Fic: Two Summers, 2-3
“I grieve with thee.”
That’s what Vulcans say to each other.
When he first heard the phrase, Jim thought it was a little over-the-top, or that the words had been lost in translation. Because grieve? It didn’t sound colloquial, not like the typical “I’m sorry for your loss” exchanged among humans. The words didn’t lend themselves to an easy rhythm-no one could say something like that lightly. Every syllable was dead weight, even and heavy, with nothing to break up the stark gravity of the sentence.
And every Vulcan said it with such a straight face, their expression wooden. Their bodies would be ramrod straight, movements careful and deliberate. The first time Jim heard them exchange the phrase with each other, he thought they would choke on the words. The discrepancy between the emotionally charged meaning and the impassive delivery threw him off.
That first time was during the Narada. Jim was kind of preoccupied with other things, like finding a way to stop Nero from wreaking more havoc on the universe. He had seen Spock on the transporter pad, hand outstretched. He had watched Vulcan disintegrate and disappear. Jim even heard bits and pieces of Vulcan floating in Sickbay while Bones and his team checked over the Elders. Actually, the whole memory has a dreamlike quality to it, because in the middle of the chaos he remembers those four words so clearly.
“I grieve with thee.”
In Standard, weirdly enough. Yet spoken in low, almost intimate tones. As though they wanted their grief to be heard and not heard, seen and not seen. Maybe on some level they wanted others to understand, though no one could ever fully grasp that kind of loss.
All these thoughts didn’t occur to him until much later. Earth, Nero, Pike-those were his priorities. Vulcan was gone so leave the dead behind they’d get back to them later, focus on that mining ship still out for the kill. He experienced it from insane moment to insane moment.
Jim had seen and he had heard, but he hadn’t really listened.
But that was okay and perhaps more importantly, it wasn’t his fault. If he had gotten caught up in the true meaning of it, he would’ve been paralyzed by the sheer magnitude. That Spock had seen, heard, lost, and still soldiered on-Jim has no words for that. Perhaps there are none.
“I grieve with thee.”
The next dozens of times he ever heard those words, they always came from Spock. Jim heard him say it to crewmembers after funeral services. It didn’t matter if the service was public or private, Spock would go up to them and offer those words in that low tone. The reactions varied. Some crewmembers, still struggling to come to terms with it all, would rage at Spock and tell him that he had no idea what those words meant. Others were startled, eyes wide and mouths open, as though they were surprised their commander would ever even acknowledge the existence of emotions. Still others would break down and sob unabashedly in front of their commander.
No matter how anyone took his words, he always offered them. He stood straight and tall, expression closed, eyes full of an emotion Jim recognized but never bothered to name. Voice pitched low. Spock meant it, every word, every single time.
Which, at the beginning of their service together, had struck Jim as strange. Spock had trouble relating to some of the more emotional crewmembers that served on the Enterprise. He would say things sometimes that-unfeeling didn’t even begin to cover it. Bones complained about Spock’s “cold-blooded logic” a lot, mostly because the two of them mixed like oil and vinegar. That didn’t mean there weren’t times when those complaints were legit.
But when it came to funerals? Spock had no problem reaching out. Jim wouldn’t say that he’d open up and become more emotional. He definitely didn’t comfort anyone, not the way humans think of comfort. It was more like Spock found a point of commonality, a meeting place where he could stand next to a person.
Death can do that. It can remove barriers, get past seemingly insuperable differences, bring people together. It can have them stand in the same room in complete silence, with the sense that everything’s already been spoken. Jim’s seen it again and again.
Even with Bones and Spock.
Jim kind of wonders if that’s where their friendship got started, standing on opposite sides of his biobed after the latest near death escapade.
Now, if he ever has one of those again-who’s he kidding, there’s no doubt he will-it won’t be Bones and Spock he wakes up to. It’ll be-
It might be his whole crew.
That realization. Before Spock died, he would’ve brushed it off. Their display would’ve been endearing but annoying, and Jim would protest that it was a necessary risk that came with his job. Buried underneath was the semi-infantile complaint that he was a starship captain and could take care of himself. After all, he had toned down a lot since he started out and didn’t make so many impetuous decisions. He took precautions. He trained constantly with the Security Department. Over the years, he’d gotten a fair amount of experience under his belt. They just needed to chill out.
That was before.
Everything’s different now. He understands that their worry doesn’t entirely stem from a mother hen instinct. Some of it, but not all. If he has another brush with death, his whole crew will gather around his biobed because they don’t want to lose him. Not after Spock. Not after that gut wrenching trauma. It’s the second summer, and their group still hasn’t really recovered from getting shot in the heart.
If Jim died.
He’s not going to. He’s not going to leave them. And even if he does, they’ll move on. They’ll recover and keep going.
Something deep inside him shifts. That kind of logic doesn’t compute anymore. He thought Spock would never die, yet here they are. Spock dead. He thought Spock would never leave him. And here he is, alone. As for moving on, he’d never considered how hard and tiring and confusing and crappy this whole grief situation was. Jim has no doubt that if he dies, his crew will soldier on. They’re strong.
But there’s a definite cost, and Jim doesn’t want them to pay it because he was careless or stupid. He doesn’t want them to feel everything he’s been feeling, everything they’re still feeling, all over again. Jim’s their captain but more than that, they’re his friends. That takes on a whole new meaning, with the death of Spock. Because-and this sounds so trite, but it’s true-he wants them to be happy. Laugh. Smile again. There hasn’t been much laughter lately.
“I grieve with thee.”
He finally feels those words. He finally understands the look in Bones’ and Spock’s eyes when he woke, spoke, smiled, got up again. He finally accepts the fact that his crew worry about him and care for his life and well being for what it is, not what he thought it to be.
Has he been ignorantly selfish this whole time?
However, there are other factors to take into account. Jim is the captain of the Enterprise. His job comes with legitimate, unavoidable risks. He’s not going to run from death because he wants to spare others the pain of the aftermath. Sometimes, it’s necessary to take that chance. Other times, it’s not. Jim’s going to learn to balance between those two priorities. He resolves to reexamine his criteria on what’s an acceptable risk, and what’s not. He’ll do his job, perform his duty to the utmost. But stupidity is no excuse for leaving others behind.
“I grieve with thee.”
The last time he heard those words was at Spock’s funeral.
Jim went through that time, the three funerals, the transmissions, everything, completely numb. Nothing had sunk in. In a lot of ways, it’s comparable to the first time he heard the Vulcans say it, only instead of time moving incredibly fast, it was like swimming through molasses. Everything about those memories are like a dream, and in the middle of that daze are those four words.
In Standard, spoken in low tones. To him, after the funeral service. Standing tall, expression closed, eyes full of emotion.
In the haze, those words cut through and Jim listened.
And finally understood, in way he never wanted to understand but had absolutely no choice, that Vulcans know exactly what they’re saying.
“I grieve with thee.”