, and he caught the green flash of its feathers out of the corner of his eye. Family meetings did not usually start out this solemn, nor this silent.
They all sat at the table and waited, the boys picking up cues from their parents that something heavy was on their minds. Sam shifted in his seat beside Jim, and Jim stared straight ahead.
“Are we in trouble?” he asked after the silence got to be too much. Sam whapped his shoulder.
Jim hardly noticed. He was going down a list of possible crimes in his head. Yes, he’d let out the chickens yesterday, but that had been an accident. And the broken fence the day before had been entirely Sam’s fault. Plus, both had already been subjected to stern talking-tos. They’d been keeping up on their summer reading, they’d helped around the house-- what could it be?
“No, no, darling,” Winona said gently. She was wearing that smile, tight-lipped and falsely comforting as if she didn’t know her sons could see right through it.
Beside her, George was all quiet concern, strong brow wrinkled, hair tousled from where he’d run his hands through it all day. Jim knew that was a bad sign.
“We just have a little news,” George said, leaning his elbows on the table.
“That’s not the face of someone with a ‘little’ news,” Sam said skeptically.
Winona shot a worried look at George, who cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m sure you’ve heard from your holos-- or you’ve heard your mother and I talking. Do you know the situation on Vulcan?”
Vulcan? Of course Jim knew. Every night before bed he read the Federation’s news feed, hoping to get a taste of space before he was allowed up there himself. The second news broke of the Romulan attack, Jim had been under his covers with his datapadd, reading every bit of information he could get his hands on, though he didn’t understand all of it.
He’d brought it to Sam a few days before, hoping for some sort of explanation, but Sam had just told him not to worry too much about it. Vulcan was far away, he’d said, and their war with the Romulans wouldn’t affect anyone here on Earth.
“Aren’t they under attack?” Sam asked before Jim had a chance to open his mouth.
Winona nodded. She was about to speak when Jim butt in.
“The Romulans just came out of nowhere,” he said to Sam, proud in spite of himself that, yes, he did know more than his older brother. At least about one thing. “And the Federation stepped in but they’ve got all these weapons we’ve never seen. And something that makes it so we can’t see their ships, or see them . They’ve basically roasted half the planet by now.”
Winona hefted a sigh. “That’s essentially it,” she said. “The Vulcans are in a lot of trouble and there’s only so much the Federation can do.”
“None of the fleet is really built for military engagement,” George said. “We’ve got some phaser power, but not nearly what the Romulans have. Vulcan’s overpowered, and a lot of people are evacuating.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Sam asked, and Jim’s eyes widened. What did it have to do with them? Were the Romulans coming to Earth? They wouldn’t. The word was that their grudge was with Vulcans, though no one knew entirely why. Still, the thought terrified him.
“Well,” George said,”Your mother and I, along with quite a few other Starfleet officers, have offered to take the Vulcan refugees in.”
“All of them?!” Jim asked without thinking, imagining the farm overrun with their strange, stoic allies.
Winona chuckled, albeit a little nervously. “Just the one. He’s about your age, Jim. His parents are very important, and they’re going to be off doing very important things, so we’re going to take care of him while they’re gone.”
Jim wanted to ask what it was that made them so important, but there were more pressing concerns.
“For how long?” Sam asked. His face was tight, and Jim didn’t know if it was because the implications of the war were sinking in, or if the implications of their new housemate were sinking in.
“However long it takes,” George replied, meeting Sam’s eyes. The two had one of those silent exchanges they’d been having more and more as Sam got older, as though George were attempting to instill in Sam some kind of steely, Starfleet resolve that the boy had never had.
Jim wanted to prove that he had it.
“Yeah, and whatever it takes. Even if I have to share a room.”
“You don’t have to share a room,” Winona said graciously, and Jim breathed a silent sigh of relief. If the Federation was going to make room for the Vulcans on their worlds, Jim could’ve made room for one in his bedroom, but he was secretly very glad that wasn’t the case.
“But we do need both of you to help clean out your old toy room today. Spock’s arriving tomorrow afternoon and we want everything to be ready for him.”
Spock, Jim thought as George, Winona and Sam discussed a game plan. The name wouldn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but he hoped, maybe, that they could be friends. He’d never met an actual Vulcan before. It could be fun.
----
A transport pulled up to the Kirk farm’s driveway at noon on the dot the next day. It bore only one passenger.
The driver waited just long enough for the child (and he was a child) to gather his bag and close the door, before they drove off. In the dust, a young Vulcan stood, looking for all the world to be entirely unfazed by his new home. He wore black robes that swished around his ankles, fastened with a symbol that Jim had seen before but could never remember the meaning of, like a circle intersected by a triangle. His hair lay in a flat bowl cut along his brow, shining in the midday sunlight as though it were made of metal.
The Kirks had been waiting on the porch for his arrival, and now ventured out into the sun to greet him. The first thing Jim noticed was that Spock did not return their welcoming smiles. Jim tried not to be offended. Vulcans were different, he reminded himself.
George was the first to extend a welcome. He held his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute, “You must be Spock,” he said kindly, “Welcome to Iowa. May I?” He reached out for Spock’s bag, and the Vulcan reluctantly hefted it from his shoulder and placed the strap in George’s shovel of a hand.
“Where are your parents?” Winona asked, glancing down the road as though another transport must be on its way. “I was hoping to meet them.”
“Their presence was required at an urgent meeting in San Francisco. I am quite capable of traveling on my own.”
Jim didn’t like his tone.
“Of course you are, dear,” Winona said, “I’m Winona. This is my husband, George,” she motioned to George, who nodded, “and our sons, George Jr. and Jim.”
Jim nodded like his father, assessing Spock. They’d said he was around Jim’s age, and he certainly looked to be (aside from a small advantage in height), but he spoke like an adult-- a stuffy one at that.
Spock held up that same Vulcan salute in greeting and, after a reminder shove from Winona’s hip, both boys returned it.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“Why don’t we help Spock get settled,” Winona said brightly, moving behind Spock to usher them all into the house. “No sense standing around in this hot sun.”
Spock said nothing, though Jim caught what looked like an expression out of the corner of his eye. It was over far too fast to see for sure.
Winona, to fill silence as she often did, began to talk, “We set up a room just for you. You can decorate it however you’d like, even make a mess-- goodness knows my boys always do. We all eat dinner together, but feel free to use the replicator in the kitchen for breakfast and lunch, all right?”
They reached the room that had, until yesterday, housed the boys’ collective lifetimes of broken toys. The walls were still painted a garish yellow, but it was otherwise sparse. A bed, a desk, a rug and a window. That was it.
George set Spock’s bag on the bed. Jim couldn’t believe the kid had come without any other belongings. It hardly seemed big enough for more than one change of clothes.
“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” he asked, without thinking. It was too late by the time the rest of the family shot him a look.
“On Vulcan,” Spock responded, and Jim heard a dangerous bite to his voice.
Of course. Jim bit the inside of his mouth.
There was silence.
“Well,” Winona piped up, “Would you like a tour?”
Spock didn’t seem enthused, but at least it made him take his penetrating eyes off of Jim for a moment. “If that is what you want,” he said.
Jim wanted desperately to just leave the kid alone, now that he’d made a thorough ass of himself. Besides, it wasn’t as though Spock was being mister courteous either. Maybe they’d all be better served for just letting the Vulcan stay silently in his room for however long it took to beat the Romulans.
But one look from George made Jim acquiesce, and he followed his mother on the tour of the farm. They showed him down the hall to Jim and Sam’s rooms, to their parents’, to the bathroom, then back downstairs.
In the kitchen, George showed him how to work the replicator unit, though Spock was apparently “familiar with the technology, yes.”
Then, they took him outside to the herb and vegetable garden and the chicken coop, which did seem to interest him at least a little. He looked out over the pastures, where four fat cows and a few horses were grazing.
George was going into one of his long talks about animal husbandry, which could last hours, so Jim didn’t feel so bad interrupting him.
“Have you ever been to Earth?” he asked, suddenly realizing that all this may be new to Spock.
“I have accompanied my parents to human colonies,” he replied, raising a rather condescending eyebrow at Jim, “but I have very little interest in Earth itself.” Though the tone was unreadable, the statement made Jim bristle. It felt like an insult. Looking at the kid, he had little doubt that it had been intended as one.
“Hey, I know it’s not fancy, but we happen to live here, you know.”
“Jim,” George warned. Sam shifted uncomfortably on his feet and Winona’s face fell.
“My apologies,” Spock said, and he actually bowed his head. “I believe I require solitude. If you will excuse me.” He turned to Winona and George, thanked them for the tour, then walked in even steps back to the house.
There were a few moments during which Jim attempted not to look at anyone, but Winona caught his eyes all the same. “He’s homesick, Jim,” she said, gentler than expected as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Give him some time, okay?”
----
Jim did give him a few hours.
He spent the time wavering between stewing angrily and second-guessing himself, letting remorse sink in for how he’d acted. He spent some of the afternoon in Sam’s room, laying on the floor while Sam worked on college applications at his desk. He knew his brother wasn’t listening, but he had to complain to someone.
“But he should be grateful, you know? We didn’t have to take him in. And here is saying Earth is dumb--”
“He said he had no interest in Earth, not that Earth was dumb. And don’t use that word.” Sam corrected him lazily. “Besides, you say the same thing all the time. It’s all ‘I can’t wait to leave this rock and go to space,’ ‘I can’t wait to be a Starfleet officer like dad.’ You probably hate Earth more than Spock.”
“That’s a lie,” Jim said moodily, rolling onto his side and picking at the fibers of the rug. It wasn’t a lie. He loved the idea of space, of exploration, of leaving Iowa for good and seeing things no one had ever seen before. Maybe what offended him was that Spock didn’t have that same exploratory mindset.
“He should be excited to be able to explore something new at least,” he said, giving voice to the thought.
“If he were here on vacation maybe. You’re the one who’s been keeping up with the news. You know what he’s going through, right?”
“That’s not--” He paused, plucked another fiber from the rug. “That’s actually a pretty good point.” Sometimes he hated Sam for being smart and even-tempered at those times that Jim didn’t want (or know how) to be either.
“Just be nice to the guy and he’ll come around. Besides, you could use a friend while school’s out.”
“I’ve got you.”
“And I’ve got applications to fill out.” Sam flung a stylus at Jim’s head and Jim laughed.
“All right, fine. I’ll go hang out with the chickens. Ms. Cluckles likes me at least.”
He did end up making his way to the chicken coop, and managed to spend a good half hour with the chickens before getting bored. There were only so many times he could scatter seeds on the ground before watching them peck and scratch became tiresome.
Eventually, he wandered back inside to find something to read. He supposed, with a Vulcan staying with them, it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about their culture.
The problem was, even though they were part of the Federation, they were pretty tight-lipped about their lives. He’d tried researching them before for a school project, but their whole recorded history (at least everything public) seemed to start when they made first contact with humans, and human scholars hadn’t had much luck piecing together any specifics. The book he was reading mentioned the teachings of Surak, some philosopher or other that influenced their collective love affair with logic, but that was about it.
He entertained the idea for a little while of being the first human to accurately document Vulcan habits, rituals-- all of it. He had a subject of study in his own home after all. But after today he doubted Spock was going to agree to spill millennia worth of Vulcan secrets.
At some point, Winona walked in, finding him lying on the living room floor, a book on Federation planets open in front of him.
“Honey, there’s a couch right there,” she said. Jim rolled onto his back and looked up at her.
“I think better this way,” he said.
“And what are you thinking about?” She took a seat on the couch.
“Vulcans,” Jim replied, sitting up and crossing his legs. “They really aren’t like us at all are they?”
She laughed, something musical, “Oh goodness, no. Not even a little bit.”
“You’ve worked with Vulcans, right? What are they like? The grown up ones, I mean.”
Considering, Winona looked him. “Well I have met a few, but that doesn’t mean I know much. Vulcans in general are very calm, controlled, deeply spiritual, private--”
“Well I figured that much--”
“ And ,” she finished pointedly, “they are incredibly loyal. Every Vulcan in Starfleet would give their lives for the cause, and as a whole they care deeply for their planet.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I mean more…” she searched for the word, “More spiritually.Their traditions are more ancient than either of us could even imagine, and each member of their race is tied to the planet intrinsically.” Jim didn’t know that word, but he didn’t want to interrupt, and he figured he got the meaning well enough. “The assault on Vulcan is not just an attack on their home, it’s an attack on their collective soul. Everything that makes them who and what they are.”
Jim thought about this for a moment.
“Do you have any Vulcan friends?”
“Not really. The ones I’ve met have been willing to talk about themselves when they’re asked, but they don’t really seem interested.”
“Like Spock isn’t ‘interested’ in Earth?” Jim grumbled.
“Maybe it’s the same thing. You know when Spock settles in and gets comfortable I bet he’d be happy to answer your questions.”
“Happy?” Jim smirked. “Isn’t that a human emotion?”
She laughed and climbed to her feet, brushing off her jeans. “Fine, smartypants. ‘Willing’ or, I don’t know, ‘not adverse.’ Plus, his family has traveled all over Federation space. He probably knows a lot about starships.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s gonna want to talk to me about all that.” He rolled back onto his stomach, a scowl settling in as he absently flipped a page in his book. She didn’t address the sudden moodiness.
“I’ll leave you to your research,” she said with a smile, leaving the room. Jim waited for her footsteps to fade before he stood, took the dictionary off the shelf, and looked up “intrinsically.”
----
When dinnertime came, George asked Jim to retrieve Spock from his room. The kid had been barricaded away all day, completely silent, and Jim was half hoping he’d get up there to find Spock had run away out the window. He tried to shove the duty onto his brother, but a stern look from George made him give that up fast.
He couldn’t explain why he just felt really uncomfortable around Spock, but he was starting to understand that his comfort wasn’t going to take priority over their new houseguest’s.
Dutifully, he leveled a few hard knocks on Spock’s door and called, “Dinnertime!” before retreating down the stairs.
Spock followed a few moments later, looking as pressed and put-together as he had earlier. For some reason, this irritated Jim, whose hair was disheveled and whose clothes were rumpled.
Sitting down at the table, Spock carefully watched the plates George set out in front of them-- stir fry. Each night, the Kirks cooked a genuine meal together, using vegetables they’d grown themselves. It was a family tradition that George and Winona seldom skipped. They’d spent enough time in space to relish the taste of real food. Usually, though, they would replicate or purchase some kind of meat entree. Tonight, it was absent.
“Dad, you forgot the beef,” Jim complained as he dragged his fork through the dish’s brown sauce. Sam hit him again and Spock kept his eyes on his plate.
“No I didn’t, Jim,” George said, spearing a sliver of red pepper. “Spock is a vegetarian.”
Jim’s stomach sank. Vegetarian? That would not stand. “But I’m not.”
He could swear he heard Spock sigh across the table, but a quick glance in his direction showed no signs of exasperation. The Vulcan just raised his fork to his mouth, ignoring them.
“You can still eat meat from the replicator,” George said, looking tired, “but when we eat as a family, we’re going to eat something the whole family can enjoy.”
Jim thinned his lips, eyes traveling to Spock, who was most decidedly not a member of their family.
“If you wish to eat animal products,” Spock said, setting down his fork, “you need not concern yourselves with my diet.”
“Nonsense,” Winona said, and she shot Jim a look. “This is just fine. In fact, it’s delicious, isn’t it Jim?”
Jim shoveled a bite of snap peas into his mouth and grumbled around it.
It took a couple days of routine for Spock’s presence in the home to become a little more normal. The next day, Jim completely forgot the Vulcan existed until he caught him eating a salad alone at the kitchen table. The day after, Jim tried his best to avoid Spock, maybe because he was embarrassed or maybe because he just didn’t know how to relate to the kid. He had friends in school, plenty of them, and he knew how to talk to people, but Spock wasn’t like other people.
Though he knew this was only temporary, he also knew that he needed to make an effort if the next few months were going to get easier. It would’ve helped if Spock were trying to make an effort, but Jim was used to extending a hand first. He just decided he’d approach the Vulcan the way he’d approach any human.
He made his move on day three, around late afternoon. Spock’s door was closed, as it usually was, but today Jim caught a whiff of something spicy and sweet wafting out of Spock’s room. Curious, he drifted toward the door, sniffing. It didn’t smell like food, or like much of anything that he was familiar with. If nothing else, it gave him something to talk to Spock about.
He knocked on the door, waited a moment without response, and knocked again.
The door cracked open, and one of Spock’s eyes met Jim’s. Jim stepped back, a little worried by the clear annoyance on the kid’s face. It was the most expressive he’d seen him yet.
“I-- uh,” Jim said elegantly, completely forgetting why he’d knocked on the door in the first place. Suddenly it seemed like a bad idea.
“I am attempting to meditate, if you will please make your business brief,” Spock snapped, and Jim remembered what he’d wanted, though maybe it wasn’t worth it.
“What’s that smell?”
Spock blinked at him, opening the door a tiny bit farther. “I apologize if it is bothering you. I can put them out.”
“Put what out?” Jim craned his neck, trying to look over the taller boy’s shoulders into the darkened room behind him.
“The candles.”
“Candles?”
“Wax pillars with a wick-- a thread inside the wax-- that are burned for certain ceremonies--”
“I know what a candle is,” Jim said with a roll of his eyes, “I mean what are they for?”
Spock closed his eyes briefly, just the slightest bit longer than a blink, as though trying to instill patience in himself. “I would appreciate if you would craft your questions with more specificity in the future.”
“Sure thing,” Jim said, smiling a little in spite of himself. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d answer questions in the future.”
“If you are suggesting I am being purposely evasive--”
“I was kidding,” Jim said, smile fading just a little. “Can I come in?”
“As I said, I am attempting to meditate.”
“You could show me.” Jim had no idea what meditating was, but this was better than nothing.
Spock narrowed his eyes slightly, but stepped aside, allowing Jim entry. The room was about as bare as it had been when they’d left Spock in here, but with the addition of a few plain white candles, burning at all four corners.
After closing the door behind Jim, Spock made his way to the center of the room and seated himself on the rug. He motioned for Jim to sit in front of him, which he did.
“Are you familiar with the process of meditation?” Spock asked.
“Nope.”
The answer seemed to annoy Spock, but he continued. “It is somewhat illogical to attempt to teach Vulcan meditation to a human, as your mind cannot be controlled the way my own can. However, as you are still quite young it is likely you can train yourself into the practice over time.”
Wow, this meditation thing sounded like work. “What do you do?” he asked instead of voicing his concerns. Once, he’d sat through a whole concert of synthesized and musically arranged animal sounds for a friend of his, who was obsessed with that style of music for whatever reason. He could probably sit through this too.
“You simply close your eyes, breathe evenly, and attempt to clear your mind,” Spock said, demonstrating. He sat with his back straight, legs crossed, and fingers folded elegantly in front of him. Jim watched.
“Why?” He asked after a moment. Spock opened his eyes.
“The practice is meant to categorize and therefore compartmentalize any and all emotion, to center one’s self in pure logic.”
Jim could feel his face starting to squish up, confused, and embarrassed that he was confused. “Um… so you stop yourself from feeling things?”
“Yes.”
“To help you focus?”
“Essentially, yes.”
Jim looked around the darkened room, at the flickering flames of candles, at Spock’s ramrod-straight posture. He cracked a smile. “Then you’re doing it all wrong.”
“Excuse me?” Spock looked genuinely affronted.
“This little room isn’t going to make you feel better, or help you clear your head. Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Jim stood and held out a hand that Spock did not take. However, the Vulcan did get to his feet. “I believe I would prefer to remain here.”
“Come on,” Jim wheedled. “Trust me!”
Though Spock had literally no reason to do so, he took in a small breath, straightened his robes with a quick tug, and nodded. “Very well. I suppose I should endeavor to understand my human hosts.”
“That’s the spirit!” Jim led him out the room and down the stairs, heading out the back door as they’d done when they gave Spock a tour. Outside, Jim jogged briskly over to the pasture fence, crawling between two posts and motioning for Spock to do the same.
Spock followed, robes snagging on the fencepost. He allowed Jim to help him untangle before they set off into the pasture at large.
“Are these animals not dangerous?” Spock asked as they passed within a few yards of some thoroughly apathetic cattle.
“Eh, only if you rile ‘em up. They probably don’t even know we’re here.” He led Spock farther into the field, wiping sweat from his brow as the sun beat on his head, though Spock didn’t seem to mind the heat at all.
When they’d finally gotten a fair way away from the house into some tall grass, Jim scanned the ground for droppings (none, thank goodness) and flopped to the ground. He waved a hand for Spock to join him.
The Vulcan did, albeit reluctantly, and sat beside where Jim laid.
“What are we doing out here?” Spock said with his brow furrowed. Jim looked up at him.
“ This is how you clear your head,” Jim said serenely, staring up at the sky, dotted and streaked with wisps of clouds. “ This is how you focus. Look at that sky.”
Spock, with some hesitation, laid down as well, watching the blue expanse above them. They could hear buzzing in the grass, the occasional flit of a fly, and on the ground Jim could even hear the hoofs of the horses that were wandering nearby.
“Nice, right?”
Spock considered it for a moment. “It is an inadequate place to meditate,” he finally said, “there is too much activity to adequately practice mindfulness of the self.” Jim sat up, shooting a glare at Spock. This was the most serene place Jim could even imagine, and even this wasn’t good enough for the Vulcan. Before he could say anything, though, Spock continued, “However I find that it is… soothing. And it is fascinating to watch the way your clouds move.”
Jim’s face softened. Okay, so not the best place to meditate, but not a total bust either. He laid back down. “Do Vulcan clouds not move like that?”
“Our planet is much drier than Earth,” Spock replied thoughtfully. “Clouds are not commonplace.”
“So you’ve never done that thing where you look for shapes?”
Spock turned his head, peering at Jim through the blades of grass that separated them.
“I am not positive that I understand to practice to which you are referring.”
“You could just say ‘no,’” Jim laughed.
Spock considered this. “No.” he finally said. “I have not done… ‘that thing.’”
Jim felt his face break into a wide grin, and he turned away, looking back at the sky. “Well then you’re lucky you’re here, ‘cause I have all summer to teach you.”
Though, as it turned out, they didn’t need all summer. In fact, Spock picked up on the concept startlingly quickly, though imagination was not one of his strongest suits.They spent an hour or so of the afternoon laying in the field, alternating between talking and pointing out shapes. Jim asked him about the climate of Vulcan, since that seemed like a pretty ‘logical’ conversation to have while staring at the clouds. And though Spock had said he had no interest in Earth, he did return a few questions to Jim.
On their way back to the farmhouse, Spock was saying something about how “cumulo-nimbus” should have been a satisfactory response to “what does that cloud look like to you?” and Jim was saying something about how it had looked much more like a turtle on a hoverboard. As he spoke, he saw his mother standing in the far-off doorway, and though he couldn’t see her expression from their distance, he had a feeling she was smiling.
Jim was, too.