String Theory
Dec. 23rd, 2010 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sesh_khemPairings: S/U, K/M
See the art (by pouf) that inspired this fic here.
String Theory
Because of its intimate nature, chamber music has been described as "the music of friends."1
Agitato – hurried, restless
Winter
Jim Kirk woke to the sound of someone banging at his front door. He jumped up, struggled into his sweats, and ran toward the banging, being less interested in seeing who it was and what was the matter, but more so on shutting whoever it was the hell up. His neighbors hated him enough as it was; no one wants to live next a musician in a building with thin walls.
The banging continued as he peered through the peephole.
“Bones?” he unlocked the door. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know what time it is?”
“Shhhhhh,” said the unexpected visitor. “Lemme in.” The man Jim called Bones stumbled across the threshold.
“Dammit, Bones, you’re drunk.”
“As a skunk, my friend,” he fell onto the sofa. “An’ stop callin’ me Bones.”
“Okay, Leonard.” Jim moved his friend’s legs aside and joined him on the sofa.”
“Len, dammit. Len!”
“Well whoever you are, can you please tell me why you feel it necessary to come to my place every time you go on a bender?”
Len pushed himself up and put his arm around Jim’s shoulder.
“Two reasons,” he slurred. “One: you’re my besss friend. You gotta look out fer me. Two: your apartment is above my favorite bar.” He laughed in Jim’s face.
Jim pulled away from the Bourbon-scented breath and stood up. He looked at his friend, concerned. “Dude, this is happening a lot lately. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“What’re ya talking ‘bout? We were both wasted on Saturday!”
“Yeah, that was Saturday, after a gig and we had Sunday off. Today is Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and we have class in a few hours. So what gives?”
“Nothin’. Donworryboutit. Jus’ let me crash, man.” And he curled up on the sofa and immediately passed out.
Jim removed Len’s shoes, left to find a blanket, and returned to cover his friend. He knelt down and pushed Len’s hair from his eyes. Then he stood and turned out the light, and made his way back to bed.
***
Jim Kirk was the son of a conductor who died too young. The younger Kirk inherited his father’s musical abilities, but swore off any leadership role. But leadership came to him naturally, in spite of, or because of, his ability to bend the rules when he felt necessary. And it was because of his quartet that he was able to embrace the role; it was the quartet that helped him grow up.
And now it was almost over. They were forth years, and the quartet, thrown together at random for a class assignment, had become an integral part of his life. He was first violin, Bones was cello. And now…Well, their time together was ending. They’d soon go their separate ways.
***
In a candlelit room in a more fashionable part of town sat another young man. To the casual observer, he appeared relaxed as he softly strummed a handmade Coreane lyre. The unusual and complicated instrument was perfectly suited to the unusual and complicated young man.
Spock was not alone in the darkened room. On his sofa slept a young woman. Her head rested on an open book, where she’d declared she’d just rest her eyes “for a few minutes,” almost three hours ago. The young man’s eyes smiled at the memory. He’d known she was more than adequately prepared for her exam the next day, but she’d persisted in reading and re-reading her notes. So he’d picked up the lyre and chose a piece with a tone and rhythm he thought would induce his companion’s delta waves. It worked. As soon as her breathing slowed, he set down the instrument and walked barefoot to his room. He retrieved a handmade quilt from his closet and gently laid it across the sleeping woman.
Now he sat in an antique reading chair, strumming softly, while he gazed at the woman as she slept. Soon they would graduate. He was two years her senior, but he’d spent time traveling, studying ancient musical traditions and instruments in huts and tents throughout the world. He sought to find himself on that trip, and while the experience was fulfilling, he only truly found himself on his return. When he met her.
She stirred in her sleep, shaking him from his thoughts. He would wait until midterms were over and speak to her then.
“Spock?”
“Yes, Nyota”
“What time is it?”
“Almost 3 a.m.”
“Ohmagod!” She sat up suddenly. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”
“Because you are more than sufficiently prepared for the exams and in need of rest.”
She rubbed her eyes and noticed the quilt covering her. “Thank you for tucking me in.” She closed the book and put it on the coffee table. She started to settle back on the couch but he stopped her.
“That sofa can hardly be comfortable. You may sleep in my bed.” He stood. She looked at him blankly.
“The sheets were changed this morning if you are concerned…”
“No! No, you’re the most fastidious person I know, but where will you sleep?”
“On the sofa of course.”
She stood and stretched, then grabbed his arm. “Come on, your bed’s a queen, we’ll both fit. I promise not to try to seduce you.”
He stood still, looking at her with alarm.
“What’s the matter?”
“It is just…that is I…” He cleared his throat. “I sleep in the nude.”
Her eyes widened. “No way! You? I would never have guessed! Well, if I can borrow a t-shirt and some sweats, I’ll just sleep with my back to you. Promise I won’t peek.”
“That will not be necessary. I, too, will sleep in sweat pants.”
“Spock, this is your home…I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. And you’ve been up all night—you need sleep too.”
“Nyota,” he said, leading the way to the bedroom, “You are my closest friend. How could I be uncomfortable with you?”
She smiled, and Spock was suddenly glad he had to wear sweatpants; it would not do for her see the effect she had on him.
***
Leonard McCoy woke up on his friend’s couch. He had no idea how or when he got there. He slowly sat up.
“Shit.”
“Bones? You awake?”
“Yeah.”
Jim came out of the bathroom, toothbrush jutting out of his mouth and clad only in a towel. Len’s eyes briefly scanned the toned body before looking away. He put his head in his hands and groaned.
“How in hell did I wind up here?”
“You tell me. It was 3 fucking o’clock in the morning and you’re banging on my door.”
“Damn, I’m sorry, Jim. What time is it anyway?
“Almost 8. Get some water and have a shower. You can wear something of mine.”
“Thanks, man.” Suddenly his eyes widened. “What day is it? What class do I have?”
“Calm down. Wednesday. Theory at 9, then orchestra.”
“Okay. Good.” He stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, and headed for the bathroom. He took off his shirt and headed to the sink and splashed water on his face. When he stood he saw Jim’s reflection behind him and nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Dammit, Jim! Don’t go sneaking up on a man!”
“I have to spit!” Jim said through the suds in his mouth. He elbowed Len out of his way and spat into the sink and rinsed. He then pulled out his shaving cream, but as he was grabbing the razor, he saw Len standing behind him, glaring. “What?”
Len looked a bit embarrassed. “Can you wait ‘til I’m in the shower to do that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to get in the shower.”
“So get in the shower!”
“I need to get undressed.”
“Oh! Well, I won’t look,” Jim lied. “Geez, man, hurry up.”
Len turned the shower on then turned his back to Jim. As he unbuckled his belt and bent over pulling down his pants, Jim surreptitiously looked at him in the mirror. Len stepped out of his boxers and Jim barely repressed a gasp. That was a fine, fine ass, attached to long, toned legs.
Jim quickly returned his eyes to his own reflection and continued shaving, resisting the urge to watch as his friend climbed into the shower.
Len stuck his head under the rapidly heating water, trying to scald himself awake. He also half hoped it would burn the image of a half-naked Jim out of his head.
He finished bathing and peeked around the shower curtain, making sure Jim had left. He had. But he’d also left Len without a towel.
“Dude!” he shouted. “I need a damn towel!”
“Hang on,” came the reply, and soon a pale arm (a beautifully muscled arm) reached in, holding the requested item. Len closed his eyes as he grabbed the towel, grunted his thanks and slammed the door shut, just missing Jim’s retreating fingers.
“Watch it!” Jim shouted from the other side of the door.
“Sorry,” Len mumbled and quickly dried himself off. He swigged some mouthwash and found the deodorant, then wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked out.
“Grab anything that fits,” Jim called from the living room.
He walked into Jim’s bedroom. The mingled scents of Jim’s sweat and cologne made him breathe deeply as he walked to the set of drawers against the far wall. He grabbed a longish pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt that looked really good on Jim. But…underwear. No. No way he was going to wear any of Jim’s underwear, as much as the thought excited him. He threw on his dirties.
This is ridiculous, he thought. As he pulled on the clothes he repeated the reasons why he couldn’t tell Jim how he felt. It was his mantra anytime the feelings overpowered him.
1. He’s my best friend. I’d lose that forever.
2. He’s the first violin in my quartet. I’d lose that and Spock and Ny. We’re family.
3. There’s never been a relationship I didn’t fuck up.
There. End of story. Won’t, can’t happen.
He walked into the living room where Jim was folding up the blanket. His friend looked up.
“Dude, those look good on you!”
Len quickly bent over, grabbing his shoes, hoping Jim couldn’t see the blush he felt making his way up his neck and face. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, I make anything look good.”
“Yeah, keep dreaming. Come on. We’ll pick up your gear on the way.”
***
Dr. Christopher Pike (affectionately called “The Maestro” by his students) sat in his office going over the latest batch of admission applications when he heard a familiar knock at his door.
“Come on in, son.”
Spock, his favorite student whom he regarded as a son, stepped in. “Have I come at an inopportune time, Maestro?”
“No, you’re saving me from the mediocrity that has the cheek to ask for admittance to the best conservatory in the world.” He sighed and motioned for Spock to take a seat. “I hate to see your class leave; when you graduate I know I’m sending off true talent into the music world.” He looked fondly at the young man before him. “Well, what can I do for you?”
“It will soon be time for me to seek employment. I find that as I apply and audition, I have no clear sense of exactly where I belong. Or even of where I want to be. And…” He paused, uncharacteristically nervous. “Sir, you have been more than a father to me. Certainly more like a father than the man who sired me…”
“Spock, I…”
Spock held up his hand. “Please, let me continue. You have not only trained me as a musician, you have taught me to follow whatever path I chose. I…I find there is a new path before me and I am unsure of how to proceed.”
Pike smiled. “It’s that pretty viola, isn’t it?”
Spock could only stare. He had been so certain he’d successfully hidden his partiality.
Pike laughed softly. “Son, you forget that I’ve known you since you were a child. So let me guess, you don’t want to make any decisions about the future until you know where you stand with…What’s her name?”
“Uhura. Nyota Uhura.”
“Ah, yes. That girl has an ear unparalleled. And I don’t think I’ve seen such discipline and dedication since…well, since you.”
“Indeed,” a ghost of a smile graced the young man’s face. “I believe that is what first attracted my notice.”
“Well it’s about time someone attracted your notice! Seriously, m’boy, I am glad. So, how long have you two been seeing each other?
Spock’s eyes drifted to the wall behind Pike’s shoulder.
“I have not yet expressed my interest.”
Pike looked at his protégé. “Why am I not surprised? Spock, there are six short months until graduation, and here you are telling me you’re making plans for the future and you haven’t even asked her out?”
“It was necessary to ascertain my own desires in the matter.”
The Maestro shook his head. “Spock. I love you like my own son, if I had a son who was a musical genius. But you can be so, so…”
“I believe ‘dense’ is the word you are looking for.”
“No, it was not, but you aren’t far off the mark.” His gaze softened. “Ask her out. You’re halfway there already. You two are close; I see you together all the time. And you have the quartet. Not to mention the way she looks at you.”
Spock’s eyes lit up. “How does she look at me?”
Pike smiled. “With interest. Now go on. Get out of here. And when I see you next, if you haven’t asked her out, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Spock’s minute smile was evident to his mentor. “Understood, sir.”
***
Nyota Uhura was the only member of the quartet to come from a functional family. The daughter of a composer and a diplomat, she was encouraged to find her talent and pursue her dreams. And she thrived; where others sought to master an instrument, she sought to master the music. She had an uncanny ear, hearing the slightest tonal dissonance.
But on beginning her studies at the conservatory, she was more focused on music than making friends. On the verge of requesting a roommate reassignment (Gaila’s late nights and frequent male visitors were not conducive to study or practice) she was placed with Spock for Instrumental Paired Lessons, and suddenly her roommate seemed less annoying. His similar study habits and mathematical comprehension of music put her in awe, and soon she developed a crush on the strange man. He had his own place and invited her to study and practice with him. As their friendship developed, she was more open to others, including Gaila.
Nyota was absently practicing her fingering for the new piece with her left hand while she was shoving cereal in her mouth with her right.
“Will you stop that?” her hungover roommate asked.
“What? How can me playing air-viola be anywhere close to your spiting all over the place when you practice? Why they would place me with a French horn is a mystery to me. And why for four looooong years I stayed with you is an even bigger mystery.”
Gaila smiled in spite of the pain behind her eyes. “You love me and you know it. But stop being so damn chipper. Why aren’t you hungover? We were at the same party.”
“Yeah, but some of us know when to stop.”
“No, some of us were so busy mooning over a walking metronome named Spock that we forgot we were even at a party.”
“I was not mooning.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“Oh god, was I obvious?”
“Only slightly more obvious than he was.”
“Seriously? Or are you just humoring me?”
“Look, you know me. I know men—”
“LOTS of men…”
“Oh, ha ha. As I was saying, I know men. And even though Spock is SO not my type, I can tell what turns him on. And you turn him on.
“Well then why won’t he do anything about it?”
“Why don’t you do anything about it?
“’Cuz I’m scared.”
“DING DING! Give the lady a prize. He’s scared too.”
“Spock? Afraid? No.”
“Not scared of you, scared of ruining what you already have.”
Nyota considered this. The quartet was their world. A bad romantic relationship could ruin it. Then again, they were all graduating soon. None of this would matter if they were separated.
“Anyhow, one of you better do something quick, ‘cuz school’s out soon.
“Well, I can’t get him drunk and seduce him because he has a two drink limit…”
“What?”
“Yeah, he doesn’t like losing control.”
Gaila chuckled. “That’s his problem.”
Nyota smiled. “That’s what I like about him.”
“Figures. Two anal retentives. You’ll be perfect together!”
“Aren’t you amusing this morning? Look just because my idea of fun is different from yours…”
“Seriously, I get it. And it’s probably the reason you and I are friends. I need a little of your focus, and you and Spock need to loosen up a bit.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am. Now that we’ve solved that, can I steal some aspirin from you?”
***
Wednesday was planning night for the quartet. They met for dinner at a local restaurant that catered to the conservatory students. Nyota was in charge of picking the weekend gigs, and they’d go over the next week’s schedule, rehearsal times, and music selection. Then Jim would hand out any new music for discussion. After the meal they usually drifted over to Spock’s, practicing new pieces, sharing new compositions.
Spock arrived at the Enterprise Bar and Grill before others, as usual. The hostess recognized him and asked, “Quiet table for four?” He nodded and followed her.
As he ordered the drinks (red wine for him, white for Nyota, beer for Jim, and Bourbon for Len) he thought about how easy their routine had become. How much he valued those Wednesday evenings in his home, filled with music, and, more importantly, with people he trusted.
These were the only people besides Pike who knew his story. Kicked out of his home for choosing music over physics as his father had planned. Pike had taken him in. When his mother died she made sure her part of the family fortune went to him, forestalling his father’s plans to disinherit him. His mother had been able to do more for him in death than she had in life, but he’d give away every penny of that money just to feel her arms around him once more, to hear her voice of encouragement after his father’s rage.
Well, that was the past. What was, was. The present was not unpleasant, and the future looked to be even better.
He looked up and saw Nyota making her way through the restaurant. She scooted into the booth next to him.
“Hello, you,” she grinned.
“Hello, you.” He gave her his shadow smile. “I trust your day went well.”
“It did, thank you. How about you? I saw you at orchestra but I had to run to my community service assignment.”
“I had an interesting discussion with the Maestro; I’d like to speak to you on the matter after—”
“Hey guys,” Jim flopped into the booth across from Spock and Len followed. “What’s up?”
Nyota pulled out a folder and handed each of them a piece of paper. “This is for the Abramson’s bat mitzvah. They have a few specific requests, but nothing we haven’t done before. Should be an easy couple hundred for us. That is, Len, if you can stay away from the open bar, and Jim, if you can manage to show up on time.” She glared at them.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Jim folded up the paper and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.
“Please do not dismiss Nyota’s concerns. If we are to maintain our current reputation amongst potential clients, a little self discipline would not go amiss.”
Len nodded “Spock’s right. I know last week I kinda got started early. Won’t happen again.”
Spock nodded. The waitress arrived and took their orders. When she left, Spock turned to his friends.
“It is time we spoke of the future. The quartet has been together since our second year. But we will soon graduate. What are your plans?”
The others looked blankly at him. Nyota was the first to speak.
“Isn’t it funny how used to a thing you can get? I know we’re all sending audition recordings out, but wow, soon it’ll be time to move on. I guess I thought somehow we’d all stay together.
Jim glanced at Len before agreeing. “Yeah me too. I mean, don’t you all plan on staying in the city?”
“Yeah, if I can get a good gig,” Len said. “Ny? What about you?”
“Well, yeah. This is the place to be for new music as well as the fact there’s a lot of work here. So, we’re all auditioning in town?”
They all nodded.
“So there’s no need to break up the band,” Len said, lifting his glass to his friends.
“Agreed,” said Spock. “That said, where are you hoping to work?”
“Well,” said Len, “the steady work is with an orchestra, and after the season there’s musical theatre and some recording opportunities, piece-work mostly. Then we could make up any lack with the quartet.”
Jim thought for a moment. “You know, we’re about four original pieces short of our own recording. Even if a major label didn’t pick us up, we could always do it ourselves.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nyota said with a smile. Jim picked up his glass. “To the future.”
“The future.”
Not one of them was talking about music.
***
Len and Spock did not get along at first. One was brusque, loud, and had little time for the finer points of conversation or debate. The other was courteous to a fault, introspective, and soft-spoken.
Both of them were older students, both foreigners to the life of the city. As different as they were to each other, they shared a love of and talent for music. Thrown together by the randomness of class assignments, they learned to work together, both of them reasoning that they’d just need to get through the semester.
But the nature of the quartet and their similar backgrounds first got them to a grudging mutual respect, and later to a brotherhood neither could find at home.
Spock was thrown out of his home by a demanding father; Len left his when his talent outshone his teachers. If he’d stayed in Georgia, he’d have been married off after high school to some local landowner’s daughter in his father’s never-ending quest for more land for the family farm. He thought with horror that by now he’d be married with kids, and his music reduced to playing barn dances and church socials.
But here, in Spock’s living room, they were all in their shared image of heaven. Creating together, learning from each other, growing musically. And now, with their mutual agreement to try to stay together after graduation, there was something richer in their time tonight.
They rehearsed as usual, then Len pulled out his set of bones2, and they jammed for a while, laughing, talking, sipping that bizarre tea-like brew from Spock’s native land. Nyota showed them her first stab at a new composition. The others helped her go over the rougher parts, and asked just the right questions to help her move forward. The evening went by far too quickly.
“Okay, people,” said Jim. “It’s late. See you tomorrow.”
They all packed their instruments and prepared to leave. Bones turned to Nyota.
“I’m taking a cab, want to join me?”
“No,” said Spock. “I will accompany her.” When everyone looked at him, he shrugged. “I wish to walk. And you live in the opposite direction, Leonard.”
Jim looked from Spock to Nyota, smiled knowingly, and grabbed Len’s arm. “Makes sense. I’ll ride with you.”
Spock held the door open for his friends to leave, and four hearts began racing.
Chapter 2
