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It was almost painful to watch and yet Spock could not tear his eyes away.
He often observed and conversed with guests searching for a certain artpiece among the gallery, but no one was quite like that man. With the quiet discussion complemented with Chopin and rosé, it was almost easy to forget about him.
That man, so stark from any other customer, was the object of Spock’s curiosity for the last week. The man was broad-shouldered and commanded the room without saying a word, despite his somber gaze and lack of jovial conversation. It should not have been as interesting as it was, considering most of the guests who walked through those doors were wealthy, but somehow he was different. He was most fascinating as Spock had not yet figured him out. One of the many pursuits of an art gallery manager was to understand the buyers and see that they find a piece that resonates with them.
In one moment, Spock made a decision that would ultimately change his life.
Spock straightened out his wine-colored pencil dress which was almost a little too tight to be comfortable. His high heels clicked against the marble floors as he walked across the gallery, and yes those were definitely uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he strode towards the man in the black suit.
The man spent the whole of the week making his way through the gallery and yet he always ended up staring at one painting. It was a large canvas, painted with several gradients of white and gray, offering a simple and elegant painting.
“I see this painting has caught your attention,” Spock said as he stopped next to the man. He folded his hands in front of him while the man regarded him. “It has quite a history.”
“Oh?” The man spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and sultry, exactly as Spock imagined he would sound.
“It is a reiteration of an old children’s story. One holds up a blank piece of paper and asks ‘What is this?’. A rabbit in a snow storm.”
The man was watching him now, his stormy gray eyes observing him with newfound interest. The gaze was intense and Spock was strangely pleased by the attention. But he broke the contact and focused back on the painting.
“Are you just looking or are you interested?”
“Interested.”
“Hm, well, people ask why charge so much for what is virtually various shades of white paint. My response is that it does not matter how much the painting is worth or even the artist’s name. What matters is how the painting makes you feel. Those emotions, that are stirred to life by only the paint on the canvas, are what are worth so much.”
Spock realized only too late that he was rambling and had gotten lost in the white peaks of the painting. He tore his focus from the piece to find the man’s wide eyes watching him, an unknown emotion in his expression.
The Vulcan was about to apologize when the man asked him a question.
“What do you feel?”
“I..” The question had caught him off guard. “I see a sea of white that hides a deep colorful identity beneath each brush stroke. It is a symphony without sound.”
If Spock were human, he would assume the man was awestruck.
“What do you feel?” Spock asked after a moment.
“It makes me feel,” The man drew in a deep breath. “Alone.”
Spock found the simplicity of his explanation beautiful and poetic. He seemed to be a man of little words and yet he said exactly what he was feeling. Each word had its place and was meaningful.
“I’ll buy it,” The man said with finality, smiling softly.
“I am not certain I could part with it for anyone else,” Spock nodded, smiling just a tiny bit too. “It is one of my favorite pieces.”
“I promise to take care of it,” The man said sincerely, and Spock wanted to believe him. “Has anyone told you you have the most beautiful eyes?”
The compliment was unexpected and Spock opened his mouth to form a response and instead felt the heat rise to his face. “No, you are the first.”
“That’s a shame. Your eyes are beautiful, Mister…”
“Spock Grayson,” The Vulcan held up the ta’al.
“Jim.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Jim. Please take care of my rabbit for me,” Spock teased lightly before heading off to converse with other guests. He could almost feel the man’s eyes watching him even as he walked across the gallery.
Hours later, when Spock was closing the gallery, he found himself lost in thought. There was something about that man that he couldn’t quite put a pin on. He was charming and genuine and handsome. There was a sort of sincerity in his stature and smile that made Spock want to please him. Many people had tried to flirt with the Vulcan of course. He was not blind to his looks, but usually it was distracting and inconvenient. Never had he felt like this and as he slid the keys into the door, he hummed to himself.
Even if he never saw the man again, he would always remember the man in the black suit, stark against the white painting of a lonely rabbit in a lonely snow storm.
----
It was tiring being on top of the world. Alright, so it sounded bad, but the truth was, that running everything could be exhausting. Jim knew if he so much as left San Francisco for a day, crime would run rampant. Some would argue that his way of ‘running things’ was dangerous and evil, but crime would exist with or without him. But with him on top, he could control it. Every city thrived on crime. It was a perfect balance that needed a strong leader.
People didn’t know his name, and that was because it was a close-circle secret. Anyone who found out without him wanting to was long gone. Outside of that small circle, he was referred to as ‘The Boss’ or ‘The Captain’. The latter name arose after rumors spread of his career as a military man. And everybody knew of his power, but in an abstract way. He was almost more myth than a man. People would whisper his name in fear or bring him up with the news. They were both fair titles. The press and the police were in his pocket and Starfleet had opted to look the other way.
It was a lonely position, all the way up here on top of the world. And ruling a dark world brought out the darkness in him. Every day started and ended with blood. Blood and darkness.
And then there was Spock.
A beautiful man in a sleek dress that wasn’t promiscuous but classy and his beauty wasn’t forced but gentle. It was as if Spock wasn’t even aware of his attractiveness which made him a thousand times more attractive.
Spock was funny and kind and perfect in an imperfect way. He was the moon in Jim’s dark night.
To Spock, he wasn’t The Boss or tha man on top. He wasn’t a myth that struck fear into even the most courageous gangsters. To Spock he was just a man. He was just Jim. It was the most thrilling experience he’d ever known.
Jim just stared at the white painting hung in his bedroom and this time, all he thought of was Spock.
-----
Spock was assisting a client when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man in the black suit. Jim.
“Excuse me just a moment,” Spock said with a polite nod before making his way over to the man. He wasn’t even looking at an art piece, the man was just standing in the middle of the gallery, looking at…well he was looking at Spock. For tonight’s exhibit, he’d dressed in a royal blue trumpet dress with pearl earrings. Simple but elegant.
Jim smiled when Spock walked toward him. He was still wearing a black suit, but this time with a little red pocket square.
“I hope the ‘Rabbit In a Snowstorm’ is to your liking,” Spock smiled imperceptibly.
Jim nodded “I hung it up in my bedroom. It’s the last thing I see each night.”
“That is either very sad or very romantic.”
Jim leaned toward him and smiled in such a way that had Spock’s heart skipping a beat. With this little distance, Spock could smell his cologne. It was a mixture of pine, honey, and tobacco, an alluring combination.
“I hope it’s the latter,” Jim said in that sultry voice. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“Unfortunately I am the only one working tonight,” Spock answered, hoping he didn’t sound too disappointed.
“Ah, okay,” The man nodded, chewing his lip.
“That is all?” Spock teased before he could stop himself. “A man once offered to purchase the whole gallery so I would close early.”
“Someone who can be bought isn’t worth having.”
The Vulcan was taken by surprise. The man was not just good looking but intelligent as well. “I am free tomorrow.”
Jim seemed to light up. “Well, great-”
“But I do not prefer Italian,” Spock glanced back sheepishly, but Jim nodded his head eagerly.
“Understood.”