[ She drifts. She's no stranger to proving grounds: Starfleet Academy the latest in a long line of many. People look up a lot here, that's the difference. The romanticism of space and the enthusiasm of the other cadets feels a little wasted on her — Sonja's too familiar with the insides of shuttles, looking out into a fearsome void. Still. Freedom like that has appeal. She looks up more than she thought she would. Even after what the Narada does to their ranks, nobody is crushed. They grieve, they nurture new dreams, life goes on. ]
[ The Enterprise is the first time she's faced any kind of challenge. A single bed, a sole duty. She likes Kirk, he's good at speeches. Beta shift is winding down when she wanders into the room, the murmur of conversation low. ]
[ Life goes on for most of the cadets and the officers, despite the devastation to their ranks. It is different for Spock: she is focused and intent on her duties, multiple positions holding her attention as little else can. But in the moments between shifts, in the nebulous time when she has little to keep her attention focused, Spock thinks about the Narada and Vulcan and everything they have lost. It might surprise most. Sometimes, it surprises her.
But slowly she heals, until she does not have to work so diligently to not think about the destruction or speculate on her current decision to remain aboard the Enterprise. t means, when she gets an offer of a game, Spock can turn her attention to it, and to her companion, with ease. ]
Certainly. [ She appreciates the offer, even if she does not expect a challenge from a human. ]
White or black? [ She's already arranging the board, moving pieces into their starting positions with an efficiency of movement. ]
[ She answers promptly. Likes to go first, it's a minuscule percentage when it comes to wins, but notable to someone who looks at details from time to time. Sonja rarely ever plays seriously: nobody ever puts high stakes on chess and besides, nobody really cheats at it, so there's no fun. ]
1[ Spock can counter most opening moves, has no problem allowing her opponent to move first. It has helped her previously, gives her a slight chance to observe gambits. So all she does is incline her head and shift the chessboard. ]
Against other Vulcans, it is eighty-five percent. Against humans, it varies, with an average of seventy percent. Captain Kirk often wins in our matches.
[ Not always a usual opening gambit, and not immediately offensive, so Spock merely moves one of her pawns. ]
[ They're knee-deep in this. Bones hopes to hell that it's actually snow — it feels cold enough — but the local language doesn't seem to translate exactly. They pointed the crew here when she mentioned new flora with medicinal properties, what Bones isn't following exactly is why the dear captain sought to saddle her with the hobgoblin, of all people. She has her own tricorder, there doesn't need to be extra living commentary. ]
[ That better not have been something squelching under her boot. Christ. ]
[ There will come a time when Spock will understand the reasoning behind Jim's actions, or at least she assumes she will, thanks to her counterpart and his easy acceptance of Jim - and all of humanity. For the moment, Spock rather suspects that there is actually no reasoning, simply perverse glee in seeing the two of them work together.
Spock knows there will never be an understanding of the good doctor. ]
I assure you, Doctor, we are not walking in circles. Despite the elements, I am capable of determining the direction. [ Not to mention the tricorder she carries is meant to help solve any human - or Vulcan - error. ] Finding this plant will take patience.
[ That is very far down on a list of things she is, at the moment. Right below 'patient'. Bones lifts her foot out gingerly and steps far more cautiously, though making an effort to keep up with Spock. Hobgoblin or not, it won't do to be separated out here. There's little trees, but they were warned the snow hid crevasses. ]
[ Spock does not roll her eyes, but only because she is used to dealing with McCoy and her grumbling and because such an action would be rather undignified. It's a close thing, though. ]
We will be out as long as necessary.
[ She has no desire to be out much longer, but they have a goal. She does slow her pace, however, and tests the ground as she steps. It will not do to get trapped in a crevasse. ]
Don't expect me to do anything about your hypothermia.
[ Vulcans probably freeze even more than humans. CMO log, stardate xxxx, why is everyone on this goddamn ship all like this. The plant's an important discovery, and people have died for less, but still. Bones glances instinctively for somewhere they can set up shelter. Something sticks fast around her boot. She looks down. ]
[ That would be a correct assumption. Desert planets do not make for individuals tolerant to the cold. Spock can already tell her toes are perhaps somewhat too cold to continue much longer, but she will never admit as much, especially not to McCoy.
The stubbornness of the two of them alone could fuel the Enterprise for months.
When McCoy speaks, she turns sharply, taking a few paces back to study the plant, running her tricorder over it. ]
It appears to be the plant we are looking for, though it did not show up on the scans a moment ago.
[Poe knows he's a good student. His intellect has been as carefully-cultivated as the Force-sensitive tree that grew in the yard of his parents' house, back on Yavin IV, and he knows he's top of his class here on Earth, at Starfleet. It helps that he's so motivated to improve himself; apart from his piloting and navigation classes (which he could pass with his eyes closed, these are all concepts he learned at his mother's knee when he was still a child), his focus is more scientific, which means he has many classes taught by Professor Spock.
She's the first Vulcan he's ever met, and she fascinates him.
She's beautiful, just breathtakingly stunning, and her intellect... She's so smart, it's almost intimidating, but Poe is too fascinated to be frightened of her, and all he wants to do is to let her talk at him and just absorb everything that comes out of her mouth. Even the fact that she speaks in something close to a monotone and barely ever smiles isn't enough to put him off her. He likes to think that, after all these months of sitting in the front row of her classes, he's able to tell what she's feeling based on the angle of her eyebrows or the tightness of her mouth. He thinks she likes him. He's like almost a hundred percent sure she likes him. At least, she tolerates him far better than her other students, who she seems to view with a mixture of disappointment and impatience, like their inability to grasp the concepts she's teaching them is something they do to deliberately vex her.
It helps that they've started meeting after class, to discuss the coursework and to practice languages together. When she learned that he wasn't from Earth, that he actually came from a small moon in a remote corner of the Galaxy, and that Standard was his second language, she had asked him to teach her his native tongue. He'd been completely baffled, at first — nobody wants to learn Yaval, or Yavinese as they say in Standard, since it's an objectively useless language that doesn't get you anywhere outside the Yavin system — but he'd been so pleased to have an opportunity to hang out with her that he'd happily obliged.
Poe's fascination has almost completely morphed into a full-blown crush, and it's embarrassing, but he also enjoys it so much that he doesn't care.
He knocks once on Spock's half-open office door, and then pushes it open further so he can let himself in, a ritual that he's held on to since their first meeting outside of classroom hours.]
Professor. [He carefully places the plate he's been carrying on her desk, the small, round, sugar-dusted balls beneath the plastic wrap rolling about slightly and bumping into each other.] I brought you something. My abuelito's recipe. They're totally vegan, so...don't worry.
[Chewing his lip, a nervous habit he's never been able to break himself of, he throws himself into the chair opposite her and grins, waiting for her to take one of the fruit and nut and spices cookie he's made and taste it.]
[ Poe was, until he started proving he was intelligent and not intimidated by her, just a student in her classes. Spock finds the majority of her students to be unremarkable. Adequate for enrollment into Starfleet and training to be perfectly average scientists on a starship or working in the labs that the Federation has around the galaxy. Few actually manage to impress her; of the ones that do, fewer even know what to do with that.
Vulcans like very few people. Loathe to admit liking anyone or anything, they still cannot deny the bonds of family and friends. They have just taken to showing their appreciation and esteem for individuals in methods that many do not seem to interpret as something approaching the human understanding of like.
Having him in class has made the days somewhat more tolerable. It is not that Spock dislikes teachings - that implies too much emotion to ever be accurate, but she is often vexed by her students. To have someone who finds such visible enjoyment in her lessons has made Spock strive to be an even better teacher in turn, and when they meet during her office hours and even after those hours are over, Spock finds his company... intriguing.
Learning has always come easily to Spock, not simply because she is a Vulcan. It made grasping Yavinese rather simple and though Spock has no need of the language, having a greater understanding of a different part of the Galaxy had been useful. Seeing someone so genuinely happy to not only be in her presence but to have an opportunity to share that which is important to them had been illogical but came to be even more important than the benefits.
Which is why she has ceased complaining when he simply walks into her office, after that brief knock. Instead, she simply continues what she is in the midst of doing - composing a report regarding one of her latest experiments - until he sets the plate down. Forced to turn her attention to Poe, she sets aside her PADD. ]
You did not need to perform such an action, Cadet. [ But still, it is rude to refuse a gift, and she reaches for one of the cookies, bringing it to her nose to inhale the scent, making note of the different notes. Satisfied there is no chocolate in it, she takes a bite, eyebrow rising at the combination of flavors. ] They are not as sweet as many traditional Terran cookies.
Yeah, I know, but we were talking about regional delicacies and stuff last time, so... [Part of practicing Yaval with Spock meant just talking about his home moon, and Poe has let himself ramble on and on about stories of his youth, about his grandfather teaching him to cook, the way he and his dad would whip up what basically amounted to a feast and invite their neighbors to come share their meal under the Force-sensitive tree that was slowly growing large enough to overshadow their house, the puddle jumper races he and L'ulo would hold every time he visited, how overjoyed he'd been when he finally beat the Duros alien who was more or less an uncle to him.
Yaval culture was, by necessity, a hodge-podge of other cultures mashed together, which means some things might seem familiar to some people, and others not. To Poe, who grew up in the midst of it, it all had seemed completely normal, of course. The loud, almost exuberant displays of affection, the speed at which someone was adopted into your family circle, the willingness of everyone to lend tools or labor or whatever else might be needed to help a neighbor who was in distress.
He knows he probably sounds like some sort of galactic tour guide hyping up some backwater moon to unsuspecting tourists, but really, Poe's memories of his home world are tinged with rose-colored glasses, and he wants everyone he knows to experience the beauty of his home.
Specifically Spock. He thinks his dad would get a kick out of the Vulcan, would be fascinated by her heritage and would love discussing the scientific properties of the flora native to the Yavin system. Even L'ulo would enjoy her company, he's sure, although his uncle wasn't the most scientifically-minded person. They could at least commiserate about being the only non-humans in the room, while Poe and his father undoubtedly did something embarrassingly human in the corner like hug.
He watches Spock pick up one of the cookies in her long, pale fingers, the powdered sugar dusted overtop coating her fingertips when she brings the cookie up to her lips to bites into it, more sugar sticking to her lips after she pulls the cookie away so she can chew. Poe kind of wants to lick that sugar off her.]
Everything is so sweet here. [He wrinkles his nose, thinking to the food he's managed to get the replicator to spit out and how much it wasn't even remotely right.] Even the stuff I can get out of the replicator is too sweet. I've wound up cooking for myself every day.
[ Learning a language involves more than just learning the writing system, the alphabet and various sounds and syllables that compose a language. While Spock is no linguist, her mother was one, and her father an ambassador. Learning about the culture behind the language, gaining an understanding of the diversity of the individuals who together speak the language, and even simply understanding the origins of their common phrases is necessary.
(Spock might play dumb Vulcan from time to time, feigning ignorance at the illogical, often idiotic, phrases they use, but she understands their meaning for the most part.)
There are few pleasant stories Spock has regarding her childhood. Even without the aspersions cast on her heritage, Vulcans have never been an easy, affectionate race of individuals. She can talk about surviving in the desert for ten days, the attack of the le-matya and the loss of her sehlat; days spent studying in relative seclusion, the necessity of working with her peers who did not appreciate her talents, and the work put in to achieving spectacular results on her exams. So hearing such wonderful stories from another, especially one who was in some ways born into a war, is a marvel.
It also helps in understanding some of the romanticism of Yaval. Though the languages are vastly different, some of the displays of emotions reminds Spock of Pre-Reformation poetry. ]
Terrans do possess a tolerance for sugar that is extraordinary. [ Spock, always fastidious, licks the powdered sugar off her lips, then takes another bite of the cookie, which defeats the purpose, as more lingers. ] The taste of these is not displeasing. Stronger than traditional Vulcan sweets, but satisfactory still.
[ She finishes off the cookie and is left with fingers covered in powdered sugar. Vulcans rarely eat with their fingers for this very reason. ]
[ Spock may play dumb when it comes to Terran turns of phrase, but Poe himself still struggles with regional idioms; there are quite a few sayings his classmates are fond of that he doesn't understand but unlike Spock, most people don't believe him when he protests his ignorance. He's had to ask her to explain some of them to him during their little meetings, first in Standard, and then later, when she grew more confident and fluent, in Yaval.
One of these days he's going to get her to teach him Vulcan. Flying comes much more naturally to him than languages, but he's no slouch there. His Standard is so fluent as to be nearly-undistinguishable from a native speaker's, he thinks he can handle a little Vulcan on the side.
In more ways than one. ]
Yeah, they're pretty good, right? I like to make them when I'm studying, 'cause I can eat them one-handed so I don't get too distracted.
[ One of the other ways Poe differs from the majority of his classmates is that real, hard-copy books and journals are common on his home world. The paper they use in the Yavin system differs from the ones still used occasionally on Earth, but the concept is the same. Poe prefers working out of a proper book to working off a padd, something he has complained about multiple times.
Picking up a cookie, he pops it into his mouth whole and then licks the sugar off his fingers as he chews. ] You know, you should give me some Vulcan recipes, I can try to make them for you.
[ Having to explain idioms to another individual, who genuinely does not grasp the meaning, has been enlightening for Spock. It has gvien her an insight into both her perception of humanity and Terran culture. Many of the things Terrans find so familiar are truly not, although once Spock explains the phrases, Poe often provides an expression of similar meaning in Yaval.
These lessons have been a highlight to teaching. Spock cannot say she enjoys teaching, though there is a certain amount of satisfaction gained from performing admirably at her duties. The individual tutoring and lessons, discussions with students, and watching them develop in private are what she does find worthwhile, and that keeps the restlessness at bay. ]
They do create something of a mess, however.
[ Spock has to avert her eyes when Poe licks his fingers. It is not intentional, his actions, as few individuals outside of Vulcans know the intimacy associated with hands, but it still makes her vaguely discomforted. Which is illogical and Spock squashes that down as quickly as she can.
She locates a napkin to dust off her fingers. ]
I would be amenable to that, though many ingredients that Vulcan foods require are not easily replicated or found here.
[ It's been a little tough, going from confirmed bachelorhood to suddenly having a girlfriend he has to impress, but Leonard has done his best in the few weeks they've been stationed at Yorktown so far, waiting for the Enterprise to finish her repairs. He and Spock have gone out to dinner multiple times — all vegetarian, with only a minimum of grumbling from Leonard on the matter, who does actually understand the health benefits of cutting meat out of your diet, he just doesn't want to — they've gone to see a handful of films, none of them in Standard and none of them with any kind of linear plot he could follow, and they've even gone to see the symphony, which he enjoyed far more than he thought he would.
Dating again in his late thirties after not having done it for two decades was like getting back on a bicycle after not having touched one since you were seven years old. Doable, but nerve-racking.
It's also been far more fun than he was expecting. Needling Spock had always been a fun past time for him, but she's usually been more Jim's friend than his own, and getting to know her outside of work, away from the overwhelming shadow that Jim's personality casts has been, to borrow a term, fascinating. She's got a wickedly sharp sense of humor, an unsurprisingly biting wit, and although she hides it far better than he does, an equally short fuse when it comes to incompetence. She's also been, perhaps not surprisingly, incredibly tolerant of his insistence that they do this whole thing properly, as if they weren't somehow destined to be together and were instead two people who decided to make a go of things entirely of their own volition. Restraining himself to touching her fingers in the dark of the theater, or sliding his arm around her as they walk the many canals in the base, or kissing her (more or less) chastely at her door before leaving has been torturous, but apparently Leonard has a masochistic streak he's never explored, because he'd enjoyed the whole performance far more than he had anticipated.
That doesn't mean he wants it to go on forever, though. ]
Spock. [ He pulls his fingers free of the elaborate updo she'd twisted her hair into tonight, so different from the usual stark bun she's always worn on duty, and lifts his head to look at her properly, cataloging the slight green tinge to her cheeks and the swollen tenderness of her lower lip, licking his own unconsciously at the sight. He suddenly can't stand the thought of saying goodbye and walking back to his quarters, leaving her to take out her hair pins and strip down to meditate without him. ] Can I come in for coffee?
[ It would be a lie to say that change is easy for Spock, or for any Vulcan, especially after the loss of their planet. But Spock had recently been in a relationship so the transition is not as odd, even though Leonard is completely different from Nyota.
Their outings are pleasant, even if Leonard does grumble at nearly everything. Spock has long since learned that his grumbling is just a general personality trait and when she digs beneath the surface, he is caring and charming and sharp. Spock knew he was intelligent - he had to be, to be a medical doctor and in Starfleet; it was not arrogance to say the crew of the Enterprise was the nest - but discovering that intelligence outside of dangerous missions and life-threatening situations has proven most enjoyable.
The slowness which he approaches their relationship is startling for her. For all the Vulcan reticence and reserve, once they have found their mate, there is little to stop them from progressing forward. Dating is not a concept among Vulcans, courtship non-existent. They move from a tentative bond to either a divorce or full bond. If they do bond, they are joined. She and Nyota had done some dating but never to such an extent as she and Leonard.
Spock finds it intriguing. It is perhaps a good thing that she has patience.
When Leonard pulls back, she has to take a moment to adjust, eyes blinking in the dim lights along the corridor. She had gotten lost in the kiss, enough to almost forget that they were in public still.
When the question registers, she frowns - a slight wrinkle appearing in her forehead. ] It is late, hardly an appropriate time to imbibe caffeine, Leonard.
[ It is a very good thing that she has patience, because Leonard is set in his ways, and his ways are overly formal and archaic, even by Earth standards. He's determined to do this right, though. He and Jocelyn dated for a long time before they got married, and that didn't work out for either of them. (Granted, Joce wasn't his soulmate, but that's not the point he's making.) Spock is important to him. He wants to make it obvious that he's not rushing into this without taking the time to consider it properly.
He doesn't want her father to come after him with accusations that he bulldozed over Spock's culture and values by pushing for too much, too fast. An angry pa is not something any suitor wants to deal with, even if they are old enough on any planet to make these sorts of decisions without parental influence.
Besides, going on all these dates has made him feel almost like a teenager again, especially when they spend half the movie paying more attention to each other than the film, fingers slowly stroking together, the occasional human kiss when he can't restrain himself any longer, generally scandalizing anyone who's close enough to them to see what they're doing. It's been a long time since he felt young, especially since he spends most of his time surrounded by the Federation's best and brightest, almost all of whom seem to be nearly a decade younger than him.
Watching her dark eyes blink open, her lashes an ink-black fan spreading softly across her cheeks before she lifts them to look at him, sends a warm curl of fondness and an even warmer frisson of want washing through him, something she can surely sense since he's still touching her skin. ] I know, darlin', [ he drawls, his lips curling in a smile. ] It's a euphemism. I was asking you to show me your etchings. To invite me inside. [ He lifts an eyebrow pointedly, inclining his head a little towards her, and underscores his point by stroking his thumb up the fluted edge of her ear in a slow, deliberate caress. ]
[ Spock's main source of relationship observation, other than her own and that of her parents, is Jim. Who is, admittedly, not the best as far as studies go, far too happy to forego a long courtship to skip to the good bits, as he would say. Not that Spock thinks negatively of such actions; she was simply unprepared for Leonard's actions at first.
The effort is appreciated, however. She knew only a little about his prior relationship before this, but she knew that it had been rough for him, and the fact that he is willing to put so much effort into getting to know her is admirable. Unnecessary, in her opinion, because the bond is already there and that tells her what she needs to know (that they are bound forever, their minds compatible in ways that go beyond dating), but she enjoys it. Illogically so, perhaps.
It does make her feel like a human teenager, or what she imagines a human teenager must feel like; sneaking kisses in the dark, scandalizing individuals around them - it is a benefit there are few Vulcans on the base. Spock refuses to think about what they might say, instead focusing on the fact that Leonard is her soulmate and they are bound; there is no shame in displaying affection to him. Even better, it drains some of the tension out of his shoulders, and she can feel him relax from time to time. Something in Spock, something wild and primitive, takes pride in knowing she has been a help to her mate.
When he mentions etchings, she looks at him again, genuine puzzlement in her eyes this time. ] That is another euphemism. To what do etchings refer? [ Her voice breaks at the end of her question, breath caught in her throat at his touch. Spock steps back with a shiver, opening the door to her quarters.
[ Leonard doesn't really want to know what Jim might think of his slow, methodical courting of Spock — the very definition of a sure thing since she's his soulmate and all — and has somehow, miraculously, avoided ever finding out. Either Jim has been practicing his new-found sense of circumspection, or he's been too busy to pay much attention to what his two best friends are doing, an option that's too ridiculous to even consider for very long. Maybe he's just been saving all his pestering for Spock and she's been too kind to tell him about it.
He's grown very good at telling when she's pulling his leg about not understanding a cultural reference, so the honest confusion on her face is met with a somewhat surprised, but indulgent smile as he follows her into her quarters and deliberately shuts the door behind them. ]
In the second half of the 19th century, Japanese woodblock prints of the Ukiyo-e style were hugely popular in Europe and especially in France, [ he explains, listening absently to the lock engage behind them as he resolutely crowds her up against the wall again so he can duck his head to kiss her in between his words, his hands dropping to settle on her body, first just gripping her hips and then sliding beneath her tunic to seek out her hothothot skin. ] Owning a collection of Japanese prints would be a sign of good taste and erudition. It was generally viewed to be an appeal to the person's good character. Asking someone to admire something so fashionable and exotic was considered a safe invitation in a time when most courtship was still done under the watchful eye of a chaperone. However, it's also a veiled reference to a sub-genre of Japanese prints known as Shunga, which is rather graphic pornography. By the mid-20th century, do you want to come up and see my etchings was widely understood to be a proposition in the same way that an offer of coffee or a cocktail might be.
[ He presses a grin into the skin of her neck just below her ear, wondering if Vulcans ever had something similar to shunga, and deciding that he wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if they did. For all that Spock likes to spout off about logic and reason and suppressing one's emotions, he knows her well enough now to know that she, and presumably many of her people, are just as hot-headed as he can be, and her emotions can flare up just as spectacularly.
The way she'd almost growled at a waitress who'd spent too much time flirting with him at dinner one night had proven that point admirably. ]
If you have any graphic pornography you'd like to share, I would be very interested to see it, [ he teases in a low, suggestive murmur, lifting his head just enough that he can trace the path his thumb took with the tip of his tongue. ]
[ He's not quite sure how long he's been living here. He knows how long he remembers living here — three weeks, four days, some-odd hours — but that doesn't mean anything. He doesn't remember anything from before this house, and there's no evidence he was just dumped here so who knows.
It's a nice house, a farmhouse, set in the middle of rolling green fields that no longer house any real crops but are still beautiful to look at. The kitchen is large and airy, probably because what used to be the dining room has been absorbed into it, leaving space enough for a farmhouse table with a bench on one side and chairs on the other, with a door that leads out to the patio, and the living room at the front of the house is cozy but not cramped. Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a bathroom, with a clawfoot tub big enough for two if they squeezed in, and a free-standing shower in the corner. There's a barn about a thousand or so yards away, visible but not so close that it encroaches on the living situation, but there are no animals in the barn, either. Sometimes he feels like there should be horses, here. He thinks he knows how to ride a horse, but he has no evidence to support that theory. It's just like all the other theories he has but can't back up worth a damn.
He doesn't even know his name.
The woman is another constant he can't qualify. She doesn't know her name either, though he's taken to calling her Sarah, or Susan, or Shannon, neither of which feel correct but do in a pinch. She calls him Liam, and Lucas, and Lawrence. They don't remember each other, but he's comfortable around her, comfortable in a way that makes him feel like maybe they should know each other. Sometimes he wonders what they were to each other before this house, if anything. He wears a wedding ring but she doesn't. If they knew each other before, they certainly weren't married to each other. Was she his mistress? He would like to think that he isn't the type of man to cheat on his wife, but he doesn't know. The thoughts he has about her, snippets that could be memories or could be fantasies, shed no further light on the matter. He dreams of waking up curled around her, her body a warm line pressed to his chest; of the elegant curve of her neck bent as she looks down at something she's doing with her hands, her long black hair pulled back in a manner that only makes him want to lean forward and press his mouth to her skin; of her slender hands touching his wrist, touching his fingers, spreading wide across his chest. They're not quite innocent but they aren't explicit either, and the lack of answers is killing him.
At the beginning, he was more concerned with figuring out where they hell they were, and how they got there. He's a little alarmed to discover that those concerns are becoming less pressing with time, as he gets more and more distracted by the puzzle of his companion, of their quiet little life here. It's getting harder to keep himself from reaching out to her, sliding his fingers between hers or slipping his arm around her waist. It feels natural, those impulses, and it seems that he's always wanted to be a family man. He is married, after all. Maybe he has a house like this, somewhere, with a wife who's waiting for him and doesn't even know if he's alive. He should feel guiltier about that, that he's abandoned someone he promised to stay with forever, but he doesn't remember her. He does have Sarah, though. ]
Susan? [ he calls, stomping his feet a little as he enters through the back door, knocking the dirt off his boots before setting them aside and continuing through the house in just his socks. ] I brought groceries. Any progress on getting the phone to work?
[ Three weeks, four days, thirteen hours. That is what she remembers, how long they have been in the farmhouse; the time before that stretches out like a fog, which frustrates her every time she tries to remember something before the farm house. She knows she should remember it, knows that her mind is wired in such a way that nearly everything is recorded in explicit detail.
And yet, there is nothing.
She does not know if that is typical or atypical, or even how she knows her mind is capable of more. Just like she does not understand how she can look at a math book, left carelessly lying around, and work out the formulae in the book with little problem. It had taken her two days to work through the book, proudly proclaiming itself to be a calculus book. It only took two days because she and Liam went exploring for half of the first day.
The information she has gathered over those three weeks (three weeks, four days, and thirteen hours) has provided insight to who she might be, but she has nothing to back it up. Her emotions roll under her skin; kneeling in solitude, allowing her mind to clear, helps control the impulses that linger in her mind. She wants Lucas to touch her, wants to touch him, even though instinct says contact is dangerous. Sometimes she thinks about her hand in his, their fingers tangled together and it makes her body thrum in the most unusual, unexpected way. As far as she can tell, they were not married, and she feels like she would not be the type to so casually form attachments, though she has no reason to believe such an insight. Is it the imaginings of this place?
When she hears the door open, and then his voice carry up the stairs, she straightens, snapping the back of the phone into place. ] I will know in a minute.
[ She powers it on, watching it go through the startup sequence - old technology, so slow, though how she knows it is old is another mystery. While waiting, she walks into the kitchen, joining Logan. ] What did you procure?
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[ The Enterprise is the first time she's faced any kind of challenge. A single bed, a sole duty. She likes Kirk, he's good at speeches. Beta shift is winding down when she wanders into the room, the murmur of conversation low. ]
Morning. Care for a game?
[ She gestures to the 3-D chess board. ]
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But slowly she heals, until she does not have to work so diligently to not think about the destruction or speculate on her current decision to remain aboard the Enterprise. t means, when she gets an offer of a game, Spock can turn her attention to it, and to her companion, with ease. ]
Certainly. [ She appreciates the offer, even if she does not expect a challenge from a human. ]
White or black? [ She's already arranging the board, moving pieces into their starting positions with an efficiency of movement. ]
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[ She answers promptly. Likes to go first, it's a minuscule percentage when it comes to wins, but notable to someone who looks at details from time to time. Sonja rarely ever plays seriously: nobody ever puts high stakes on chess and besides, nobody really cheats at it, so there's no fun. ]
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1[ Spock can counter most opening moves, has no problem allowing her opponent to move first. It has helped her previously, gives her a slight chance to observe gambits. So all she does is incline her head and shift the chessboard. ]
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What's your usual win rate?
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[ Not always a usual opening gambit, and not immediately offensive, so Spock merely moves one of her pawns. ]
What is yours?
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[ They're knee-deep in this. Bones hopes to hell that it's actually snow — it feels cold enough — but the local language doesn't seem to translate exactly. They pointed the crew here when she mentioned new flora with medicinal properties, what Bones isn't following exactly is why the dear captain sought to saddle her with the hobgoblin, of all people. She has her own tricorder, there doesn't need to be extra living commentary. ]
[ That better not have been something squelching under her boot. Christ. ]
We aren't walking in circles?
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Spock knows there will never be an understanding of the good doctor. ]
I assure you, Doctor, we are not walking in circles. Despite the elements, I am capable of determining the direction. [ Not to mention the tricorder she carries is meant to help solve any human - or Vulcan - error. ] Finding this plant will take patience.
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[ That is very far down on a list of things she is, at the moment. Right below 'patient'. Bones lifts her foot out gingerly and steps far more cautiously, though making an effort to keep up with Spock. Hobgoblin or not, it won't do to be separated out here. There's little trees, but they were warned the snow hid crevasses. ]
We shouldn't be out that much longer.
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We will be out as long as necessary.
[ She has no desire to be out much longer, but they have a goal. She does slow her pace, however, and tests the ground as she steps. It will not do to get trapped in a crevasse. ]
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Don't expect me to do anything about your hypothermia.
[ Vulcans probably freeze even more than humans. CMO log, stardate xxxx, why is everyone on this goddamn ship all like this. The plant's an important discovery, and people have died for less, but still. Bones glances instinctively for somewhere they can set up shelter. Something sticks fast around her boot. She looks down. ]
Wait, I found something.
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The stubbornness of the two of them alone could fuel the Enterprise for months.
When McCoy speaks, she turns sharply, taking a few paces back to study the plant, running her tricorder over it. ]
It appears to be the plant we are looking for, though it did not show up on the scans a moment ago.
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She's the first Vulcan he's ever met, and she fascinates him.
She's beautiful, just breathtakingly stunning, and her intellect... She's so smart, it's almost intimidating, but Poe is too fascinated to be frightened of her, and all he wants to do is to let her talk at him and just absorb everything that comes out of her mouth. Even the fact that she speaks in something close to a monotone and barely ever smiles isn't enough to put him off her. He likes to think that, after all these months of sitting in the front row of her classes, he's able to tell what she's feeling based on the angle of her eyebrows or the tightness of her mouth. He thinks she likes him. He's like almost a hundred percent sure she likes him. At least, she tolerates him far better than her other students, who she seems to view with a mixture of disappointment and impatience, like their inability to grasp the concepts she's teaching them is something they do to deliberately vex her.
It helps that they've started meeting after class, to discuss the coursework and to practice languages together. When she learned that he wasn't from Earth, that he actually came from a small moon in a remote corner of the Galaxy, and that Standard was his second language, she had asked him to teach her his native tongue. He'd been completely baffled, at first — nobody wants to learn Yaval, or Yavinese as they say in Standard, since it's an objectively useless language that doesn't get you anywhere outside the Yavin system — but he'd been so pleased to have an opportunity to hang out with her that he'd happily obliged.
Poe's fascination has almost completely morphed into a full-blown crush, and it's embarrassing, but he also enjoys it so much that he doesn't care.
He knocks once on Spock's half-open office door, and then pushes it open further so he can let himself in, a ritual that he's held on to since their first meeting outside of classroom hours.]
Professor. [He carefully places the plate he's been carrying on her desk, the small, round, sugar-dusted balls beneath the plastic wrap rolling about slightly and bumping into each other.] I brought you something. My abuelito's recipe. They're totally vegan, so...don't worry.
[Chewing his lip, a nervous habit he's never been able to break himself of, he throws himself into the chair opposite her and grins, waiting for her to take one of the fruit and nut and spices cookie he's made and taste it.]
sorry this took me so long friend
Vulcans like very few people. Loathe to admit liking anyone or anything, they still cannot deny the bonds of family and friends. They have just taken to showing their appreciation and esteem for individuals in methods that many do not seem to interpret as something approaching the human understanding of like.
Having him in class has made the days somewhat more tolerable. It is not that Spock dislikes teachings - that implies too much emotion to ever be accurate, but she is often vexed by her students. To have someone who finds such visible enjoyment in her lessons has made Spock strive to be an even better teacher in turn, and when they meet during her office hours and even after those hours are over, Spock finds his company... intriguing.
Learning has always come easily to Spock, not simply because she is a Vulcan. It made grasping Yavinese rather simple and though Spock has no need of the language, having a greater understanding of a different part of the Galaxy had been useful. Seeing someone so genuinely happy to not only be in her presence but to have an opportunity to share that which is important to them had been illogical but came to be even more important than the benefits.
Which is why she has ceased complaining when he simply walks into her office, after that brief knock. Instead, she simply continues what she is in the midst of doing - composing a report regarding one of her latest experiments - until he sets the plate down. Forced to turn her attention to Poe, she sets aside her PADD. ]
You did not need to perform such an action, Cadet. [ But still, it is rude to refuse a gift, and she reaches for one of the cookies, bringing it to her nose to inhale the scent, making note of the different notes. Satisfied there is no chocolate in it, she takes a bite, eyebrow rising at the combination of flavors. ] They are not as sweet as many traditional Terran cookies.
no need to apologize!!
Yaval culture was, by necessity, a hodge-podge of other cultures mashed together, which means some things might seem familiar to some people, and others not. To Poe, who grew up in the midst of it, it all had seemed completely normal, of course. The loud, almost exuberant displays of affection, the speed at which someone was adopted into your family circle, the willingness of everyone to lend tools or labor or whatever else might be needed to help a neighbor who was in distress.
He knows he probably sounds like some sort of galactic tour guide hyping up some backwater moon to unsuspecting tourists, but really, Poe's memories of his home world are tinged with rose-colored glasses, and he wants everyone he knows to experience the beauty of his home.
Specifically Spock. He thinks his dad would get a kick out of the Vulcan, would be fascinated by her heritage and would love discussing the scientific properties of the flora native to the Yavin system. Even L'ulo would enjoy her company, he's sure, although his uncle wasn't the most scientifically-minded person. They could at least commiserate about being the only non-humans in the room, while Poe and his father undoubtedly did something embarrassingly human in the corner like hug.
He watches Spock pick up one of the cookies in her long, pale fingers, the powdered sugar dusted overtop coating her fingertips when she brings the cookie up to her lips to bites into it, more sugar sticking to her lips after she pulls the cookie away so she can chew. Poe kind of wants to lick that sugar off her.]
Everything is so sweet here. [He wrinkles his nose, thinking to the food he's managed to get the replicator to spit out and how much it wasn't even remotely right.] Even the stuff I can get out of the replicator is too sweet. I've wound up cooking for myself every day.
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(Spock might play dumb Vulcan from time to time, feigning ignorance at the illogical, often idiotic, phrases they use, but she understands their meaning for the most part.)
There are few pleasant stories Spock has regarding her childhood. Even without the aspersions cast on her heritage, Vulcans have never been an easy, affectionate race of individuals. She can talk about surviving in the desert for ten days, the attack of the le-matya and the loss of her sehlat; days spent studying in relative seclusion, the necessity of working with her peers who did not appreciate her talents, and the work put in to achieving spectacular results on her exams. So hearing such wonderful stories from another, especially one who was in some ways born into a war, is a marvel.
It also helps in understanding some of the romanticism of Yaval. Though the languages are vastly different, some of the displays of emotions reminds Spock of Pre-Reformation poetry. ]
Terrans do possess a tolerance for sugar that is extraordinary. [ Spock, always fastidious, licks the powdered sugar off her lips, then takes another bite of the cookie, which defeats the purpose, as more lingers. ] The taste of these is not displeasing. Stronger than traditional Vulcan sweets, but satisfactory still.
[ She finishes off the cookie and is left with fingers covered in powdered sugar. Vulcans rarely eat with their fingers for this very reason. ]
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One of these days he's going to get her to teach him Vulcan. Flying comes much more naturally to him than languages, but he's no slouch there. His Standard is so fluent as to be nearly-undistinguishable from a native speaker's, he thinks he can handle a little Vulcan on the side.
In more ways than one. ]
Yeah, they're pretty good, right? I like to make them when I'm studying, 'cause I can eat them one-handed so I don't get too distracted.
[ One of the other ways Poe differs from the majority of his classmates is that real, hard-copy books and journals are common on his home world. The paper they use in the Yavin system differs from the ones still used occasionally on Earth, but the concept is the same. Poe prefers working out of a proper book to working off a padd, something he has complained about multiple times.
Picking up a cookie, he pops it into his mouth whole and then licks the sugar off his fingers as he chews. ] You know, you should give me some Vulcan recipes, I can try to make them for you.
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These lessons have been a highlight to teaching. Spock cannot say she enjoys teaching, though there is a certain amount of satisfaction gained from performing admirably at her duties. The individual tutoring and lessons, discussions with students, and watching them develop in private are what she does find worthwhile, and that keeps the restlessness at bay. ]
They do create something of a mess, however.
[ Spock has to avert her eyes when Poe licks his fingers. It is not intentional, his actions, as few individuals outside of Vulcans know the intimacy associated with hands, but it still makes her vaguely discomforted. Which is illogical and Spock squashes that down as quickly as she can.
She locates a napkin to dust off her fingers. ]
I would be amenable to that, though many ingredients that Vulcan foods require are not easily replicated or found here.
soulmate verse yeeeeaaahhhhh
Dating again in his late thirties after not having done it for two decades was like getting back on a bicycle after not having touched one since you were seven years old. Doable, but nerve-racking.
It's also been far more fun than he was expecting. Needling Spock had always been a fun past time for him, but she's usually been more Jim's friend than his own, and getting to know her outside of work, away from the overwhelming shadow that Jim's personality casts has been, to borrow a term, fascinating. She's got a wickedly sharp sense of humor, an unsurprisingly biting wit, and although she hides it far better than he does, an equally short fuse when it comes to incompetence. She's also been, perhaps not surprisingly, incredibly tolerant of his insistence that they do this whole thing properly, as if they weren't somehow destined to be together and were instead two people who decided to make a go of things entirely of their own volition. Restraining himself to touching her fingers in the dark of the theater, or sliding his arm around her as they walk the many canals in the base, or kissing her (more or less) chastely at her door before leaving has been torturous, but apparently Leonard has a masochistic streak he's never explored, because he'd enjoyed the whole performance far more than he had anticipated.
That doesn't mean he wants it to go on forever, though. ]
Spock. [ He pulls his fingers free of the elaborate updo she'd twisted her hair into tonight, so different from the usual stark bun she's always worn on duty, and lifts his head to look at her properly, cataloging the slight green tinge to her cheeks and the swollen tenderness of her lower lip, licking his own unconsciously at the sight. He suddenly can't stand the thought of saying goodbye and walking back to his quarters, leaving her to take out her hair pins and strip down to meditate without him. ] Can I come in for coffee?
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Their outings are pleasant, even if Leonard does grumble at nearly everything. Spock has long since learned that his grumbling is just a general personality trait and when she digs beneath the surface, he is caring and charming and sharp. Spock knew he was intelligent - he had to be, to be a medical doctor and in Starfleet; it was not arrogance to say the crew of the Enterprise was the nest - but discovering that intelligence outside of dangerous missions and life-threatening situations has proven most enjoyable.
The slowness which he approaches their relationship is startling for her. For all the Vulcan reticence and reserve, once they have found their mate, there is little to stop them from progressing forward. Dating is not a concept among Vulcans, courtship non-existent. They move from a tentative bond to either a divorce or full bond. If they do bond, they are joined. She and Nyota had done some dating but never to such an extent as she and Leonard.
Spock finds it intriguing. It is perhaps a good thing that she has patience.
When Leonard pulls back, she has to take a moment to adjust, eyes blinking in the dim lights along the corridor. She had gotten lost in the kiss, enough to almost forget that they were in public still.
When the question registers, she frowns - a slight wrinkle appearing in her forehead. ] It is late, hardly an appropriate time to imbibe caffeine, Leonard.
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He doesn't want her father to come after him with accusations that he bulldozed over Spock's culture and values by pushing for too much, too fast. An angry pa is not something any suitor wants to deal with, even if they are old enough on any planet to make these sorts of decisions without parental influence.
Besides, going on all these dates has made him feel almost like a teenager again, especially when they spend half the movie paying more attention to each other than the film, fingers slowly stroking together, the occasional human kiss when he can't restrain himself any longer, generally scandalizing anyone who's close enough to them to see what they're doing. It's been a long time since he felt young, especially since he spends most of his time surrounded by the Federation's best and brightest, almost all of whom seem to be nearly a decade younger than him.
Watching her dark eyes blink open, her lashes an ink-black fan spreading softly across her cheeks before she lifts them to look at him, sends a warm curl of fondness and an even warmer frisson of want washing through him, something she can surely sense since he's still touching her skin. ] I know, darlin', [ he drawls, his lips curling in a smile. ] It's a euphemism. I was asking you to show me your etchings. To invite me inside. [ He lifts an eyebrow pointedly, inclining his head a little towards her, and underscores his point by stroking his thumb up the fluted edge of her ear in a slow, deliberate caress. ]
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The effort is appreciated, however. She knew only a little about his prior relationship before this, but she knew that it had been rough for him, and the fact that he is willing to put so much effort into getting to know her is admirable. Unnecessary, in her opinion, because the bond is already there and that tells her what she needs to know (that they are bound forever, their minds compatible in ways that go beyond dating), but she enjoys it. Illogically so, perhaps.
It does make her feel like a human teenager, or what she imagines a human teenager must feel like; sneaking kisses in the dark, scandalizing individuals around them - it is a benefit there are few Vulcans on the base. Spock refuses to think about what they might say, instead focusing on the fact that Leonard is her soulmate and they are bound; there is no shame in displaying affection to him. Even better, it drains some of the tension out of his shoulders, and she can feel him relax from time to time. Something in Spock, something wild and primitive, takes pride in knowing she has been a help to her mate.
When he mentions etchings, she looks at him again, genuine puzzlement in her eyes this time. ] That is another euphemism. To what do etchings refer? [ Her voice breaks at the end of her question, breath caught in her throat at his touch. Spock steps back with a shiver, opening the door to her quarters.
When she steps through, she holds it open. ]
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He's grown very good at telling when she's pulling his leg about not understanding a cultural reference, so the honest confusion on her face is met with a somewhat surprised, but indulgent smile as he follows her into her quarters and deliberately shuts the door behind them. ]
In the second half of the 19th century, Japanese woodblock prints of the Ukiyo-e style were hugely popular in Europe and especially in France, [ he explains, listening absently to the lock engage behind them as he resolutely crowds her up against the wall again so he can duck his head to kiss her in between his words, his hands dropping to settle on her body, first just gripping her hips and then sliding beneath her tunic to seek out her hothothot skin. ] Owning a collection of Japanese prints would be a sign of good taste and erudition. It was generally viewed to be an appeal to the person's good character. Asking someone to admire something so fashionable and exotic was considered a safe invitation in a time when most courtship was still done under the watchful eye of a chaperone. However, it's also a veiled reference to a sub-genre of Japanese prints known as Shunga, which is rather graphic pornography. By the mid-20th century, do you want to come up and see my etchings was widely understood to be a proposition in the same way that an offer of coffee or a cocktail might be.
[ He presses a grin into the skin of her neck just below her ear, wondering if Vulcans ever had something similar to shunga, and deciding that he wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if they did. For all that Spock likes to spout off about logic and reason and suppressing one's emotions, he knows her well enough now to know that she, and presumably many of her people, are just as hot-headed as he can be, and her emotions can flare up just as spectacularly.
The way she'd almost growled at a waitress who'd spent too much time flirting with him at dinner one night had proven that point admirably. ]
If you have any graphic pornography you'd like to share, I would be very interested to see it, [ he teases in a low, suggestive murmur, lifting his head just enough that he can trace the path his thumb took with the tip of his tongue. ]
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AMNESIA AU BC I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL
It's a nice house, a farmhouse, set in the middle of rolling green fields that no longer house any real crops but are still beautiful to look at. The kitchen is large and airy, probably because what used to be the dining room has been absorbed into it, leaving space enough for a farmhouse table with a bench on one side and chairs on the other, with a door that leads out to the patio, and the living room at the front of the house is cozy but not cramped. Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a bathroom, with a clawfoot tub big enough for two if they squeezed in, and a free-standing shower in the corner. There's a barn about a thousand or so yards away, visible but not so close that it encroaches on the living situation, but there are no animals in the barn, either. Sometimes he feels like there should be horses, here. He thinks he knows how to ride a horse, but he has no evidence to support that theory. It's just like all the other theories he has but can't back up worth a damn.
He doesn't even know his name.
The woman is another constant he can't qualify. She doesn't know her name either, though he's taken to calling her Sarah, or Susan, or Shannon, neither of which feel correct but do in a pinch. She calls him Liam, and Lucas, and Lawrence. They don't remember each other, but he's comfortable around her, comfortable in a way that makes him feel like maybe they should know each other. Sometimes he wonders what they were to each other before this house, if anything. He wears a wedding ring but she doesn't. If they knew each other before, they certainly weren't married to each other. Was she his mistress? He would like to think that he isn't the type of man to cheat on his wife, but he doesn't know. The thoughts he has about her, snippets that could be memories or could be fantasies, shed no further light on the matter. He dreams of waking up curled around her, her body a warm line pressed to his chest; of the elegant curve of her neck bent as she looks down at something she's doing with her hands, her long black hair pulled back in a manner that only makes him want to lean forward and press his mouth to her skin; of her slender hands touching his wrist, touching his fingers, spreading wide across his chest. They're not quite innocent but they aren't explicit either, and the lack of answers is killing him.
At the beginning, he was more concerned with figuring out where they hell they were, and how they got there. He's a little alarmed to discover that those concerns are becoming less pressing with time, as he gets more and more distracted by the puzzle of his companion, of their quiet little life here. It's getting harder to keep himself from reaching out to her, sliding his fingers between hers or slipping his arm around her waist. It feels natural, those impulses, and it seems that he's always wanted to be a family man. He is married, after all. Maybe he has a house like this, somewhere, with a wife who's waiting for him and doesn't even know if he's alive. He should feel guiltier about that, that he's abandoned someone he promised to stay with forever, but he doesn't remember her. He does have Sarah, though. ]
Susan? [ he calls, stomping his feet a little as he enters through the back door, knocking the dirt off his boots before setting them aside and continuing through the house in just his socks. ] I brought groceries. Any progress on getting the phone to work?
lmk if this doesn't work
And yet, there is nothing.
She does not know if that is typical or atypical, or even how she knows her mind is capable of more. Just like she does not understand how she can look at a math book, left carelessly lying around, and work out the formulae in the book with little problem. It had taken her two days to work through the book, proudly proclaiming itself to be a calculus book. It only took two days because she and Liam went exploring for half of the first day.
The information she has gathered over those three weeks (three weeks, four days, and thirteen hours) has provided insight to who she might be, but she has nothing to back it up. Her emotions roll under her skin; kneeling in solitude, allowing her mind to clear, helps control the impulses that linger in her mind. She wants Lucas to touch her, wants to touch him, even though instinct says contact is dangerous. Sometimes she thinks about her hand in his, their fingers tangled together and it makes her body thrum in the most unusual, unexpected way. As far as she can tell, they were not married, and she feels like she would not be the type to so casually form attachments, though she has no reason to believe such an insight. Is it the imaginings of this place?
When she hears the door open, and then his voice carry up the stairs, she straightens, snapping the back of the phone into place. ] I will know in a minute.
[ She powers it on, watching it go through the startup sequence - old technology, so slow, though how she knows it is old is another mystery. While waiting, she walks into the kitchen, joining Logan. ] What did you procure?