Fic: Follow the Leader 2/6 (Kirk/Spock preslash)
Title: Follow the Leader (2/6)
Author: bigmamag
Universe: Reboot AU
Pairing: Kirk/Spock preslash
Rating: PG-13
Relationship status: preslash
Word count: 3200/7770
Genre: Drama
Tropes: au counterparts, destiny, friendship
Warnings: spoilers for the fic Refractions
Summary: After the events of Refractions, life is forever changed for one of the universes. Director Spock returns to Vulcan, but finds that his ordered and predictable life is no longer satisfactory. Captain Kirk is faced with the harsh realities of a potential Romulan war and the loneliness of command.
Note: Hey there now, there's no more question mark as to how many parts there will be! I feel all accomplished or something. Beta by the lovely bostongirl2003 who has made this part make a little more sense.
back to part one
…I wanted to thank you for those warp core calculations. Scotty was beside himself when he got them and now my girl runs about a thousand times faster. If I ever get any leave time on Vulcan, I’ll buy you a drink. What do Vulcans drink anyway? I assume tea, but I don’t want to stereotype. Yesterday, we….
…By ‘girl’ I assume you mean the Enterprise, and I further assume you are speaking in hyperbole, as Mr. Scott personally informed me that the ship only performs with a .07% acceleration. However, I acknowledge how crucial the ship’s engines are in times of battle, therefore I accept your gratitude, as unnecessary as it is. As to your query on common Vulcan beverages, I can ascertain that we do imbibe copious amounts of tea. Stereotyping is not always a negative approach to new or uncommon phenomena, as most species learn through generalizations. On a separate matter, I have been perusing your official biography…
…play chess? That’s awesome! I’ve got an idea, and you can say no if it’s illogical or something, but how about we keep up a running chess game? Every time we talk we’ll announce a move and we’ll keep the pieces in the same position. I can definitely trust you not to cheat and I assure you that if I were to cheat on anything, it wouldn’t be something as silly as a chess game…
…Regarding your last message, I must answer in the affirmative. The rhetoric used by the Romulan ambassador appears to have a tranquilizing affect on the masses. In that instance, she is successful in placating worries while disguising the fact that she has publicly agreed to no change in public policy. It is quite disquieting, and I am not even privy to half of the discussions being held on the matter.
A recurring chess game between you and I would be agreeable. I am confident that you would not give into the temptation of cheating.
****
USS Enterprise - Andorian space
****
Jim slumped into his desk chair, rubbing tired eyes. His new first officer was an idiot. Commander Jacobs might be pretty and had likely charmed her way into the command track, but being able to score a date by merely winking at any male in her vicinity helped very little when dealing with a pissed-off Klingon who took her foolhardy flirtations as the half-hearted diversionary tactic they were. It was almost becoming a running joke to Jim, this cursed first officer position. If only Scotty could clone himself so he could be both chief engineer and first officer. Or Starfleet could let Jim eliminate the position altogether.
He tensed when the door chimed, fervently praying that it was not Commander Jacobs again. The last thing he needed tonight was her in his bedroom, trying to subtly play the role of seductress. Jim granted entrance, palpably relieved when Dr. McCoy entered, wielding a bottle of Georgia’s finest bourbon.
“Bless you,” Jim said fervently.
“I got to sit in for the last ten minutes of Kang ranting about dishonor and human scum, so I thought you could use a little snort of the good stuff.”
Jim smiled, relaxing as the doctor took out two small glasses and began pouring.
Ever since the mission in which he had met Spock, McCoy had taken to showing up in Jim’s quarters once or twice a week simply to talk about themselves and their interests. Jim was suspicious of McCoy’s new-found interest in him, mostly because McCoy avoided small talk and spent the visits talking about personal interests and hobbies. Jim figured that McCoy was wary of the captain’s mental health, and with good damn reason. After all, it was a sure thing that McCoy had at least heard of the other Kirks, and one of those Jim Kirks was a proven killer and psychopath. Doubtless the chief medical officer would let a little detail like go unnoticed and was therefore taking the initiative to make sure those tendencies weren’t present in Jim.
Having poured the drinks, McCoy handed one of the glasses to Jim. Their fingers brushed and Jim held back a little shiver at the unexpected contact, downing the drink to hide his awkward reaction. McCoy seated himself on the other side of the desk, thankfully oblivious to all but his own drink. In a ritualistic manner, McCoy adjusted his glasses, raised his drink to his nose, took a long whiff, and, satisfaction pouring off of him, drank deeply.
“Why do you wear glasses?” Jim asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“I was working in the med lab at the academy at four in the morning with no sleep. A beaker exploded when I forgot to turn the fire off. I went through three surgeries just to restore my eyesight.”
Jim winced. “Let me guess-they weren’t able to restore your vision all the way?”
“Got it in one. If I didn’t wear the glasses, I’d be able to see, but I’d fail every Starfleet vision requirement there is. I know I wouldn’t want a half-blind doctor poking at my innards.”
Jim’s PADD beeped and Jim glanced at it, frowning when he saw that Jacobs had sent him a message.
He tiredly brandished his glass at McCoy for more. McCoy chuckled, filling the glass again.
“You look like I do whenever the ex-wife calls.”
“At least you’re not in charge of her career.”
“I’d take that over a woman who takes the whole damn planet in a divorce and tries every trick in the book to retain full child custody.”
“Point taken.”
They fell into a companionable silence, and Jim liked that a lot about McCoy.
“I have to fess up; there’s an ulterior motive behind my visit.”
“Oh?” Jim said, about as surprised as he would have been if McCoy had announced that space had stars.
“I’ve been looking at your medical records, and while your physical health is fine, it’s other things I’m worried about. Jim,” McCoy said, shocking Jim at the casual address. “How many friends do you say you have?”
Jim tried not to look pathetic. “I’ve got lots of friends.”
“Not acquaintances?”
“I bet you’ll be arriving at a point soon,” Jim said, not unkindly.
“I worry about your self-imposed isolation on this ship. I can’t figure out why you’re doing it when most people adore you.”
“Oh, come on,” Jim scoffed, nervously rolling his empty glass in one hand.
“I mean it. This crew would willingly drive this ship into a black hole if you thought it was important, and yet you keep them at arm’s length. Hell, I myself didn’t notice this until about a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been watching you closer than most.”
“That’s a fascinating diagnosis, Doctor,” Jim said, quirking his mouth. “But I’ve got a life outside of the service.”
True, that life was a barren farmhouse handed down from his mother, a box of his father’s keepsakes, and the sporadic visits from a standoffish stepfather, but McCoy didn’t need to know the details.
McCoy relaxed a bit, and Jim fought back the insistent pull in his gut that wanted to shout at him, I LIED. PLEASE NOTICE ME. It was annoying, especially when Jim felt equally elated that McCoy didn’t think he was a sad excuse for a human and further hoped that McCoy would leave the room and forget this conversation had ever happened. Jim wondered if everyone in the world was given a manual on how to make friends and he was missing some important clue to understanding the process.
“Your PADD is chirping at you,” McCoy said, pointing at Jim’s elbow. Jim mentally shook himself out of his thoughts, heard the insistent beeping and saw that his message light was indeed blinking. He refreshed the page and saw that Spock had messaged him. Jim smiled, setting the PADD down and feeling a well of anticipation at having something great to look forward to.
“Is there a reason you just lit up like a Christmas tree?” McCoy asked in amusement. Jim tried to school the elation on his face, with little success.
“Oh, it’s just Spock. Director Spock, that is.”
“You still talk with him?” McCoy asked, and Jim didn’t miss the evident surprise in his voice. It immediately put Jim on the defensive.
“Yeah. He helped with the warp calculations a bit back. We talk about current issues and research breakthroughs.”
“Sounds exhilarating,” McCoy deadpanned. Jim fought back a frown.
“He’s pretty interesting, actually.”
“Well, to each his own,” McCoy said doubtfully. “I mean, I can sort of see where the other Spocks were interesting, but the director seems too…Vulcan, if that makes any sense.”
Jim smirked. “Well, he is Vulcan. And anyway, you can have those other guys. This one’s perfect-I mean, he’s fine by me.”
Unfortunately, McCoy wasn’t so oblivious to that slip. McCoy grinned like the cat who got the canary and the cream and gathered up his drinking accouterments.
“Apparently my concerns are unwarranted, Captain. Enjoy your evening and fine Vulcan.”
“You know what I meant!”
“Of course, of course,” McCoy assured, but as he walked out Jim heard him softly hum ‘-in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’
Jim stared incredulously after McCoy, but couldn’t help a warm feeling overcoming him; it wasn’t often that people teased him good-naturedly. Jim went over to his replicator and ordered up some dinner, deciding to read Jacobs’ message before Spock’s, just so he could end the evening on a high note.
****
Vulcan - House of Sarek
****
Spock turned from the terminal, his full concentration focused on breathing evenly.
In the four months since he resumed teaching, Spock had petitioned three times for a private research sanction on three different experiments he was conducting. Considering his vast expertise on a multitude of subjects and his position as department director, there should have been no barrier in receiving funding and a team for any project he wished to pursue.
Instead, he had been stymied at each turn with the excuse that his input was not required. Frustrated, Spock had requested a video conference with the board of directors and was left reeling from the result.
“I request clarification on my rejection from three private research proposals.”
The board members looked at each other silently, their expression never changing but somehow communicating which member should address Spock.
It was the provost who answered from the head of the table.
“We have read the mission logs from the USS Enterprise. While the evidence for a multiverse has validated many claims made from your department, we are troubled by the reports of emotionalism demonstrated by your counterparts.”
“I do not understand,” Spock said coldly. “Do you mean to infer that I should be judged according to the actions of beings from wholly separate universes?”
“We judge you based on the knowledge that you could let your human half impair your ability to function according to the decorum of our institution. While we acknowledge that these were extraordinary circumstances, we do not wish to place you in an environment when your control could be compromised.”
“In plainer terms,” Spock said, cold understanding freezing him in place. “You do not trust that I will behave as a Vulcan when conducting my research in the field.”
“Precisely. Perhaps when enough time has passed and we have judged your character to be steadfast and certain, we can make an alternate decision.”
Spock supposed that his counterparts were not wholly responsible for this turn of events. Ever since returning from that mission and then meeting the elder Spock, Spock had put off his kolinahr training, deciding that there was always time to resume his plans. Now he realized that this was an egregious error, as he was currently unable to control a rage that was boiling inside of him, a rage that had possibly been brewing since the council first told him that he had done well despite the disadvantage of having a human mother. He had not commented then, having never considered another option outside of the academy. However, it now seemed that his superiors and colleagues still held the same opinion, even when Spock far exceeded their expectations time and time again.
That is, they would continue to hold the same opinion until Spock proved them wrong on this one matter.
Spock powered on the terminal, subconsciously reaching out for guidance. Kirk knew of Spock’s plight, knew about the rejections but not the reason behind those rejections. Spock queued up the messaging program and began typing, sending his shortest missive to Kirk since their very first.
The board of directors has denied my request for the third time. I pursued the matter and was told in no uncertain terms that they would continue to deny my requests based on the “emotionalism” of my alternate dimensional counterparts.
Spock sent the message and moved over to the small table in his bedroom where his chessboard was constantly set up mid-game. Currently it was Kirk’s move, and Spock silently studied the board for a few minutes, finding that the activity of strategizing future moves calmed him somewhat.
Spock was interrupted when his terminal heralded the arrival of a message. He resumed his seat in front of it and was surprised to see that it was from Kirk.
Those jerks! How is it LOGICAL to hold you accountable for a “you” from a whole other universe? I mean, if Starfleet felt that way, I’d be court marshaled in seconds based on the craziness I’ve seen.
Your response was swift and earnest, Spock noted, placated by Kirk’s defense. He waited 3.4 minutes for a response.
It must be bad news week, because a few days ago I got rejected for a five year exploration mission. Turns out Starfleet’s keeping us near home or near the neutral zone, for classified-but-obvious-to-anyone-who-knows-anything-about-politics reasons. I mean it wasn’t unexpected, but I still feel let down. Anyway, I was going to message you in a couple of hours ‘cause I figured you were busy at that time of day, so I‘m glad you did it first. We’re having a stopover for supplies at starbase 12, so we happen to be near a relay station. It’s sort of cool not having to wait hours to hear from you. Knight to D7, by the way.
Indeed, it is a more proficient method of communication. After hitting ‘send’, Spock moved Kirk’s knight to the desired square. He had not anticipated that Kirk would made such a reckless move, and he hummed lowly in approval when he realized that Kirk had effectively blocked four maneuvers Spock had been planning. Another message awaited him.
This kind of reminds me of high school. I had a pen pal from Tellar Prime. Let me tell you, I had never been involved in nastier debates. I think that’s where I learned half my ability to think under fire, all thanks to a prepubescent Tellarite. I bet you’d have been able to handle him even better. They seem to really hate Vulcans. Must be the great poker faces.
I do no understand what a ‘poker face’ is, but I find your observation to have some merit. Spock paused, thinking over the information. The conversation reminded him of his father who had certainly dealt with Tellarites and had taken his job so seriously as to marry a human and deem it a logical decision. Perhaps if I cannot convince the council of my veracity, I can easily find another recourse for occupation. What are your thoughts on ambassadorial work?
Spock waited impatiently for several minutes. Illogically, he felt as if his entire well-being hinged on Kirk’s answer.
That would be awesome! You wouldn’t have those old fogies breathing down your neck all the time and you’d be all logical and bad ass. I gotta warn you though-sometimes it’s hard work. I know your dad is an ambassador to Vulcan so you might know some of that, but if you plan on doing any talks with the Romulans, you could be on a starship during a battle or hell, in war time it’s not unheard of to kidnap ambassadors for ransom.
When Spock read this, his heart soared. It should have warned off someone like Spock, who had never traveled to another planet, who had had only been in space once, and had, in that one single visit, been thrown into a crisis situation. Instead, Spock could only feel elated at the prospect of having something to do. Instantly it shamed him, all these emotions he had never felt, desperately wanting adventure and, most illogical of all, danger. Spock didn’t have a chance to answer because a minute after that message was sent, Kirk sent another.
Plus, we may be able to see each other once in a while. The Enterprise sometimes ferries ambassadors to conferences and you’d be traveling a lot. I mean, I haven’t formally met your dad but I did see him a few years ago on my first mission under Pike, so I figure we’d have more a chance of seeing each other than we are now because it’s not often we stop off at Vulcan for shore leave. And it’s funny because all this talk has made me feel like I’m still writing to a pen pal in class.
Still overcome with shame, Spock almost blindly read through the message and found himself rebelling against the wild ideas springing up between them. The idea of seeing Kirk again had a great appeal, and Spock was mystified at the fact that there was no logical reason to have this desire. His traitorous, emotion-prone mind wanted to meet again with the board of directors and announce his resignation at that very moment. It was foolhardy at best and simply unforgivable all around. His life was satisfactory and safe and he had worked years to reach the position of director. Perhaps it had not been a wise decision to bring his concerns to Kirk.
I will have to consider my options.
Spock waited for the response, eyes lingering on the chess game, wondering when he had let idle fancy edge so far into his every day life.
It’s up to you. So, what are you wearing?
Spock stared at the question, then at his attire, his dark gray teaching robes.
Why is that imperative?
I’m sorry, it was just a stupid joke I knew you wouldn’t get. I keep thinking of high school texting and playing up to my doctor‘s expectations.
Spock raised his eyebrows at the nonsensical discussion. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side the house. There was a 53.6% possibility that his mother would knock upon his door.
My presence may be required soon. I would like to end our conversation here so I may prepare myself.
That’s cool, I knew you’d probably be busy. I’ll keep my communicator on in case you want to talk again later.
The footsteps faded away, leaving Spock alone in his room in front of a terminal with Kirk’s last message. Eventually he left the soft glow of the monitor and began dissembling the chess board, placing each piece back in their original positions.
next part
Author: bigmamag
Universe: Reboot AU
Pairing: Kirk/Spock preslash
Rating: PG-13
Relationship status: preslash
Word count: 3200/7770
Genre: Drama
Tropes: au counterparts, destiny, friendship
Warnings: spoilers for the fic Refractions
Summary: After the events of Refractions, life is forever changed for one of the universes. Director Spock returns to Vulcan, but finds that his ordered and predictable life is no longer satisfactory. Captain Kirk is faced with the harsh realities of a potential Romulan war and the loneliness of command.
Note: Hey there now, there's no more question mark as to how many parts there will be! I feel all accomplished or something. Beta by the lovely bostongirl2003 who has made this part make a little more sense.
back to part one
…I wanted to thank you for those warp core calculations. Scotty was beside himself when he got them and now my girl runs about a thousand times faster. If I ever get any leave time on Vulcan, I’ll buy you a drink. What do Vulcans drink anyway? I assume tea, but I don’t want to stereotype. Yesterday, we….
…By ‘girl’ I assume you mean the Enterprise, and I further assume you are speaking in hyperbole, as Mr. Scott personally informed me that the ship only performs with a .07% acceleration. However, I acknowledge how crucial the ship’s engines are in times of battle, therefore I accept your gratitude, as unnecessary as it is. As to your query on common Vulcan beverages, I can ascertain that we do imbibe copious amounts of tea. Stereotyping is not always a negative approach to new or uncommon phenomena, as most species learn through generalizations. On a separate matter, I have been perusing your official biography…
…play chess? That’s awesome! I’ve got an idea, and you can say no if it’s illogical or something, but how about we keep up a running chess game? Every time we talk we’ll announce a move and we’ll keep the pieces in the same position. I can definitely trust you not to cheat and I assure you that if I were to cheat on anything, it wouldn’t be something as silly as a chess game…
…Regarding your last message, I must answer in the affirmative. The rhetoric used by the Romulan ambassador appears to have a tranquilizing affect on the masses. In that instance, she is successful in placating worries while disguising the fact that she has publicly agreed to no change in public policy. It is quite disquieting, and I am not even privy to half of the discussions being held on the matter.
A recurring chess game between you and I would be agreeable. I am confident that you would not give into the temptation of cheating.
****
USS Enterprise - Andorian space
****
Jim slumped into his desk chair, rubbing tired eyes. His new first officer was an idiot. Commander Jacobs might be pretty and had likely charmed her way into the command track, but being able to score a date by merely winking at any male in her vicinity helped very little when dealing with a pissed-off Klingon who took her foolhardy flirtations as the half-hearted diversionary tactic they were. It was almost becoming a running joke to Jim, this cursed first officer position. If only Scotty could clone himself so he could be both chief engineer and first officer. Or Starfleet could let Jim eliminate the position altogether.
He tensed when the door chimed, fervently praying that it was not Commander Jacobs again. The last thing he needed tonight was her in his bedroom, trying to subtly play the role of seductress. Jim granted entrance, palpably relieved when Dr. McCoy entered, wielding a bottle of Georgia’s finest bourbon.
“Bless you,” Jim said fervently.
“I got to sit in for the last ten minutes of Kang ranting about dishonor and human scum, so I thought you could use a little snort of the good stuff.”
Jim smiled, relaxing as the doctor took out two small glasses and began pouring.
Ever since the mission in which he had met Spock, McCoy had taken to showing up in Jim’s quarters once or twice a week simply to talk about themselves and their interests. Jim was suspicious of McCoy’s new-found interest in him, mostly because McCoy avoided small talk and spent the visits talking about personal interests and hobbies. Jim figured that McCoy was wary of the captain’s mental health, and with good damn reason. After all, it was a sure thing that McCoy had at least heard of the other Kirks, and one of those Jim Kirks was a proven killer and psychopath. Doubtless the chief medical officer would let a little detail like go unnoticed and was therefore taking the initiative to make sure those tendencies weren’t present in Jim.
Having poured the drinks, McCoy handed one of the glasses to Jim. Their fingers brushed and Jim held back a little shiver at the unexpected contact, downing the drink to hide his awkward reaction. McCoy seated himself on the other side of the desk, thankfully oblivious to all but his own drink. In a ritualistic manner, McCoy adjusted his glasses, raised his drink to his nose, took a long whiff, and, satisfaction pouring off of him, drank deeply.
“Why do you wear glasses?” Jim asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“I was working in the med lab at the academy at four in the morning with no sleep. A beaker exploded when I forgot to turn the fire off. I went through three surgeries just to restore my eyesight.”
Jim winced. “Let me guess-they weren’t able to restore your vision all the way?”
“Got it in one. If I didn’t wear the glasses, I’d be able to see, but I’d fail every Starfleet vision requirement there is. I know I wouldn’t want a half-blind doctor poking at my innards.”
Jim’s PADD beeped and Jim glanced at it, frowning when he saw that Jacobs had sent him a message.
He tiredly brandished his glass at McCoy for more. McCoy chuckled, filling the glass again.
“You look like I do whenever the ex-wife calls.”
“At least you’re not in charge of her career.”
“I’d take that over a woman who takes the whole damn planet in a divorce and tries every trick in the book to retain full child custody.”
“Point taken.”
They fell into a companionable silence, and Jim liked that a lot about McCoy.
“I have to fess up; there’s an ulterior motive behind my visit.”
“Oh?” Jim said, about as surprised as he would have been if McCoy had announced that space had stars.
“I’ve been looking at your medical records, and while your physical health is fine, it’s other things I’m worried about. Jim,” McCoy said, shocking Jim at the casual address. “How many friends do you say you have?”
Jim tried not to look pathetic. “I’ve got lots of friends.”
“Not acquaintances?”
“I bet you’ll be arriving at a point soon,” Jim said, not unkindly.
“I worry about your self-imposed isolation on this ship. I can’t figure out why you’re doing it when most people adore you.”
“Oh, come on,” Jim scoffed, nervously rolling his empty glass in one hand.
“I mean it. This crew would willingly drive this ship into a black hole if you thought it was important, and yet you keep them at arm’s length. Hell, I myself didn’t notice this until about a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been watching you closer than most.”
“That’s a fascinating diagnosis, Doctor,” Jim said, quirking his mouth. “But I’ve got a life outside of the service.”
True, that life was a barren farmhouse handed down from his mother, a box of his father’s keepsakes, and the sporadic visits from a standoffish stepfather, but McCoy didn’t need to know the details.
McCoy relaxed a bit, and Jim fought back the insistent pull in his gut that wanted to shout at him, I LIED. PLEASE NOTICE ME. It was annoying, especially when Jim felt equally elated that McCoy didn’t think he was a sad excuse for a human and further hoped that McCoy would leave the room and forget this conversation had ever happened. Jim wondered if everyone in the world was given a manual on how to make friends and he was missing some important clue to understanding the process.
“Your PADD is chirping at you,” McCoy said, pointing at Jim’s elbow. Jim mentally shook himself out of his thoughts, heard the insistent beeping and saw that his message light was indeed blinking. He refreshed the page and saw that Spock had messaged him. Jim smiled, setting the PADD down and feeling a well of anticipation at having something great to look forward to.
“Is there a reason you just lit up like a Christmas tree?” McCoy asked in amusement. Jim tried to school the elation on his face, with little success.
“Oh, it’s just Spock. Director Spock, that is.”
“You still talk with him?” McCoy asked, and Jim didn’t miss the evident surprise in his voice. It immediately put Jim on the defensive.
“Yeah. He helped with the warp calculations a bit back. We talk about current issues and research breakthroughs.”
“Sounds exhilarating,” McCoy deadpanned. Jim fought back a frown.
“He’s pretty interesting, actually.”
“Well, to each his own,” McCoy said doubtfully. “I mean, I can sort of see where the other Spocks were interesting, but the director seems too…Vulcan, if that makes any sense.”
Jim smirked. “Well, he is Vulcan. And anyway, you can have those other guys. This one’s perfect-I mean, he’s fine by me.”
Unfortunately, McCoy wasn’t so oblivious to that slip. McCoy grinned like the cat who got the canary and the cream and gathered up his drinking accouterments.
“Apparently my concerns are unwarranted, Captain. Enjoy your evening and fine Vulcan.”
“You know what I meant!”
“Of course, of course,” McCoy assured, but as he walked out Jim heard him softly hum ‘-in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’
Jim stared incredulously after McCoy, but couldn’t help a warm feeling overcoming him; it wasn’t often that people teased him good-naturedly. Jim went over to his replicator and ordered up some dinner, deciding to read Jacobs’ message before Spock’s, just so he could end the evening on a high note.
****
Vulcan - House of Sarek
****
Spock turned from the terminal, his full concentration focused on breathing evenly.
In the four months since he resumed teaching, Spock had petitioned three times for a private research sanction on three different experiments he was conducting. Considering his vast expertise on a multitude of subjects and his position as department director, there should have been no barrier in receiving funding and a team for any project he wished to pursue.
Instead, he had been stymied at each turn with the excuse that his input was not required. Frustrated, Spock had requested a video conference with the board of directors and was left reeling from the result.
“I request clarification on my rejection from three private research proposals.”
The board members looked at each other silently, their expression never changing but somehow communicating which member should address Spock.
It was the provost who answered from the head of the table.
“We have read the mission logs from the USS Enterprise. While the evidence for a multiverse has validated many claims made from your department, we are troubled by the reports of emotionalism demonstrated by your counterparts.”
“I do not understand,” Spock said coldly. “Do you mean to infer that I should be judged according to the actions of beings from wholly separate universes?”
“We judge you based on the knowledge that you could let your human half impair your ability to function according to the decorum of our institution. While we acknowledge that these were extraordinary circumstances, we do not wish to place you in an environment when your control could be compromised.”
“In plainer terms,” Spock said, cold understanding freezing him in place. “You do not trust that I will behave as a Vulcan when conducting my research in the field.”
“Precisely. Perhaps when enough time has passed and we have judged your character to be steadfast and certain, we can make an alternate decision.”
Spock supposed that his counterparts were not wholly responsible for this turn of events. Ever since returning from that mission and then meeting the elder Spock, Spock had put off his kolinahr training, deciding that there was always time to resume his plans. Now he realized that this was an egregious error, as he was currently unable to control a rage that was boiling inside of him, a rage that had possibly been brewing since the council first told him that he had done well despite the disadvantage of having a human mother. He had not commented then, having never considered another option outside of the academy. However, it now seemed that his superiors and colleagues still held the same opinion, even when Spock far exceeded their expectations time and time again.
That is, they would continue to hold the same opinion until Spock proved them wrong on this one matter.
Spock powered on the terminal, subconsciously reaching out for guidance. Kirk knew of Spock’s plight, knew about the rejections but not the reason behind those rejections. Spock queued up the messaging program and began typing, sending his shortest missive to Kirk since their very first.
The board of directors has denied my request for the third time. I pursued the matter and was told in no uncertain terms that they would continue to deny my requests based on the “emotionalism” of my alternate dimensional counterparts.
Spock sent the message and moved over to the small table in his bedroom where his chessboard was constantly set up mid-game. Currently it was Kirk’s move, and Spock silently studied the board for a few minutes, finding that the activity of strategizing future moves calmed him somewhat.
Spock was interrupted when his terminal heralded the arrival of a message. He resumed his seat in front of it and was surprised to see that it was from Kirk.
Those jerks! How is it LOGICAL to hold you accountable for a “you” from a whole other universe? I mean, if Starfleet felt that way, I’d be court marshaled in seconds based on the craziness I’ve seen.
Your response was swift and earnest, Spock noted, placated by Kirk’s defense. He waited 3.4 minutes for a response.
It must be bad news week, because a few days ago I got rejected for a five year exploration mission. Turns out Starfleet’s keeping us near home or near the neutral zone, for classified-but-obvious-to-anyone-who-knows-anything-about-politics reasons. I mean it wasn’t unexpected, but I still feel let down. Anyway, I was going to message you in a couple of hours ‘cause I figured you were busy at that time of day, so I‘m glad you did it first. We’re having a stopover for supplies at starbase 12, so we happen to be near a relay station. It’s sort of cool not having to wait hours to hear from you. Knight to D7, by the way.
Indeed, it is a more proficient method of communication. After hitting ‘send’, Spock moved Kirk’s knight to the desired square. He had not anticipated that Kirk would made such a reckless move, and he hummed lowly in approval when he realized that Kirk had effectively blocked four maneuvers Spock had been planning. Another message awaited him.
This kind of reminds me of high school. I had a pen pal from Tellar Prime. Let me tell you, I had never been involved in nastier debates. I think that’s where I learned half my ability to think under fire, all thanks to a prepubescent Tellarite. I bet you’d have been able to handle him even better. They seem to really hate Vulcans. Must be the great poker faces.
I do no understand what a ‘poker face’ is, but I find your observation to have some merit. Spock paused, thinking over the information. The conversation reminded him of his father who had certainly dealt with Tellarites and had taken his job so seriously as to marry a human and deem it a logical decision. Perhaps if I cannot convince the council of my veracity, I can easily find another recourse for occupation. What are your thoughts on ambassadorial work?
Spock waited impatiently for several minutes. Illogically, he felt as if his entire well-being hinged on Kirk’s answer.
That would be awesome! You wouldn’t have those old fogies breathing down your neck all the time and you’d be all logical and bad ass. I gotta warn you though-sometimes it’s hard work. I know your dad is an ambassador to Vulcan so you might know some of that, but if you plan on doing any talks with the Romulans, you could be on a starship during a battle or hell, in war time it’s not unheard of to kidnap ambassadors for ransom.
When Spock read this, his heart soared. It should have warned off someone like Spock, who had never traveled to another planet, who had had only been in space once, and had, in that one single visit, been thrown into a crisis situation. Instead, Spock could only feel elated at the prospect of having something to do. Instantly it shamed him, all these emotions he had never felt, desperately wanting adventure and, most illogical of all, danger. Spock didn’t have a chance to answer because a minute after that message was sent, Kirk sent another.
Plus, we may be able to see each other once in a while. The Enterprise sometimes ferries ambassadors to conferences and you’d be traveling a lot. I mean, I haven’t formally met your dad but I did see him a few years ago on my first mission under Pike, so I figure we’d have more a chance of seeing each other than we are now because it’s not often we stop off at Vulcan for shore leave. And it’s funny because all this talk has made me feel like I’m still writing to a pen pal in class.
Still overcome with shame, Spock almost blindly read through the message and found himself rebelling against the wild ideas springing up between them. The idea of seeing Kirk again had a great appeal, and Spock was mystified at the fact that there was no logical reason to have this desire. His traitorous, emotion-prone mind wanted to meet again with the board of directors and announce his resignation at that very moment. It was foolhardy at best and simply unforgivable all around. His life was satisfactory and safe and he had worked years to reach the position of director. Perhaps it had not been a wise decision to bring his concerns to Kirk.
I will have to consider my options.
Spock waited for the response, eyes lingering on the chess game, wondering when he had let idle fancy edge so far into his every day life.
It’s up to you. So, what are you wearing?
Spock stared at the question, then at his attire, his dark gray teaching robes.
Why is that imperative?
I’m sorry, it was just a stupid joke I knew you wouldn’t get. I keep thinking of high school texting and playing up to my doctor‘s expectations.
Spock raised his eyebrows at the nonsensical discussion. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side the house. There was a 53.6% possibility that his mother would knock upon his door.
My presence may be required soon. I would like to end our conversation here so I may prepare myself.
That’s cool, I knew you’d probably be busy. I’ll keep my communicator on in case you want to talk again later.
The footsteps faded away, leaving Spock alone in his room in front of a terminal with Kirk’s last message. Eventually he left the soft glow of the monitor and began dissembling the chess board, placing each piece back in their original positions.
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