Title: Let It All Go

Author: anonpersona

Universe/Series: Reboot, AU

Rating: PG13

Relationship Status: slowbuilding leading to slash

Word Count: 650

Genre: Drama, H/C, Romance, Friendship

Tropes: academy, au counterparts, character study, teen, troubled_past

Warnings: None as of yet, besides WIP

Additional Pairings: none

Summary: Prompted on kink meme ( livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_ ) I'd love to see an AU where Kirk is homeless, and Spock takes him in. it can be set in San Fran or wherever anon wants, i just need a Kirk who's wet and cold getting taken in for the night and being given warm, dry clothes and some food. Then more plot happens. Title from the song 'Cotton' by The Mountain Goats.

AN: I saw the prompt and couldn't resist its awesomeness. This is also on livejournal, but I figured I should expand my horizons. Or, um, also include this other horizon I used to have in my new horizons. o_o I basically noticed that people still favorited my stuff on this website from time to time, and got the warm fuzzies and decided to start updating.

Amanda Greyson had often proudly attributed her son's more illogical escapades to herself.

Spock could still vividly remember standing rather sheepishly in his family's kitchen, clutching a clean plate to his chest, and being informed very logically and with vast amounts of highly evident disaporval that what he had been doing made no sense.

"If you continue to bring food to the wild sehlats, not only will they begin to associate Vulcans with sustenance, they are also more likely to fail at providing for themselves. Unless you intend to personally train these sehlats to be domestic animals – a highly illogical goal, considering they were born outside of Vulcan society and you yourself are not a professional trainer – assisting them will only disrupt the natural order of their lives."

"It is the dry season, and food is scarce." Spock had said, still not meeting his father's eyes. He was 11, and just beginning to get that niggling urge to not ever be his parents. Or, at the very least, to never have a single cell of himself resemble his father more than absolutely necessary. He didn't yet have the rash bravery he would inherit at age 13, though, and did not speak too loudly. "Considering my ongoing study of this particular sehlat pack, it was imperative that I provide them with nourishment so that I may continue my study."

He heard his mother laugh fondly, and had a twisting pang of indignant affection shoot straight through him. He shoved it down quickly, careful to keep his face neutral.

"A true scientist does not interfere with the culture of the life forms under observation." His father's reply was sharp. "You are lying. You are merely 'playing' with these sehlats. Both of these – as well as your urge to provide them with food - are considered human characteristics, Spock."

It was his mother's turn to sound cool and logical, though the anger in her voice was more apparent. "Yes." She'd said, "I believe they are."

The next day she had sent him off with both a lunch and a sack of leftovers from dinner. The look on her face could be described as nothing other than 'proud,' and he had felt both guilty and pleased with himself. He had not yet understood that what he was doing was wrong. Vulcans do not interfere with the lives of others. Vulcans are scientists. They merely watch.

It had taken Spock years to understand that. Even at age 17, away at school on Earth, he still had to suppress the manic urge to pick up birds with crooked wings or to give everything he owned to the broken, skinny bags of wrinkled flesh he caught sight of in the streets of San Francisco – the homeless. He had to shake off the feeling that he needed to adopt the older cats he saw in the windows of local shelters. The ones with grey fur and trembling limbs, squinted eyes, maybe blind. Three legs or a stub were a tail should be.

What benefit would the possession of a feline bring to him? Nothing. There was no reason. It was not his job to interfere with the lives of others. A true Vulcan remained distant and allowed the world around him to go on untouched. A true Vulcan studied and watched, and allowed things to grow and die on their own, suffer and succeed under nothing more than observation.

It was his mother's fault. The one time he voiced this predicament of warped morality to her (when he was 14, and the rash, stupid bravery had indeed overtaken his personality, and he never wanted to be either of his parents, ever) she had laughed and caught him up in her arms, smooching her mouth against the side of his face even while crying delightedly "I'm so glad! You've been such a little terror lately, there's hope for you yet if you've inherited those kinds of sensibilities!" He remembered it every time this urge to interfere and try to 'save' or 'help' something hit him. It helped make him stable.

It helped him remember that he didn't want to be a human, he wanted to be a Vulcan. So he must live by Vulcan codes of morality and ethics.

This all changed when he met Jim.

Review, please! I'd love to know what you think. :-)