Growth Chapter 9 (Part 2)
READ THIS PART FIRST.
(And I'm so sorry I had to split Chapter 9 into two posts. Valli posted the unedited one by mistake and forgot an entire section, so I had to fix everything. But hey, it's up now. More to come later this week.)
The day before they were to arrive at New Vulcan was like any other day. The bridge was calm. Sulu was, as always, entering and reentering coordinates, a sharp eye on the screens and scanners for any impending debris or obstacles. Chekov calculated and recalculated. Scanners showed nothing of interest.
Jim and Nyota had yet to return from lunch - which was not entirely unusual. Nyota had taken to having her meals with Lieutenant Scott, and Jim’s lunch hours consisted these days of eating for twenty minutes and braving Dr. McCoy’s hyposprays for the remaining forty. Nothing they had done thus far had stemmed Jim’s nausea or mood swings, and privately, Spock though nothing would.
Jim seemed to be blocking his experience today, only a low buzz of emotions Spock couldn’t identify lurking in the back of his mind. He attempted to prod for information, but his mate did not respond.
“So, when Komack shot you,” Sulu spoke suddenly, eyes still on the screen, “did he know you were pregnant?”
Chekov tensed, and Spock raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he confirmed. “It is likely what prompted his attack. Why do you inquire?”
Sulu was quiet. “Just thinking what a sick bastard he is,” he muttered. Chekov sighed in obvious relief. The helmsman finally turned to meet Spock’s eyes. “Look. I know I came off as harsh when you first told us. But I really am happy for you guys. You’re gonna be awesome parents, and you have my full support.”
Spock felt something slip through the bond - shock, perhaps? - and recognized it as Jim’s. Yet when he prodded, Jim was again silent. “We appreciate your support.”
Chekov turned to face him too, smile wide. “You have my support too, Sir,” he informed the Vulcan. “I have many cousins. Twenty-seven. And I am the oldest. If you need any help-”
“I think he gets it,” Sulu interrupted, an easy smile on his face. “Commander, I think you’ve got everyone’s support. At least, you do until someone says otherwise.”
Spock would’ve replied, but Jim was suddenly back in his head, concern and fear mingling with shock as he struggled to find the right words. Spock. I need you to come to sickbay. Right now.
Spock didn’t question it, rising to his feet. “Appreciated, Lieutenant,” he stated, turning towards the turbolift. “You have the conn.”
He wondered briefly why Jim was having him come to sickbay so abruptly. Their last appointment had been less than five days ago, and McCoy’s cocktails had not yet produced any results, positive or negative, on Jim’s symptoms. The door to the lift opened, and he crossed into sickbay.
Before he could glance about, he found himself being embraced by his mate, shock and empathy rolling off him in potent waves. The scent of human blood was thick in the room, mixing with antiseptic and cloying his senses. “I’m sorry,” Jim murmured against his shoulder. “I don’t-I’m sorry.”
Spock’s confusion was growing. He scanned the room, alarmed to find Nyota hugging her knees on a biobed. Her uniform was torn, and a large patch of her hair - possibly even her scalp - was missing, covered in a grafted medical dressing. She looked to have been crying, and beside her was Lieutenant Scott. One arm was bandaged - obviously shattered, if the bone mender hadn’t been able to fix it - and the other was wrapped around the communications officer.
McCoy stepped forward. “Your brother escaped quarantine,” he explained quietly. Jim held tightly to Spock. "He--wasn't himself."
“You were forced to subdue him,” he surmised. Jim stiffened, and McCoy shook his head.
“This isn’t gonna be easy to hear,” he murmured. “Sybok went insane. I don’t know what caused it, but I’m gonna find out. He entered the mess and went to attack Uhura first-”
Scott must’ve protected her, he determined. Possibly Jim too - he’d need to see him to check for injuries. Meanwhile, McCoy continued.
“Well, anyway, you can see what happened to everyone. When Jim stepped in-I don’t know what happened,” the doctor said, sounding unnerved. “He’d knocked Scotty’s phaser out of his hand when he attacked him, and he had a flash of lucidity when Jim came in-and he used it. On himself. Sybok committed suicide, Spock. I’m sorry.”
Spock nodded, the shock of the situation slowly starting to fade. He pulled Jim away from him, looking him over for injuries.
“I’m fine,” his mate murmured. “Spock. Don’t think about that now.”
No. He had to. He looked back to Nyota and Lieutenant Scott. “Are you functional?” he asked. Nyota slowly nodded, and Scott tightened his grip on her. “Nyota, did he attempt to meld with you?”
She shook her head, and he allowed himself to feel the relief that accompanied this confession. Finally, he turned to the doctor. “Have you isolated Sybok’s remains?”
“You don’t need to think about that kind of stuff yet,” McCoy told him firmly. “Your brother’s dead. Take some time to grieve. I’ve talked to Jim about it, and the two of you are off duty until I’m sure whatever affected Sybok isn’t gonna affect you. And don’t you argue about it - just get back to your quarters and stay there.”
There were a thousand things Spock needed to do - inform the council, Starfleet, his father; make arrangements for Sybok’s remains; rewrite the duty roster - but he let Jim lead his thoughts away from them. The captain looked him in the eye.
“Just come to bed with me,” he murmured, sounding surprisingly vulnerable. Spock found himself nodding.
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For a long time, Jim merely curled around him in bed, still emanating shock. Spock could do nothing to help him there - he was in a similar state. He hadn't been close to his brother, and in fact Sybok had usually been the source of great shame for his clan. His willing embrace of emotion and firm belief in religious principles and practices long abandoned had made him a pariah of Vulcan society. That a descendant of Surak himself could live such a life was unacceptable to most.
But for all that, he had been his brother. There was cause to grieve.
Jim pushed his nose into the back of Spock's neck, tightening his arms around him. "I'm sorry I couldn't have done more," he murmured. "I'll show you the whole thing later. I promise."
"I know," Spock replied. His mate sighed against his neck. "I will need to know what happened if I am to accurately apprise my father about what occurred."
Jim groaned. "Let me do it," he said. "You weren't there. It shouldn't be your responsibility."
"You do not know the reason behind his madness," Spock argued mildly. His husband shifted.
"Neither do you."
And before he could control it, a sliver of guilt and trepidation slipped through the bond, apprehension and fear accompanying it as it wormed its way into Jim's mind. The human's intake of breath was swift and telling. He propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at Spock.
"You do know," he stated, eyes wide. Spock nodded.
"It's why he was in quarantine."
Spock nodded again.
"It's what happened to Saron, too."
Jim had indeed considered this well. Spock nodded, preparing for the final inquiry - the final statement. When he spoke, his voice wavered.
"It could happen to you someday."
Spock closed his eyes. "Not could," Spock murmured, not daring to look at his husband. "Will."
He felt Jim sit up beside him, concern and aggravation emanating off him. When at last Spock opened his eyes, he found Jim's blazing at him.
"Okay," the human breathed, visibly trying to calm himself. "Explain."
(And I'm so sorry I had to split Chapter 9 into two posts. Valli posted the unedited one by mistake and forgot an entire section, so I had to fix everything. But hey, it's up now. More to come later this week.)
The day before they were to arrive at New Vulcan was like any other day. The bridge was calm. Sulu was, as always, entering and reentering coordinates, a sharp eye on the screens and scanners for any impending debris or obstacles. Chekov calculated and recalculated. Scanners showed nothing of interest.
Jim and Nyota had yet to return from lunch - which was not entirely unusual. Nyota had taken to having her meals with Lieutenant Scott, and Jim’s lunch hours consisted these days of eating for twenty minutes and braving Dr. McCoy’s hyposprays for the remaining forty. Nothing they had done thus far had stemmed Jim’s nausea or mood swings, and privately, Spock though nothing would.
Jim seemed to be blocking his experience today, only a low buzz of emotions Spock couldn’t identify lurking in the back of his mind. He attempted to prod for information, but his mate did not respond.
“So, when Komack shot you,” Sulu spoke suddenly, eyes still on the screen, “did he know you were pregnant?”
Chekov tensed, and Spock raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he confirmed. “It is likely what prompted his attack. Why do you inquire?”
Sulu was quiet. “Just thinking what a sick bastard he is,” he muttered. Chekov sighed in obvious relief. The helmsman finally turned to meet Spock’s eyes. “Look. I know I came off as harsh when you first told us. But I really am happy for you guys. You’re gonna be awesome parents, and you have my full support.”
Spock felt something slip through the bond - shock, perhaps? - and recognized it as Jim’s. Yet when he prodded, Jim was again silent. “We appreciate your support.”
Chekov turned to face him too, smile wide. “You have my support too, Sir,” he informed the Vulcan. “I have many cousins. Twenty-seven. And I am the oldest. If you need any help-”
“I think he gets it,” Sulu interrupted, an easy smile on his face. “Commander, I think you’ve got everyone’s support. At least, you do until someone says otherwise.”
Spock would’ve replied, but Jim was suddenly back in his head, concern and fear mingling with shock as he struggled to find the right words. Spock. I need you to come to sickbay. Right now.
Spock didn’t question it, rising to his feet. “Appreciated, Lieutenant,” he stated, turning towards the turbolift. “You have the conn.”
He wondered briefly why Jim was having him come to sickbay so abruptly. Their last appointment had been less than five days ago, and McCoy’s cocktails had not yet produced any results, positive or negative, on Jim’s symptoms. The door to the lift opened, and he crossed into sickbay.
Before he could glance about, he found himself being embraced by his mate, shock and empathy rolling off him in potent waves. The scent of human blood was thick in the room, mixing with antiseptic and cloying his senses. “I’m sorry,” Jim murmured against his shoulder. “I don’t-I’m sorry.”
Spock’s confusion was growing. He scanned the room, alarmed to find Nyota hugging her knees on a biobed. Her uniform was torn, and a large patch of her hair - possibly even her scalp - was missing, covered in a grafted medical dressing. She looked to have been crying, and beside her was Lieutenant Scott. One arm was bandaged - obviously shattered, if the bone mender hadn’t been able to fix it - and the other was wrapped around the communications officer.
McCoy stepped forward. “Your brother escaped quarantine,” he explained quietly. Jim held tightly to Spock. "He--wasn't himself."
“You were forced to subdue him,” he surmised. Jim stiffened, and McCoy shook his head.
“This isn’t gonna be easy to hear,” he murmured. “Sybok went insane. I don’t know what caused it, but I’m gonna find out. He entered the mess and went to attack Uhura first-”
Scott must’ve protected her, he determined. Possibly Jim too - he’d need to see him to check for injuries. Meanwhile, McCoy continued.
“Well, anyway, you can see what happened to everyone. When Jim stepped in-I don’t know what happened,” the doctor said, sounding unnerved. “He’d knocked Scotty’s phaser out of his hand when he attacked him, and he had a flash of lucidity when Jim came in-and he used it. On himself. Sybok committed suicide, Spock. I’m sorry.”
Spock nodded, the shock of the situation slowly starting to fade. He pulled Jim away from him, looking him over for injuries.
“I’m fine,” his mate murmured. “Spock. Don’t think about that now.”
No. He had to. He looked back to Nyota and Lieutenant Scott. “Are you functional?” he asked. Nyota slowly nodded, and Scott tightened his grip on her. “Nyota, did he attempt to meld with you?”
She shook her head, and he allowed himself to feel the relief that accompanied this confession. Finally, he turned to the doctor. “Have you isolated Sybok’s remains?”
“You don’t need to think about that kind of stuff yet,” McCoy told him firmly. “Your brother’s dead. Take some time to grieve. I’ve talked to Jim about it, and the two of you are off duty until I’m sure whatever affected Sybok isn’t gonna affect you. And don’t you argue about it - just get back to your quarters and stay there.”
There were a thousand things Spock needed to do - inform the council, Starfleet, his father; make arrangements for Sybok’s remains; rewrite the duty roster - but he let Jim lead his thoughts away from them. The captain looked him in the eye.
“Just come to bed with me,” he murmured, sounding surprisingly vulnerable. Spock found himself nodding.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
For a long time, Jim merely curled around him in bed, still emanating shock. Spock could do nothing to help him there - he was in a similar state. He hadn't been close to his brother, and in fact Sybok had usually been the source of great shame for his clan. His willing embrace of emotion and firm belief in religious principles and practices long abandoned had made him a pariah of Vulcan society. That a descendant of Surak himself could live such a life was unacceptable to most.
But for all that, he had been his brother. There was cause to grieve.
Jim pushed his nose into the back of Spock's neck, tightening his arms around him. "I'm sorry I couldn't have done more," he murmured. "I'll show you the whole thing later. I promise."
"I know," Spock replied. His mate sighed against his neck. "I will need to know what happened if I am to accurately apprise my father about what occurred."
Jim groaned. "Let me do it," he said. "You weren't there. It shouldn't be your responsibility."
"You do not know the reason behind his madness," Spock argued mildly. His husband shifted.
"Neither do you."
And before he could control it, a sliver of guilt and trepidation slipped through the bond, apprehension and fear accompanying it as it wormed its way into Jim's mind. The human's intake of breath was swift and telling. He propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at Spock.
"You do know," he stated, eyes wide. Spock nodded.
"It's why he was in quarantine."
Spock nodded again.
"It's what happened to Saron, too."
Jim had indeed considered this well. Spock nodded, preparing for the final inquiry - the final statement. When he spoke, his voice wavered.
"It could happen to you someday."
Spock closed his eyes. "Not could," Spock murmured, not daring to look at his husband. "Will."
He felt Jim sit up beside him, concern and aggravation emanating off him. When at last Spock opened his eyes, he found Jim's blazing at him.
"Okay," the human breathed, visibly trying to calm himself. "Explain."