A mirror of their own doubts of the self, reflected in kind. What Jim sees within Spock is in part mystery to him beyond the merits he provides, but Spock finds within Jim more than he might hold against any reasonable metric. What had drawn Spock to Jim had been a point of confusion at first, but it was difficult not to find himself fascinated by a mind that was so quick and so empathetic — so compassionate, but at once ferocious. It was one that might have matched his, was glad to have his considerations. Over tea and over PADDs, they had discussed any number of topics. He had saved Spock, as much as Spock had sought to save him. He had never left Spock behind. Had never abided by his logic, when it was himself as the price.
Jim challenged him, pushed him. Gentle, always careful, he had coaxed Spock to consider that he was a part instead of apart. He had looked upon him, known him to as he was and is. Accepted it. Accepted it, as Spock came to accept him. Jim was not perfect, but neither was he. They covered what the other lacked. They provided each other considerable strength. Jim to Spock was a keystone — if he were to be removed, he should wonder what would be left. Now so entwined in the nature of his being, it was a concept that bid him to run as much as it rooted him. It was logical (illogical), but it was no less true.
Jim was the only one he might have chosen. There was never any other, that captured him so thoroughly. There was never any other, that smiled over the board at him and plucked from him the vulnerabilities and anxieties. There was never any other, that looked upon his insecurities and saw them as beautiful, a component of him instead.
But, even as they both lean just so out of the other's orbits, Spock hears the nerves that are so repeated in him. Such admissions are never simple, but this — it is a remarkable thing, to know what he does now. He would never have expected it. He would never have thought it possible. He had never allowed himself to want it. Yet, Jim has his own concerns. His own worries. His own thoughts and his self-detractions. Spock knows them. He knows them, but he knows too that Jim must know this.
"Jim," he starts, spinning his rapidly scattering words into loose constellations. A line that starts, he thinks, and ends. "Please understand, Vulcans do not engage in such commitments lightly. We are intentional, focused. We do so only with those who are compatible, who ideally hold traits we find... Compelling." He tips his head, dark eyes gentled in their assessment. But yet, they assess. They look. As though waiting for any flicker of uncertainty, any ounce of repulsion. His posture has loosened, but there is still something guarded in the downward sweep of lashes, the suggestion of a furrow between his angled brows. "Once chosen, it will take much for me to consider otherwise."
It will. Jim has earned his loyalty, his devotion. He has earned Spock's respect. He knows not when his emotions toward Jim veered into something akin to adoration, to the shape of unvoiced love — but, it had been easier for him to keep hidden. It had been easier for him to ignore. To feel as he did, he once reasoned, was unbecoming of any Vulcan. But, was not too the lies he had to tell himself? Was not too the increasingly outlandish reasons he provided himself for why he must stand so close by him, must share so much time when the opportunity prevented itself? But, he knows what it is Jim means. He knows why it is he says it.
Above all else, Spock would struggle most with losing him. If he were relegated to observing his own attachment in silence, he would gladly bear it. He would gladly bear any hardship, if it meant that he might serve by Jim's side. If he might, in any manner Jim would afford, support him. And so, it is like this, that Spock provides an echo of his own sentiments. It is like this, close enough enough that he might discern the brilliance of Jim's eyes in the full cast of daylight, that Spock tips gently to him without pressure or expectation:
"I shall rest, but think upon it." Spock squeezes his hands in return, once — twice. The linens are warmed between the heat of their palms and Spock finds himself more fatigued than he might have once dwelled upon. His mind hums, at once unpleasant and pleasant. "I have no desire to force a decision, to impose upon you the intensity associated."
He knows he should rest. He will not fight any such guidance, but he needs Jim to know it is all right too. He needs him to understand what it is he will be stumbling into. What it is that Spock is thinking, at least like this.
If Jim's really going to buy this soulmate stuff - which is somehow harder to believe than the blind, horny rage thing; don't even get him started there, he needs a minute to just stare into the void on that one - maybe there's a certain sense to it all. That they should be so different, and yet so similar, aligning in key areas; Spock did his best to throw people off with his exterior, but a little doggedness on Jim's part had gone a long way to understanding what lurked beneath. He wishes, sometimes, that he could explain this to those that would turn away - but then again, they're likely not worth the time.
And then there was their mutual thirst for knowledge which made their conversations so engaging; their uncanny ability to read things in each other that they both endeavored to keep hidden. As much as it sucked, sometimes - as frustrating and prickly as it could be - it was also oddly...freeing. Having another person look at him and see him, and being able to see them in return - who else had Jim ever had that with? Who else would he even want to have that with, if not Spock? Spock, whose ability to make Jim laugh was as unparalleled as it was unexpected, a brightness to his humor and quick wit that always left Jim feeling warm. Spock, who could always be relied upon - even when the odds were stacked against them, back against the wall, everything going to shit - there's no one else he would want at his side.
There's no one else he would want, and maybe the wanting is the scariest part, now that Jim's willful blindfold (if he's being totally honest with himself here; not a habit he wants to repeat, actually, being honest with himself kind of sucks - oh God, ignorance really is bliss) has been pulled from his eyes.
If Spock is looking for repulsion or reticence, he won't find it in Jim, as he meets his focused gaze. No, there is none of that for him - any reservations Jim might have are squarely rooted in his own inadequacies, of which he's more than aware of. It's not that he doubts Spock's words, even as the mild spark of incredulity makes itself apparent in Jim's eyes - it's more that as much as Jim tries, certain things are outside of his realm of understanding. The kind of desire and devotion Spock is describing is as if Jim dreamed it up, but then, it does fall in line with the whole bond situation - Jesus H. Christ. It kind of feels like he's holding a mountain of textbooks, and Spock keeps adding more.
"Don't speak too soon," Jim jokes weakly, though they both know there's a little bit too much self-deprecating truth in the sentence. He can't help but be slightly at a loss, still processing the fact that he just heard that out of Spock's mouth. If he is asleep, maybe don't wake him up. "If I put my mind to it, I bet I could have you running for the hills in under a week. Two, if I'm being thorough."
Frankly, Jim's not sure when his feelings towards Spock veered into this territory either - or, maybe he does, but he knows that looking at it too closely is a surefire way to embarrass himself and/or freak himself out more than necessary, so he doesn't. It's much easier to repress things when you're unaware they're there in the first place, when the option is safely closed off, inaccessible from the whole. And yet here - here, it isn't. Here, Spock has opened the option, and Jim -
Fuck. Jim wants. He's so fucked.
"You're never an imposition." Jim rebuts quietly, because it's true, and definitely doesn't mention intensity isn't a problem for me. As if the whole of their friendship hasn't been intense in its own way, anyhow. As if their dalliance at the bar hadn't brought with it a frisson of something Jim was unable to ignore, something that sparked a smoldering heat in the core of his being. He had known what it meant, to engage in that kind of behavior with Spock, and he'd done it anyway. Now there's - additional context, and the freak out he needs to have isn't based in regret: he needs to freak out about the fact that he'd do it again anyway.
Jim stands slowly, his hand moving to squeeze Spock's shoulder reassuringly instead as he does so. A short whistle brings Bones to heel, the dog sliding off the bed and trotting out into the living room - probably best to let Spock have some peace, to get himself back in order. Well, as much order as the Council will allow - and the incandescent rage is back, ah, wonderful.
"I'll be here when you're rested," Jim promises, and it's not a dig for earlier - it's just an earnest promise, maybe even more to himself than it is to Spock. That he won't run, that he will give this the turnabout in his brain it deserves - even if the thought of it is as daunting as it is potentially pleasant, if only Jim will allow himself to...enjoy it. "I'll make grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch, okay?"
Hard to fuck that one up, and who knows if it will actually make Spock feel better about anything to do with the current situation but - it's an offering, and it's within Jim's power to give it. That's enough, for now. It has to be.
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acrossthemultiverse2024-05-05 01:52 am
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A mirror of their own doubts of the self, reflected in kind. What Jim sees within Spock is in part mystery to him beyond the merits he provides, but Spock finds within Jim more than he might hold against any reasonable metric. What had drawn Spock to Jim had been a point of confusion at first, but it was difficult not to find himself fascinated by a mind that was so quick and so empathetic — so compassionate, but at once ferocious. It was one that might have matched his, was glad to have his considerations. Over tea and over PADDs, they had discussed any number of topics. He had saved Spock, as much as Spock had sought to save him. He had never left Spock behind. Had never abided by his logic, when it was himself as the price.
Jim challenged him, pushed him. Gentle, always careful, he had coaxed Spock to consider that he was a part instead of apart. He had looked upon him, known him to as he was and is. Accepted it. Accepted it, as Spock came to accept him. Jim was not perfect, but neither was he. They covered what the other lacked. They provided each other considerable strength. Jim to Spock was a keystone — if he were to be removed, he should wonder what would be left. Now so entwined in the nature of his being, it was a concept that bid him to run as much as it rooted him. It was logical (illogical), but it was no less true.
Jim was the only one he might have chosen. There was never any other, that captured him so thoroughly. There was never any other, that smiled over the board at him and plucked from him the vulnerabilities and anxieties. There was never any other, that looked upon his insecurities and saw them as beautiful, a component of him instead.
But, even as they both lean just so out of the other's orbits, Spock hears the nerves that are so repeated in him. Such admissions are never simple, but this — it is a remarkable thing, to know what he does now. He would never have expected it. He would never have thought it possible. He had never allowed himself to want it. Yet, Jim has his own concerns. His own worries. His own thoughts and his self-detractions. Spock knows them. He knows them, but he knows too that Jim must know this.
"Jim," he starts, spinning his rapidly scattering words into loose constellations. A line that starts, he thinks, and ends. "Please understand, Vulcans do not engage in such commitments lightly. We are intentional, focused. We do so only with those who are compatible, who ideally hold traits we find... Compelling." He tips his head, dark eyes gentled in their assessment. But yet, they assess. They look. As though waiting for any flicker of uncertainty, any ounce of repulsion. His posture has loosened, but there is still something guarded in the downward sweep of lashes, the suggestion of a furrow between his angled brows. "Once chosen, it will take much for me to consider otherwise."
It will. Jim has earned his loyalty, his devotion. He has earned Spock's respect. He knows not when his emotions toward Jim veered into something akin to adoration, to the shape of unvoiced love — but, it had been easier for him to keep hidden. It had been easier for him to ignore. To feel as he did, he once reasoned, was unbecoming of any Vulcan. But, was not too the lies he had to tell himself? Was not too the increasingly outlandish reasons he provided himself for why he must stand so close by him, must share so much time when the opportunity prevented itself? But, he knows what it is Jim means. He knows why it is he says it.
Above all else, Spock would struggle most with losing him. If he were relegated to observing his own attachment in silence, he would gladly bear it. He would gladly bear any hardship, if it meant that he might serve by Jim's side. If he might, in any manner Jim would afford, support him. And so, it is like this, that Spock provides an echo of his own sentiments. It is like this, close enough enough that he might discern the brilliance of Jim's eyes in the full cast of daylight, that Spock tips gently to him without pressure or expectation:
"I shall rest, but think upon it." Spock squeezes his hands in return, once — twice. The linens are warmed between the heat of their palms and Spock finds himself more fatigued than he might have once dwelled upon. His mind hums, at once unpleasant and pleasant. "I have no desire to force a decision, to impose upon you the intensity associated."
He knows he should rest. He will not fight any such guidance, but he needs Jim to know it is all right too. He needs him to understand what it is he will be stumbling into. What it is that Spock is thinking, at least like this.
no subject
And then there was their mutual thirst for knowledge which made their conversations so engaging; their uncanny ability to read things in each other that they both endeavored to keep hidden. As much as it sucked, sometimes - as frustrating and prickly as it could be - it was also oddly...freeing. Having another person look at him and see him, and being able to see them in return - who else had Jim ever had that with? Who else would he even want to have that with, if not Spock? Spock, whose ability to make Jim laugh was as unparalleled as it was unexpected, a brightness to his humor and quick wit that always left Jim feeling warm. Spock, who could always be relied upon - even when the odds were stacked against them, back against the wall, everything going to shit - there's no one else he would want at his side.
There's no one else he would want, and maybe the wanting is the scariest part, now that Jim's willful blindfold (if he's being totally honest with himself here; not a habit he wants to repeat, actually, being honest with himself kind of sucks - oh God, ignorance really is bliss) has been pulled from his eyes.
If Spock is looking for repulsion or reticence, he won't find it in Jim, as he meets his focused gaze. No, there is none of that for him - any reservations Jim might have are squarely rooted in his own inadequacies, of which he's more than aware of. It's not that he doubts Spock's words, even as the mild spark of incredulity makes itself apparent in Jim's eyes - it's more that as much as Jim tries, certain things are outside of his realm of understanding. The kind of desire and devotion Spock is describing is as if Jim dreamed it up, but then, it does fall in line with the whole bond situation - Jesus H. Christ. It kind of feels like he's holding a mountain of textbooks, and Spock keeps adding more.
"Don't speak too soon," Jim jokes weakly, though they both know there's a little bit too much self-deprecating truth in the sentence. He can't help but be slightly at a loss, still processing the fact that he just heard that out of Spock's mouth.
If he is asleep, maybe don't wake him up."If I put my mind to it, I bet I could have you running for the hills in under a week. Two, if I'm being thorough."Frankly, Jim's not sure when his feelings towards Spock veered into this territory either - or, maybe he does, but he knows that looking at it too closely is a surefire way to embarrass himself and/or freak himself out more than necessary, so he doesn't. It's much easier to repress things when you're unaware they're there in the first place, when the option is safely closed off, inaccessible from the whole. And yet here - here, it isn't. Here, Spock has opened the option, and Jim -
Fuck. Jim wants. He's so fucked.
"You're never an imposition." Jim rebuts quietly, because it's true, and definitely doesn't mention intensity isn't a problem for me. As if the whole of their friendship hasn't been intense in its own way, anyhow. As if their dalliance at the bar hadn't brought with it a frisson of something Jim was unable to ignore, something that sparked a smoldering heat in the core of his being. He had known what it meant, to engage in that kind of behavior with Spock, and he'd done it anyway. Now there's - additional context, and the freak out he needs to have isn't based in regret: he needs to freak out about the fact that he'd do it again anyway.
Jim stands slowly, his hand moving to squeeze Spock's shoulder reassuringly instead as he does so. A short whistle brings Bones to heel, the dog sliding off the bed and trotting out into the living room - probably best to let Spock have some peace, to get himself back in order. Well, as much order as the Council will allow - and the incandescent rage is back, ah, wonderful.
"I'll be here when you're rested," Jim promises, and it's not a dig for earlier - it's just an earnest promise, maybe even more to himself than it is to Spock. That he won't run, that he will give this the turnabout in his brain it deserves - even if the thought of it is as daunting as it is potentially pleasant, if only Jim will allow himself to...enjoy it. "I'll make grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch, okay?"
Hard to fuck that one up, and who knows if it will actually make Spock feel better about anything to do with the current situation but - it's an offering, and it's within Jim's power to give it. That's enough, for now. It has to be.