Title: Bloody Good Shots
Summary: When Spock threw the punch, he didn't know that T'Pring was nearby. Nor did he know that she could throw an even better one.
It was just a few moments after Spock knocked Saren into the testing hemisphere that he heard the soft voice even enraged as he was by his older classmates calling his father a traitor and his mother a whore, he could still hear T'Pring's challenge of the two classmates he'd left behind.
"You called Ambassador Sarek a traitor," T'Pring asked even as Spock drove his opponent to the floor. "His wife a whore. What perchance would you call one who is betrothed to join the noble house of Surak?"
Even with his hands pounding Saren, his ears strained to hear the response. "Logically that would be a brood slave for the brothel."
The next sound he heard was the sound of a boy's body impacting the bottom of another testing hemisphere. It was followed by a second impact, and a great sense of satisfaction coming over his betrothal bond with T'Pring. It was the first feeling he'd felt over the bond since they'd left the place of marriage.
Spock suddenly noticed that the boy he'd been throttling had been knocked out. The boy's face was battered and bloody. He stopped his punches. How had he managed to do that? He starred at his closed fists until a teacher finally arrived to pull him off of his persecutor.
Spock sat with his arms folded over his chest, next to T'Pring on the bench outside the Headmaster's Office. They'd been sitting there for sixteen point three minutes. The Headmaster was in, but hadn't called them in. The teachers who had pulled him off of his persecutor had talked to the Headmaster, though, before leaving. The three boys hadn't been seen by either of them since they'd been hauled off.
The corridor which they sat in was the longest corridor in the building. It ran from the main doors all the way through the building, to the Headmaster's Office on the back wall of the school. As classes were over for the day, it was empty, for the most part. A few teachers had left, their footsteps echoing down the hall as they did so, during the last five minutes. The ancient janitor had just started on his duty of cleaning out the classrooms, and was on his third classroom, though this one seemed to be taking more time than the first two had, and Spock knew it was a smaller room.
The main doors opened, and then swung shut with a C-sharp clang. Spock looked down towards the main doors. His father had arrived. Spock's chest tightened. He'd hoped that his mother would come. He schooled his face to go impassive, and let his arms go down by his side. As much as he wanted to rage about what the boys had said to him before he'd thrown that punch, and what he'd heard them call his T'Pring, he knew that he couldn't do it in front of his father.
He looked straight across the hall as his father approached, not saying a word. His father only nodded slightly as he passed Spock and went into the Headmaster's Office. As that door closed, he felt T'Pring's hand on top of his for the first time. It was comforting. She was scared as he was of what was going to happen. He hadn't spotted that when he'd looked at her, but now that they were touching, he could tell.
He turned T'Pring's hand over his to a grasp of hers, and tried to send comfort back. It wasn't easy to do. He'd never practiced that. He knew that his mother and father often sent their thoughts and feelings through just a pair of touching fingers. Surely with his hand holding hers, he could do the same. "Once touching, always touching," he whispered, echoing their betrothal bounding.
To his great surprise, he found himself looking into to T'Pring's eyes, and heard her response in his mind. "Once joined, always joined." He could see the slightest of smiles on her face.
"The Headmaster will see you now," the Headmaster's assistant said from the doorway.
They stood, hands still clasped. In their minds, one word echoed, from both of them yet from neither of them, "together."
Spock found a seat in front of the Headmaster's desk, and his father moved another chair close enough that he didn't have to let go of T'Pring's hand. A quizzical sense passed between their bond. To T'Pring, that was only right to do. To Spock, it was unusual for his father to do it.
Once both of them were seated, greater surprise flowed through their bound, when Sarek spoke. "Spock, how long have Sipek, Sopek, Tirok, and Saren been bulling you?"
"Ambassador Sarek, there has been no bulling in this school," the Headmaster said.
"Having watched the whole scene which transpired this afternoon," Sarek replied, "your statement falls under what my wife would refer to as wishful thinking. Spock has long come home with signs of dried tears. Despite your earlier statements, he is not given to overly emotional behavior. If anything, my son endeavors to be more Vulcan than Vulcan. It takes severe emotional trauma for him to break in the way that he did today. The question remains, Spock, how long have they been saying and doing things like they did today?"
"Approximately three point six two years, father," Spock replied, all emotion schooled away from his voice. "The comments about my T'Pring have only been going on for the last two point one months."
"I see," Sarek said. "Headmaster, three point six two years places the beginning of such actions squarely with your appointment as Head of this school. There will be no further punishment of my son and his betrothed by your school. I shall attend to the proper response. You shall attend to the proper response to the aforementioned four boys, who as I believe evidence supports have been engaged in an unprovoked path of attempting to provoke my son. Should I hear of the appropriate punishments, I may chose not to file charges against you and the wayward youths."
It took all of Spock's concentration to avoid showing any emotion at his father's statements. Inside however, there was a torrent of emotion swirling around him. His father had never, ever, stood up for him like that. His mother had. His mother had been his rock, and knew all that he was going through, but his father ... he'd been a cipher, a stony visage which Spock had endeavored to copy as a defense against the slings and arrows sent his way. Now though, the firm tones that booked no objection, tones often had Spock bowing his head in acquiescence, they were directed in defense of him. He wasn't sure what the emotion was swirling inside him, but it felt good.
"In any case, I shall be withdrawing Spock and T'Pring from your establishment," Sarek said. "It seems that it falls below the expectations that we have for a learning environment. Perhaps it is time to look for one off world. Perhaps even on Earth..." Sarek's voice trailed off.
Spock could hear the intended slur against Vulcan preparatory schools. He could almost complete it in his mother's voice. If his mother had been in the room, it would have been. It was a classic set up from his father, often used at events with the Andorian Ambassador. His parents were a team. They worked together. Spock looked and met T'Pring's eyes.
They stepped out of the Headmaster's office, and headed to exit the school for the last time. A few steps down the hall way, Sarek stopped them, with an arm gently laid across them. "I do not generally condone violence. However, in this case, it was quite justified. Furthermore, I feel that I should compliment you, especially the first punches you both fired. To use the particular dialect of the latest Earth Ambassador to Vulcan, they were bloody good shots."
"Thank you, father," Spock said, the feeling pride from both sides of the bond.
"You will, of course, not tell your mother I said that," Sarek admonished, as they resumed their walk. "You will, also make sure to let both your mother and I know of any future bulling. This should not have gone this far and for this long. It will not happen again." They reached the family hover car. "Backseat, both of you. I shall not be looking."
As Spock took a seat on the rear bench. He trusted his father's word. It would not happen again. His fingers intertwined with T'Pring's, again, and suddenly he saw an image from her mind of the punches they'd made. He caught her eyes in his again, and leaned towards her. Lips parting, they kissed for the first time. In their minds, his father's words intermingled with the sensations of the kiss.
Bloody good shots, indeed.
This particular one shot was stuck at janitor for two and a half years ... I may write a sequel later, but this story is done. All reviews save Guest Reviews with more please content will be accepted. Signed reviews with significant content or questions may be responded to.