Chapter Text
The day after Spock sends his five hundredth unanswered message to his father, he goes up on the roof.
It is not logical. He knows it is not logical. But is it logical to continue living in a world where not a single person cares for him to exist? He thought he could come to Earth and form connections with his mother’s people, but he is every bit as much an outcast here as he was at home, and he is so very tired. He is tired of trying to force his Vulcan mind and his human mind to work in concert. He is tired of denying half his needs in favor of meeting his others, and switching which needs were being met has only highlighted the problem.
He is a freak. There is a fundamental mistake in his makeup that no amount of meditation has been able to correct for. He should never have existed in the first place, and in that sense it is logical: if he removes himself, then the mistake is corrected.
His father certainly cannot be more displeased.
Jim likes to go up on the roof and think. He discovered that they keep the door unlocked in his first week here, and ever since then he’s been coming up here when his room gets a little too claustrophobic. He likes watching the sun set and the stars come out.
The Vulcan sitting on the edge of the roof is not looking at the sunset. Jim knows that body language, and he sets down his stack of books and approaches with caution.
“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Nice evening.”
The Vulcan looks up, plainly startled. “Is it?”
Jim sits on the edge of the roof beside him, legs swinging out over the abyss. They’re twenty stories up. Even Vulcan bones won’t survive that. “They win if you do it,” he says, letting his heart fill the words. “Look, I know we don’t—but you don’t let them win. You fight. You lash out if you have to. But you don’t let them win.”
“I was not…”
Jim snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t bullshit me. I know that look. I’ve… had that look. I get it. Everything sucks, everyone sucks, but look—it gets better. It gets better. You make it better by proving them wrong. Prove the world wrong.” He shakes his head again. “That’s a cadet’s uniform. You’re in Starfleet. You’ve got a future. You just have to… fight for it.”
The Vulcan looks up at him then, finally meeting his eyes, and the pain there is so deep Jim feels his breath catch. “I do not know how.”
“Let me help you.” Jim touches his arm, relieved when the young man doesn’t flinch away. “What’s your name?”
“Spock.”
“I’m Jim,” he says. “I’m a first year, I live on the third floor.”
“This is my second year,” Spock says. “I live on the tenth floor. I have seen you on campus.”
“Have you?” Jim is surprised. “I haven’t seen you.”
“Few people do,” Spock says, and the sadness is back in his voice.
“We can change that, if you want,” Jim says quickly.
“I have tried, to no avail,” Spock says. “I do not know how to form human relationships. I do not know how to interact with humans.”
“You’re interacting with me just fine.”
Spock gives him a look. “I am not.”
“You really are. Aside from the whole, trying to throw yourself off a roof thing.”
Spock rolls his eyes. “I would not have done it.”
“Then why were you up here?”
Spock is silent. Jim waits him out. “My father disowned me when I left Vulcan to join a military organization,” he says. “My mother sides with him. I left Vulcan to escape the constant xenophobia I faced because I am half-human, but here, I am too Vulcan to connect to anyone. I am outcast wherever I go. I may as well cast myself out.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jim says again. “You’ve got a unique perspective and loads to contribute because of it. Anyone who says differently is an ass.”
“Everyone says differently.”
“I don’t. What am I?”
Spock seems to slump just slightly. “An outlier.”
“You just need people to take the time to get to know you,” Jim says. “I’m sure most people are just intimidated by the whole Vulcan thing. Most Vulcans don’t really think much of humans.”
“No,” Spock agrees. “They do not.”
“Heh, I guess you’d know.”
“I could not stay there,” Spock says. “My mother understands, but she supports my father in his decision to disown me.”
“So she doesn’t really understand.”
Spock inclines his head. “Indeed.”
“I’m really fucking sorry,” Jim says, trying to put as much sincerity into his voice as possible. He covers Spock’s hand where it rests on the ledge beside him. “We’re going to find you some people, okay? I’ve got friends. My big brother is a year ahead of you, and he’s got friends. We’ll find somebody for you.”
Spock is looking at their hands. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you not somebody?”
Jim laughs. “I’m not… you want to be friends with me?”
Spock turns up his hand and tangles their fingers together, and Jim feels something in his stomach swoop dangerously. “We have been vulnerable in front of each other. I believe that is a traditional method of developing emotional intimacy.”
The way he says intimacy makes Jim blush, and he suddenly remembers Sam telling him that for Vulcans, hand to hand touching is considered deeply intimate. “Alright,” he concedes. “Well, what are you into?”
Spock’s eyes soften. “I have many academic interests. Outside of those, I play the lyre and I enjoy a game of chess.”
“I love chess!” Jim says. “We should play.”
“Would you like to? I have not found any willing opponents since coming to Earth.”
“Yeah, you’ll probably beat the pants off me, but I’d love to. Really.”
“I will attempt to not beat off your pants.”
Jim laughs, pushing himself to his feet and drawing Spock up with him. “Come on, let’s go back to my place. We’ll see if we share any of those academic interests, too.”
Spock is still holding his hand. “Jim,” he says, looking back towards the edge of the roof. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jim squeezes his hand and smiles up at him. “Any time. I mean that.”
They collect Jim’s books, and Spock follows him back to his tiny apartment. Jim feels suddenly self-conscious about the slight mess, but Spock just picks up a discarded jacket and makes himself at home on the little couch.
“Sorry,” Jim says anyway. “Wasn’t really expecting company.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “You should not see my room,” he says. “It is… worse.”
"Well, yeah,” Jim says. “But I’m not the guy throwing myself off the roof.”
Spock winces.
“Too soon?”
Spock rolls his eyes. “I am fine.”
“Says the guy who was going to throw himself off the roof half an hour ago.”
Spock sighs. “The suicidal guy is not judging you for your housekeeping or your tactfulness,” he says. “You have been unbelievably kind to me, and I should cease taking advantage of you.”
“Hey, no, you promised me a game of chess!” Jim says. “Please?”
He waits for Spock to nod and then goes to dig out his collapsible chess set. Usually he plays in the campus rec center, but Spock is clearly not up to that today. He gets it set up on the coffee table and pulls over a chair to sit across from Spock.
“Usually I’d say guest gets white, but you seemed pretty confident.”
“In a game of logic, I have the genetic advantage,” Spock says. “You may select your opening.”
“Alright,” Jim says, and then they play.
“I do not understand,” Spock is saying, turning his king over and over in his fingers. They have played three games, and Jim has won all three of them. “This should not be possible.”
“I may have, uh, neglected to mention that I’m a universally-ranked chess prodigy,” Jim says. “I have trouble finding anyone to play with, too.”
Spock shakes his head. “I am globally ranked on Vulcan, Jim. You should not be able to beat me consistently. Again.”
Jim laughs. “Let’s get some dinner first, okay? I’m starved.”
Spock becomes suddenly aware of the emptiness of his own stomach. He has not eaten at all today, overwhelmed by the loneliness that feels so distant now. “Yes,” he says. “Alright. Food.”
“How are you feeling?” Jim asks. “Cause I can go get us something, but it would be easier to just go out, if you’re up to it.”
These apartments don’t have kitchens, as students are expected to take their meals on campus. Spock noticed that Jim has some food in a cupboard, but nothing that would constitute a meal. He sighs. “I can go out, but you do not need to be seen with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?” Jim asks. “You’re my friend. Come on, let’s go—there’s a great fusion restaurant over by the bay, have you been there? They’re supposed to have some Vulcan stuff.”
Spock admits that he hasn’t been, but he lets Jim drag him there, chest lighting up with an unfamiliar warmth as they walk to the shuttle stop. Jim talks to him like he’s a human, but isn’t bothered when he doesn’t respond like one—if anything he seems pleased when Spock says something odd or overly specific, like he likes that Spock thinks differently than he does.
The restaurant is clearly a popular ‘date spot’ amongst their classmates, but Jim waves at a girl while they’re waiting for a table, unconcerned by the implication. She waves back at him with a grin and a thumbs up, and Jim blushes, looking up at Spock sheepishly.
“Guess people are going to have certain ideas,” he says. “Hope that doesn’t bother you. I can go correct her, if you want.”
Spock, for the second time this evening, slips his hand into Jim’s. “I do not mind.”
Spock had calculated that hand-holding was an acceptable blurred line of intimacy, a flirtation that would not be taken as serious, but Jim reacts just as strongly as a Vulcan would, flustering and blushing bright red. “Oh.”
The host appears at that moment and leads them to a table, where they sit and stare at each other, a little awkward.
“Did you want this to be a date?” Jim asks.
“It does not have to be,” Spock says.
“But do you want it to be?”
Spock shrugs. “You are… very attractive.”
Jim laughs. “So are you. But I don’t… I’m not sure if I’m in a good enough place to take on a suicidal boyfriend right now.”
“Then I will appreciate your offer of friendship, and when you have reassured yourself that I am no longer suicidal, we can revisit the idea.”
Jim raises his eyebrows. “Are you no longer suicidal?”
“Why should I die now? My life is on a positive trajectory for the first time that I can recall. I have a friend who challenges and interests me. I am capable of rational thought, Jim. I was just out of hope.”
“Then yeah,” Jim says. “This can be a date.”
Spock smiles at him, reaching out to take his hand. “Good.”
Jim beams at him. His smile is bright like the sun on a clear Vulcan day, shining over the desert, and Spock has never felt so fortunate in his life. “Good.”
The waitress comes to take their drink order, and Spock realizes they haven’t even looked at a menu. He asks after their tea selection and is pleased to discover one of his favorites on offer. Jim orders something sugary.
“I do want you to tell me if you get sad again though,” Jim says. “To be clear. I’m just not taking on another charity case.”
“I do not intend to be a ‘charity case’,” Spock says. “You mentioned that you have struggled with mental health yourself, and I wish to support you in whatever ways I can, as well. You have… saved my life.”
“I did do that, didn’t I?” Jim chuckles to himself, looking down at the menu. “Wow.”
“I am very grateful,” Spock says. “Not only did you talk me down from a literal ledge, but you have given me something to live for.”
“You’re so handsome,” Jim says. “And you’re smart and funny and really good at chess. I really can’t believe you were single, much less that you hadn’t made any friends.”
“I am not usually very good at being vulnerable with people,” Spock admits. He finally lets go of Jim’s hand in favor of flipping through the menu, surprised by the breadth of their offerings. They do indeed have Vulcan dishes, some of which sound very good. Jim is such a thoughtful person; it is Spock who is surprised that he is single. “Our meeting put us in an unusual position.”
“Yeah, I guess it did.” Jim’s foot finds his leg underneath the table, and Spock inhales.
“Are you touching me on purpose?”
“Have you never played footsie before?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” Spock admits. “I terminated my betrothal shortly before leaving Vulcan, and have not had any opportunity to meet a partner since then.”
“You were engaged?”
“It is a standard practice of Vulcan nobility,” Spock says. “We were betrothed by our parents at age seven. I terminated our arrangement once I became certain that I was gay.”
“You’re Vulcan nobility?”
Spock sighs heavily. “After a fashion.”
“That’s cool,” Jim says, letting it go far more easily than any of the other humans who have learned anything of Spock’s heritage. “I’m kind of Starfleet nobility, I guess. My dad was the youngest ever to make first officer, and then captain. I’m hoping to beat him.”
“A noble goal,” Spock says. “And one I fully believe you can achieve, with your mind and skillset.”
“Aw, thanks.”
They place their orders, and Jim leans forward on his arms, smiling at him.
“What is it?”
“You’re really cute,” Jim says. “I’m just thinking about kissing you later. You ever kissed anybody?”
Spock shakes his head. “The closest I have come is holding your hand earlier today.”
“Well, I’m going to kiss you,” Jim says. “And we can do hand stuff too, if you want. My brother is a xenoanthropology major, he says that Vulcans kiss with their hands.”
“He is correct,” Spock says. He swallows. “I will be happy to show you later.”
“After you beat me at chess.”
“Of course.”
Jim laughs.
Spock finally wins the seventh game, although Jim has him in check three times before he manages it. They both seem equally delighted by this—Jim hasn’t had anyone beat him in years, and Spock looks so pleased he just has to climb into his lap and kiss him.
He seems pleased by that, too.
“Jim,” he murmurs against his lips, pressing into the kiss. “Oh!”
“Shh,” Jim says. “Just move with me.”
Spock relaxes into it, letting Jim take charge, and that feels fucking amazing. Spock has to be two, three years older than him at least, and he’s so smart and so handsome and he’s done so much already, but he defers to Jim like it’s nothing.
He’s never had a boyfriend before. He’s never been kissed. The very thought is intoxicating, and Jim does his best to make it as good for him as he can.
He finally pulls back, and Spock’s lips are glistening with saliva, lipstick smeared around and off them. He looks delicious. “You said you’d show me how to kiss like a Vulcan.”
Spock blinks. “Oh,” he says, hazy. “Yes.”
He takes one of Jim’s hands and lifts it, then begins tracing his own fingers over Jim’s slowly, with just enough pressure so that the tips bump and catch unexpectedly. Jim is already so keyed up that any touch was going to feel good, but he thinks he’d get this any time—his hands are sensitive too, and this isn’t just touching, this is something erotic.
Spock traces some sexy little symbol onto his palm, and Jim just has to kiss his lips again, grabbing onto him with his free hand and claiming him with his tongue. Spock gasps and presses into it, continuing what he’s doing with his hand, until they’re both panting into each other’s mouths with desire.
“Do you wanna…?” Jim asks.
Spock swallows and blinks, and then blinks again. He seems to realize all at once that he’s got a human teenager in his lap who is very aroused, because Jim can see the panic set in.
“Hey, we don’t have to!” he says. “You don’t have to—you don’t have to go, or anything. I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go.”
“I’m not leaving,” Spock says. “But I am not… I think it would be inadvisable to have sex at this time. Are you legally of age?”
“Yeah,” Jim says. “I just turned eighteen.”
Spock lets out a breath. “I see.”
“What, you’re not gonna fuck me cause I’m a kid?”
Spock lets out a weak laugh. “No. Accounting for the difference in maturation rates, we are a similar age.”
“Oh,” Jim says. “Huh.”
“But we are both very young,” Spock says. “And I have had a… trying… day. I suspect having sex, even with you, would be emotionally overwhelming.”
“Right,” Jim says.
“I have hurt you.”
“No,” Jim says. “No, I just… hormones. Gotta calm back down.”
“Of course.”
“I think you should stay here tonight,” Jim says. “Not to have sex! But just… I don’t want you going back to your place by yourself after all that. Tomorrow I’ll go with you and we can clean and make it nice.”
Spock seems to consider this. “Yes,” he says finally. “I agree. I do not wish to return to my apartment at this time.”
“Good.” Jim kisses his cheek. “And you can stay in my bed, because you’re my boyfriend. I promise I won’t be weird about it.”
“I didn’t think you would be.”
Jim climbs off of him and offers him a hand up, leading him to the bedroom and offering him a spare pair of sweatpants to change into before shoving him into the bathroom to take a shower.
Alone, he takes a deep breath and cleans up the remains of the latest chess game, heart beating too hard in his chest.
He’s got a boyfriend. A mentally ill, fragile boyfriend. He really needs to call Gary or Bones or someone to talk about the crazy evening he’s had, but his mentally ill boyfriend has super hearing, so that’s a bad idea. He’ll just have to process on his own.
Spock comes out of the bathroom in his sweatpants, and Jim realizes the harder issue (heh) is going to be not drooling all over him when he’s said he doesn’t want any kind of sex tonight. He exacts a promise from Spock to stay, and then he takes his own cold water shower, trying to shock his stupid teenaged body into behaving.
It mostly works. It works well enough that he can get into bed without embarrassing himself, anyway, and Spock seems happy enough to cuddle up to him regardless.
“Hey,” Jim says, face tucked against Spock’s hair. “I’m really glad you’re alive.”
“Me too,” Spock agrees. “Me too.”
Mother,
Today I tried to kill myself nearly threw myself from the roof was foiled in a suicide attempt met a boy! His name is Jim. He saved my life lives in my building and rescued me from myself likes to play chess. He has beaten me 85.714% of the time.
He took me on a date to a restaurant that serves Vulcan food and we have decided to "go steady" with each other. He makes me happy. I thought it would please you to know.
Give my regards to Father
I trust you and your household are well. Send photos of the cat, Jim would like to see him.
Love Regards,
Spock