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03 January 2011 @ 03:34 am
Fic: Penpals  
I want to apologize in advance for the unfinished-ness of this fic.  I feel bad for posting it...

Title: Penpals
Pairing: Jim/Spock (eventual)
Rating: G/PG?
Prompt: Here.
Universe: Reboot (starts immediately after the movie, but before the start of the five-year mission)
Author's note:  Thanks to jrd17  for doing a quick beta for me.  Again, I apologize for the incompleteness.


Summary:  Jim can honestly say that he has one true friend...

He just hasn't met him yet.
 
...

When the hypothetical dust settled, when the ceremonies and funerals were over, when the sympathy and the gratitude and the anger and the pity and the everything became all too much, James Kirk found himself turning to a long-time comfort.  He was staying in an out-of-the-way hotel under a false name, the silence of the dorms too loud for him to deal with at the moment.  Flopping on the bed and nestling down into the soft comforter and pillows, he pulled out his PADD and opened his secondary inbox.  The new message waiting for him brought a weary smile of relief to his face and he sank further into the downy white surrounding him.  Too many had been lost when Vulcan was… but he was okay and that’s what mattered now.

When Jim was 8 years old, his teacher, Mrs. Bowman, decided that the class could do with “some culturin’”.  She set up an unknown pen pal with each student and encouraged them to set up unique user names.  “This way,” she reasoned, “you can be whoever you want to be!”

Jim, of course, was not very enthused with the idea of having to write at least one letter every week for the entirety of the third grade.  He had better things to do, damn it, like… well, okay, maybe he didn’t have anything better to do, but he still didn’t want to write a letter to some alien kid who probably cared as much as he did about “culturin’”.

Thus, the first correspondence went as such:

 

Hey.

Is this pointless, or what?

coolguy1701

 

(Jim had no idea why, but he loved that number.) 

… 

One week later, on the dot, he had a response:

 

Greetings,

I believe that there is, in fact, a “point”, as you say, to this. 

It is what one would call “cultural exchange.”  It is important

for children our age to be exposed to other species so that

we may be better prepared when we are adults.

Grayson_S

 

Jim stared at the short response and didn’t know whether to laugh or growl.  Immediately, he opened a reply, not caring anymore about the grade.  This guy was interesting - in an irritating, almost funny sort of way. 

Yeah, yeah, but you can't seriously say that you want to spend
                 your time writing to some kid you don’t even know.  Don’t

you have better things to do?  What I meant was; isn’t this

kind of pointless in a personal way?

coolguy1701

 

To want to do something implies an emotional response.  However,

yes I do “have better things to do”.   I’d rather do something

important with my time than waste it with matters of little consequence .

Grayson_S

 

Jim decided that he liked this kid a lot.

 

As the year went on their mutual disinterest morphed into something more.  One could almost call it friendship.  Jim opened up to Grayson in a way that he hadn’t with any other.  So when the school year was over, Jim was reluctant to end their…whatever it was.  He found that he didn’t want to lose the one person who understood him and wasn’t left behind in an intellectual conversation.  He decided not to mention the end of the assignment, secretly hoping to drag their correspondence as long as he could.

As it turned out, Grayson didn’t want it to end either.

 

The years passed.  They never stopped writing, and occasionally IMed as well when their schedules permitted.  They decided to not exchange names, and for this Jim was grateful.  He had no idea how Grayson would react if he knew that he was George Kirk’s son.  This was his one relationship untainted by that fact.

Though they didn’t exchange personal information, bits and pieces of information were figured out on both ends.  Jim knew that Grayson was Vulcan (what else could he be with the constant formal talk?) and that he felt like a disappointment to his father.  Grayson was the only one who knew about Tarsus IV, Jim’s depression, and the numerous flings it caused.

When Jim met Pike, Grayson was the first (and only, really) he turned to.  Grayson was already in Starfleet and the single person in the universe who could argue Jim into or out of something.
 

coolguy1701:  i hate to say it but i think this could be a good idea 

Grayson_S:  That is because it is a good idea.  You are aimless now.  Starfleet can focus you. 

coolguy1701:  i cant tell u how many times ive heard that 

Grayson_S:  That is because it is true.
 

Jim smiled.  No one could lay it on like Grayson.

 

coolguy1701:  okay then. gimme some good reasons. 

Grayson_S:  You often speak of your boredom and the idiocy of those you surround yourself with.  Here, you would be on par with hundreds of students, officers, and teachers.  You would be constantly challenged. 

coolguy1701: yeah but that can be boring 2 

Grayson_S:  Because the Academy is in San Francisco, California, there are numerous forms of entertainment available.  When you are in space, there will be countless planets on which to discover and explore. 

coolguy1701:  cant argue with that 

Grayson_S:  You have also mentioned multiple times that you find the ships aesthetically pleasing.  If you choose to take the command track you can have one of these ships as your own. 

coolguy1701:  i forgot about that. that would be awesome. 

Grayson_S:  You shall also have the opportunity to meet many new people.

 

Jim froze.  He could practically hear the implications under that simple statement.  For the first time, he and Grayson would be within a hundred kilometers of each other.  Shit, they would probably be in the same building.  Just the thought of that made his heart pound; in fear or excitement he had no idea.  Jim hastily came up with a reply, appreciative, (not for the first time,) that the plain text wouldn’t give away his feelings.

 

coolguy1701:  You pose a valid argument, Grayson.  Whatever would I do without you? 

Grayson_S:  More than likely, you would be in a dumpster. 

coolguy1701:  lol. well I gotta go. its gettin close to dawn.  Good morning, Grayson. 

Grayson_S:  Good morning, coolguy.

 

Jim stood from the stiff computer chair, stretching.  The Net ‘n’ Eats, was empty but for the barista reading behind the counter.  Jim paid for his coffee and went out into the early morning air, an involuntary grin spreading on his face.  He had a shuttle to catch.

When Jim joined Starfleet he found that he had nothing much to worry about.  Though everyone knew that George Kirk’s son was on the command track, not many people paid much attention to the fact.  True, every now and again he would get a teacher that only saw his father, or a good lay wanting to sleep with a hero’s son, but what really mattered was what he made for himself.

 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, as a voice in his head was prone to say), Grayson left San Francisco shortly after Jim arrived.  He was shuffled off to Vulcan, various space stations and colonies for advising on and the improving of complicated computer programs.  If he was ever back in the City by the Bay either he was in back-to-back meetings and lunches or Jim was concentrating on exams. 

Then it all went to hell; the damn Kobayashi Maru, the damn Vulcan teacher, the damn distress call from Vulcan, and fucking Nero.  When Jim saw the big, beautiful red planet collapse, the dread in his stomach became a solid weight that refused to leave.  The last he had heard from Grayson was two weeks ago.  He had been on the now-nonexistent world.  The next few weeks were the longest in Jim’s life, stretching eons beyond even the waiting on Tarsus. 

So when Jim finally saw that unread message that had been waiting for three days at the top of his inbox, he felt like he could relax for the first time in ages.  He opened the letter, startled slightly by the short length.  Usually, Grayson (and Jim, for that matter) wrote paragraphs and paragraphs, describing events and people and talking about nothing and everything.  This time, it simply read:

 

I need to see you.

 

Jim didn’t freeze this time.

...

I hate to leave it at a part like this, but the rest that I've written ends at an even more awkward spot.  I still really want to finish this, and maybe one day, I will.  Either way, thank you for your time!

~LtC
 
 
Current Mood: scaredscared