Chapter Text
Spock takes one look at Jimmy’s wheelchair and a word comes unbidden to his mind. The word is a Human word, a Standard word, and it isn’t to be said in polite company. It is strongly correlated to the word ‘no’, and while Spock has never thought to use this word in any context, he feels that it wraps up every other thought in his head nicely, so those thoughts can be set aside and examined at a later date.
“Oh, God, Jimmy —”
Amanda’s anguish is palpable, but for once, Spock ignores it, crossing the space between him and Jimmy in four long strides before stopping at his chair.
Jimmy, the shit, has the gall to smile at him, to smile as if Spock can’t feel the way he aches, from his joints to his teeth, from his stomach to his thoughts.
“Hey, Spock,” he greets. “You’ve talked to Gaila.”
“Hello, Spock.”
Spock glances up. Something about Gaila’s face comes across like ‘ he’s been like this all morning ’ mixed with ‘ do something, you moron ’, though Spock isn’t certain how exactly he came to this conclusion. Either way, he recognizes her exasperation and her desperation, and responds accordingly.
With a series of sharp, careful movements, he hefts Jimmy out of his chair and into his arms.
“Whoa— hey, Spock, the chair’s there for a reason—”
“Be silent, James,” he orders as the younger boy’s hands curl around the back of his neck. “You are too thin to have any of the illogical pride you consider Human left in you.”
“Noticed, huh?” Jimmy says. “It’s the newest thing, the Tarsus diet, you know—”
“James.”
“You’re angry.”
“I am Vulcan.”
“Spock, you are literally in my head.”
“... I am working on it.”
Jimmy snorts, burying his face in Spock’s robes.
“Sure you are.”
Spock turns on his heel and heads for the house. Gaila follows him, heaving her bag over her shoulder.
“I’ve got all of his medical supplies,” she informs him. “And his hypos. I brought extra, just in case.”
Spock forces his voice smoothe.
“That is wise of you.”
“It’s practical,” she agrees. “Dr. Fonseca forwarded a comprehensive list of basic care instructions to your Mother, she said, but first and foremost he’s going to need a lot of rest.”
“We shall provide as necessary.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“Mother informed me of your status as a guest.”
“No, I don’t think you understand.” Gaila reaches out, and it’s easy for her to slip her fingers into the sleeve of his robe to claw into his forearm. “ I’m not leaving him .”
Spock forces down the surge of jealousy he feels as Gaila pulls her hand away, taking images of the last three months spent sharing Jimmy’s biobed with her. She is protective of him, nearly as protective as a Vulcan might be, and she refuses to be parted from him for any reason, even decorum.
It makes sense. Slaves are not taught proper manners— especially not the sort of slave Gaila was.
Spock nods stiffly.
“Something will be arranged,” he says. Gaila nods, because while this is not a blessing, it is agreement, and Spock is clever enough to know when he is beaten.
“It looks like we’ll have lots of time to get to know each other, Mr. Spock,” she grins with far too much teeth. Her smile reads as a threat. “What’s better than some good old-fashioned family bonding?”
Spock can think of a few things, but he doesn’t voice them.
Jimmy’s snort is audible anyway.