Entering Orbit (Kirk/Spock AOS)

Part Two

It had been three years since Jim woke up with a house to himself and no expectations for the day ahead. It was lazy and indulgent, and he wasn't sure what to do with himself, so he started with coffee and a tour of the house, removing the sheets as he went. He spent time in each room reacquainting himself with his surroundings. In Sam's room, infuriatingly neat, he tipped over a picture just because he could. His mom's room smelled the same, like laundry soap and dust. She never spent a lot of time in there, often sleeping on the couch, puzzling over an engineering challenge. It wasn't hard to see where Jim's sometimes insomnia originated.

The rest of the house was the same, about as he remembered it, if with a little more wear and tear. The back yard, however, was a surprise. It had consisted of dirt and rocks and was always hot when he was a child. He'd never spent much time in it, apart from the day Frank had given him a bucket and instructed him to gather up all rocks in the yard as punishment for swearing at his mother. It was a punishment which, Jim being Jim, he'd promptly ignored, spending the morning reading on the front porch and the afternoon trying to override the curfew settings on the front door (he was getting tired of climbing out windows). Frank came home from work and marched out back to see Jim's progress, and that's how Jim ended up locked outside that night and slept in the ugly, rock-littered back yard (well, that Frank and Sam knew. He was just as adept at climbing up into windows and scaling fences).

What surprised him most was the color: green. Vibrant green, from a wall of plants along the back fence, which was odd considering this was February and it was near freezing outside. There were tall, exotic varieties with large, broad leaves; and smaller, spiky specimens tucked among their bases. Jim did his best impression of a Vulcan eyebrow raise. His mom was keeping all of this alive? She must have a gardener on retainer or the plants were fake. Glancing up, he saw the curve of a transparent dome. A temperature controlled environment? He spotted her old hammock, the one Frank always said he'd fix, obviously repaired and stretched on a metal base. And the crowning glory, Jim noted with pleasure, was a hot tub that stood under a small pergola. She'd always threatened to install one, despite the upkeep and the energy consumption. Frank said they were an extravagance, and if she had money to burn, she could replace the car her kid drove over a cliff. Jim would be using that hot tub later.

He replicated a plate of so-so pancakes (Bones had him spoiled) and sat in front of his bookshelf cross legged, touching each spine reverently. It wasn't a large collection, twenty two hardcovers and three fragile paperbacks in protective cases. Most he'd had to save up to afford for a few months, and in some cases barter in order to obtain. He'd read them all, some multiple times. He loved the smell and feel of a paper book, the sound of turning pages, the physical act of marking his spot or making a notation in the margin that he would stumble upon later.

Charles Dickens was a favorite, an author 400 years dead, and yet his words still rang true. Jim selected Great Expectations and curled into the tall-backed chair near the window in his room, legs hanging over the armrest. He read the book straight through, stopping for bathroom breaks, and had a cramp in his neck when he closed the back cover. It was unsettling and familiar, the story of a boy given a remarkable opportunity, only to have it dashed. Jim briefly fantasized himself in nineteenth century England, playing near his father's grave. Bones filled the roles of both the loving Joe and Pip's overbearing sister all too well. Gary was the closest approximation to Herbert. And Uhura, for as much as she resisted him, was the best candidate for Estella; though when it came to repressed emotions, Spock... Spock? A love interest? Jim laughed away the idea as absurd. Too many hours with one book had gone to his head. At least he knew Captain Pike wasn't an escaped convict (well, some Romulans might argue differently). Carefully returning the book to the shelf, he went in search of food.