Fic Time! Balance 6/?
So yeah, I know I know, I suck at updating fics or... even at appearing on here very often anymore, but I'm going to change that starting from now, I swear! I mean, I come bearing fic, surely that's enough?! *throws it and flees*
Also, I apologise for any shitty editing LJ decides to throw up - everything's gone weird since I was last here O_o
Title: Balance 6/?
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4494
Warnings: Just a great big dollop of angst. What d'ya expect? Rainbows?
Summary: Jim has had enough, but when he sets out to teach Spock a lesson about respect and dominance, Jim gets taught a few lessons himself. Mainly, never take on an angry Vulcan...
Jim knew that this was probably going to be a bad idea.
There had been times when his recklessness and disregard for the rules had
been seen as necessary, essential for the mission and even praised despite how
much the Admiralty protested. Whilst the pen-pushers at Starfleet weren't even
on Jim's mind this time, his eyes flickering across the screen and his fingers
working on the Data PADD, Jim knew that this was probably one of the worst
things he'd ever do in the line of duty.
He didn't even need to do it; he knew with the searing and heavy guilt
roiling in his gut that only grew more pronounced over time that this was
nothing more than him refusing to let sleeping doctors and Vulcans lie, but Jim
couldn't help it. To say that the atmosphere on the bridge today had been
unsettling would be the biggest understatement in the galaxy. Two days in a row
with an anonymous face sitting where Spock should have been, doing the jobs that
Spock should have been doing, the equilibrium had been well and truly turned on
its head, and this reflected in the bridge crew.
There had been no easy banter and attempts at teasing that would
traditionally end in Spock rolling his eyes and lauding logic despite how much
the crew knew he secretly revelled in their actions and human impulses; there
had been no easy flow of communication and companionship. Everything had been
stilted, and whilst no-one on the bridge could blame that solely on the poor
scientist who'd volunteered today to take Spock's imposing position next to the
captain's chair, it was obvious that Spock's missing presence was affecting
things more than what Jim thought could ever be expected.
It made Jim feel guilty and strangely conflicted to admit it, but it was
affecting Jim more than he ever thought possible too. He couldn't think of a
word to describe the hollow feeling that seemed to languish within him, the stab
of remorse that pulsed through him every time he thought of the Vulcan, or
turned and saw someone that wasn't Spock beside him. It didn't help either that
Jim couldn't take his mind off of him, both figuratively and literally. Every
mental image was of Spock's face and his eyes in Bones' office, of the haunted
expression and pain that Jim had caused him. Every thought seemed to reverberate
the icy cold depression and despair that Jim had felt through Spock's skin from
that brief moment of contact in the Sickbay.
If Jim closed his eyes and tuned out the sound of the beeps and the drones
that made up the soundtrack of the ship, then Jim could have sworn that he could
hear Spock's thoughts, his voice and his emotions emanating from that dark
shimmer in the back of his mind that Jim had viciously denied existed. Jim
didn't know what was happening anymore. He didn't know if this was some form of
Karma, Vulcan hoo-doo or fucking Alien Spores that had wormed their way into his
brain, but it had reached the point where Jim could no longer remain ignorant to
what was happening to Spock.
He'd thought about going and talking to Bones, telling him all about the
revelations he'd been having late at night about how Spock really wasn't as much
of a green-blooded bastard as he'd first thought before begging him for some
information about what was going on, but he'd thought better of it. Bones,
despite tactfully not mentioning it out of deference to Spock's privacy, was
still pissed at him for triggering Spock's breakdown in the first place with his
own stupidity, as well as for ignoring his medical orders to stay away from his
First Officer, which meant that going to talk to Bones would probably lead to
claims of false sincerity and lots and lots of shouting.
Of course, there was also the whole patient confidentiality thing that Bones
seemed incredibly desperate to uphold this time, and whilst Jim could sit there
and pull rank, demand to know the diagnosis and hide his own desire to know the
truth behind a load of spiel about the welfare of the crew, Jim knew that Bones
would see right through him and still tell him nothing, maybe even get more
angry at him for trying to force his authority on Spock's dignity and right to
respect. Whilst Jim was frustrated that Bones was proving less than helpful on
this occasion compared to many before, Jim couldn't help but give a smile at how
much of a consummate professional his best friend had become since the Academy,
let alone how much Bones cared for the stupid Hobgoblin.
Jim was hoping that mending bridges with Spock, maybe getting to the bottom
of this and extending the proverbial olive branch of peace to the Vulcan would
be enough to trigger that transformation in him as well - although, to be honest
with himself, what Jim was doing now most definitely wasn't the best way to
start on that journey. If Jim could hack the Kobayashi Maru, then hacking into
Starfleet medical records would be a walk in the park, but that didn't mean that
Jim wasn't feeling slightly ashamed and disgusted at his actions as he overrode
Bones' password to enter the doctor's personal files.
He knew logically and rationally that Spock deserved better than this, but
Jim could also feel on an emotional level that even if Spock found out about his
ways of garnering information about his condition, that Spock would be able to
understand that it was all for his benefit at the end of the day. Sure, he knew
without a shadow of a doubt that Bones would kick his ass all across the galaxy
for this before threatening him with every regulation and hearing under the sun,
but if Bones didn't want things found out, he should have better security on his
files.
Typing Spock's name into the patient bar on the top of the screen, Jim leaned
back in his chair, nervously tapping his fingers against the desk as he glanced
at the door to his quarters; he didn't expect anyone to walk in on him, but that
never stopped the paranoia of being discovered when he was doing something he
wasn't supposed to. Things always had a way of conspiring against him like that,
and just because he'd become Captain didn't mean that that was going to change
in a hurry.
A sudden burst of writing and images, numbers and records started streaming
onto the screen, and Jim leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as he
stared intently at the data before him. It felt weird being privy to such
intimate details about the Vulcan, but Jim was able to push down the guilt that
he felt as he read general statistics about Spock; height, weight, allergies,
injuries. However, as Jim started scrolling into the more recent entries on
Spock's file, he felt the knot in his gut starting to twist tighter and tighter,
the numbing pain in the back of his mind starting to pulse and ebb as he stared
disconcertingly at what was before him.
Stardate 09.04.2236: Destruction of planet Vulcan. Patient now surviving
member of Interstellar Genocide and listed as endangered species in accordance
to Starfleet policy 12-4-37A. Initial assessments show signs of severe
telepathic and empathic shock, emotional distress and sensory deprivation caused
by inability to shield. Multiple contusions and abrasions to left arm and wrist
caused by combat. Ability to command compromised and relieved from position
after outburst of bodily violence against acting Captain. Patient refused
treatment for mental and emotional injury against medical advice.
Stardate 11.04.2236: Patient showing signs of moderate insomnia and loss
of appetite. Outbursts of uncharacteristic behaviour observed by members of
department consistent with continued emotional distress. Telepathic receptors
still sensitive and unable to shield from basic intrusions. Telepathic and
empathic shock still present by admittance of patient, within upper parameters
for the surviving Vulcan spectrum, but patient refusing treatment against
medical advice. Patient presenting symptoms of Clinical Depression caused by
major trauma and bereavement, but still refusing treatment. Patient to be placed
under observation for remainder of journey to Earth.
Jim roughly wiped his hand down his face as he re-read over the entries; they
both coincided with the days before that fateful night in Spock's quarters, and
after scrutinising the details of Bones' brief snapshots, Jim was beginning to
understand what Bones had been saying to him all along. Spock's reaction to
Jim's presence that night, and the way he looked when Jim walked out with
nothing more than a sneer and a cheap shot, all made sense if the Vulcan had
been so deeply affected by what had happened. If anything, it made Jim feel
rather nauseous to realise that he had taken advantage of Spock when he was in
no fit condition to even defend himself, let alone make any kind of rational
decision. Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to push down the roiling in his
stomach as he scrolled down the page, finding it more and more difficult to
dissociate from the emotions he could feel leaping from the page and feeding
into the shadow at the back of his skull.
Stardate 12.04.2236: Patient found in corridor at approximately 0053
hours, displaying signs of severe emotional and mental distress consistent with
Terran psychotic breakdown. Self-inflicted injuries to the right hand due to
repeated punches to Sickbay outer wall. Bodily vital signs all elevated above
upper Vulcan parameters including Testosterone and Adrenaline levels at
critical. Scans show severe empathetic and telepathic injury consistent with
Category 1A diagnosis, with ability to shield and control thought and emotional
transfer at less than 4% in concurrence with Starfleet and VSA guidelines.
Patient also makes explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual
as of yet unknown, although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed
identity of Acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Patient show symptoms and signs
of severe Clinical Depression bordering suicidal despondency at personal belief
of "not being wanted," "being undeserving" and "not worthy of living." Patient
treated with Klingon-grade Sedatives, Anti-Depressants and VSA approved Muscle
relaxants and Shielding compounds in order to lessen further emotional or
telepathic damage. Patient to be kept in Sickbay under sedated observation and
reassessed under morning rotations.
The rush of bile that Jim could feel burning the back of his throat was so
strong that it was all he could do not to be violently sick as he frantically
read over the entry again and again, slowly feeling his entire body become numb.
It was all there in black and white, and somehow the medical terminology and
brief formality of the words on the screen made it seem so much worse than Jim
could ever imagine it would be.
When Bones had come storming up to him in the Gym and verbally ripped him to
shreds, Jim was sure that Bones had been overreacting; after all, how the hell
could Bones say that it was all Jim's fault? Now though, Jim could see that far
from overreacting, Bones had actually held back the night before. Bones would've
had every Goddamn right to hit him, and he knew now that he deserved it. Hell,
he deserved to get his ass kicked all across the fucking galaxy and every
alternate universe that surrounded it if this was only a brief snippet of what
he'd done to such a proud, strong individual.
He felt sick to his stomach; Spock was grieving, in mourning for the death of
his planet, his race and his mother, and yet Jim had pushed him to his breaking
point.
He'd basically taken advantage of a vulnerable, compromised and depressed
being - which in itself was bad enough - then had very deliberately fed the
fires by continuing to taunt and torture him with his teasing touches and
flippant sexual attacks. Despite just how bad the situation was, Jim couldn't
help but shake his head with a bitter, near hysterical laugh as it started to
sink in; at times like this, he couldn't believe how the hell he'd been able to
survive the Academy, let alone make it to Captain if he was capable of pulling
off this kind of shit for no reason than a petty, pathetic feud that Spock
apparently didn't even consider himself a part of. Spock deserved so much better
than to be serving under a self-centred idiot like him.
He didn't care about all of this destiny bullshit that the Elder Spock had
been feeding him; deep down, there was still that small part of him that tried
to be logical about the whole thing - Spock needed to be removed from command
otherwise Earth was going to end up becoming one giant party popper, Spock
needed to be motivated into taking action against Nero that would go against all
Surak and Vulcan teachings, save the universe yadda yadda yadda, he completely
understood that - but that didn't stop him feeling like the worst kind of
predator for taking advantage of that just to make himself feel better.
Wiping a hand roughly down his face as he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion
overcome him, Jim looked back over the last entry. It felt weird to think that
someone like Spock had caused that much damage to himself in such a short space
of time, but what felt weirder was that he knew.
He'd been half asleep the night before when he'd suddenly felt the most
intense, agonising pain tear through his head, worse than any beating or
drugging he'd ever experienced in the line of duty. He'd been paralysed, almost
hyperventilating as what felt like claws scratched against his mind, trying to
pull… something out, tears streaming helplessly down his face as distorted
emotions, memories and desires flooded his senses; rage, pain, loathing,
crippling fear and anguish, and the shadowy echo at the back of his skull
rippling like a bubble that was about to be burst.
It had gone on for what felt like an eternity, his heart thudding so hard and
irregularly in his chest that he thought it was going to go straight through it,
his vision going black around the edges as whatever it was in his mind that
seemed to be being attacked fought and struggled to stay wrenched in place, when
suddenly it had stopped.
Completely stopped.
It was almost as if someone had injected a hypo full of Klingon tranquilisers
straight into his nervous system as his body relaxed and his mind settled, and
Jim had felt the corresponding echo - like an out of body experience almost - do
exactly the same as he slumped back into his pillow, his breathing erratic and
his eyes bloodshot. There was no way he could get back to sleep after that, so
he did what he'd always done in those sorts of situations, when he felt so
fucking powerless and defenceless against whatever was happening to him; he
threw on a T-shirt and headed straight to the Gym to work it out, time of the
night and his urge to violently throw up be damned.
When Bones had stormed in, looking for the entire world like the tough
Southern bastard that Jim knew he could be and knocking him down more than a few
pegs for what he'd done to Spock, Jim knew there had to be a connection. Now, as
he looked back over the same sentence over and over - "Patient also makes
explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual as of yet unknown,
although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed identity of Acting
Captain James Tiberius Kirk" - the answer was there in black and white.
Well, just in black, Jim thought rather childishly as he looked for any way to
distract himself from what he was reading, but it made no difference all the
same.
It was an answer.
Spock knew what was happening to them; that must have been why he became so
desperate down on the surface of Gelbeshka when Jim had told him to stop, or why
he'd circumvented around the questions Jim asked in that way only Spock knew how
to do. A smile lit up Jim's face for a moment, before it abruptly disappeared
again. He couldn't ask Spock because if he did, then he'd have to admit that
he'd been hacking into his records, which would probably get his ass kicked by
both a Vulcan and a certain Medical officer, and Jim certainly couldn't
afford to push his luck anymore with Bones regarding the whole situation; if
Bones had his way, he'd probably have stripped Jim of his command by now, and he
certainly didn't want that.
He sighed.
Dead end.
All he needed to do was to get some answers out of Spock, and he couldn't
even do that. Resting his head in his chin, Jim thought for a few moments,
before another slight grin curled his lips. "Computer," he called, just a bit of
authority in his voice, "engage lock Captain Alpha Four, and open up
communications with Ambassador Selik at the Vulcan Embassy."
"Communication line open, contact commencing," came the automatic reply as
Jim settled back into his chair, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
Sometimes, being dropped onto a God forsaken ice planet and finding an
alternate version of your Vulcan First Officer did come in useful at times like
this. The static faded, replaced with a face he recognised so well; it was
older, wrinkled and withered from time and age, but there was still that spark
in the Elder Spock's eyes that reminded him so much of his own. It was quite
scary actually.
"Good evening Jim," came that smooth baritone voice over the connection, and
Jim had to resist the urge to shiver just slightly at the way his name rolled
off of the Vulcan's tongue; it wasn't quite the same as the way his Spock called
him Jim, but obviously his body couldn't give a shit about the difference. "I am
surprised that you have called quite so late, is there something I can do for
you?"
Jim smiled back, his features belying a confidence he wasn't entirely sure he
had as he sat up slightly straighter in his chair. "Actually Spock, there is."
When Elder Spock's eyebrow rose in questioning and slight amusement at the use
of his given name, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest, Jim felt himself relax
slightly.
"And what would that be, Jim?"
A fleeting thought came to Jim's mind, making his smile fade as he realised
the potential ramifications this could have for him; sure he was going to get
answers, but at what cost? And at what damage to any potential friendship or
reconciliation with his Spock? As Jim watched concern start to cloud
the startling bright eyes staring at him, Jim quashed down those fears, clasping
his hands together as he looked at the Data PADD next to him, desperately hoping
that this was going to be worth it.
"I need some help. I have questions… about something that's happening to
Spock… and I think to me too."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spock gave a sigh, watching the slow movement of the stars as they passed by
the window of the Observation deck.
They were tiny, insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, just
hollow little specks that shone bright before burning out into nothing. They
were just like him. He briefly admonished himself for thinking such emotional,
such self-centred, such… human things, but no sooner had the thought
crossed his mind had he dismissed them.
He was a wreck, a shame to his Vulcan heritage and teachings, strayed so far
off Surak's path and his own beliefs that he wasn't entirely sure he could even
justify calling himself Vulcan any more. He looked like a Vulcan, he had Vulcan
blood, he had Vulcan physiology, but that didn't make him a Vulcan; not with his
human heart, his human thoughts and emotions that disgusted him more and more
every day. He closed his eyes wearily, his energy drained from fighting with
himself. Disgust was such a human emotion, he hypocritically silenced
himself.
But that was what he deserved.
That was what he got for embracing the needs and desires of the flesh, for
sating the lust and confusion that James Tiberius Kirk had created within him.
That was what he got for even thinking that James Tiberius Kirk could
understand. That was what he got for even thinking he could tempt fate. Fate and
desire had destroyed stronger men than him. Even now, he could still feel the
sense memories of Jim's hands against his bare skin, of Jim's lips against his,
of his breath caressing his ear as he moaned low with every thrust. Spock didn't
even attempt to control the shudder that rolled down his spine as he replayed
that night in his mind's eye, too tired and conflicted to try and reign in his
shameful responses.
Thoughts of Jim practically consumed him now, had done for days, and he let
out a quiet breath as he leaned back against the wall behind him; he knew there
was no way he'd be able to meditate now. He'd been trying for hours, since McCoy
had released him from Sickbay and since Jim had touched him, but he could barely
even broach the shallow layers of his mind. An uncharacteristic lump formed in
his throat; even a child could do better than him.
A slight discomfort in his hand made him look down. There were deep crescents
in the palm, his nail digging into the sensitive nerve endings and creating a
feedback loop of pain. It was almost perverse, Spock briefly acknowledged to
himself, how Spock's mind welcomed the physical pain as an old friend against
the agonising mental and emotional pain that attacked him each and every time he
dared to touch the thin, silvery bond that stretched between him and Jim. It was
damaged, it was wounded, torn into fragments and weakly pieced back together,
but Spock knew that he deserved it.
If he was to be honest with himself, he knew that what he truly deserved was
to have broken completely, but that would be the cowards way out; a relatively
quick and painless death from a broken bond was laughable compared to the weeks,
months, years even of torture and madness that alluded a festering, dying
T'hy'la bond. He knew that Jim would experience some… discomfort, some sadness,
maybe some anger as Spock condition worsened, but it was much better than dying
alongside Spock if Spock broke the bond completely.
Spock owed Jim that much, even after what he'd done.
The small metal bracelet around Spock's right wrist started to beep, and
Spock gave a slight bittersweet smile that he wouldn't dare to show around
anyone else. McCoy had put it on him this morning for long distance monitoring;
he'd said it wasn't healthy to keep Spock locked up in Sickbay when he wasn't
physically injured in the conventional sense, and Spock couldn't be bothered to
argue with the doctor. Spock was going to humour him in his attempts at healing
him, was going to allow McCoy to spout emotional human drivel and try and plant
false hope about admitting the truth to Jim.
McCoy had said that Jim would understand, but Spock knew that the doctor was
lying, and he'd told him that much earlier. McCoy had just looked at him, his
eyes full of concern and pity as he placed his hand softly on Spock's shoulder
and told him:
"Jim is a better man than you think. If this is something that could kill
you, and he could do something to stop that, then he would do anything to help.
He likes you, you green-blooded Goblin. Okay, not in the normal sense, but Jim
isn't normal and you're not exactly the poster child for emotional shit either.
Just… talk to him."
Spock hadn't even bothered with a response, knowing rather disgustingly at
that point as he stared at McCoy that his eyes would be doing all the talking
for him, revealing the sheer gamut of emotions that Spock was too weak to
control. It was shameful. He closed his eyes tight, taking a deep, deliberate
breath as he focused all of his energy into trying to meditate for the 12th time
in the space of as many hours.
He was a Vulcan. He had no need for emotions. He had no need for hope. He
knew his - he was loathed to use the word, even in his own mind - destiny.
He was a Vulcan.
He was a proud, logical Vulcan.
He was… He was…
A suddenly disorientating lurch ran through his mind, his heart thudding in
his chest as images of Jim, memories of their night together, of their fight on
Gelbeshka, of Jim moaning his name came flooding into his senses, the bond
refusing to be repressed beneath Vulcan morals and teachings as it flared
brightly. For the 12th time that night, Spock was thrown from his meditation was
a gasp of pain, the bile that was burning his throat and roiling his stomach
making him feel violently ill that he was unable to control in such a confused,
manic state.
For what felt like an eternity - Spock's sense of time had been thrown out by
the sensory overload from his disrupted meditative state - Spock slumped back
against the wall, his harsh, heavy breaths gradually fading as the bracelet
around his wrist lit up like a switchboard; Spock knew when he saw McCoy the
next morning he was going to be questioned about what had happened, nothing
escaped the Southerners beady eyes. He also knew, rather depressingly, that
going back to McCoy without having talked to Jim was just going to lead to more
questions.
Spock knew that McCoy was right; he knew that he had to speak to Jim. Even if
he couldn't admit just how deep the situation had become, common Vulcan tenets
dictated that all people affected by the creation of a spontaneous bond - either
by accident or by psychic assault like Spock knew he had committed against his
Captain - had to be informed of its creation and all ramifications for the
future. Taking a deep breath against the very human shudder of fear and doubt
that suddenly rippled through him, making his stomach knot tight with nerves,
Spock mustered together the energy to get to his feet, trying to ignore the
tremor that ran through him as he started towards the door of the Observation
deck, darkness falling around him as the sensors followed his departure.
Spock couldn't even feel surprised when he lifted his hand and grazed the
very tips of his fingers down his cheek.
He was crying.
Vulcan's didn't cry.
Crying was illogical.
Also, I apologise for any shitty editing LJ decides to throw up - everything's gone weird since I was last here O_o
Title: Balance 6/?
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4494
Warnings: Just a great big dollop of angst. What d'ya expect? Rainbows?
Summary: Jim has had enough, but when he sets out to teach Spock a lesson about respect and dominance, Jim gets taught a few lessons himself. Mainly, never take on an angry Vulcan...
Jim knew that this was probably going to be a bad idea.
There had been times when his recklessness and disregard for the rules had
been seen as necessary, essential for the mission and even praised despite how
much the Admiralty protested. Whilst the pen-pushers at Starfleet weren't even
on Jim's mind this time, his eyes flickering across the screen and his fingers
working on the Data PADD, Jim knew that this was probably one of the worst
things he'd ever do in the line of duty.
He didn't even need to do it; he knew with the searing and heavy guilt
roiling in his gut that only grew more pronounced over time that this was
nothing more than him refusing to let sleeping doctors and Vulcans lie, but Jim
couldn't help it. To say that the atmosphere on the bridge today had been
unsettling would be the biggest understatement in the galaxy. Two days in a row
with an anonymous face sitting where Spock should have been, doing the jobs that
Spock should have been doing, the equilibrium had been well and truly turned on
its head, and this reflected in the bridge crew.
There had been no easy banter and attempts at teasing that would
traditionally end in Spock rolling his eyes and lauding logic despite how much
the crew knew he secretly revelled in their actions and human impulses; there
had been no easy flow of communication and companionship. Everything had been
stilted, and whilst no-one on the bridge could blame that solely on the poor
scientist who'd volunteered today to take Spock's imposing position next to the
captain's chair, it was obvious that Spock's missing presence was affecting
things more than what Jim thought could ever be expected.
It made Jim feel guilty and strangely conflicted to admit it, but it was
affecting Jim more than he ever thought possible too. He couldn't think of a
word to describe the hollow feeling that seemed to languish within him, the stab
of remorse that pulsed through him every time he thought of the Vulcan, or
turned and saw someone that wasn't Spock beside him. It didn't help either that
Jim couldn't take his mind off of him, both figuratively and literally. Every
mental image was of Spock's face and his eyes in Bones' office, of the haunted
expression and pain that Jim had caused him. Every thought seemed to reverberate
the icy cold depression and despair that Jim had felt through Spock's skin from
that brief moment of contact in the Sickbay.
If Jim closed his eyes and tuned out the sound of the beeps and the drones
that made up the soundtrack of the ship, then Jim could have sworn that he could
hear Spock's thoughts, his voice and his emotions emanating from that dark
shimmer in the back of his mind that Jim had viciously denied existed. Jim
didn't know what was happening anymore. He didn't know if this was some form of
Karma, Vulcan hoo-doo or fucking Alien Spores that had wormed their way into his
brain, but it had reached the point where Jim could no longer remain ignorant to
what was happening to Spock.
He'd thought about going and talking to Bones, telling him all about the
revelations he'd been having late at night about how Spock really wasn't as much
of a green-blooded bastard as he'd first thought before begging him for some
information about what was going on, but he'd thought better of it. Bones,
despite tactfully not mentioning it out of deference to Spock's privacy, was
still pissed at him for triggering Spock's breakdown in the first place with his
own stupidity, as well as for ignoring his medical orders to stay away from his
First Officer, which meant that going to talk to Bones would probably lead to
claims of false sincerity and lots and lots of shouting.
Of course, there was also the whole patient confidentiality thing that Bones
seemed incredibly desperate to uphold this time, and whilst Jim could sit there
and pull rank, demand to know the diagnosis and hide his own desire to know the
truth behind a load of spiel about the welfare of the crew, Jim knew that Bones
would see right through him and still tell him nothing, maybe even get more
angry at him for trying to force his authority on Spock's dignity and right to
respect. Whilst Jim was frustrated that Bones was proving less than helpful on
this occasion compared to many before, Jim couldn't help but give a smile at how
much of a consummate professional his best friend had become since the Academy,
let alone how much Bones cared for the stupid Hobgoblin.
Jim was hoping that mending bridges with Spock, maybe getting to the bottom
of this and extending the proverbial olive branch of peace to the Vulcan would
be enough to trigger that transformation in him as well - although, to be honest
with himself, what Jim was doing now most definitely wasn't the best way to
start on that journey. If Jim could hack the Kobayashi Maru, then hacking into
Starfleet medical records would be a walk in the park, but that didn't mean that
Jim wasn't feeling slightly ashamed and disgusted at his actions as he overrode
Bones' password to enter the doctor's personal files.
He knew logically and rationally that Spock deserved better than this, but
Jim could also feel on an emotional level that even if Spock found out about his
ways of garnering information about his condition, that Spock would be able to
understand that it was all for his benefit at the end of the day. Sure, he knew
without a shadow of a doubt that Bones would kick his ass all across the galaxy
for this before threatening him with every regulation and hearing under the sun,
but if Bones didn't want things found out, he should have better security on his
files.
Typing Spock's name into the patient bar on the top of the screen, Jim leaned
back in his chair, nervously tapping his fingers against the desk as he glanced
at the door to his quarters; he didn't expect anyone to walk in on him, but that
never stopped the paranoia of being discovered when he was doing something he
wasn't supposed to. Things always had a way of conspiring against him like that,
and just because he'd become Captain didn't mean that that was going to change
in a hurry.
A sudden burst of writing and images, numbers and records started streaming
onto the screen, and Jim leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as he
stared intently at the data before him. It felt weird being privy to such
intimate details about the Vulcan, but Jim was able to push down the guilt that
he felt as he read general statistics about Spock; height, weight, allergies,
injuries. However, as Jim started scrolling into the more recent entries on
Spock's file, he felt the knot in his gut starting to twist tighter and tighter,
the numbing pain in the back of his mind starting to pulse and ebb as he stared
disconcertingly at what was before him.
Stardate 09.04.2236: Destruction of planet Vulcan. Patient now surviving
member of Interstellar Genocide and listed as endangered species in accordance
to Starfleet policy 12-4-37A. Initial assessments show signs of severe
telepathic and empathic shock, emotional distress and sensory deprivation caused
by inability to shield. Multiple contusions and abrasions to left arm and wrist
caused by combat. Ability to command compromised and relieved from position
after outburst of bodily violence against acting Captain. Patient refused
treatment for mental and emotional injury against medical advice.
Stardate 11.04.2236: Patient showing signs of moderate insomnia and loss
of appetite. Outbursts of uncharacteristic behaviour observed by members of
department consistent with continued emotional distress. Telepathic receptors
still sensitive and unable to shield from basic intrusions. Telepathic and
empathic shock still present by admittance of patient, within upper parameters
for the surviving Vulcan spectrum, but patient refusing treatment against
medical advice. Patient presenting symptoms of Clinical Depression caused by
major trauma and bereavement, but still refusing treatment. Patient to be placed
under observation for remainder of journey to Earth.
Jim roughly wiped his hand down his face as he re-read over the entries; they
both coincided with the days before that fateful night in Spock's quarters, and
after scrutinising the details of Bones' brief snapshots, Jim was beginning to
understand what Bones had been saying to him all along. Spock's reaction to
Jim's presence that night, and the way he looked when Jim walked out with
nothing more than a sneer and a cheap shot, all made sense if the Vulcan had
been so deeply affected by what had happened. If anything, it made Jim feel
rather nauseous to realise that he had taken advantage of Spock when he was in
no fit condition to even defend himself, let alone make any kind of rational
decision. Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to push down the roiling in his
stomach as he scrolled down the page, finding it more and more difficult to
dissociate from the emotions he could feel leaping from the page and feeding
into the shadow at the back of his skull.
Stardate 12.04.2236: Patient found in corridor at approximately 0053
hours, displaying signs of severe emotional and mental distress consistent with
Terran psychotic breakdown. Self-inflicted injuries to the right hand due to
repeated punches to Sickbay outer wall. Bodily vital signs all elevated above
upper Vulcan parameters including Testosterone and Adrenaline levels at
critical. Scans show severe empathetic and telepathic injury consistent with
Category 1A diagnosis, with ability to shield and control thought and emotional
transfer at less than 4% in concurrence with Starfleet and VSA guidelines.
Patient also makes explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual
as of yet unknown, although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed
identity of Acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Patient show symptoms and signs
of severe Clinical Depression bordering suicidal despondency at personal belief
of "not being wanted," "being undeserving" and "not worthy of living." Patient
treated with Klingon-grade Sedatives, Anti-Depressants and VSA approved Muscle
relaxants and Shielding compounds in order to lessen further emotional or
telepathic damage. Patient to be kept in Sickbay under sedated observation and
reassessed under morning rotations.
The rush of bile that Jim could feel burning the back of his throat was so
strong that it was all he could do not to be violently sick as he frantically
read over the entry again and again, slowly feeling his entire body become numb.
It was all there in black and white, and somehow the medical terminology and
brief formality of the words on the screen made it seem so much worse than Jim
could ever imagine it would be.
When Bones had come storming up to him in the Gym and verbally ripped him to
shreds, Jim was sure that Bones had been overreacting; after all, how the hell
could Bones say that it was all Jim's fault? Now though, Jim could see that far
from overreacting, Bones had actually held back the night before. Bones would've
had every Goddamn right to hit him, and he knew now that he deserved it. Hell,
he deserved to get his ass kicked all across the fucking galaxy and every
alternate universe that surrounded it if this was only a brief snippet of what
he'd done to such a proud, strong individual.
He felt sick to his stomach; Spock was grieving, in mourning for the death of
his planet, his race and his mother, and yet Jim had pushed him to his breaking
point.
He'd basically taken advantage of a vulnerable, compromised and depressed
being - which in itself was bad enough - then had very deliberately fed the
fires by continuing to taunt and torture him with his teasing touches and
flippant sexual attacks. Despite just how bad the situation was, Jim couldn't
help but shake his head with a bitter, near hysterical laugh as it started to
sink in; at times like this, he couldn't believe how the hell he'd been able to
survive the Academy, let alone make it to Captain if he was capable of pulling
off this kind of shit for no reason than a petty, pathetic feud that Spock
apparently didn't even consider himself a part of. Spock deserved so much better
than to be serving under a self-centred idiot like him.
He didn't care about all of this destiny bullshit that the Elder Spock had
been feeding him; deep down, there was still that small part of him that tried
to be logical about the whole thing - Spock needed to be removed from command
otherwise Earth was going to end up becoming one giant party popper, Spock
needed to be motivated into taking action against Nero that would go against all
Surak and Vulcan teachings, save the universe yadda yadda yadda, he completely
understood that - but that didn't stop him feeling like the worst kind of
predator for taking advantage of that just to make himself feel better.
Wiping a hand roughly down his face as he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion
overcome him, Jim looked back over the last entry. It felt weird to think that
someone like Spock had caused that much damage to himself in such a short space
of time, but what felt weirder was that he knew.
He'd been half asleep the night before when he'd suddenly felt the most
intense, agonising pain tear through his head, worse than any beating or
drugging he'd ever experienced in the line of duty. He'd been paralysed, almost
hyperventilating as what felt like claws scratched against his mind, trying to
pull… something out, tears streaming helplessly down his face as distorted
emotions, memories and desires flooded his senses; rage, pain, loathing,
crippling fear and anguish, and the shadowy echo at the back of his skull
rippling like a bubble that was about to be burst.
It had gone on for what felt like an eternity, his heart thudding so hard and
irregularly in his chest that he thought it was going to go straight through it,
his vision going black around the edges as whatever it was in his mind that
seemed to be being attacked fought and struggled to stay wrenched in place, when
suddenly it had stopped.
Completely stopped.
It was almost as if someone had injected a hypo full of Klingon tranquilisers
straight into his nervous system as his body relaxed and his mind settled, and
Jim had felt the corresponding echo - like an out of body experience almost - do
exactly the same as he slumped back into his pillow, his breathing erratic and
his eyes bloodshot. There was no way he could get back to sleep after that, so
he did what he'd always done in those sorts of situations, when he felt so
fucking powerless and defenceless against whatever was happening to him; he
threw on a T-shirt and headed straight to the Gym to work it out, time of the
night and his urge to violently throw up be damned.
When Bones had stormed in, looking for the entire world like the tough
Southern bastard that Jim knew he could be and knocking him down more than a few
pegs for what he'd done to Spock, Jim knew there had to be a connection. Now, as
he looked back over the same sentence over and over - "Patient also makes
explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual as of yet unknown,
although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed identity of Acting
Captain James Tiberius Kirk" - the answer was there in black and white.
Well, just in black, Jim thought rather childishly as he looked for any way to
distract himself from what he was reading, but it made no difference all the
same.
It was an answer.
Spock knew what was happening to them; that must have been why he became so
desperate down on the surface of Gelbeshka when Jim had told him to stop, or why
he'd circumvented around the questions Jim asked in that way only Spock knew how
to do. A smile lit up Jim's face for a moment, before it abruptly disappeared
again. He couldn't ask Spock because if he did, then he'd have to admit that
he'd been hacking into his records, which would probably get his ass kicked by
both a Vulcan and a certain Medical officer, and Jim certainly couldn't
afford to push his luck anymore with Bones regarding the whole situation; if
Bones had his way, he'd probably have stripped Jim of his command by now, and he
certainly didn't want that.
He sighed.
Dead end.
All he needed to do was to get some answers out of Spock, and he couldn't
even do that. Resting his head in his chin, Jim thought for a few moments,
before another slight grin curled his lips. "Computer," he called, just a bit of
authority in his voice, "engage lock Captain Alpha Four, and open up
communications with Ambassador Selik at the Vulcan Embassy."
"Communication line open, contact commencing," came the automatic reply as
Jim settled back into his chair, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
Sometimes, being dropped onto a God forsaken ice planet and finding an
alternate version of your Vulcan First Officer did come in useful at times like
this. The static faded, replaced with a face he recognised so well; it was
older, wrinkled and withered from time and age, but there was still that spark
in the Elder Spock's eyes that reminded him so much of his own. It was quite
scary actually.
"Good evening Jim," came that smooth baritone voice over the connection, and
Jim had to resist the urge to shiver just slightly at the way his name rolled
off of the Vulcan's tongue; it wasn't quite the same as the way his Spock called
him Jim, but obviously his body couldn't give a shit about the difference. "I am
surprised that you have called quite so late, is there something I can do for
you?"
Jim smiled back, his features belying a confidence he wasn't entirely sure he
had as he sat up slightly straighter in his chair. "Actually Spock, there is."
When Elder Spock's eyebrow rose in questioning and slight amusement at the use
of his given name, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest, Jim felt himself relax
slightly.
"And what would that be, Jim?"
A fleeting thought came to Jim's mind, making his smile fade as he realised
the potential ramifications this could have for him; sure he was going to get
answers, but at what cost? And at what damage to any potential friendship or
reconciliation with his Spock? As Jim watched concern start to cloud
the startling bright eyes staring at him, Jim quashed down those fears, clasping
his hands together as he looked at the Data PADD next to him, desperately hoping
that this was going to be worth it.
"I need some help. I have questions… about something that's happening to
Spock… and I think to me too."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spock gave a sigh, watching the slow movement of the stars as they passed by
the window of the Observation deck.
They were tiny, insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, just
hollow little specks that shone bright before burning out into nothing. They
were just like him. He briefly admonished himself for thinking such emotional,
such self-centred, such… human things, but no sooner had the thought
crossed his mind had he dismissed them.
He was a wreck, a shame to his Vulcan heritage and teachings, strayed so far
off Surak's path and his own beliefs that he wasn't entirely sure he could even
justify calling himself Vulcan any more. He looked like a Vulcan, he had Vulcan
blood, he had Vulcan physiology, but that didn't make him a Vulcan; not with his
human heart, his human thoughts and emotions that disgusted him more and more
every day. He closed his eyes wearily, his energy drained from fighting with
himself. Disgust was such a human emotion, he hypocritically silenced
himself.
But that was what he deserved.
That was what he got for embracing the needs and desires of the flesh, for
sating the lust and confusion that James Tiberius Kirk had created within him.
That was what he got for even thinking that James Tiberius Kirk could
understand. That was what he got for even thinking he could tempt fate. Fate and
desire had destroyed stronger men than him. Even now, he could still feel the
sense memories of Jim's hands against his bare skin, of Jim's lips against his,
of his breath caressing his ear as he moaned low with every thrust. Spock didn't
even attempt to control the shudder that rolled down his spine as he replayed
that night in his mind's eye, too tired and conflicted to try and reign in his
shameful responses.
Thoughts of Jim practically consumed him now, had done for days, and he let
out a quiet breath as he leaned back against the wall behind him; he knew there
was no way he'd be able to meditate now. He'd been trying for hours, since McCoy
had released him from Sickbay and since Jim had touched him, but he could barely
even broach the shallow layers of his mind. An uncharacteristic lump formed in
his throat; even a child could do better than him.
A slight discomfort in his hand made him look down. There were deep crescents
in the palm, his nail digging into the sensitive nerve endings and creating a
feedback loop of pain. It was almost perverse, Spock briefly acknowledged to
himself, how Spock's mind welcomed the physical pain as an old friend against
the agonising mental and emotional pain that attacked him each and every time he
dared to touch the thin, silvery bond that stretched between him and Jim. It was
damaged, it was wounded, torn into fragments and weakly pieced back together,
but Spock knew that he deserved it.
If he was to be honest with himself, he knew that what he truly deserved was
to have broken completely, but that would be the cowards way out; a relatively
quick and painless death from a broken bond was laughable compared to the weeks,
months, years even of torture and madness that alluded a festering, dying
T'hy'la bond. He knew that Jim would experience some… discomfort, some sadness,
maybe some anger as Spock condition worsened, but it was much better than dying
alongside Spock if Spock broke the bond completely.
Spock owed Jim that much, even after what he'd done.
The small metal bracelet around Spock's right wrist started to beep, and
Spock gave a slight bittersweet smile that he wouldn't dare to show around
anyone else. McCoy had put it on him this morning for long distance monitoring;
he'd said it wasn't healthy to keep Spock locked up in Sickbay when he wasn't
physically injured in the conventional sense, and Spock couldn't be bothered to
argue with the doctor. Spock was going to humour him in his attempts at healing
him, was going to allow McCoy to spout emotional human drivel and try and plant
false hope about admitting the truth to Jim.
McCoy had said that Jim would understand, but Spock knew that the doctor was
lying, and he'd told him that much earlier. McCoy had just looked at him, his
eyes full of concern and pity as he placed his hand softly on Spock's shoulder
and told him:
"Jim is a better man than you think. If this is something that could kill
you, and he could do something to stop that, then he would do anything to help.
He likes you, you green-blooded Goblin. Okay, not in the normal sense, but Jim
isn't normal and you're not exactly the poster child for emotional shit either.
Just… talk to him."
Spock hadn't even bothered with a response, knowing rather disgustingly at
that point as he stared at McCoy that his eyes would be doing all the talking
for him, revealing the sheer gamut of emotions that Spock was too weak to
control. It was shameful. He closed his eyes tight, taking a deep, deliberate
breath as he focused all of his energy into trying to meditate for the 12th time
in the space of as many hours.
He was a Vulcan. He had no need for emotions. He had no need for hope. He
knew his - he was loathed to use the word, even in his own mind - destiny.
He was a Vulcan.
He was a proud, logical Vulcan.
He was… He was…
A suddenly disorientating lurch ran through his mind, his heart thudding in
his chest as images of Jim, memories of their night together, of their fight on
Gelbeshka, of Jim moaning his name came flooding into his senses, the bond
refusing to be repressed beneath Vulcan morals and teachings as it flared
brightly. For the 12th time that night, Spock was thrown from his meditation was
a gasp of pain, the bile that was burning his throat and roiling his stomach
making him feel violently ill that he was unable to control in such a confused,
manic state.
For what felt like an eternity - Spock's sense of time had been thrown out by
the sensory overload from his disrupted meditative state - Spock slumped back
against the wall, his harsh, heavy breaths gradually fading as the bracelet
around his wrist lit up like a switchboard; Spock knew when he saw McCoy the
next morning he was going to be questioned about what had happened, nothing
escaped the Southerners beady eyes. He also knew, rather depressingly, that
going back to McCoy without having talked to Jim was just going to lead to more
questions.
Spock knew that McCoy was right; he knew that he had to speak to Jim. Even if
he couldn't admit just how deep the situation had become, common Vulcan tenets
dictated that all people affected by the creation of a spontaneous bond - either
by accident or by psychic assault like Spock knew he had committed against his
Captain - had to be informed of its creation and all ramifications for the
future. Taking a deep breath against the very human shudder of fear and doubt
that suddenly rippled through him, making his stomach knot tight with nerves,
Spock mustered together the energy to get to his feet, trying to ignore the
tremor that ran through him as he started towards the door of the Observation
deck, darkness falling around him as the sensors followed his departure.
Spock couldn't even feel surprised when he lifted his hand and grazed the
very tips of his fingers down his cheek.
He was crying.
Vulcan's didn't cry.
Crying was illogical.