Disclaimer: Somehow this is covered under fair use, I promise.

A/N: My first Kirk/Spock and it's . . . kid!fic? Idek. Everybody's gotta start somewhere.

After Spock's father was victim to an act of random violence in a diplomatic incident in another system, Spock's mother chose to return to her home planet. Spock understands the logic of her choice and does not begrudge their relocation to San Francisco. But he does not, he decided after the beginning of the Terran school term, have to enjoy it.

On Vulcan Spock was often taunted for appearing or acting too human. On Earth he is often taunted for not being human enough. His mother encourages him to embrace his humanity—in particular, his human propensity for displaying emotion. But Spock finds it is far easier to take refuge in logic and the control it offers, as his father taught him.

The behavior of the students in his age cohort at Starfleet Junior Preparatory School reminds Spock of North American wolf packs. Spock's mother has admonished that this is perhaps too harsh a metaphor, but Spock continues to believe it is an apt one. The young teenagers range through the corridors in packs, preying on those they perceive as weaker than themselves in shows of dominance.

Some individuals stand apart, outside the social hierarchy, Spock has noticed. A leading biology student, McCoy, for example, seems to exist as a lone wolf, keeping others at a distance with clear disdain for the antics of the mindless pack. Spock is frequently, though privately, amused by McCoy's growling that keeps others at bay—although Spock himself also shies away when McCoy lifts his lip in a silent snarl. McCoy's frequent companion is James T. Kirk, a boy whose presence Spock noted in many of his own courses. As Jim is three years below McCoy in his course of study, the logic of the preparatory school's social hierarchy suggests that the two males should not socialize. But Jim, it appears, defies all rules—social or natural, prescribed or implicit.

Perhaps it should therefore not be a surprise that Jim is the only person at school to have befriended Spock.

Spock benefits from association with Jim in that he is taunted less frequently, although he chooses to maintain a determined focus on his studies rather than pursue unnecessary social connections. When he explained this to Jim, Jim promptly deemed himself a necessary part of Spock's education, and Spock's mother approved.

Early in their acquaintance, Spock learned that Jim's mother is also responsible for Jim's family's relocation to San Francisco. Their move, however, was prompted by a particularly reckless display of youthful anger on Jim's part, involving an expensive vehicle and a quarry cliff. Jim's father, Spock gleans, died the day Jim was born. Spock finds it oddly reassuring that he and Jim share these matters in common.

Spock also finds that he, like many others, is drawn to Jim's vitality and curiosity. And, as is not the case with many humans with whom Spock interacts, Spock finds Jim's emotions easy to interpret and his style of address direct and honest, albeit abrupt.

"You're telling me there's no peanut butter in this entire house? Like, it's not even programmed into the replicator?" Jim's voice is muffled as he speaks with his head pushed into the pantry cupboard, in search of an after-school snack—a practice he insists on, despite Spock's assertion that eating between meals is not a logical use of time or food resources. "What do Vulcans have against peanut butter?"

Jim had had a similar reaction several weeks ago when he discovered the house was devoid of bologna, as well as other meat products.

"Its consistency is—"

"If you say 'illogical' I'm going to throw this at your head," Jim interrupts, having shut the pantry and now hefting an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

"—displeasing," Spock finishes, suppressing his amusement. He has determined that mild threats from Jim (particularly those involving throwing an object at his head, or the actual completion of the act) seem to somehow indicate affection.

Jim tosses the apple upward and catches it with a snap, grinning at him before taking an overlarge bite. "You know, I'm around here just about every day, Spock. I'm surprised you haven't memorized what kind of food to keep around the house for me. I mean, can't you read my mind?" With a wink, Jim shoves away from the counter and saunters toward Spock's bedroom and study, where they often spend a time alternating between completing homework and competing at computer games before Spock's mother arrives and Jim returns home. Occasionally he stays for dinner.

Spock understands that Jim is lightly teasing him, but he has found that feigning ignorance of Jim's jokes is an effective strategy for teasing in return. "It is not within my duties to purchase the household consumables," he responds gravely. Encouraged by Jim's exasperated eye roll he continues, "Furthermore, I believe it would be inadvisable to 'read your mind,' as I have not resumed my training since leaving Vulcan."

At that, Jim blinks, pausing mid-chew. Though he knows it is not possible, Spock imagines he can see the sparks of synapses firing in Jim's wide eyes. He did not anticipate that Jim would be taken aback by the mention of Vulcan telepathy.

"Wait, you're telling me you actually can read my mind?"

Spock links his hands into his elbows behind his back, as automatically as he provides a direct answer to a direct question. "Indeed, if needed. Vulcans are touch telepaths. We can, through contact, gain a general impression of one's thoughts. A deeper, more thorough reading of another's mind is possible through a meld."

Only once he has stopped speaking and takes in Jim's expression of awe and keen interest does Spock recall that it is often a poor idea to provide direct answers to Jim's direct questions. He internally reprimands himself for allowing pride in his cultural heritage to overtake him for a moment.

"That is so cool," Jim articulates slowly for emphasis, adding eagerly, "Do to me. The meld thing. Let's do it."

"No." Spock shakes his head to one side, avoiding eye contact and moving to his desk.

"Yes! Come on. Why not?" Jim shifts around on the bed to follow Spock's movement. He sticks out an arm, pulling up his sleeve. "Here, does it have to be skin to skin? Because I've touched you before—run into you and stuff—and nothing happened. Or did it? Have you read my mind before? Here, try it again."

"No." Spock's fingers skim the components of a computer he and Jim had been working to rebuild, with no real intent behind his actions. His mother would call it nervous fidgeting. He holds on to a circuitry matrix and forces his hands to be still, simultaneously reducing the force of his grip on the delicate object.

"Why not?" Jim repeats.

Spock shakes his head again, still not facing Jim. "As I said, it is inadvisable. I have had little practice attempting such a connection and no appropriate mentor since leaving Vulcan, and my knowledge based on what I have read is limited. I cannot be certain that—"

"Spock."

Jim's tone is simultaneously chiding and gentle and confident.

Spock releases a breath. He supposes he could make an attempt.

He sets down the circuitry matrix and turns, hands now gripping the edge of his desk behind him. A smile of triumph and excitement flash on Jim's face. "What do you need me to do?"

"I have never attempted to meld with a human." Spock feels that Jim should at very least be made aware of the dangers, though he is quite certain Jim will simply ignore them. "If I am successful, the experience may overwhelm you." Unsurprisingly, Jim's interest appears to increase.

Spock estimates the likelihood of his success in establishing a meld to be 64.3 percent. Though he may achieve a meld, he is not sufficiently trained to access or supply any specific information—only dominant thoughts and impressions will be available. Likewise, he is unable to make any alterations to Jim's mind and thereby cause damage. And, of course, if he is unsuccessful in achieving a meld, there will be no harm at all, save that of Jim's disappointment. Additionally, Spock admits to himself, he is curious to test his ability.

Jim scoots backward, up toward the pillow, as Spock situates himself on the bed. He mimics Spock's position and they sit cross-legged, knee caps brushing knee caps, Jim's jeans in contrast to Spock's tunic and leggings.

"Now what?" Jim is eager, but not impatient.

Spock reaches forward and, when Jim does not shy away, he places his thumb, index finger, and middle finger against Jim's cheek, bowing his head in concentration.

"Are you getting anything? Are we doing it yet?" Jim whispers.

Spock shushes him. He can feel tremors of Jim's excitement through his fingertips and he increases the pressure of his touch slightly. "My mind to your mind," he recites softly and envisions extending his mind's energy the way he did his hand, as he has been instructed. "My thoughts to your thoughts." There is a flutter in the back of his mind. Spock repeats the mantra, cocking his head to one side, intensifying his concentration. A connection flickers. Flashes of indistinguishable thoughts cut through Spock's mental vision until, with a physical jolt of engagement he sees—

He sees detention hall and the principal's office. He sees a room scattered with machinery parts and programming manuals. Sees himself seated in English class, upright and attentive, and then navigating the school hallways, alone in a crowd of many. He sees cold barren corn fields. An old wooden house. A blond woman wiping tears from her blue eyes as she looks at her reflection in a mirror. He sees blue sky and Earth's distant yellow sun before plunging upward through the layers of atmosphere to the blackened silence of space, past the planets of this solar system, out to unknown stars. He sees himselfagain, this time wrestling with Jim, on this bed. He sees Jim pin him at his forearms then dip down to touch his lips to Spock's quickly, before laughing and rolling away. He sees—

He doesn't see. He lets go, startled, eyes opening wide upon the boy across from him, heart pounding. Spock clutches his side and tries to regulate his breathing.

Jim opens his eyes seconds later and they are slightly more damp than usual. "So you do feel," he says, voice scratchy. He swipes the back of his wrist over his eyes and his nose with a snort. "I knew Bones was wrong!" he jokes and swipes at his nose again.

Spock musters the self-control to keep from blushing. "I apologize. Emotional transference is a side effect of the meld."

Jim shrugs and gathers his knees to his chest. "Nah, it's okay. You miss your dad."

Spock lets the sting of that truth subside before answering quietly, "I do."

"I miss mine, too. Or, I guess, my mom misses him, so it's kind of the same thing." Jim looks down and away, and Spock cannot quite read his expression, but he remembers the blond woman crying in front of the mirror.

"You resemble your mother," he says.

Jim gives a staccato laugh and looks back to Spock with a wry smile. "Funny, she always says I look like my dad."

Spock inclined his head in sympathy, wishing he had a way to further comfort Jim. He does not want this level of sorrow to continue. "I am told I have my father's ears," he offers.

Jim's laugh is immediate and bawdy, seeming to surprise even him. Overcome, he collapses onto his side. "Oh my God, Spock. Oh my God, that's awesome. Your ears!" He reaches up and runs a finger up the shell of Spock's right ear, not noticing that Spock cuts short a shiver. "Oh, that's hilarious," he moans and dissolves into giggles.

Illogical though it is, Spock feels as though some inner light is radiating through him as he watches Jim revel in laughter he precipitated. The sensation emboldens him.

"There is another connection I wish to initiate, if you will permit it."

Shaking off the last of his laughter, Jim rights himself. "Yeah," he chuckles again, then schools his expression. "Sure, no problem. What's next?"

He crosses his legs, aligning his knees with Spock's once more. Without hesitation, Jim leans forward and closes his eyes, tilting out his chin and face to allow Spock better access.

Spock does not reach out. Instead, he considers his intended target and calculates his trajectory before leaning his torso forward. He closes his eyes at the midpoint and inhales in the second before he presses his mouth to Jim's.

Jim's eyes fly open and Spock pulls back, feeling his cheeks flush.

"I saw that you would be amenable to such an exchange during the meld," he explains hurriedly as Jim sits agog. "I found the idea . . . not unpleasant." His heart is pounding again. "If I was wrong to have acted in such a way, I apologize."

"No, no, no," Jim protests, shifting out of his daze and breaking into a grin. "No, it's okay," he says and puts a hand to Spock's knee. "It's okay. I am what you said—amenable. I'm amenable to that. Any time you wanna do that one again, just go ahead. That is definitely 'not unpleasant,'" Jim assures him and squeezes his knee.

Spock feels himself color again, but this time he permits himself a slight smile and can't help but think that his mother would most certainly be proud.

Jim's expression shifts, mischief creeping at the corners of his eyes. "So you saw that in my head, huh? Wanna see what else I got in there?"

Spock lifts an eyebrow at the implication, and this time it's Jim who blushes, his cheeks reddening and smile turning sheepish.

"All I mean is can you, you know, guess what I want for dinner?"

-end-