Looking For Shooting Stars

Chapter 4: Looking

…And he said,

I see you sitting there at the window sill

Looking for shooting stars…


Spock had been thinking of Jim with ever-increasing frequency in the 4.2635 days that had elapsed since his conversation with his father. He had meditated with single-minded focus in an attempt to determine how he felt about the human, but Spock was unused to utilizing meditation as a means to the discovery of emotion. For a great portion of his existence, meditation had been the default method he was forced to avail himself of on those occasions in which he was emotionally compromised or dangerously close to being in such a state. Spending so much time using it to suppress his emotions meant that it was currently not the method most conducive to facilitating his emotional awareness.

As it was, the most Spock had been able to ascertain was that he was no longer wholly impartial when it came to Jim Kirk, and as a result, he had concluded that the best course of action would be to cease his observation of said human until such a time when he had clearly defined his motivations.

This was, as humans said, “easier said than done”, however. Spock found that the overwhelming urge to be near Jim, to know what he was doing and who he was doing it with did not abate. In fact, if Spock was not mistaken, it was growing stronger with each day that he forcibly prolonged his self-imposed absence.

What bothered him the most though was the fact that even after hours of meditation he still had no idea how to rectify this matter, which left him with no clear direction in which to proceed. Spock seemed to be “at a standstill”, and it was not a position in which he enjoyed being.

Spock sat in his room, once again attempting to meditate. As usual, he was quite successful at reaching his primary meditative state, but as before, when he tried to go deeper, to put his feelings for Jim in order, to give them a name, Spock found himself unable to do so.

Nor could he find a reason for this inability. It had never been necessary for Spock to engage in such a struggle with his own mind. Indeed, Spock’s mind was considered to be extremely well-organized for his age bracket among Vulcans. To be unable to do something so simple as categorize and compartmentalize his feelings was… frustrating, taxing, exasperating, and an entire amalgam of other illogically human words that conveyed similar sentiments.

Trying to access the mental link between his mind and Jim’s proved to be equally unsuccessful. Spock had originally intended to abstain from even touching the fragile tie binding him to Jim as doing so would constitute yet another breach of whatever trust Jim may someday have for him; unfortunately, he had underestimated just how strong the temptation would be to reaffirm the link’s existence and had inevitably ended up trying to do so in spite of himself.

Spock had been shocked (and admittedly somewhat horrified) when he realized that he was completely unable to consciously access their fledgling bond. Subsequent to this discovery, he had spent an inordinate amount of time during his meditations attempting to reach Jim’s mind. When his efforts continued to fail, he had been forced to conclude that the human must be shielding his mind in some way. He would need to do more experimentation to be sure, but were he forced to speculate on the matter, Spock would have said that Jim’s conscious mind must be the one blocking him.

Spock’s thoughts drew strange parallels to the Terran game “rock, paper, scissors”. While he and Jim were in physical contact, Spock’s touch telepathy was stronger than Jim’s mental shields. When he and the human were not touching, Jim’s shields were sufficient to keep Spock from entering his mind. However, when Jim was asleep or unconscious, even if they were not physically connected to one another, the bond overpowered both of them and allowed Spock access to Jim.

Spock paused momentarily in his thoughts. Perhaps the analogy was not quite as accurate as he had thought.

Nevertheless, Jim must be shielding himself in some way. To his surprise, Spock was more saddened than frustrated by this conclusion; the only reason a psi-null mind would be able to erect such shields without training was if something had occurred that was so horrifying that it felt an overwhelming need for the added protection. Spock had already deduced that something was horribly wrong in Jim’s life, but the thought of his t’hy’la going through any of the scenarios he had postulated was sufficient to cause rage and grief to burn inside of him.

T’hy’la t’nash-veh. Jim t’nash-veh. His t’hy’la. His Jim. If Spock were to ever admit to a preference for anything, it would be for these words in whichever language he chose to speak them. They asserted his possession; they asserted his… claim.

The thought caused Spock to realize something that had not previously occurred to him. It was possible that he had been going about this the wrong way. Perhaps he needed to treat the current situation in the same manner he would an experiment. The time in which he had been avoiding Jim could be considered a control, and now it was time for Spock to reintroduce the variable, his t’hy’la. Taking into account his inability to center his thoughts and push Jim from his mind during the controlled portion of the experiment, Spock was fairly certain that he could form an accurate hypothesis to predict his reaction upon re-exposure to Jim.

For some reason, the very idea of once more allowing himself to see Jim sent a frisson of excitement through Spock. Illogical.

Ignoring his profound leaps of logic and the suddenly appearing eagerness to hasten the commencement of his next experiment, Spock quickly and efficiently brought himself out of his meditation.

He opened his eyes to the sight of Jim staring up at the sky through his open bedroom window.

It had been a rather long time (now 4.3052 days, to be exact) since Spock had allowed himself to simply look at Jim, and as a result, he found himself doing little more than staring for approximately 74.8240 seconds before finally regaining his senses.

It did not seem as though Jim was planning on going anywhere at any time in the near future. Spock considered the human briefly before making a decision. Now was as good a time as any to begin the first run of his experiment.

Were Spock human, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach may have been attributed to an illogical human condition he had heard referred to as “nerves”; however, as he was a Vulcan, Spock was able to logically assure himself that he was feeling no such thing. Nevertheless, he still hurried over to the window and threw it open quickly so as to prevent further contemplation of the subject.

Over the countless millennia in which Vulcans had been inhabiting a desert planet, Vulcan physiology had progressed naturally toward the constant conservation of water. As a result, their mouths produced far less saliva than that of their human counterparts. It was a matter of biology and not something that Spock had questioned after his initial curiosity as to the differences between his own Vulcan body and his mother’s human one.

Because of this, Spock was incredibly perplexed to find that he was suffering from a condition known as xerostomia—to Spock’s knowledge this was known as “dry mouth” to less educated humans—for the first time in his existence. In spite of this ill-timed, yet not entirely debilitating ailment, he somehow forced himself to speak. “Jim.”

Jim’s head had turned toward him the minute he heard the window open, but upon Spock’s utterance of his name, something within him seemed to snap. The human’s face twisted, and with a glare at Spock, Jim slammed his own window shut.

The Vulcan once more spent an inordinately extended period of time staring at the space Jim had previously occupied as he attempted to process what had just happened and, more importantly, how he felt about it. Spock was… hurt by Jim’s automatic rejection of him. There was an inexplicably deep ache in his right side, in the area of his heart. Even in his altercations with his agemates on Vulcan, Spock had never felt such a thing. Anger, indignation, protectiveness… those he was familiar with. But emotional pain such as this, he had never experienced.

Spock’s mother possessed several hardbound paper books. Spock had been insatiably curious when he was younger, and upon noticing his curiosity, Amanda had allowed him to peruse them. Among them, he had found one particular book that he favored (not that he would have admitted it at the time) by a human named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. In his contemplation of his feelings in the wake of Jim’s actions, Spock recalled one significant phrase that seemed particularly applicable to the current situation.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

While it was not impossible for him to be without Jim, the more the idea of being t’hy’la with Jim grew in his mind, the more unbearable the thought of being apart became. By this line of reasoning, the only logical outcome dictated that he and Jim form a relationship. This conclusion itself did not surprise him. He had known that, should he and Jim in actuality turn out to be t’hy’la, the most logical course of action was to form a more permanent bond. This was not, to quote his mother, “news to him”.

What did surprise him was the pure need, the insuppressible craving that the thought engendered in him. Spock wanted to form a relationship with Jim. He did not want it merely for the fact that they could be t’hy’la, but for the fact that he wanted Jim himself.

4.3260 days of meditation, and it had taken less than 2.5836 minutes in Jim’s presence for him to realize what he had been missing all along.

Spock wanted Jim. It was as simple as that.


As it turned out, Spock woke up the next morning and realized that it was not as simple as that. In the course of his revelations the previous evening, he had failed to take into consideration the fact that he was a Vulcan. Even with the somewhat questionable claim that Jim was his t’hy’la, a Vulcan operating within the propriety dictated by logic would never allow him or herself to make a decision on such an emotional basis as desire. A reasonable Vulcan would weigh all options logically, analyze the costs and benefits of the possible outcomes, and come to a conclusion based on the results of this cogitation.

Spock had not done any of this. He had made the decision to pursue Jim on account of the fact that he desired to do so, and it really had seemed simple at the time. In the light of day, however, Spock remembered one thing that should have occurred to him last night.

His father would not approve of his actions should he choose to pursue a relationship with Jim.

In spite of the fact that he had been living on Earth for a substantial amount of time, Spock had retained the predisposition to act more logical, more Vulcan, when in the presence of his father. He knew that this tendency stemmed from the illogically human and seemingly inherent need to gain his father’s approval, but despite much meditation on the matter, he had been unable to curb it.

The end result of this was, of course, the fact that he would somehow need to suppress his newly discovered feelings for Jim, since doing nothing would not be an appropriately Vulcan course of action.

Unfortunately, his feelings for Jim did not want to be suppressed. No matter how much Spock tried, they refused to be submerged.

He did not know who to turn to for a solution to this matter. Spock was closer to his mother by virtue of her openness and the fact that they cohabitated on a permanent basis; however, he did not believe that it would be wise to ask for her advice about his feelings for Jim. It was very likely that Amanda would actually encourage him to pursue Jim instead of advising him about ways in which he would be able to forget his desire to do so. No, his mother was not a viable option.

Nor was his father a desirable option. Sarek was the being from whom Spock was attempting to keep these emotions hidden. To bring the matter to him for consideration would be illogical.

Regrettably, as Spock spent more time deliberating on the subject, he began to realize that his father may be the only one from whom he would be able to ask advice about emotional control. As much as he disliked the thought of disappointing his father, there were no other options from which he could choose.

Resigned, Spock decided that it was time to ‘bite the bullet’, as his mother was fond of saying. He stood, straightened his clothing, and departed his room to find his father.

Spock experienced a strange human phenomenon—he believed it was called déjà vu—as he entered his father’s office. There had been the same sense of dreadful anticipation and… fear as he had waited for his father to allow him entrance only 4.9056 days previous. Spock did not relish the thought that he was getting to be well acquainted with unwanted emotions; perhaps whichever method Sarek advised him to utilize in the suppression of his feelings for Jim could be applied to these other, even less desirable sentiments.

When he was once again standing in front of his father, Sarek staring at him expectantly, Spock forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking so that his words would come out at a calm and measured pace. “Father,” he began. “I would like your advice on emotional suppression. In the light of the discovery of my t’hy’la, I have been unable to achieve balance in my meditations and have begun making decisions on the basis of emotion.”

“You are sure that you and this human are t’hy’la, then?” Sarek questioned. “On what evidence have you based this conclusion?”

Sarek’s stare pierced him, and Spock found himself admitting, “Last night, I—I decided that I would begin pursuing Jim in the hopes of beginning a romantic relationship. There was no logical reason for this choice; I simply wished to do so because I wanted to. I am drawn to him, and as a result, I am finding it exceedingly difficult to uphold the principles of Surak.” Spock stood up straighter as his father’s gaze became disapproving. “I believe the most logical course of action would be to rid myself of these feelings so that I may once again consider the subject in an objective manner.”

Spock did not know where to look when he had finished explaining the situation. He was ashamed of his feelings and ashamed of himself for feeling them. His father was obviously disappointed with him and would most likely tell him so this time. Spock had gone too far by actually admitting to such a lapse in logic.

“Spock,” Sarek started. “I believe you are under a misapprehension. To a Vulcan, the t’hy’la bond is the most sacred and coveted experience one can have. As I understand it, t’hy’la transcend logic; the beings involved, and indeed, the very bond itself, supersede the teachings of Surak. The bond is not bound by Vulcan logic. It originates in your katra, and your katra has recognized Jim’s as its own. There is no shame in this.”

Spock’s eyes opened wide in shock. He had not been expecting his father to condone his illogical actions, let alone encourage them.

Sarek seemed to sense his hesitation. “Spock,” he said, his tone commanding his son’s attention. “It is logical to bond with one’s t’hy’la. To do so would not bring shame upon you, nor would it cause your mother or I to be disappointed with you. In this, it is necessary for you to do what you must to ensure that your future bonding will take place.”

The tightness around his lungs—which Spock had not been aware existed—eased, and then disappeared altogether. Spock had never been the type to blindly follow the advice of others, even when that advice came from his parents, but for once his desire to do so outweighed his tendency to overthink things. The sheer want for Jim overpowered him, and he knew that the decision had been made.

Spock would find a way to make Jim want him back. One way or another, Jim would be his.


It was becoming commonplace for Spock to awaken in the middle of the night to find the horrifying sound of Jim’s screams echoing in his head. Each night since the joining of their minds 13.3489 days ago, Spock had awoken upon hearing it, and each time, Spock had kept himself from reaching out, from deepening the link that was already forming between them. He had known that it would be wrong to do so, in spite of the comfort it would bring Jim. It was not just that the human was unaware and non-consenting to the touch of Spock’s mind. Spock had also needed to take into consideration the fact that he himself had been unsure whether he wanted to form a permanent bond between his mind and Jim’s.

It had caused him to hesitate, even when he wanted to reach out with his mind and comfort the human. To do so regardless of the consequences would be obscenely illogical and cruel. To form such a bond unknowingly was one thing, but to do so while possessing full knowledge of his actions was… unthinkable.

Now, however, Spock knew what he wanted, and he knew that, whatever the consequences, he needed to bring comfort to the human who meant more to him than he could have ever believed possible. And so, with that thought in mind, Spock allowed himself to close his eyes and find the small tether in his head that linked him to Jim.

And then he landed flat on his back in the middle of a field.

Spock’s first thought was that the sky was beautiful. Night was falling, and he was obviously on another planet for the sun did not set with the same colors as it did on Earth or on Vulcan. The sky was vibrantly cool with interwoven shades of purple, blue, and green that danced as the sun sank lower beyond the horizon. It was fascinating.

Then he noticed the smell.

A foul, putrid odor permeated the air. Spock looked around, attempting to find the source, and noticed a heap of rotting corpses that lay abandoned nearby. He stumbled to his feet, choking as he inhaled, trying to take in some fresh air around the sweet stench of decaying humanoid flesh. It was revolting, and Spock tried to prevent himself from retching as he hurried away from the bodies with as much haste as he could manage in his compromised state.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be a number of corpses—human, alien, and animal alike—piled along his path as he rushed through a field of grain that Spock now realized seemed to be, if anything, in a more advanced state of putrefaction than the bodies he was passing. The stalks were blackened, baking in the sun, and smelled just as strongly, if not as sweetly, as the rotting corpses. Spock stopped and looked forward in horror. This sight—the withered fields and the fallen bodies—continued as far as the eye could see.

“Spock?” a voice behind him asked, confused. “What the fuck are you doing on Tarsus?”

Spock turned and nearly lost the fight with his stomach.

It was Jim, but not Jim as Spock knew him now. Spock’s eyes roamed over the boy, cataloguing the differences. This Jim was a few years younger and several pounds lighter. His skin was filthy, and his clothes appeared to have been soaked in blood. His hair was thin as a result of malnourishment, and his nails were torn and caked with grime. It was Jim’s face though—his eyes in particular—that made Spock pause. They were haunted and guarded to a degree that Spock had never seen before, even on the normally wary teenager he had spent so much time observing.

“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” Jim continued. “As if it’s not enough that you’ve been following me everywhere I go, now I gotta see you in my fucking dreams?” Jim huffed out a bitter laugh. “That’s just like me. Of course, I have to form some kind of obsession with the guy who’s been stalking me. As if I didn’t have enough shit wrong with me…” Spock watched, his eyes wide, as Jim started pacing in front of him and gesticulating with his hands as he spoke. “Born in the middle of a god damned firefight in space…” He held up one finger, and started counting. “…father died in—oh yeah!—the same god damned firefight in space, mom dumps me here with that asshole Frank, Sam abandons me, then there was the total clusterfuck that was Tarsus IV, and now…” Jim glared at Spock. “Now, I’m sitting here having a fucking pity party with that bastard Vulcan, Spock, who’s got some kind of freaky obsessive stalker hard-on for me. What the fuck?”

Spock did not know how to reply to Jim’s words. It did not seem as though Jim realized that Spock was actually there with him in his dreams, and Spock did not want to dissuade him of that belief. To do so would be highly illogical as Jim would most likely raise his shields the moment he realized that he was not really alone in his own head.

He tried to think of something that he could say that would in no way allow Jim to come to the realization the Spock was actually there in his head. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was, “You do realize that, as my parents were legally married at the time of my birth, I am not, in fact, the bastard you have accused me of being.”

Jim stared at him for approximately 5.4021 seconds, seemingly in shock, and then, he threw his head back and laughed.

It was now Spock’s turn to stare in shock. Jim’s laugh was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and his face, as emaciated and grimy as it was, was indescribable. For the first time since he had realized that he and Jim may be t’hy’la, Spock was overwhelmingly proud of that fact. He was the one who would one day be able to look upon that laughing face and say, “This is my mate; this is my Jim.”

Another realization hit him as he watched Jim laugh: It was not that he would need to convince Jim that he belonged to Spock. Instead, Spock would need to prove to Jim that he was worthy of the human. That was the only way in which he would ever be able to convince such a person to accept him as a mate.

Jim stopped laughing, and Spock realized that whatever humor had been there was now gone. The human huffed out another bitter laugh. “Wow, I can’t believe I have you pinned so well. That sounds exactly like something the real Spock would say.” Jim scratched his head. “Or, at least, I think he would. He seems to be pretty fucking literal.” Jim sighed and pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes. “My brain must be trying to cheer me up or something. God, why the fuck am I like this? I already know there is not a fucking chance things will ever get better, and yet I still insist on trying to give myself what…? Hope, or some shit like that?” He hung his head. “Why do I keep doing this to myself?”

Spock was once again at a loss for what to say, equal parts alarmed and dismayed by what he had just heard. He needed to say something that would comfort Jim, restore his hope, or at the very least assist him in some way. For all of the attributes that his mother insisted he had, it appeared as though those necessary to comfort his t’hy’la were not in his possession. He thought about what his mother usually did when she knew Spock was upset—he was still unable to comprehend how it was she knew when he did not show any outward signs of it—and realized that whenever she attempted to comfort him, there were two elements that remained constant regardless of the problem.

Physical contact and reassurances. Surely, that is what Jim needed.

Hesitantly, Spock reached out and, slowly so as not to startle Jim, he pulled his t’hy’la toward him and into his arms. Once he had positioned the human’s head on his chest, Spock stroked Jim’s hair as his mother had always done for him and said, “Everything will be all right, Jim.”

For a moment, there was silence, and Spock felt a sense of peace while having Jim in his arms.

Then, Jim shoved himself away from Spock. “No!” he snapped, his face creased in distress. “I can’t let myself lean on you, even if it is just a god damned dream. There’s not a fucking thing in my life that’s ‘all right’, and there never will be, so just go away!


And Spock woke up, alone in his bed, feeling further from Jim than he ever had before.

Spock could find no significant reference to a planet called Tarsus IV.

He had spent a considerable amount of time on his computer terminal attempting to locate information on the planet in question, but the most he had been able to find was a small passage that read, Tarsus IV: the fourth planet in the Tarsus star system. Spock would admit to being rather frustrated; the information was useless to his understanding of Jim’s situation.

Finally admitting defeat, Spock commanded the computer to perform an automatic shut down and went downstairs to join his mother for breakfast.

“Good morning, Mother,” Spock greeted her as he sat down at the table.

Amanda turned to him with a smile. “Good morning, Spock,” she answered cheerfully. Then she frowned as she examined his face. “Spock, you look as if you didn’t sleep well last night. Is everything all right?”

Spock considered her question for a moment, wondering whether he should apprise her of the details he had acquired last night from Jim’s dreams. A part of him wanted nothing more than to ask advice from his mother, but another, stronger part insisted that to do so would be seen as a betrayal of Jim. Spock shook his head. He would not betray his t’hy’la by sharing his dreams with another, but perhaps his mother could help him in another way.

“Mother, have you ever heard of a planet called Tarsus IV?”

Amanda paled. “That horrible place!” She shuddered and looked him in the eye. “Why do you want to know, Spock?”

Spock was rather taken aback by his mother’s reaction, but he pressed forward. “It is very important, Mother. Please tell me.”

His mother assessed him for a moment before nodding. “All right,” she agreed, sighing. “Do not repeat this, for I am not even supposed to know about it. The Federation went to a great deal of trouble to keep their planets from finding out about it. The only reason I know at all is because of your father. Normally it wouldn’t have been any of my business, but well… I could feel that he was horrified by what they found on that planet when the ships finally arrived to aid the colonists. He was upset by it, and so I interfered and made him share his burdens for once.” She frowned briefly before smiling at him fondly. “Your father is very stubborn, much like another Vulcan I know and love.”

“Mother,” he said with a hint of exasperated affection in his voice. “The planet?”

“Right, well, Tarsus IV was a colony of about eight thousand people. The colony was prosperous for some time, but about a year and a half ago the crops started to die because of a plague. Apparently, the governor, Kodos, was able to keep everyone calm for a while, but the food started to run out quickly, and people started to panic. Kodos decided to implement his own twisted brand of eugenics and ordered the death of half of the population so that the half he deemed more worthy would be able to survive until the Federation ships arrived. Over four thousand people were murdered.” She shook her head sadly. “And the worst part is that it was all in vain. Starfleet arrived not two weeks after Kodos gave the order, and in that time, the remaining colonists had rioted and ended killing off another two-thirds of the remaining population.”

Spock stared at her in complete astonishment. How was it possible that Jim had lived through such an ordeal? What Spock had seen in Jim’s head the previous night had been horrific, but he had obviously interrupted one of Jim’s tamer memories of Tarsus IV. He had seen no massacre, no riots; there had been plenty of bodies, yet he had seen none of them in the act of dying. What other terrors could be hiding in the back of Jim’s mind, plaguing his waking life and haunting his dreams? Spock almost couldn’t bear to think about it.

This did explain a lot about Jim though. The insufficient body weight for a teenaged male, his wariness, the peculiar eating habits… Several things had been put into place in Spock’s mind, but there were pieces still missing.

This explained a lot, but it did not explain everything.

“Spock?” Amanda interrupted his thoughts. “Does this have something to do with…” Her eyes widened in horror, and if possible, she paled even further. “Jim,” she breathed, obviously “putting two and two together”, as the saying goes.

Spock nodded solemnly and confirmed her suspicions. “Yes, Mother. Jim was on Tarsus IV.”


That Vulcan had stopped following him, and for some reason, that was really bothering Jim.

Jim hadn’t exactly been thrilled when the bastard had started stalking him—in fact, he’d been pissed—but after Spock had saved him from those assholes two weeks ago, he’d been kind of warming up to the idea that there was at least someone out there who had his back. It had been way too fucking long since he had had someone in his corner, and though he was sure he couldn’t actually trust Spock with that position, a part of him really wanted to. He was fucking tired and really just wanted to give in and let someone else do the worrying for a while.

Unfortunately, Jim knew he couldn’t allow himself to do that. He hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time, and he wasn’t about to start trusting again with a god damned Vulcan. Jim snorted. Hell, the guy was so literal-minded that he thought ‘bastard’ actually mean ‘a child born of unwed parents’.

He frowned. Where had that come from? Jim knew he and Spock had never had an actual conversation, so there was no way he would know what Spock’s reaction to being called a bastard would be.

Fragments of last night’s dream floated back to him. Fuck, he’d been dreaming about Spock! Well, first it had been about Tarsus, but then Spock had shown up and… hugged him? Obviously Jim was getting a bit fucked up in the head if he was dreaming about Vulcans hugging him. That just wasn’t natural.

Damn it, there was something seriously wrong with him these days. First, he had caught himself thinking that the Vulcan was hot. It wasn’t all that unusual for him to think something like that about a guy. Even though he was fucked up, he was still a teenager; it happened occasionally. But, Spock was a Vulcan. He had that stupid bowl cut and no expression, and just how the fuck was that attractive? It wasn’t normal, for fuck’s sake.

Then, the Vulcan had started following him—and that had been weird enough—but now, the guy had just stopped tailing him out of the blue and he was upset about it? How was that even possible? He should be glad that things could go back to normal, back to him being safe in his bubble and only coming out long enough to let Frank beat the shit out of him before retreating again. Instead, Jim was upset because he had let himself do something he had promised himself he would stop doing.

He had started to hope again, and that was something Jim couldn’t allow.

The dreams were the last straw though. Jim was used to nightmares. He’d been having them on a regular basis since he was old enough to understand the words, “Your father died for you.” Dreams on the other hand… Jim didn’t have real dreams, at least, not ones he remembered.

He was remembering the dream with Spock though. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The Vulcan wasn’t supposed to be in his fucking dreams, and Jim wasn’t supposed to remember it if he was. Even worse, Spock had hugged him, and Jim had let him. What the fuck had that been about?

Perhaps, it was because Spock had tried to speak with him the night before last. Jim had been pissed—Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me after ignoring me for so long?—and slammed shut the only barrier he could—the window. He had regretted that later after Frank’s beating when the claustrophobia had set in again, but at the time, it had been the only thing he could think to do that would keep Spock out completely.

Later, he had begun to wonder why Spock had even tried to speak to him in the first place. Both of their windows were usually kept open and the Vulcan was almost constantly following him, and yet Spock had never tried to speak with him before. It had made him curious, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Maybe that was what had caused the dreams…

Jim had been thinking more often lately about confronting Spock about the whole thing—the stalking, the not stalking, the attempted conversation at their windows, everything. Perhaps it was time that he finally manned up and cornered the guy.

Jim nodded decisively to himself. It was settled. Tomorrow was Monday, and after school, that bastard Spock was going to tell him everything.

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