A/n: I'm a dork. I'm such a dork. And I'm basically sure this has been done, but god, the idea - in my head, at least - was so damn adorable. I don't think Spock ever went to Earth and ever met Kirk before Starfleet and I don't know if Kirk really has an aunt in San Francisco, so this is pretty much AU. As if there aren't enough alternate universes. So, if you will, please indulge me. As far as ages go, man did I have a hard time finding out the age differences for Kirk and Spock! I finally settled on a website I've used in the past, which stated that Kirk was born in 2233 and Spock was born in 2232. I'm not going to dispute that. So, I'm just throwing that out there - this is what I'm working from. Please don't chew my face off about this. I just needed some indication of ages. Be gentle. :3
Rating: I lied when I told myself I'd never write anything lower than T. Though I don't think I ever imagined myself writing something like this. So, it's rated K+. And I actually don't know what that stands for. [quirks an eyebrow]
Disclaimer: No. Just no.
Spock hated storms.
Yeah, that's right. He felt emotion towards them, mostly because they just plain scared him. No matter how many times his father insisted that he put aside fear because it wasn't logical, he still hid under the table when they came. Storms on Vulcan didn't last long, contained no rain, and only consisted of sand, lightning, and thunder. All that friction created static electricity, created a bolt of lightning, the lightning struck the ground and-
He was under the closest piece of furniture in seconds, hands covered over his extra sensitive ears.
Not even his mother could coax him into coming out from under the table. He just curled up, shut his eyes, and focused. He would remain there until the last remnants of the storm were gone, then he'd creep out, make sure it was all clear, and go about his daily routine. Hiding under the table had even become a part of his routine. His father consistently spoke with him about this fear, trying to make him understand that it was foolish, emotional, and cowardly. His father would ask again and again why he was so afraid.
"It is too loud," he would reply every time.
When Spock came to Earth with his father, they went to San Francisco, to a big white building that differed vastly from Vulcan architecture. So, of course, when he saw it he gaped at it in open wonder and appreciation. His father told him to remain outside the building until he returned, ordering him to sit on a stone bench and not move. He nodded obediently, and watched as hundreds of humans came and went, moving so fast, they were almost running. Spock observed them carefully, noting the subtle differences in their facial features, body movements, structure…
"Hey, that's my bench," said a loud and arrogant voice beside him.
He turned curiously, in search of the speaker, surprised to find a human boy standing there, pointing at him. He had eyes of the brightest blue he had ever seen, messy blonde hair, and an air of complete confidence about him. He was dressed in formal clothing, as if he had just come from some event, and he held a toy Starfleet ship in his left hand. He was altogether fascinating.
"I do not believe you own this bench," Spock replied quite simply, watching the boy glare indignantly at him.
"I was here justa second ago, sitting right there," the boy insisted, rearticulating his pointing with quick wrist movements. Then he stopped, expression shifting from anger to open curiosity.
"Wait, what are you?" he demanded, cocking his head and looking quite obviously at Spock's ears.
"I am a Vulcan," Spock replied, just as calmly as before, finding he didn't mind being under the scrutiny of this expressive human. The boy's face was just too intriguing - curved brows, tanned skin that suggested he spent much of his time in the sun, white teeth that bit thoughtfully into a pink bottom lip.
"What are you doing on Earth?" he asked, quieting his voice, talking like what planet they were currently on was a mysterious and intriguing thing. It should only be intriguing to Spock, seeing as he had never been there before, but then again, there was a whole other culture going into play there. Maybe humans found their planet mysterious and worthy of such a surreptitious voice.
"My father is an ambassador to Earth," Spock explained.
"What's your name?" the boy went on, their conversation becoming a questionnaire.
He found he was about to give the boy his full name, but then remembered that his father informed him before they came, that humans could not produce the same sounds as he could. "Spock," he informed him.
"How old are you?"
He faltered for a moment, not really understanding the question. This is not something that was asked on Vulcan. But his perfect memory went back to the things his father had taught him before they came. "Seven," Spock answered efficiently.
The boy paused, giving him a skeptical look, seeming to size him up.
"I was told it was common courtesy in human culture to introduce oneself," Spock reported. "Am I to assume you are unwilling to answer the questions you inquired of me?"
The boy raised his eyebrow. "Huh?"
Spock nearly sighed. This boy was clearly no where near his level of intellect. "What is your name?" he asked, trying to be patient with such a slow mind.
"James," he answered confidently. "But everyone calls me Jim. You talk weird."
Spock paused. This boy, Jim's, thought process was strange. He went directly from explaining his name to insulting Spock's dialect. He decided to let it pass and continued with his questions, actually curious to see what other baffling things Jim would say. "How old are you?"
Jim puffed his cheeks and sighed. "Six and a half."
It was Spock's turn to cock his head. "How are you able to be one age and half of the next?"
"My birthday is in March," Jim replied in a voice that implied that Spock should've known this. It had no meaning to Spock - he had never heard of 'March'. "Hey, can I touch your ears?" he asked bluntly, setting his toy ship on the bench beside Spock. He took a step forward.
"No," Spock answered.
"Please!" Jim begged, hopping where he stood.
"Because they look cool," he said in open honesty.
"…Okay," Spock said, sighing a little. He figured that if he was going to learn anything else about this boy, he was going to have to sacrifice something - namely his personal space. Jim beamed at him and was suddenly attacking his ears with curious fingers, looking inquisitively at them, exploring grooves and curves, offering nothing but light touches, despite the aggressive speed in which his hands moved. It was getting a little overwhelming, though. He reached up and grabbed the boy's wrists. "Enough."
"Aw, party-pooper," Jim whined, backing away.
Spock didn't even bother asking what he said - it sounded like a vernacular anyway. Jim set his toy on the ground and sat down beside Spock, eyes bright and expressive.
"I live in Iowa with my mom. We're just here visiting my aunt. She just got married today and I had to wear this awful suit," he chatted, tugging insistently on the collar of his shirt. "It was so boring there and mom was too busy getting drunk, so I came over here to play with the fish." He pointed over to a small body of water a few yards to the right of the bench. His eyes brightened even more, if possible. "You wanna play with the fish with me?"
"My father ordered that I remain in this spot." He relayed the information with regret. Despite his father's instructions, he found he very much wanted to go with Jim and discover these 'fish' he was speaking of.
"Where's your dad?" Jim asked, looking around them in curiosity.
"Dad?" Spock repeated.
"Your father," he amended, apparently starting to find out that Spock had never heard of some of these terms.
"In there," Spock said, pointing at the strangely shaped white building.
"He'll never know you left the bench," Jim reasoned. "C'mon! You know you wanna!"
And Jim was right. He did want to go. But before he could even consider disobeying his father's orders, he noticed that Jim's expression had gone from excitement to fear in seconds. He was staring frightfully at the skyline behind them, which Spock noticed was a very dark shade of blue, much darker than it had been when he and his father had arrived.
"What is it?" he asked, wondering what could scare a boy who seemed to be quite fearless.
"Storms," Jim replied.
Spock felt his muscles tense. He had no idea what storms were like on this planet. They must have been bad to scare Jim. But after a quick glance around, he saw that no one else seemed to think anything of the dark clouds. Some noticed, pointed, but none looked frightened - more disappointed than anything.
"Storms?" Spock repeated.
"I don't like 'em," Jim confided in him. "We need to go inside."
"We'll go in there," he interrupted, pointing towards the white building. "We can't stay out here. I don't wanna get hit by lightning!"
"Lightning?" Spock asked, feeling that little tremor start in his stomach, making its way outward, into his limbs. "Storms on this planet have lightning as well?"
"Yeah, and it's really loud," Jim sighed in exasperation. "So let's go!" He grabbed Spock's wrist and tugged. He hesitated for a moment, but when that tremor made his hands start shaking, he finally stood and allowed Jim to drag him towards the white building. Jim's cool hand moved down to grip Spock's warm one, pulling him skillfully through crowds of people that had started opening umbrellas. It seemed like a whole sea of people were heading for the white building now, piling in through the doors.
Jim found some space and pushed through, hauling Spock into the cool building after him. People stepped on his toes and bumped into his shoulder quite painfully as they found themselves in a gray lobby. He looked quickly around for his father, seeing nothing but the legs of humans. He focused back on where Jim was leading him and realized they were heading for a table surrounded by elegant looking chairs.
Jim released him and crawled underneath, peeking up at Spock questioningly. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.
Spock stared in wonder for a moment, then followed suit, crawling under the table and curling up his knees, about a foot away from Jim. "You practice this habit as well?"
"Yeah," Jim replied, frowning. "Thunder hurts my ears."
"Mine as well," Spock informed him, surprised to find that he and Jim shared at least one thing in common.
The low rumble of thunder quieted the cacophony in the lobby around them a moment, then it started back up as soon as the sound had died down. Spock cringed slightly. He couldn't focus in here, so he would have to distract himself. He turned to Jim, who was looking upward with a pained expression. "What are the storms on this planet like?"
"Lots of rain, lots of lightning, and lots of thunder. And it'll get real windy, too," he explained in an almost fearful voice. "That one out there is probably gonna be bad - the sky was really dark."
And Jim turned out to be very correct.
Within minutes, the loud murmur of people in the lobby died down a little, and the horrid howl of wind pierced the near quietness of the room. Then torrential rain, so loud it sounded like an animal roaring outside. Thunder cracked right when the light flashed, and made the whole building shake. The entire time, Spock shook madly, covered his ears, shut his eyes, and thought to himself that he found something quite worse than storms on Vulcan. When things started to settle down and his heart started to slow from its frenzied speed, he glanced over at Jim to find him still curled up, face in his knees, hands over his ears. He touched the boy's shoulder.
"I believe it is over," he assured him, realizing that he too had been shaking.
"That was the worst one yet," Jim sighed. Then, as soon as he uncurled his legs, some sort of realization hit him. "Oh no!" he all but shouted, making Spock jump.
Jim gasped and put his hands on either side of his face and pulled downward at his skin, making his mouth frown more and red rings appear under his bright blue eyes. "I left my ship out there. At the bench."
Spock suddenly realized that he was very correct. It was still by the bench…well, probably not anymore. Jim squirmed out from under the low table and rocketed towards the door. Even though Spock knew better, he also knew that in the short time he had known Jim, he found that he really liked the boy. He pulled himself from under the table and took off after Jim, just beating the first wave of people to ambush the door.
When he burst through the door, looking around wildly for Jim, the sky was still dark, the sidewalk was very wet, and pieces of leaves and debris were scattered about. When he spotted Jim, the boy was pulling himself off the ground and continuing his sprint for the bench. He followed, realizing that the sidewalk was incredibly slippery when wet. He skidded slightly at first, but got his bearings and managed to safely get to Jim, who was now at the bench.
"Where'd it go?" he cried, looking everywhere. "Did the storm eat it?"
Spock thought this idea was completely absurd, but after looking around the vicinity and seeing no sign of it, he was starting to believe it. The air was hot and humid, making his clothes stick to his body, wetting his hair, allowing it to stick to his forehead.
Then he noticed something gray in the pond Jim was talking about earlier. Without any hesitation, he went towards the pond, peering into slightly murky depths. Only the tail of the ship was sticking up, caught in tall stalks of green. Dappled fish swam lazily through the water, occasionally breaking the surface with their wide mouths.
"You found it!" Jim cried happily, coming up beside him. Spock glanced at him, noticing there was a hole ripped into the black slacks he was wearing, a bloody gash producing bright red blood. Very different from the color that would've come from a Vulcan. He turned back to the fish, realizing that Jim was oblivious to his injury.
"Koi fish?" Spock asked curiously, remembering them from his studies.
"Yep," Jim nodded. "How deep do you think that pond is?"
"I estimate no more than four feet deep," he replied methodically.
Jim gawked at him for a moment. "Why are you so smart?"
"I am a Vulcan."
"I wanna be a Vulcan, then," the boy muttered, slipping out of his shoes and jacket. Spock found that this comment amused him more than anything he had heard from the boy yet.
Then, without warning, Jim jumped into the pond, splashing water everywhere including Spock, who held up his arm to shield his face. The blonde head disappeared for a moment, then a tan hand slapped the edge of the pond. Jim surfaced and set the toy on the edge, holding up his wet hand. For a second, Spock regarded the hand curiously.
"Uh, a little help?" Jim scoffed, laughing up at him.
Spock gripped his slippery hand, pulling him up with obvious ease, despite his soaked and heavy clothes. When Jim was on his feet, he shook his head, sending more water everywhere, once again on Spock. Jim giggled, eyes bright, hair stuck to his face. And despite the training and the control that Spock had been brought up into, he found himself laughing - the strangest sensation he had ever felt - along at the ridiculous situation. It felt so foreign in his throat. He would've worried about it if Jim hadn't been making the same noises.
"Spock," his father's voice called, a few yards from behind him. He glanced back and saw his father, watching him curiously as he approached.
"Is that your dad?" Jim asked, forgetting that Spock didn't really know what 'dad' meant. But he could take a wild guess.
"It is," Spock replied. When his father reached him, his hand rested on Spock's wet hair.
"You were not out here during the storm, were you?" he inquired, looking a bit concerned beneath his composure.
"No, father. We went inside the building," Spock replied, nodding towards the white building.
"We?" his father asked, looking curiously at Jim.
"James," Jim supplied, waving. "But just call me Jim."
His father inclined his head, taking in Jim's wet form and triumphant expression in minor amusement. He turned back to Spock. "We must return to Vulcan now."
"Awww," Jim whined, frowning. "Things were just getting exciting!"
"I apologize, Jim," his father said, sounding more sincere than usual. Perhaps his father tried to show more emotion when conversing with humans. It seemed logical enough. Humans worked off emotions, therefore to associate with them, one must permit some emotions.
"It's okay," Jim sighed. "I gotta get back anyway…" He looked extremely unhappy at the idea of returning to his aunt's wedding.
A man in a dark suit got his father's attention and they start talking, so Spock took the moment to say goodbye. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jim," he said, allowing himself to give a very small smile, just so Jim knew he meant it.
"Yep. You too," he said, starting to hold out his hand, but then stopped himself. "Wait. Don't Vulcans do something different as a goodbye?"
Spock found himself amused once more with Jim's antics. He raised his hand in the customary form of goodbye. Jim looked at it curiously, then down at his own hand, trying to form the same shape. The young tendons in his hand wouldn't allow him to form it alone, so he had to hold his fingers that way. "I don't think my hand likes your goodbye," he chuckled. "Do you think I'll ever see you again?"
"I do not know," Spock admitted.
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Then at least don't forget me." He winked. Then he turned on his heel and sped off down the sidewalk. Spock watched him go until he suddenly stopped, looked down at his toy, then ran back to Spock. "I'm back," he panted.
"I see that," Spock nodded, looking at him curiously.
"Well," he said, shifting uncomfortably. He then thrust the toy ship towards Spock, a light pink color on his cheeks. "Here. I want you to have this."
"Thank you, but why are you giving me your belonging when you leaped into a pond to retrieve it?" Spock questioned, taking it by the tail of the ship.
"So you don't forget me, you dummy!" Jim laughed. He reached up and mussed Spock's hair, then took off once more, leaping over bushes, jumping on benches, bumping into people, and wreaking havoc as he went.
"Fascinating," Spock said to himself, looking down at the toy ship. When his father finished talking with the man in the dark suit, he looked down at Spock, then at the toy.
"I see you have made a friend," he said.
Spock just nodded slowly, studying the toy ship. He really had never seen anything like it and found that he couldn't wait until he got home and could study it closer. One curious and perhaps good thing that came out of the occurrence, if anything came out of it at all, was when he returned to Vulcan, one part of what had become a piece of his routine, never happened again.
When the next storm blew through Vulcan, his father was surprised to find him not under a table, but at the window, staring into the sand storm, the toy ship in his hands.
I wrote this in three hours. Go me. Fer real. Anyway, thanks for reading and humoring my attempt at what I imagined in my head as the too cutest little kids ever.
Just as a note, my excuse for allowing Spock to laugh was because while I know Vulcan training and what not begins at an early age, Spock is still growing and, well, he was still emotional when he was like eleven or something when he beat the shit out of that kid. So I figured, hey, he's a kid and Jim's a charmer - surely he could be allowed one giggle from that little blonde boy's antics.
I was smiling like a goof the whole time I wrote this, so if I made anyone happy, it was simply myself.
Once again, thanks for reading and give me reviews and happy faces.