Archive of Our Own

As a person, James Tiberius Kirk objected strongly to being woken up on a Saturday morning. This was because of two things. One, he would probably be extraordinarily hungover and therefore be likely to stab anyone who woke him up, and two, he just really liked sleeping.

Which is why, as he is rudely shaken out of his dream involving kiwis (both the bird, and the fruit- hangover dreams are so weird), he is forced to contemplate if he liked the person waking him up. It was probably Leonard McCoy, or as he liked to call him, Bones, and he did quite like Bones a lot. He was funny, and full of so much bitter resignation he probably had more in common with coffee than actual humans. When he makes the decision not to punch him in the face, he feels like a saint. Instead, he mumbled at them to go away and let him sleep.

"I am afraid I cannot let you do that," an unfamiliar voice informs him stiffly, and Jim shoots awake. He does not remember going home with anyone last night, and certainly not a guy. Not that there is anything wrong with it being a guy, but he tended to remember the guys he slept with more. The key word he would like everyone to take note of was tended, and Jim took no responsibility if he did not, in fact, remember you. Sorry about that.

He squints against the harsh light of the sun filtering into the room, his hangover making it worse, but finally his vision clears and he realises that the person standing, looking very disgruntled, is a Vulcan. Jim knew he was good at seduction, but he didn't think he was that good. Huh. The one time he underestimates himself and it chooses to surprise him. Perhaps he should underestimate himself more.

"You're a Vulcan," Jim blurts before he can think better of it. He is missing his shirt and spots it several metres away, and he makes an aborted movement to go and get it. The reason why it was aborted is because said Vulcan raised an eyebrow at him and the amounts of bitch, please he managed to convey with that one action had Jim instantly harbouring immense respect for him.

"I am," the Vulcan says.

"I thought Vulcans don't have like, one night stands," Jim smiles toothily at him. "This is one for the record books, you're actually pretty hot."

"While I am unfamiliar with the term, 'one night stand', I take to mean you think I invited you here after your...escapades, last night. However, I have no recollection of who you are, nor do I have any knowledge as to why, at zero nine three two hours, I have encountered you in my room, sleeping in my bed," the Vulcan picked up his t-shirt and handed to him with barely a flicker of emotion.

It takes a moment for the words to actually register into his hungover brain, but when it does, Jim yelps and scrambles up from the bed. "Dude, you mean I wandered into your room without permission?"

"That is what I mean," the Vulcan watches Jim hastily grab his shirt and pull it over his head. "'Dude'."

"Damn, why was the door unlocked? Shit-"

The Vulcan interrupts what would have become an awkward rambling of words and half-assed excuses. "You misunderstand. The door was not only locked, it was secured with a program of my own writing. While grossly inebriated, you have managed to break my algorithm and find your way into my quarters. It is surprisingly impressive."

"Oh," and now that he mentions it, Jim did remember being upset that Bones had changed the password. He thought it was 'cause he ditched study night for party night and he was pissed. "Yeah, I do remember that. A little."

The Vulcan watches him again, his eyes not leaving his person.

"Listen man, I'm so sorry, honestly. I'll- help you change the sheets or something," Jim offers nervously, but the Vulcan declines any semblance of help.

Perhaps it was a Vulcan thing.

"I'll...just go now, then," Jim points to the door, and the Vulcan merely nods. "Great. Um. See you around. I think."

The door slides open before him, Jim hurriedly steps into the corridor- and then, upon seeing where he was, let out a loud snort. The Vulcan raises an eyebrow again.

"Sorry," Jim rolls his eyes, trying for exasperated, ending up looking amused as hell anyway. "Just that my dorm's just over there."

He points to the door right opposite the Vulcan's room and watches a mild flicker of what could only be displeasure flit across his face. Jim knew better than to be offended.

"I suppose I will then, 'see you around'," the Vulcan makes a dismissive gesture and turns away from him as the doors slid shut. Jim already saw potential for command wondered idly if that was where he was aiming to go. It was where Jim was aiming to go. Jim was a jack-of-all trades and was efficient in many things. Jim, who had gotten requests from his professors to go into the science stream because he was smart enough to do extremely well in it, because he did happen to like astrophysics- had turned dismissive ear to their comments because there was only one thing he could- would- do. command. There are many reasons for this, but the biggest one was that Jim Kirk could not take orders. The ones he agreed with, sure. The ones he didn't- well.

"Yeah," he shakes his head as he punches in his code for his dorm room, not at all prepared to get chewed out by Bones. "I guess so."

The second he steps into the room, Bones is all over him, brushing his hair out and patting his shoulders. "You did use protection right? You probably slept with an alien. Do you know the STDs aliens have? One causes tentacles to grow. Tentacles, Jim! Out of your dick!"

"I didn't sleep with anyone," Jim rolls his eyes, feeling his headache return in full swing. "I broke into someone's room and slept there instead."

"Shit," Bones says, rubbing his face. "That might be worse. Alien bedbugs."

"It was a Vulcan," he raises his eyebrows, trying to channel said Vulcan's bitchstare. So far, it wasn't working. "And it was on campus."

The 'Vulcan' in it throws Bones off. Jim can see it shift the foundations beneath him. "You broke into a Vulcan's room? I call bullshit."

"Bitch," Jim threw his coat at him and watched him fumble to get it back on the coatrack. Jim's mother was never around much- not for lack of wanting to, that is. She loved the stars too much and staying on Earth for more than a month at a time drained her. She loved him, though. She would call him and talk to him, her face scratchy with the poor connection, but once he'd hit fifteen it stopped being effective. But with Bones, Jim thought faintly he'd know what it was like to have one constantly around. "He is real. He's right opposite, too."

"If you don't want to tell me where you were it's fine, but you don't have to make up a lie about it," Bones says huffily and hands him some painkillers and a glass of water.

"I am not lying," Jim throws back the pills and collapses onto the bed. "I'll point him out if I see him."

"You can't go to sleep. You have a chemistry test on Monday. That's two days, Jim."

"How do you know that?"

Spock had not given much thought to the cadet once he left. His trespass into his quarters was merely a minor tear in his gentle fabric of life in Starfleet. To be fair, ever since he had arrived, he had many tears in his fabric, such that it was beginning to resemble scraps of cloth rather than an actual fabric, but those are just...superficial details. He's, as the humans say, a big picture kind of person. As he's walking down the corridor after his first Computer Science lesson, in which he argued with the professor no less than three times, he resolves to fix his fabric tonight in his meditation. Previously, he had given more time to understanding human antics, such as the perchance to call each other 'dude' regardless of gender orientation, or to communicate by shouting across the room when using the padd messaging system would be much more effective and considerate.

It has been a year since Spock enrolled in the Academy, and nothing much has changed since then.

He's deep in thought, yes, but not so deep that he fails to miss out of the corner of his left eye- the hand reaching from behind him, aiming for his shoulder. His training kicks in, and he's turning around, fluid as water, gripping the arm attached to the hand and swinging the person over his shoulder. A pair of familiar blue eyes sail past his face, eyes widening in surprise- and then said person hits the ground, flat on his back, and Spock stares at a red uniform and messy hair and the same vanadyl sulfate eyes as the cadet who had fallen asleep in his bed three days ago. And they say coincidences do not exist.

The cadet seems surprised to find himself on the floor, Spock crouching beside him, but it does not stop a crooked smile from blossoming on his face. "So I may or may not have underestimated Vulcan reflexes," he laughs, his voice like a waterfall. "My bad. Will you teach me that, though? 'Cause it was really cool."

Spock considers him, tilting his head ever so slightly, but then concedes to the blue eyes and stands up as the cadet scrambles to his feet.

The cadet is joined by another human with a scowl on his face. He brushes off the cadet's shoulder even though there is nothing there and says, "I told you so."

"And I told you he was real, so really, who won?" The cadet waves his hands, still smiling serenely- if with a sort of manic look in his eyes. "I wanted to say hi," this part is clearly addressed to Spock. He considers making a quick getaway, saying he had some sort of meeting to attend, but then dismissed it. His mother had asked him to make friends. It would seem that the cadet would not be a bad addition to his admittedly small collection. "I never got your name last time, cause, well, you know. I'm Jim, Jim Kirk. This over here's Bones. What can I call you?"

Spock wants to say cadet. "Spock," he replies instead. The blue eyes commanded him.

"Cool. What stream are you in?" Jim holds up a finger. "Wait- let me guess. Command."

"While my superiors have informed me that I have the potential to perform exceptionally in command, I have chosen the science stream," Spock tells him, slightly unnerved at the amount of attention he is paying him. He seems almost interested, as if the question was not merely cursory. "I do not wish to be a captain."

"Nice," Jim nods. "I do, so command, no shits there, and Bones?"

"Why do you bring me into conversations?" 'Bones' groans slightly. Spock immediately relates to him. Perhaps, if he were more human, he would be like him. Jim gives him a gentle look and nudges his shoulder. The man immediately relents. Spock instantly sees in that exchange why he picked command. It sits on the slope of his shoulder and whispers gently into other's ears, tuning them to his frequency. "Medical."

If Spock is mildly curious, he knows he does not show it, but Jim picks up on it anyway. "Spill it," he says easily.

"I can not spill anything. I am not carrying any liquids," Spock deflects, but Jim gives him the same look he gave to his companion and suddenly he just...gives up. "Bones is a rather morbid name for someone aspiring to be a doctor," he says, the words coming out like air being released from a balloon.

"Is a doctor, thank you," Bones rolls his eyes, but nods at his words. "I'm Leonard McCoy," he clarifies. "Jim likes to give people inappropriate nicknames. Don't be surprised if he starts calling you pointy."

If Spock were more human, he would have made a face. "Please do not call me pointy."

"We'll see about that," Jim winks. "I might break into your room again and leave post its with pointy emblazoned in capital letters all over the walls."

Spock does not know how to answer that, but then a bell chimes- Spock is going to be late for his next class, and judging from the horror on Jim's face, so will he.

"I've got to go, the chemistry prof is a real asshole. It's been a week since we started and he's already giving us a test," Jim points off into the distance. Leonard grips his shoulder and starts to drag him in the direction of the laboratory. It is amusing that Spock can see the very instant that he gets an idea- his entire face lights up and his eyes turn to blue fire. "Wait! Before I go- YOUR NEXT CLASS! IS IT UPDOG?"

Leonard drops Jim as if he had been scalded. A multitude of emotions flit across his face, but Spock cannot decipher any of them.

"I do not- what is updog?" He asks, confused. He had not come across this term during his extensive research on human culture before joining Starfleet.

"Nothing much, what's up with you?" Jim barely manages get through his sentence without breaking out into laughter, but after he does, his laughter is wild and untamed. Leonard shakes his head slowly, but a smile plays about the corners of his mouth. He grips him with increased vigour and now it is obvious he is trying to put as much distance between Spock and Jim. Jim turns to him and says, between gasps of breaths as he's slowly dragged away, "I told you I could get him to say it!"

Spock watches them go, mystified.

Spock sits down next to Nyota Uhura, a woman who looked like she could kill you and actually would. As she was the first acquaintance to make it past level one in friendship, Spock had taken a liking to her. They are sitting on a bench outside the campus. She is waiting for the bus. Spock thought it would be a good time to approach her with his question. She had helped him many times before.

"Nyota," he asks quietly. "What is updog?"

Uhura heaves a deep sigh.

Jim is still buzzing from getting the Vulcan- Spock, to say updog. He feels like his entire life's achievements had just been condensed into that one moment. Not even his chemistry professor and his unbearably difficult test could get him down. He also feels like this would therefore be the perfect time to approach the girl he'd been staring at for the past five minutes.

"Hi," he leans back against the wall and smiles.

The cadet turns around, her hair whipping through the air. "Not interested," she deadpans. Jim doesn't let it get him down. They're in the queue for food in the cafeteria. Perfectly neutral ground.

"Do you at least want to know my name before you completely reject me?"

"I'm fine without it," she says blandly. Jim likes her. She reminds him a little of Spock. He wondered why that would make him like her. He's only known Spock for two days.

"You are fine without it. It's Jim, Jim Kirk. If you don't tell me your name, I'm gonna have to make one up."

The cadet rolls her eyes, but she seems to be warming up to him.

"It's Uhura," she smiles at him and JIm mentally adjusts the scoreboard.

He channels his best 'I'm sitting at the bar slightly drunk and you're beautiful' voice. "Uhura, no way. That's the name I was gonna make up for ya. Uhura what?"

"Just Uhura." Damn. Jim could have sworn he was getting somewhere.

"They don't have last names on your world?"

"Uhura is my last name."

"Well then, they don't have first names on your world?"

The queue moved up by two people. "Look," Uhura said, tilting her head and looking cross. "I'd like to live my life with some semblance of self-respect. So no, I don't want to date you. I don't want to sleep with you. I don't want to be introduced to your friends-"

Jim interrupts her. In hindsight, that could have worked out terribly, but it was the only thing he could think of to do. "No! No, no, that's uh, not what I was gonna ask you."

She stops, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at him. "Then what do you want?"

He digs through his pockets, pulling out a wad of tissue, a box of mints, his phone- and finally, a long thin black stick. He can see her eye it with trepidation, so he hurries to explain. "I wanna know how you got your eyeliner so sharp. It's freaking cool. All I can get are these sad lines. And then they smudge."

Uhura is definitely surprised now. "You...want to know how I do my makeup."

"Yeah," Jim shrugs. "I wanna look like I could kill you with the slant of my eyeliner too. I got my contour on fucking point, but- this eludes me, y'know."

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Standing on her tiptoes, she eyes the long line in front of her."Give it here. I'll show you."

"You are a saint."

"I do not understand what it is you are doing," the sudden voice from behind him causes him to jump and the eyeliner to drag across his face. Uhura looks like she's about to laugh as he starts to scrub it off.

"Uhura's teaching me how to look like a warrior princess," Jim turns around to face the Vulcan- who has gotten exponentially hotter, what the fuck. He is definitely, in some way, glowering at them. Jim almost feels insecure, standing in front of his gaze.

"Nyota," Spock turns to her, but she only shrugs and bats her eyelids at him as she guides Jim's hands to draw the sharpest eyeliner he's ever done.

He has the presence of mind to wait until everything's been filled in and drawn before he goes, "You told the Vulcan your first name but not me? I'm frankly offended, Nyota."

"The Vulcan is nicer than you."

"And here I thought I made a fantastic first impression," Jim shrugs. "You believe me, right, Spock?"

Spock raises an eyebrow at him and stares him down.

"Would it kill you to have faith in me?"

Uhura starts work on the next eyelid. "Is this the one who told you your next class was updog?"

"Impressive deduction-"

"-you should've seen his face it was amazing-"

"-No, it's not. Not many people know you well enough to talk to you like that. You're a senior and a Vulcan, it's like the very picture of intimidation," Uhura blatantly talks over Jim. Given that she is in a prime position to permanently blind him, Jim wisely refrains from commenting. "How did the two of you meet?"

"First, I am twenty-two and therefore should be considered a senior. Two, we slept together."

Uhura's hand nearly jerks.

"What he means is that he broke into my room and fell asleep in my bed. I believe the term, 'while drunk out of his mind' is applicable here," Spock is still as impassive as ever.

"Oh, real nice impression, Kirk."

"At least it's unique."

Uhura caps the eyeliner and turns him around to face Spock. He blinks, and grins as Spock takes a slow blink. Heh. He likes this effect he has on him. "Whaddya think?"

Spock steels his face. "I think it's your turn."

"Ah, you're no fun."

When Spock saw Uhura and Jim pressed up together in the queue, alarms immediately went off in his head. The two of them, together, would be like mixing a tornado with a blizzard, devastatingly beautiful in its chaos. Between the two of them, they would absolutely wreck everyone around who dared to cross their paths. Which was why he interrupted. It most definitely was not his confusing attachment to vanadyl sulfate, like he wanted to stake a claim on them, despite only having seen them for two days.

Jim with dangerously angled eyeliner, though, was something he had not planned on ever seeing. He did not quite understand the effect it had on him, only that it had one. He looked like he was sharp as a knife, and then he smiled just so, and he was not only sharp, he was unafraid to use it. He looked dangerous. The black liner also made his eyes bigger and brighter, more defined. It drew attention to the vanadyl sulfate.

He tear his eyes away from the liner as Jim gets his food- and his, despite his protests that he could go to the back of the line.

"What even is this?" Jim asks as he carries the tray around, searching for a seat. "It's like...some mushy, purple thing. Like someone blended purple yams together."

"It is plomeek soup and it is a Vulcan delicacy," Spock says, channeling enough affront into his voice to make Jim turn to look at him.

"Huh. It looks gross. But then again, fries would probably look super weird too."

"Fries are not a human delicacy."

"Are too!"

There are no empty tables. Jim starts to visibly panic, but he is saved by Uhura, who joins him at his side.

"You seem like an okay person," Uhura tells him as she eyes him up and down. Jim scuffs his feet and looks away, uncharacteristically quiet. "You want to join me and some others at our table?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Jim visibly swallows. He turns to follow her, obviously trusting that Spock would follow him. Spock would, because Jim has his food on his tray- but he suspects even if he had his own he would have followed him anyway. As Jim steps, he wobbles slightly, and Spock latches an arm onto his wrist to stabilise him.

In the brief contact between them, a sense of reliefwantthank zipped up his arm. It confuses him. Jim is, in every sense of the word, charismatic. He should have no problem socializing. Yet, at this slight offer of friendship, a tentative open hand, Jim is...grateful. Like he is afraid he will be alone.

He is considering this as Jim places the tray down at a table in the corner and slides into the seat. There are three people already sitting there. The American doctor, Leonard McCoy, still with a scowl on his face, though it is lessened by the presence of Jim. A Japanese man who eyes him and then Jim warily, and...Spock is not sure of this one, but when he opens his mouth, there is no doubt he's Russian. "Uhura! You've brought new people," he says, nodding. "Nice to meet you."

Uhura slips into the seat next to the Japanese man. "Everyone," she introduces. "This is Jim and Spock. I'm sure you can tell who is who."

"Spock's obviously the blonde," the Japanese man laughs and rolls his eyes.

"You're definitely going to fail your course."

"Bones? You're here too?" Jim asks, surprise colouring his voice. Said Japanese man looked quickly between the two of them, like he could not believe they knew each other.

"Well, I was discussing with Sulu here about medicinal plants, and then he wouldn't shut up about it," Leonard waves his hands at the Japanese man, who sticks his tongue out at him.

The Russian laughs.

Uhura rolls her eyes. "That's Hikaru Sulu, and as McCoy has learnt the hard way, don't ask him about botany unless you're prepared for an entire dissertation. And the small one is Pavel Chekov. He's going to be the youngest man in space and he's a veritable genius. If you hurt him," Uhura picks up her knife and starts to cut into her meat. "I will cut you."

Jim looks at her knife, then at Chekov, who smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "I'll back you up on that," Jim nods, and taps his knife against Uhura's. "Um, so, I'm Jim Kirk."

"I like your eyeliner," Chekov tells him. "It's Uhura's style, is it not?"

"It's fucking amazing, right?" Jim shoots upright and bats his eyes and the table bursts into laughter.

"Have you tried deep purple eyeliner? Its red blue undertones would make your eyes go p-o-p," Sulu offers, and Spock can literally see Jim's eyes light up with the promise of an experiment.

"Especially with some soft pink eyeshadow," Uhura nods. "I've got some back in my dorm."

"No way," Jim breathes.

Spock allows himself a small smile as Jim's knees brush against his under the table.

The next day, Spock opens the door to what he is pretty sure is his xenolinguistics club, but then sees Jim Kirk sprawled out on one of the tables, scrawling something on his padd and so comes to the conclusion that he was not at the right place. The xenolinguistics club had only been created this academic year, so he was not sure how it functioned. Not a moment later, however, Spock's padd lights up.

He frowns at this coincidence and checks it, and sees that it is a message from James T. Kirk. He assumes it os Jim, though, because the person's name is listed as Ur Boi and his profile picture is a dog wearing some sort of unicorn costume, except instead of legs it had something akin to a mermaid's tail.

ey it's Jim, got ur accnt from the Academy's homepage. anyway, i know u hate being late even tho it's only been like a few days, but i see ur supposed to come for the xenolinguistics meeting and its starting in like a minute. lmao.

I am here.

Jim's head whips up and sees Spock standing in the doorway. He rolls his eyes and motions for him to enter. "What, you've just been standing there all lonely?"

"I saw you and assumed you were not in this club. I did not believe it suited to your tastes."

"Bitch," Jim chucks a pen at him as more people start to file in. "Can't believe I've got a talented tongue?"

"For some reason, I do not doubt that," Spock picks up his pen and hands it back to him with a small smirk playing about his features. He thought he should be appalled about that, but given that it was Jim, he probably did not need to be so tight with his face.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jim stuffs the pen back into his case. "And I'll also have you know I'm the treasurer of this damn club, so I'm essentially a very important person. Ya want to get on my good side, that's all I'm saying, if you want money to do shit. I accept credits, free food and blowjobs."

"Will a demotion suffice?"

"Asshat. I'll have you kicked out."

"Corruption and it has only been three point seven five minutes," Spock shakes his head ever so slightly, and Jim's delighted laughter makes him feel like he's won a thousand battles.

The head professor eventually walks in, a strong, sturdy Welsh man with an accent to match. He eyes them all, taking in their character, pausing on Spock for a moment too long to call it a coincidence. His name, he introduces, is Professor Davies.

"I trust you have all gotten my email about Equinox?" Professor Davies asks. The class groaned. Jim looks, on the contrary, excited. "Well, if you haven't, the school is hosting a fashion show to raise money for our service trips. As many people in attendance are not fluent in Standard, and we cannot expect everyone to have universal translators, we're gonna have to translate the script to a dozen or more languages. Sound fun?"

A chorus of nos. Jim mouths a quiet yes.

"Well, too bad. Divide yourself into pairs, people! Each pair gets one language, and it cannot be your native tongue or that's just bullshit. As the Valmors go, shi'et, losetî por mecham! If you do what you've always done, you'll turn out to have a shit personality and no one will be your friend."

Spock worries for a moment that no one will partner up with him. The class has already split up, and a few have approached Jim with smiles on their faces.

"Are you not going to join them?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd be my partner. You're pretty chill," Jim smiles lazily at him, leaning his head on his desk. "If that's okay with you."

"It is acceptable," Spock replies, a tension in his chest easing at the pleased expression on Jim's face.

Bones had left him to go off to fight with the administration during his free period ("I don't need to get another doctorate, I've got one!"), which meant that Jim is now left to lonely wander the hallways. He would study, but he felt an urge in his bones to get out and do something and make more friends and- he passes by the gym, glances in into the room, and sees Spock, methodically having at a punching bag. His hair flies forward with every hit he makes; bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

The swooping in Jim's stomach is not exaggerated, and then the doors to the gym are sliding open and he's tripping inside, nearly face planting into a crash mat. He tries to tell himself to get a grip, but really, Jim lost his grip on everything ages ago. He's just kind of trying to control his freefall now.

Spock is the only one in the room, which is probably why he notices Jim flailing in the corner like a demented jellyfish as he debates approaching him or not.

"Do you require assistance?" Spock asks him, his voice clear and sharp even from the other end of the room. Jim jumps and quickly recovers.

"Yes. I uh- asked you- well I didn't- but uh can you teach me the um, Vulcan martial art. It's uh, called Suus-"

"Mahna," Spock looks slightly disapproving, but it might just be his resting face. "It is purely a defensive practice and it takes many years to master. I am in no place to teach you."

"Yeah, that's chill. I…" Jim reaches for reasons to spend time with work out Spock. "Am not very good. At combat- or defending if that's where you're at! You're good enough for me. It's uh-chill."

Spock eyes him warily. Then, he steps neatly down from the area with the punching bag and onto the crash mat. "Punch me."

Jim takes two steps back. "Y'know, while I kinda wanna punch you sometimes, I feel like it'll get me brutally murdered."

"I would like to see where you are in terms of combat ability."

"But I- don't- I mean I used to punch people all the time- like all the time, but Pike made me promise- ah fuck it," Jim trails off, pulls back his fist and socks him around the jaw. He never was any good at keeping promises. Spock barely flinches- but Jim's hand is throbbing, so he stretches out his fingers and aims for his solar plexus. He nails it, and Spock actually wheezes. Spock fires back an uppercut that Jim dodges neatly, swinging around under it and bringing his leg up in a high kick to his gut.

Combat training, while mandatory in Starfleet, was not exhaustive. They were, after all merely innocent travellers, bumbling through space. Innocent enough to get his dad killed, but hey. Minor outliers. Spock doesn't react, so Jim digs his fingers in cruelly the next time he manages to land a jab.

Spock moves like water when he fights, graceful and sure of his next move. He flows from move to move with such elegance it makes Jim feel like a bull. He roundhouse kicks Spock in the face, but forgets to keep his body lowered, and so the next punch Spock gets in makes him wheeze. He stumbles back, keeping his eyes on him, and when the next punch came he manages to block it.

His momentary triumph is cut short as Spock stretches out a leg and trips him. Jim yelps as the floor rushes up to meet him, but he twists hard to Spock's side and rolls- grabbing his leg on the way and bringing him crashing down on top of him.

"You fight crudely," Spock says blandly from between Jim's legs. Jim tries not to shudder. "And unfairly."

"Who was the one who tripped me? Since when was that fair fighting?"

"Excellent point. Where did you train?"

Uh, I learnt everything from bar fights," Jim says from where his head is resting on Spock's thigh. "Give me a beer bottle and I'm lethal."

"I would not count on it," Spock appears to be making no attempt to move. Didn't Vulcans like their personal space? Didn't they? "We will work on your punches. They lack power."

"I don't want to be brash," Jim thinks, moving his hands up from where they'd been resting on his crotch. "I wanna be fast. In and out."

"Then I will teach you strategic nerve points," Spock says, gently untangling himself from the mass of limbs. "After we fix your punches."

"Sir yes sir!" Jim mock salutes with his arm. The urge to do something scratching beneath his skin had gone away, now it basks in the look Spock gives him, like he's intrigued yet upset at being intrigued by a human who fell asleep in his bed. It- Spock is now his new...side project. The mystery of the extremely sexy Vulcan who feels and doesn't- Jim wants to get him to crack, get him to show what he's feeling- for him to push him up against the wall and makeout with him because he is absolutely infuriated by Jim's antics. A long journey in the making. Jim cracks his knuckles.

"Get up. Everything begins with your stance," Spock looms over him and raises an eyebrow and Jim realises he's been staring at the slope of his ass.

"You wanna volunteer to do sound and lights for Equinox?" Jim asks a week later, sprawled out on Spock's bed. His voice is muffled by his face being planted in the mattress. Spock would ask him to move, but he does not really mind.

"It is on a friday, correct? We would have to miss lessons," Spock replies from his desk, where he's translating the script. It would seem that Jim did have a talent for languages, the words flowed easily from his tongue. Spock was more of a science person- even for a Vulcan, he had a natural gift for it. "Is spectacular more leüvita or lemürta?"

"Lemürta," Jim replies. "It's got that feeling of, y'know, woooow."

"Point noted."

"I know we will have to skip lessons," Jim rolls over and stares at the bare ceiling. "But if we do lights and sound we actually get to see the show and our hard work being put to use! Also, you know no one's going to do it. We gotta be pro-active! Prof Davies tells us that all the time."

"Very well," Spock says. "Again. Dørmte or térmo?"

"Térmo. Gotta get the repetition across. And really?"

"I have a strong suspicion that should I not agree, you would sign us up behind my back."

"It's been a week and you already know me so well," Jim brushes away a fake tear, and then leaps up from the bed to grip spin Spock's chair around until their faces are millimeters apart. "Othérmo non teska, esk entiras guintebad!"

"Why should we go register now? You just said that no one else would be willing to do it."

"I don't like to lose," Jim grabs his shoulder and pushes him out the door and Spock idly wonders why he lets himself be bullied by a human who couldn't differentiate his right and his left easily. Once, he had specifically told Jim to go left, and he'd wandered right for five minutes while Spock stood at the intersection, wondering when he'd realise his mistake. He did not. Spock had to call him back. "Besides, we gotta ask for permission from the superintendent to be let out of class."

"Do you happen have chemistry on the day of Equinox?'

"Minor detail, Spock. Minor detail. I just wanna give my all to this Academy, and if it means sacrificing chemistry, though my heart may be heavy, I will."

The chairs outside the superintendent's office are hard and lumpy. Spock thinks they are designed this way to make no one want to come here. There is only one person sitting there, a grumpy looking white man furiously scribbling onto pads and pads of paper. Notes litter the chairs around him; several float away on the wind. He looked up when the two of them arrived, but other than that did nothing.

That is, until, Jim interrupts the peaceful silence to say, "y'know, writing all this complex shit down is good and all, but if you say 247 added to 306 is 502, my friend, you are going to hate yourself."

Spock mentally sighs. It is just like Jim to get involved.

"What?" The man says, and oh, so he's Scottish. "I didn't- jesus fucking christ."

"Sorry dude," Jim pats his shoulder as the man looks like he's about to burst into tears.

He gets himself quietly under control. "I- thanks. What are ya in for, anyway?"

"We want to know if we can get permission to leave classes to work sound and light for Equinox," Jim motions easily to Spock and himself as if they were one entity. "You?"

"I beamed away Admiral Archer's pet beagle," the man sinks further into his seat.

"No way!" Jim bolts upright. Even Spock winces slightly. "Dude, he loves that dog. I think they share everything."

"Trust me, I know. Except now he's scattered somewhere across the universe, probably not even whole, even more likely dead because 247 added to 306 is not 502."

"We live very different lives," Jim says uncertainly. "I'm Jim, Jim Kirk. And that over there's Spock."

"Scotty," the man mumbles. "Sure hope I don't get expelled."

"Pardon me," Spock uncharacteristically invites himself into the conversation. Jim looks surprised, then winks at him as if to say go get him. "You are Scottish, are you not?"

"I am, aye."

"So one could call you a Scot."

He looks confused. "Yes?"

"And your name is Scotty."

"Ay- oh my god," Scotty's eyes nearly bug out of his head. Jim sucks in a deep breath of air. "I should stop talking to you two. Ya keep exposing me. Oh my god. I'm a Scottish man named Montgomery Scott. Scot. Scotty. I want to die."

Jim looks between Scotty and Spock with a mixture of delight and elation. It seems that this has pleased him greatly. "What are the odds, though?"

"I am going to have words with my ma," Scotty resolves, except the door opens and calls for him and all his bravado disappears in a flash. "Jesus have mercy."

"I'm praying for you, brother," Jim pats him on the back and bows his head. Scotty nods and shakes his head and says, "ya know, if ya go in before me, maybe y'all will give him a good impression."

"I do not think our behaviour could help your sentence."

"Say what you want, this guy speaks the truth," Scotty motions at Spock, then mouths keep him. Jim mouths back I'm trying. The voice calls for him again and he sucks in a deep breath, squares his shoulders and stepped in.

Not two minutes later, a voice rings out, "you what?!"

omg so this asshole just told the class i had huge eyebags. wtf? u have to be friend lvl 55 to say that and for me not to overreact. not everyone can be u! my eyebags r from hell and i will kill u

Who was he?

peter lmao fukkin elite athelete all around grade a he can die

That is harsh. He is a good student.

no shit! u shld go suus mahna his ass for me and defend my honour

That would be unacceptable as you have no honour.

bitch do u wanna go

And you are zero point five minutes late.

pls chill im outside im just tryna see if i can break ur password again

I question your hobbies.

fuck u im almost there

Just as the message is sent, the door slides open, and Jim's triumphant face is the first thing through the door.

"That's like, the second time this week," Jim makes jazz hands and delights in Spock's impassive expression, which is his equivalent of rolling his eyes. "You're losing your touch."

"Maybe I have given up on keeping you out of my quarters."

"Sure, that's why you keep changing your password every time I break it," Jim pokes him in the cheek, to which he furrows his eyebrows. "Ah, c'mon. It's fun for me. I've had nothing but aptitude tests this entire week."

"It is not test week for you," Spock asks, curiosity lacing the tone of his voice. Well, it doesn't. But Jim knows. "Why are you having them?"

"Because, Mister Spock, you may have been here a year longer than me, but you and I are burning the cadet reds together," Jim grins at him, manic again, and flops down onto the chair he brought in two days ago and had now become a permanent fixture.

"You are doing a four year stream in three?"

"That is correct," Jim heaves a heavy side. "I regret everything, but I'll die if I see myself lose."

There is a pause. Then, "I am glad."

"What?" Jim jerks upright.

"That you and I are graduating at the same time," Spock clarifies. He is sitting unnaturally still.

"Well," he laughs, delight washing over Spock in waves from their knees brushing. "I am glad too."

"I would not want another cadet to suffer your tendency to trespass."

The glow of happiness disappears, replaced by a vague hint of disappointment, but then it comes back in full force. "I love you too, by the way," Jim smiles faintly and puts his feet up on the desk. "So! How're we going to translate feathers? It doesn't exist in their society."

"The fur of an animal that can usually fly."

"I am going to take that as a joke," he says hesitantly. "Didn't know you could make any, but okay."

"I am serious. It might be the only thing that would make sense to them. If we try saying they are flat appendages growing from a non-mammal's skin that form its plumage, consisting of a partly hollow horny shaft fringed with vanes of barbs, we will probably get more than one word wrong, and change the entire meaning," Spock raises his eyebrows gently and nudges his feet off the desk.

"We are not writing flying animal fur!"

When Jim later submits their work for inspection by Prof Davies, he hopes he does not notice the part about flying animal fur.

Spock feels a twinge of annoyance at the loud music that reverberates around his room. It is very clear it is from room forty-nine, and while Jim is usually a considerate neighbour, he is probably having some sort of party. Spock does not like to ruin his fun, but enough is enough. It is midterm week.

He knocks solemnly on the door, and there's a loud shout, "door's open, Bones! And don't judge me!"

He is not Bones, but he will enter anyway. He pushes open the door and sees- he does not actually know what he's seeing. It fails to compute.

Jim is standing on a swivel chair that is slowly rotating and reading aloud from a psychology textbook. In the background, a long, loud song is playing. Spock dimly remembers it from Jim's attempt to educate him in human culture, it is by a singer he refers to as Beyoncé. Everything is odd, but the strangest part is that Jim is in his underwear, and at every beat, he- seems to be dancing, gyrating slightly, and it keeps the chair slowly turning.

It does things to Spock- his stomach drops and his mouth dries up instantly. He takes a deep breath to steady him, realises the room has not been aired in days and there is a very distinct scent that is Jim hanging around- needless to say, it does not help.

"Jim!" He calls, and Jim jumps, nearly falling off the chair.

He furrows his eyebrows. "Spock?" He asks, and hops neatly off the chair. His black boxers leave nothing to the imagination, although Spock could definitely imagine a few scenarios. He turns off the music and then looks at him, curious.

"Your music is far too loud," Spock tells him. Jim flushes and looks away, and the red travels down his chest. He has a splash of freckles along his collarbones. They are very appealing. He drags his eyes away, but he has nowhere else to look, and the vanadyl sulfate are too commanding to look into. He settles on his eyebrow. It still manages to look attractive.

"Sorry," Jim shrugs. "Got a psych test tomorrow. Got a whole bunch of tests tomorrow. Remind me why I chose to do this in three years?"

"You wanted to prove Captain Pike wrong," Spock dutifully replies, and Jim sags.

"Starting to see that was a bad idea."

"Oh, I agree," Spock says to his defeated look. "Yet, if there is a person who can do that, it is you. Although I question your studying methods."

"Thanks," Jim pulls on a shirt. "Wanna test me on the chapter bout that abnormal shit? I know you've got the same test tomorrow."

"Very well," Spock settles himself on Jim's bed. It's messy and slept in, but it's comfortable. "To what extent do biological, cognitive and sociocultural factors influence abnormal behavior?"

A pregnant pause.

"If I give my professor a blowjob, do you think he'll let me off?"

The door to Spock's room slides open and an unusually upset Jim walks in. This time it is Spock who does not have his shirt on- they do not have a meeting planned, and he is still unused to Jim's perchance to just walk in whenever he fancies.

"Jim," he says, by way of greeting. "How may I help you?"

Jim stops short upon seeing Spock in his state of undress. It is a Saturday, and so he is not in uniform. He is getting ready to meet Uhura for dinner at a newly opened vegetarian restaurant to discuss internship opportunities.

"You do not have a shirt on," Jim replies. For all his intelligence, he sometimes states what should be obvious. Perhaps it was a human thing. "And you're wearing...jeans."

"That is obvious. I was not expecting a visit so soon."

"Where are you going?"

"For dinner with Nyota," Spock replies. He is unnerved by the quiet waves of sadness that just roll off Jim. It is uncommon, and obvious enough that he does not need telepathy to know it. "Are you alright, Jim?"

"Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah, I'm-" there is a small hick in his voice. Spock zeroes in on that like a hawk eyeing its prey. "It's fine. Enjoy your dinner."

"Contrary to what you might believe, I am not blind," he raises his eyebrows. "You are obviously in emotional distress. I have read that it brings humans comfort to tell someone about it."

Jim's mouth opens and closes. He seems to be internally debating something, but then he finally says, "I'm tired."

"You are not getting adequate sleep. Your 'eye bags' are zero point three times bigger than usual," he pulls on a sweater his mother knitted for him. It is grey and warm, and still carries the smell of the incense his mother burned at home. "I suggest you take a nap."

"Not in that way, Spock," and his voice does sound fatigued. "I'm just tired of the...constant...studying and cramming my brains out- I thought I could handle a three year thing but I have no time for anything anymore and I'm just so tired. Y'know? Do you, anyway? Do Vulcans ever tire of something and just want to give up?"

"They do, but they continue if the ends outweigh the means. However, you are not a Vulcan. Hence, you should not be looking to the Vulcan way of coping to manage your internal stress," Spock gestures to the bed, because Jim has been standing stock still in the corner of the room. Upon the invitation, he drops onto the bed and shyly twiddles his fingers. "I believe a man named Winston Churchill once said, "If you are going through Hell, keep going."."

"But I don't want to keep going," Jim squeezes his eyes shut and falls back on the bed. "Yesterday Gaila, y'know, the Orion girl I've been seeing?"

"I am aware, yes," whenever Spock had seen Gaila and Jim out together, sharing milkshakes and other sugary treats, his blood had boiled, despite the fact that he disliked sugary treats. Every inch of him had screamed at him to correct it, but he had shouldered that weight and ignored it. He chooses not to mention that now. "What about her?"

"She told me she loved me," if Spock was holding something, he would have broken it. "And I said, "that's so weird.". 'Cause I realised- well, I didn't really love her. And we didn't spend much time together, anyway. So now we're not together. But I was just so numb and like- what would she love? Why would she- we didn't really-"

"You are very easy to love, Jim," oh, Spock is approaching very dangerous territory here. "It is not surprising."

"Huh," Jim blinks. "But that definitely is, coming from you. I thought you'd be all, illogical, Jim!"

"Emotions, and therefore humans are illogical," Spock says seriously. "But it does not mean they are wrong. You have every right to be tired and to be incomprehensive of your value. However, that does not mean others are incomprehensive of yours. You wanted to finish this course in three years, and you will finish it in three years. I do believe, should you choose to do it in four, you will never forgive yourself."

"Ya know, you're actually being helpful here," Jim sits up and nudges his shoulder. "I thought you'd kick me out."

"I would not do that to you," Spock makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. "I believe Uhura, Sulu and the rest have spoken about wanting to be assigned the same ship as you, and their odds will greatly increase should you graduate at the same time as them."

Jim starts a bit, then a slow, soft smirk curls his way across his fatigued features and watery eyes. "You sure you don't mean you?" He asks, amused.

"I am sure. If you do not mind, I must go or I will be late."

"My ass. You're probably half an hour early," Jim snorts, but he gets up. Spock feels proud that he no longer looks as sad as he did when he came in.

"Why," Bones demands, seizing Jim's timetable. "Have you outlined all your meetings with Spock in little hearts?"

"I have literally waxed poetic about his collarbones to you," Jim snatches it back. "Don't act like my little hearts are anything worse."

"You are so whipped," he sighs. "I'm not even going to mention you trying to figure out ship names."

"I can't think of a good one! Spim. Spim?"

"Well does he have a last name? Then you can go all, Mr and Mr Kirk dash whatever."

"He said his last time would take humans sixty years to learn to pronounce," Jim replies sulkily. "I don't think I'm going to live for another ten years, at the rate I'm going. Promise to revive me if I die before my thirtieth birthday?"

"I ain't gonna promise shit. You're not going to die, Jim."

"I'm sure I'm going to die in a few hours."

"What's in a few hours?"

"The fear test thing," Jim shudders. "Even worse than the Kobayashi Maru, I heard."

"Yeah, 'cause everyone knows the Kobayashi's a shit attempt at a simulation you can't win, and the fear simulation is actually legit. They literally pluck your biggest fear out from your brain and force you to live it, Jim. It's fucked up. But don't think you have distracted me from your crush on the Vulcan next door."

Jim sticks his tongue out at him.

"What if your worst fear is losing him?" Bones asks, quietly, as if he's afraid of Jim's answer.

"You think I haven't thought of that?" He pushs a pillow into his face and sighs. "I've thought of that ever since he agreed to be my partner in the xenolinguistics club."

"That's a tad early."

"I happen to crush on anyone who even gives me the slightest bit of affection and validation. And he definitely Vulcan-smiled at me on that day."

"Did you crush on me, then?"

"No."

"Well why not?" Bones puts on a face of mock offence.

"'Cause you're ugly," Jim laughs and gets a book in his face for that. "Noo, I'm serious. Like, for a Vulcan, Spock's awfully nice to me. Like, really nice. Except maybe that's cause he's half human? Or he's just a relatively nice Vulcan? Do you think he like, like likes me?"

"I think you should be finding better methods of coping with emotional distress than repression and alcoholism," Bones crosses his arms and stares him down. His stare, while very different from Spock's, carries the same message. "What's stopping you from telling him?"

"Crushing rejection," Jim shrugs. "Public humiliation, getting murdered by Uhura, losing him as a friend, losing break-in privileges, losing lunch table rights-"

"And I'm the pessimistic one," Bones rolls his eyes. "If you're so sure you're going to die before your thirtieth birthday, then you might as well tell him now, before he has to conduct an illogical séance to find out."

"What, so I just tell someone who insists he does not love that I love him?"

"Yes."

"You're terrible at this."

"Shut up! Just do it! You've literally done worse things before. Need I remind you of your cheating on the Kobayashi-"

"Well, that one was bullshit. Besides, I got commended for original thinking, because I am literally the best and can do no wrong."

"What, it was bullshit 'cause you don't believe in no-win scenarios? Then how is this any different? Is this a no-win scenario?"

"No," Jim sulks. "I hate you."

"You love me. Now go to your fear thing," Bones raises his eyebrows. "Don't drink away your problems, and tell him!"

Jim makes a face at him, but he gets up to go.

After only a few minutes, however, the door slides back open and Jim is standing in the doorway. "Duuude. Our ship name. Spirk! It totally works."

"I'm not listening to you anymore."

"But spirk, Bones! You and I could be McKirk!"

Bones heaves a long-suffering sigh. Then he says, "McKirk doesn't sound too bad, actually."

Everything's shaking and burning and there may be no relative direction in space, but Jim is definitely sure they're going down and going down fast.

Scotty rings up from engineering, their engines are blown to "shit," his voice is crackly and he's coughing. "They're absolutely fucked, Captain."

Klingon warbirds surround them, deadly in their silence. They have stopped firing, but the damage to the USS Kelvin is extensive. Too extensive. He can feel his feet lift up as they spiral down, the artificial gravity barely running.

He can't do anything to save his crew. Uhura watches him silently from the console as he gives the order to abandon ship, knowing full well they'd be caught by the Klingons. But their starships aren't built for this kind of engagement, and they are far from Klingon space. There is no reason why there should be Klingon warbirds here, but there are, and so they run.

His order doesn't matter, because the Klingons now arm photon torpedoes and then they're dropping into the orbit of a planet, and now they're plummeting towards the ground.

He knows they won't live. Bones claps him on the back, gives his shoulder a squeeze. His eyes seem to say that it's been a good run.

Sulu says "we're going down swinging," and shoots everything they have at the warbirds, using the last dredges of auxiliary power. Because there was no way the ship would achieve liftoff. Chekov swears in Russian and grips tightly onto the Japanese's arm, clinging to it with the strength of a young man, because that's who he is. Too young to die.

The ships on their view screen catch fire, but there are many more.

And alone, in death as in life, Spock stands at his station. He has a cut on his forehead, and green blood trickles down his forehead. His hair is a mess. His shirt is torn. He sneers at Jim. He says, "you killed us," and the ship hits the ground and explodes.

Jim is alive. He fights his way out of the rubble. There are survivors. They flock to him like lost birds and he takes them gently under his wings. He knows all their names. "Janice," he says to a blonde, and she stops her sobbing. "Gary," he tells another, and he gives him slow, sad smile. "Help me."

They push through the rubble for survivors. They find only bodies. Bones is dragged out, his legs missing, his eyes vacant. Chekov and Sulu, still with their hands next to each other, but their skulls smashed in. Uhura, her body burned. Jim watches them all get pulled out and he wants to die, he wants to throw himself at the Klingons and burn them all to the ground with his bare hands. He wants to destroy them.

And then he finds Spock. He's not dead, not yet, but there's a long metal pole sticking out of his chest.

"Spock," Jim's voice breaks. His tears streak dirt down the sides of his face.

"You did not do enough to save us," Spock tells him, his voice a deathly rattle. "You did not try hard enough."

The words resonate in Jim's heart. He wants to say he could not win, and that's when everything clicks. Because dead or dying, alive or living- Spock will never- say these kinds of things. Spock is his friend. And Jim will always find a way.

"You're wrong," Jim breathes, and the ship turns to dust and the bodies turn to ashes until it's just Jim, holding a dying Spock in his hands. "I am afraid of no-win scenarios. But I don't believe in them."

"Illogical," Spock's eyes harden.

"I know," Jim sobs, but there's a small smile on his face. It speaks of happier times. "Doesn't mean it's wrong."

The scene shatters, pieces flaking away until Jim was standing in a small, white room, and the examiner was telling him that he had completed the simulation in ten point three minutes, a record time. The simulation had been recorded and sent to the head professor, who would review it and advise him accordingly.

Jim stands shakily to his feet and looks out and sees Bones and Uhura and Sulu and Chekov standing outside the room, waving at him. Bones crosses his arms and smiles at him. He must've told them. They could not see what the simulation was, but they could see his reaction to it. Everything he said, every move he made. It is why there is a general consensus that no one waits directly outside the simulation room for their friends but Bones- he must've known this would have been what he needed.

He opens the door and is swamped by them. Uhura hands him tissues and tells him, "we got you."

Chekov hands him a thermos full of chamomile tea. "More soothing than alcohol," he tells him solemnly. "And I'm Russian."

Sulu puts a flower in his hair and says, "thought it would match your eyes."

Jim feels so overwhelmed, he nearly bursts into tears again. He thinks about losing them and knows he'd sooner die than see that happen. He kisses Uhura on the cheek, initiates a complicated handshake with Sulu and ruffles Chekov's hair until it's an unsalvageable mess.

Bones squeezes his shoulder hard and murmurs, "did you lose him?"

"I lost you all," he whispers.

Bones' eyes widen, then he smiles and says, "good, I would be pissed as fuck if your biggest fear didn't have me dying in some gruesome way."

Jim snorts and gives him a gentle shove, and that's when he notices Spock, standing in the corner, watching them silently. He steels himself and walks up to him.

"Are you alright?" Spock takes in Jim's red eyes and sniffly nose. He reaches out his hands and covers Jim's shaking hands in his. He stiffens when it happens- touch telepaths, Jim dimly remembers. He wonders if Spock is feeling his overwhelming sense of loss. "You are not alone."

"I know," he tries for a smile.

Spock looks at him solemnly. Jim pulls him into a hug and buries his head in the crook of his neck. He snakes his arms around his waist and for once, Spock puts his arms around him and does not object.

The doors to Spock's room slide open. Jim has done this enough times to catch Spock in a variety of compromising positions- well, for a Vulcan, which usually meant sleeping, brushing his hair or missing his shirt. This desire for privacy is one of the reasons Spock has his own room. It is also why Jim blatantly disregards it, 'cause if Spock really felt uncomfortable about it, he would say so.

This, however, is different.

Spock is on a facecall with a beautiful, petite woman. She has laughter lines around her brown eyes, and her likewise brown hair falls gently across her shoulders. She bears enough resemblance in the slant of her eyes and curve of her mouth to Spock that Jim knows that this is no one but his mother.

"Sorry to disturb, ma'am," Jim waves a hand in apology. Spock looks like he wants to die when his mother insists he comes in and say hi.

"You must be Jim," she says, smiling warmly at him. She so clearly exudes love and warmth that Jim found it hard to believe she had spent decades around Vulcans with less emotion than Spock. "Amanda Grayson."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Jim forces Spock to shift over and share the chair in front of the monitor. "Spock's told you nice things about me I hope?"

"You have no redeemable qualities," Spock grumbles, half of his body squished into the armrest.

"He only does that when he likes you," Amanda says fondly.

Jim grins at her. "So I've learnt."

"Is there a purpose to this?"

"I'm meeting the folks, Spock! Important human tradition," Jim tweaks the point of his ear, which has him going all blushy, the tips of his ears flaring green. It is the most adorable thing he does. "So what was little Spock like?"

"A handful," Amanda sighs and watches them affectionately. "We had a family picture-"

"You promised you would not tell anyone-"

"And I told him to smile. Then he said, in a four year old way, that Vulcans do not smile," her eyes twinkle as she relates the story to an increasingly grumpy Spock and an increasingly interested Jim.

"Please tell me you pulled his cheeks to do so," Jim breathes.

"I did!" Both Amanda and Jim crack up. "I'd never seen him look so outraged before. It was hilarious. I still have the picture."

"Jim, do you not have a mathematics test in a few days?"

"Spock, you're not getting out of this one. Don't you wanna hear about your adventures as a wittle Vulcan?"

"No."

"When I was seven, I stole my stepfather's Corvette and launched it off a cliff," Jim says helpfully. "I don't think you've done much worse."

"If you consider wanting to test the limits of his throwing capability and smashing three of my Earth flowerpots worse, then we have much to go on," Amanda's laugh sounds like the trickle of water in a desert, and maybe it is.

"I will turn off the monitor," Spock threatens without heat. It is obvious he deeply respects and treasures his mother.

"Ya still think he likes me?" Jim asks, amused.

"Oh, he's been awfully patient. Anyone else would've died by now."

"True," he appears shy. "Then, ya think he like likes me?"

Amanda's eyes widen and then settle, amused. "I think there's a very good chance of that."

"How should I do it, then? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he'd take it to the grave."

"Are we still talking about me?" Spock, for the first time, sounds lost. "I do not follow."

Amanda thinks for a while, then says, "Just tell him."

"Too hard," Jim sighs and shakes his head. "Thanks ma'am. Live long and prosper."

"Live long and prosper, Jim. And good luck."

The sound and light booth was very small, but it had floor to ceiling windows which meant that Jim could see every second of Equinox happening. It is the best thing ever.

When Uhura struts down the catwalk, beautiful flowing blue dress made from a special material from the Anyox system that had most of the qualities of water despite being opaque and, well, not water, Jim thinks he's seen it all, and that no other woman would ever satisfy him the way Uhura did when she winked at the crowd and spun around, her dress flowing out behind her.

Jim makes sure to lower the lighting to a nice, light blue that highlights the bronze of her skin. Then he takes a video and uploads it with the caption: look at my mom go! nyhura u cant hear me but im screaming. spock is screaming in his vulcan way. we r all sceaming. its too loud in here.

"This is so worth skipping chemistry," Jim tells Spock, who has noticed Jim's impromptu lighting change and has said nothing about it. "Look at my mother."

"Jim," Spock asks abruptly. Jim turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you going to the Equinox slash Christmas Party tomorrow?"

"I have no one to go with, but yeah," he shrugged. "Lone wolfing it out there."

"Would you go with me?"

Jim looks like he's about to have a heart attack. Spock hates his human side, he wants to drown it-

"Sure," he barely gets out. "I'd love to."

"Good."

"Good."

A pause. Jim feels like his soul has been set alight. He's so dizzy off this feeling that he barely remembers, "shit! The lighting's supposed to be red now, right?"

"Oh, honey, you are not wearing Vulcan ceremonial robes to an Academy party that practically everyone will be attending," Uhura shakes her head and stuffs the robes back into the closet. "You are most certainly not wearing it on a date."

"It being a date was never specified," Spock frowns at his now empty bed. "Then what should I wear?"

"Something to surprise him. A tux, maybe," Uhura eyes him up and down. "I think black will suit you."

"I do not have one. And the party is at six tomorrow."

"Then we are going now and getting you one. A tailor I know owes me a favour."

"It is eight oh two at night."

"Now!"

Jim Kirk looks good in white and he knows it, which is why the only tux he has comprises a gorgeous white suit jacket, a white shirt with striking black buttons and black form-fitting slacks. He tops it off with a black bow tie and scuffed red sneakers because he's still a walking meme and something tells him he'd never quite grow out of that.

Originally, Spock had asked him to meet him at his dorm, but the location had now been abruptly shifted to outside the function room. The change makes him nervous. Hell, he had been so nervous about this whole date-not-date thing he rambled on and on about it to Bones until he tried to duct tape his mouth shut.

"You ready?" Bones asks. He is wearing a navy blue suit jacket over an unbuttoned white shirt and jeans. There is no tie in sight.

"If you're going for the messy, hipster doctor look, you've got it. On the downside, there is the slight chance you might come off as a hobo," Jim swifty ducks the arm that made to mess up his hair. All those Suus Mahna lessons with Spock were paying off. Bitch!"

"Shut up. I don't want to go, anyway."

"You're my wingman! Plus, if it goes horribly wrong, I need a designated driver."

"Fuck you."

"If it goes horribly wrong, maybe that too!"

The walk down to the function room is unbearable. Every step makes Jim feel like he's climbing a mountain. "Do you see anyone in Vulcan robes? It's probably the only fancy non-uniform thing that Spock has."

"My Vulcan robe scanner has turned up nothing," Bones helpfully informs him. In retaliation, Jim swipes a Santa hat from the decorations and stuffs it on his head. To his surprise, Bones makes no attempt to take it off. Instead, he makes the peace sign and Jim cracks up laughing.

There is the ghost of fingertips brushing the nape of his neck. He turns around, and all laughter dies in his throat.

Spock is standing there.

It's Spock but it isn't.

For one, this Spock is wearing an ash grey suit jacket and slacks, with a black shirt and tie. It outlines his shoulders and defines his legs and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his pants. His hair is still the same cut, though, and it is the only part of Spock that, well, is still Spock.

"If you don't close your mouth," Uhura whispers as she walks by. She is wearing a deep red long sleeved dress that ends around her mid thighs. Her hair is loose and adorned with golden jewelry. At the sides of her winged eyeliner, there are three golden dots. Jim feels his mouth drop open even more. "You'll catch a fly in it."

"Um," Jim says intelligently. "When-"

"At nine thirty three pm," Spock picks at his sleeves. "Uhura said you would like it."

"Yes!" Jim says hastily, because Spock looks as if he would run back up and change. "Yes. I like it. It's um. It's very nice. Is it tailored?" His voice squeaks on tailored. Jim wants to die.

"She knew a seamstress with eight hands," Spock steps forward and places his hand at the small of Jim's back and guides him into the function room. "It made for quick work."

"Like Arachne," there is too much happening at once and Jim is overwhelmed.

"She did mention her as her source of inspiration," Spock says as they enter a world full of glittering lights. Jim stuffs his face with the cocktail sausages they offer and Spock looks like he's questioning his life decisions.

It takes a few glasses of definitely spiked eggnog before Jim has the nerve to ask Spock to dance. Spock opens his mouth to refuse, then takes a deep breath and says, "fine."

It's awkward at first. This is whole new territory for the both of them. They keep putting their hands in the wrong places and everything's going to pieces- Jim is going to drown himself in spiked eggnog, both literally and figuratively, but then Spock huffs out his own version of a laugh and takes Jim's hands in his and firmly puts them around his neck. "This should not be so difficult," he whispers, his mouth so close to Jim's ear that he could feel his warm breath ghosting over it. He shivers involuntarily.

"Sorry," they spin in time to the music. It is like their Suus Mahna lessons, only different, they move with each other instead of against. Spock leads, much to Jim's discomfit. He's used to always being the one to decide where to step.

Spock takes them across the floor. Jim finds he doesn't quite mind not being in the lead for once, so long as it's Spock he's following. He also thanks his mother for making him learn to dance when he was thirteen. She had come visiting, bringing tales of white planets, streaked with gold, on his birthday.

"Dance with me, Jim," she said, her voice a distant melody.

"I don't know how," Jim whispered shyly.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

When the song ends, they break apart. Spock dances with Uhura for a while. Jim takes all the mini-cupcakes from the buffet stand and eats them. The people in charge have stopped playing music and are handing around the mic for people to sing christmas carols into, but it's still a week to actual Christmas and everyone's drunk from the Romulan ale spiked eggnog.

Bones slides up to his side, steals a mini-cupcake and says, "You know, I'm pretty sure no man has kissed Spock before."

Jim blinks at him in surprise. Bones uses that time to take another mini-cupcake. "Your point?"

"Boldy go where no man has gone before," he gestures fiercely at Spock, who is daintily sipping his eggnog. "Boldly go, Jim, I dare you. Open the conversation with something philosophical and it will turn into some mushy declaration of forbidden love."

Jim snorts. Bones takes his plate of mini-cupcakes and gives him a push in Spock's general direction.

He eyes Spock, who is now watching him solemnly. His eyes speak of faint amusement and fondness.

"Do you believe in universal constants?" Jim asks him when they're in earshot.

"Yes," Spock replies, handing him his glass of eggnog. Jim takes a small sip and makes a face. "It is a universal constant that eggnog will always taste terrible."

"It's not that bad," Jim takes another sip and chokes. "It's just spiked."

"You and I are also a universal constant," Spock says when he's distracted trying to scrape the taste of the eggnog off his tongue with his teeth. It would seem that that was his plan all along. Tell Jim the mushy stuff when he's distracted, sure, that's how Vulcans do things.

Jim goes unnaturally still. Then he puts the cup on a ledge and says, "If I kiss you now, would there be any strong objections?"

"I would object to the residual taste of eggnog," Spock takes Jim's right hand and curls it such that his first two fingers were pointing up. He does the same to his left and presses their hands together such that the pads of their fingers are touching. "This is how Vulcans kiss."

The gesture is oddly romantic and sweet. Look at these Vulcans. They're famed for valuing logic over emotion. They're cold-hearted and merciless. If you tell one goodbye, they would debate with you on the use of good. But they kiss with their fingers, how adorable is that?

"And how do Vulcans make out?" Jim asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I suspect you are going to show me that," Spock is definitely pushing him on.

Jim nods as if to say damn right and seizes the lapels of his tailored suit jacket and yanks him down to kiss him. Spock does taste of faintly of eggnog, but it has stopped being gross and started being alluring. Spock nudges him up against a wall and keeps kissing him, hands on his hips and Jim has definitely died or he's in some sort of strange coma and Spock is the best thing he's ever dreamed up. It's different from how he imagined but not- bad different. Just different.

Jim had wanted to get Spock to bend and break, to snap and shout, but it had been different. Spock had not snapped, he had thawed, like Jim was a warm fire and he was ice. He liked this way better.

He can dimly hear Bones shout, "Chekov you owe me some pirozhky!"

"Da, da!" Chekov laughs. "I will make it tomorrow."

Jim pulls away from Spock 'cause he really needs to breathe. Spock Vulcan-smiles down at him and says, "it would appear we have been bet on."

"Ya think?" Jim snorts and tweaks the point of his ear. It flushes green again. "That's adorable."

"Stop it."

"Make me," Jim tweaks it again.

"Later," Spock dismisses and Jim goes through the entire human arousal spectrum the second he hears that.

Someone, along the way, decided it is a good idea to hand a drunk off happiness Jim the microphone. "Go on, sing a carol!"

Jim stares at the mic.

Spock says, "do not-" but doesn't get to complete his sentence before Jim has launched into a stunning rendition of Let It Snow.

"Oh, the universe out there is frightful," Jim winks at Spock, who has turned stony now that the spotlight's on them. "But Starfleet's so delightful."

"I suddenly have no recollection of who you are," Spock insists.

Jim kisses his cheek. Bones adjusts his Santa hat- he's definitely drunk off the spiked eggnog as he grabs Jim's mic and loudly proclaims, "Boldly go, boldly go, boldly go!"

Jim cracks up laughing. Spock pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Admit it, you love us," Jim gestures to his squad.

Uhura smiles at the two of them. Chekov is dumping more ale into the eggnog, much to the cheering of the crowd. Sulu is trying to hold him back. Bones is fiddling with his Santa hat and saying, "as the leading authority on all things Christmas…"

"I do harbour fondness for them," Spock admits, and Jim grins at him. "Though it is of a different kind for you."

"Well, I'm glad, then. Whaddya say we ditch the drunken leftovers and go to your room?"

"That would be acceptable," Spock concedes.

"As the leading authority on alien STDs," Bones shouts from where he snagged the ale from Chekov and is straight up drinking it. "Use protection!"

"You're drunk!"

"Use protection or I'm chopping his dick off with Sulu's sword!"

"A fencing sabre is definitely not sharp enough to cut off someone's dick."

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Jim laughs again. Spock says, "I think we should leave now."

"I realise this will be the first time you've actually invited me back to your room without me breaking in," Jim says as they hurry out of the function room. "It's so surreal. You sure you-"

"Jim," Spock says gently. "I believe the term is 'shut up and kiss me'."

"Well sure. Vulcan kiss or human kiss, cause frankly-"

"Jim."

"No no, I'm taking my time here! It's been a year. A year! Since I broke into your-"

"Jim!"

"I'm dating such an impatient Vulcan," Jim shakes his head slowly, but he leans in and kisses him anyway.