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Attending open houses has been ... more work than Spock had anticipated, on all fronts. He'd never had the experience before, having grown up in his father's home, ancestral property which had been handed, in turn, down from his father's father, and so on, ad nauseum. That home did not exist anymore. Vulcan did not exist anymore, not in Spock's particular reality.
And now, for the time being, in this particular reality, nor did the Starship, Enterprise.
Jim Kirk is here, however, which, though he would never put it into so many words, certainly not in front of those he was not truly close to, means that Spock has a home Regardless..
Physical walls, an address, notwithstanding, so long as Jim Kirk was nearby, Spock knew that he had a home, in one manner or another. Though Jim, perhaps, could have picked a more convenient time to have an unfortunate, rushed lab accident. Though Spock is impossibly grateful that Jim was not injured permanently, in ways that the technology in Darrow was not as prepared to heal, there was still, maybe, a modicum of humor to be found.
Winter was a terrible time to be looking for a home.
They had already gone through multiple real estate magazines, attended multiple open houses, but still here they found themselves. Spock moved back to the table that Jim sat at in the small, warm cafe with two paper cups in his hands. One for Jim, and one for himself, which he slid across to Jim as he took his seat, folding long limbs onto a stool suited for them.
"I apologize," he tells Jim. "I don't want a swimming pool, so it was a dealbreaker." He lifts his eyes to search for Jim's bright blue, apologetic and fondly warm. There is something to be said for the tender amusement that the entire situation, strangely, fills him with.
And now, for the time being, in this particular reality, nor did the Starship, Enterprise.
Jim Kirk is here, however, which, though he would never put it into so many words, certainly not in front of those he was not truly close to, means that Spock has a home Regardless..
Physical walls, an address, notwithstanding, so long as Jim Kirk was nearby, Spock knew that he had a home, in one manner or another. Though Jim, perhaps, could have picked a more convenient time to have an unfortunate, rushed lab accident. Though Spock is impossibly grateful that Jim was not injured permanently, in ways that the technology in Darrow was not as prepared to heal, there was still, maybe, a modicum of humor to be found.
Winter was a terrible time to be looking for a home.
They had already gone through multiple real estate magazines, attended multiple open houses, but still here they found themselves. Spock moved back to the table that Jim sat at in the small, warm cafe with two paper cups in his hands. One for Jim, and one for himself, which he slid across to Jim as he took his seat, folding long limbs onto a stool suited for them.
"I apologize," he tells Jim. "I don't want a swimming pool, so it was a dealbreaker." He lifts his eyes to search for Jim's bright blue, apologetic and fondly warm. There is something to be said for the tender amusement that the entire situation, strangely, fills him with.
