Star Trek: We Reach Our Apogee Slowly (Part 3), eventual Kirk/Spock, Spock/Uhura, R
Title: We Reach Our Apogee Slowly (Part 3)
Author: kowaiyoukai
Rating: R
Pairing: eventual like whoa Kirk/Spock (STFU), Spock/Uhura (blame JJ, not me)
Warning(s): Angst, meta, language, attempts at witty banter, overly-important tone, intentionally confusing parts, potentially OOC everybody
Spoilers: Star Trek XI (2009) (a.k.a. Star Trek XI, Star Trek 2009, Star Trek Reboot, New Trek, and can we please just pick one name for this fandom people?!)
Word Count: 7,332 (for this part)
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, mostly, but also a lot of other people/groups like Paramount, J.J. Abrams, and the various writers/directors. I'm not one of those people, sadly, because if I was I'd be filthy rich.
Beta Acknowledgment: None!
Summary: Jim quickly realized he was going to have to break the rules if he wanted to survive on the Enterprise.
A/N: Bah, RL crap happened liek whoa. And OMG, I am really not happy with some parts of this section. But whatever, such is life, I'm moving on and dealing with it. Also, I am DONE talking about death. I don't care what the characters say, I am going back to the main plot and they can all SUCK MY ASS. Just FYI. You'll also notice I have issues with giving OCs names. Sorry, it just bothers me is all. I hate naming characters who pop up once and have no future relevance. I wouldn't even have any OCs if I could get away with it, but I can't. ll that travelling around, meeting people, it just requires OCs. ;_; Finally, I started watching TOS, but everyone's so different that I doubt it'll have any effect on the fic at all. *shrugs* Also, LOL, I wrote a Pinto drabble. WTF self?!
EDIT: Part 3 edited on June 6, 2009 because I'm an asshat. I fucked up and forgot the chair does indeed swivel in the movie. However, because of my fuck-up, I unintentionally thought up something else, so perhaps it all works out okay in the end, yay? I took out the swivel mentions here, so the edits are very minor, in the fourth scene in this part (the one with McCoy). I'm half delirious from staying up all night and then freaking out over this swivel chair disaster. *headdesk*
Part 1
Part 2
Death was never something Jim dealt well with. He had run into it plenty of times in his life, and each time it had been more or less the same story. An accident had happened, something unavoidable, and now everyone else was left thinking things weren't how they should be. Someone was missing, someone important, and people would grieve and move on because if they didn't, they would get stuck in the absurdity and pointlessness of it all.
His father's death had been the most influential and yet also the only one he couldn't remember. Everyone talked to him about it, forcing him to learn through years of repetition and anecdotes that his father had been a great man. A great man-those were always the words. His father had been a great man who had done great things and lived a great life and died a noble death. No one ever used the word "great" to describe death, but "noble" was close enough that Jim figured it didn't really matter. His mother was the strongest voice of them all, the one with the most clout and anecdotes to tell, but she was only one of hundreds. Even literal strangers on the street had stopped him to tell him that he looked just like his father who, by the way, had been a great man.
There had been plenty of other deaths. Various pets had died over the years-one dog named Hunter (his step-father had named him in an ultimately futile effort to get the Golden Retriever to be more menacing), one cat named Jinx (his mother had named her that because every time she waltzed into a room something broke), and three gerbils (all named by Jim himself) dubbed Larry (due to lack of time and gender confusion, Larry was later re-named Linda, much to everyone's consternation, but the name had already stuck), Warthog (his prepubescent streak of nastiness had caused him to hope the namesake would come to fruition), and Gerbil the Third (simply out of sheer unoriginality and called Third by everyone except his mother, who believed in addressing all life forms by their proper names). They had all been buried in various containers in the back yard, so that now when Jim thought of his yard he thought of the small section in the back with five polished stones placed in a haphazard row.
He had friends who died. Family members had died-both ones he knew and ones he had never met. Two teachers had died-one in elementary school and one in high school. A bartender he had known for a few months died from a gunshot wound when an angry customer had opened fire because they had been out of the beer he liked. A kid from school died from frostbite when he had been stuck skiing with no way to get help. A woman had a heart attack and died in the local food store when he had been in the next aisle looking for the cereal that was on sale. The man who lived down the street and never talked to anyone died from falling down his stairs, and no one had known until he started to smell. His first crush's brother had died, and his crush had died not long after-car accident and suicide, respectively.
Death was just something that happened. It couldn't be avoided. He knew it and tried not to dwell on it because, quite simply, there was absolutely nothing he could do. There were no preparations to make, no words to say or actions to do that could get anyone out of it. Still, Jim thought the deaths of six billion people were a bit too much, even for him.
It wasn't just the fact that so many people had died. If he was being honest, he could admit that he had no real stake in Vulcan. It was a tragedy, yes, but it was a tragedy that had been so far away from his own life. He lived on Earth, and no matter how much he despised it, he still had a home to go back to. His bedroom was still how he had left it. His belongings were still there. His favorite bands, the actors he liked, the people he knew, the works of art everyone was supposed to see that he hadn't got around to yet, the evidence of hundreds of years of city planning in paved roads and cookie-cutter houses, libraries filled with thousands of years of literature, cartoons, postcards from every small town along every highway, shopping malls, universities, jeans and t-shirts, video games, G.I. Joes and Barbie dolls and cheaper knock-offs, cell phones and communicators, ID cards, huge slippers with heads on the top-all of that was still there. Everything he had ever seen or interacted with or heard about or even thought about-he could go back to Earth right now and have access to all of it.
Spock couldn't do that. He had no home. No bedroom. No favorite music. No famous people. No works of art or libraries or children's toys or clothing or schools or roads or food or anything. There was literally nothing left of Vulcan society. Everything that Spock had ever connected with the thought of home was gone. Not just somewhere else, not simply far away or lost, but gone. And none of it was ever going to be replaced.
(Even thinking of Vulcan recreation had Jim stumbling. They were so logical, so precise and deadpan and completely focused on work and attaining their form of enlightenment, that imagining any Vulcan in a moment of leisure was next to impossible. But Jim knew Spock did enjoy time away from work. He had seen Spock reading, listening to classical music, and playing a game of chess against either himself or an invisible opponent. So Jim knew Vulcans could appreciate entertainment, and that had Jim imagining what Vulcan music sounded like, what Vulcan art looked like, which Vulcan writing was considered to be the best or the trashiest. One day, when the Vulcan Massacre was far behind them and they were better friends than they were now, Jim would ask him. Maybe Spock would even give him an answer.)
Jim wanted to offer him comfort of some kind. But he knew there was nothing he could say or do, and anyway bringing it up again would only cause Spock more pain. Besides, in the end, the only reason he was even thinking of Vulcan at all was because of Spock. If he hadn't met Spock, the loss of Vulcan would have still been horrible beyond anything he had ever imagined, but he would have already moved on. It was thanks to his First Officer that Jim was thinking about it, really pondering everything that had been lost that day.
That was the worst part. He had only known Spock for a few hours before Vulcan was destroyed. They hadn't even been friends yet. How could he say anything when they both knew it was a lie?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Three days after the memorial services, Scotty was describing to Jim why they had to warp to the nearest Federation outpost. Jim was only half paying attention. He knew it was important to listen, but he had one eye on Spock, watching for any signs of distress. His First Officer had been, unsurprisingly, completely calm after the services had ended. The next day, Spock had appeared normal in every way. Jim hoped he was dealing with it and not simply ignoring everything, but the only way to be sure was to ask and there was no way he was bringing it up again unless Spock brought it up first.
"Captain?" Scotty asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
Jim blinked and looked at him. "Hm? What?"
"Which do you want first?" Scotty asked, and Jim assumed he had repeated himself several times before this from his heavy sigh.
"What are the choices again?" Jim asked.
Scotty stared at him. "Good news. Bad news. Pick one."
"Bad news," Jim said. "When those are the options, always give me the bad news first." He paused. "Unless they're both equally bad and you're just trying to joke about it, in which case it doesn't really matter."
"The bad news is," Scotty began, shaking his head, "the transporter will only run for another three to four beams, max, before the hyperelectric coil needs to be replaced." He thrust his finger up into the air and quickly continued, "The good news is that the ship didn't explode."
Jim laughed and then abruptly stopped when he realized Scotty was giving him shifty eyes. "Wait. Was that ever a possibility?"
Scotty scratched his eyebrow and looked off to the side. "There may have been, at one point, a very small chance that the ship might have exploded."
"And you didn't say anything?!" Jim asked, shouting and glaring at him.
"What could I say?" Scotty asked.
"‘Hey, Captain, the ship might explode.' That would've worked!" Jim ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.
"Actually, that was a hypothetical-" Scotty cut himself off when Jim glared at him. "Okay, no, you're right, sorry. I'll remember next time."
"Next time?" Jim crossed his arms unhappily. "There'd better not be a next time."
"Oh, there'll be a next time if we don't get that hyperelectric coil," Scotty said. "You just think about that. We warp to a Federation outpost or the ship explodes." He threw his hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture that was really unnecessary. "Your choice, Captain."
"Chekov, how far is the nearest Federation outpost?" Jim asked, sighing.
"Twenty-eight parsecs away, Captain. It's on a planet that's otherwise uninhabited." Chekov paused. "The report states there should be at least five people stationed there."
"It's not on Delta Vega, is it?" Jim asked. "Because I'm not going back there."
"No, sir," Chekov replied. "It's on Alpha Four Gamma."
"All right, then. Sulu, let's get there before the ship explodes," Jim said, shaking his head.
"Yes, sir," Sulu replied. "Happy to oblige."
"Thank you," Scotty said, giving Jim a half-hearted bow. "Now I'm going back to engineering to make sure the ship doesn't explode."
"Yes, do that," Jim said. "Make sure the ship doesn't explode." Scotty walked to the lift, and just as the lift doors were closing, Jim shouted, "That's an order! If the ship explodes, you're fired!"
"Captain, I feel it would be remiss not to point out that this Federation outpost might not have a hyperelectric coil available," Spock said. Jim turned around to look at him. "If they do indeed have a spare hyperelectric coil, we may have to trade for it."
"Trade?" Jim asked, frowning. "But we're in the Federation. This is a Federation ship. We shouldn't have to trade for anything we need from one of our own outposts."
"Unfortunately, due to the low amount of traffic Federation outposts receive, they often request survival items such as food or clothing in exchange for the services only they can provide," Spock explained.
"That sounds like a scam," Jim said. "They've got food there already. It's not like they're starving."
"Yes, they do have food. However, they also have the hyperelectric coil we need and the ability to set the terms for how we will acquire it," Spock said. "This is pure speculation, yet I believe we should be prepared in case the situation arises."
"All right. Thanks, Spock," Jim said, sighing. "We'll see what happens when we get down there."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As it turned out, what the five people who lived on Alpha Four Gamma wanted most was some company. Spock understood companionship was vital to every being's mental health, but their request convinced him that what he had already speculated was true. Humans were the strangest among all the races in the universe. When given the choice between what was necessary for survival and what was wanted for comfort, they would choose comfort over their own physical needs. It was so completely illogical that Spock could only let the entire affair fall under the catch-all category of Too Human To Understand and agree to their terms.
Jim, Spock, Sulu, and McCoy had beamed down to the outpost. Jim had explained his choices to Spock with the same logic he used when he wasn't thinking too hard about it. Sulu would go because of his polite nature and ability to soothe people who were aggravated, McCoy would go in case his medical skills were needed, and Spock himself went because, as Jim put it, there was no way Jim was going to another outpost without dragging him along, too. So the four of them had arrived and been greeted with excited smiles. It had been nearly an hour and already they were settled into three groups for conversation: Jim and McCoy were speaking with the two highest ranking officers, Sulu was speaking with two of the remaining officers, and Spock was currently engaged in conversation with the eldest officer there. This man was fifty-three years old and had served in Starfleet for over thirty years. He explained to Spock that, although he could have retired or asked for an easier assignment, he enjoyed the quiet, peaceful nature of life at an outpost.
"As a Vulcan, I'm sure you can understand my sentiments," the man said. "There is nothing so relaxing as being able to sit in the quiet and let yourself think. Don't you agree?"
"I do," Spock said, although he was not entirely sure he did. "Silence is indeed the best environment for meditative thoughts."
"Meditative," the man repeated, pondering Spock's choice of words. "That would be the best way to describe it, wouldn't it? That's you Vulcans. Always ready with the perfect answer."
"Vulcans take pride in the ability to quickly come to the logical conclusion of all problems," Spock replied.
"Yes, yes, that's very true," the man stated. "I have only met one other Vulcan in my time, and she had an answer for every question posed to her." He chuckled, glancing at his hands fondly. "Even if it wasn't the answer you wanted, she would still give it to you."
"I see," Spock said. He found he was often using that phrase to respond to comments that he did not entirely understand and yet required a reply. It was a tricky business, conversing with humans.
The man looked at Spock, face somber and all the laughter suddenly gone. "While we are on the topic of Vulcans, I must say, I am very sorry for your tragic loss," the man said. "We heard the news when over the fleet-wide broadcast." He shook his head, eyes wrinkling in sorrow. "What a senseless waste."
Spock inclined his head, unsure how to respond. He had grown more used to these statements as time passed and he continued hearing them, but he didn't think he would ever be entirely sure what the best way to respond was. There seemed to be no good way to respond, since he would either have to lie about his own feelings on the matter or lie to make the well-wisher feel better. Either way had Spock lying to cover up the depth of the tragedy, and he saw no point in doing so.
Spock was about to change the topic to something more light-hearted when he noticed Jim stand up, gesture to Sulu, and walk to the far wall. Sulu joined him a moment later, and they began a quiet conversation that Spock could not overhear.
"Ah," the man said, looking at Jim and Sulu. "It seems your friends are having a little pow-wow."
Spock had no idea what pow-wow meant, but context clues were a wonderful thing. "Yes, it would appear that way."
"I'd like to go talk to your doctor, anyhow," the man said, standing up and gesturing to McCoy. "I have a twinge in my back that I'm sure is only going to get worse if I let it go."
"I am certain Doctor McCoy will be happy to assist you," Spock said.
"It was good speaking with you," the man stated, smiling. "I enjoy good conversation more than anything else these days."
Spock inclined his head. "I am glad to have been of assistance to you."
The man walked over to McCoy, who immediately turned and began speaking with him. Spock stood there watching them speak for only a few moments before he began walking towards Jim and Sulu. As Spock moved closer, he heard the end of their conversation.
"Just whatever we can spare," Jim said, quietly. "There's no need to starve ourselves. But any extra comfort food, stuff they can't get out here, you know, like snacks and coffee and meat, bring that down. None of that frozen crap." Jim shuddered, pulling a face. "Once the transporter's back up, of course."
"Scotty said he'd have it running within the hour," Sulu replied. "I can beam up, collect the food in the meantime, and have it ready by the time he's done."
"Great. And remember, there's five of them. Bring enough for five-no more, no less," Jim stated.
"Yes, sir," Sulu said. He saluted Jim and then walked towards the entrance of the building, saluting Spock as he passed.
"Captain." Spock walked to stand next to Jim, both of their backs to the wall as they looked at the main room of the small outpost.
"Mr. Spock," Jim returned, grinning at him. Jim saluted with a quick, sloppy gesture and leaned back on the wall, crossing his arms behind him. "How was it?"
"What are you referring to?"
"Talking to the old guy," Jim said, nodding in the man's direction. "Was it boring? Did he tell you a thousand stories about how back in his day they had to drive to school?"
"Ah. No, he did not," Spock replied. "We talked at length about the virtues of silent contemplation, a subject on which you would have nothing to add." Spock felt the corner of his mouth curve upwards. There was a moment where he wanted to force himself into a blank expression. Quickly, he decided against it. He was attempting to be more human, after all. There was no real harm in a simple facial expression.
"Oh, I get it," Jim said, nodding. Spock saw his grin widen and was immediately glad he had made the joke. Humor was becoming easier. The one aspect of it Spock found he was quite good at was telling the truth in a monotone. People assumed it was a specific type of humor called sarcasm, which apparently was often accompanied by his characteristic eyebrow raise. It seemed to work. "You guys talked about how it's better to be quiet than talk. Because that makes sense." Spock could hear Jim's grin widening in the tone of his voice. "And we all know everything you do makes sense."
"Of course," Spock replied. He wasn't entirely certain he should bring up the other topic, but it was on his mind and he thought he should mention it. This was Jim, after all, who had helped him through several incidents due to his grief. It would be hypocritical and a step backwards in their friendship to avoid the topic now. "He also gave me his condolences," Spock said, slowly. Jim moved his head to the side to look at Spock. A few seconds passed where Spock looked directly ahead, but then he also turned to look at Jim. The feeling of warmth and comfort that ran through him was welcome and oddly unsurprising. "The outpost received the fleet-wide notice."
"Are you okay?" Jim asked, voice much quieter than it had been the last time he spoke.
"Yes." Spock knew Jim wanted more information than that, but it was difficult for him to find the right words. "Speaking about the Vulcan Massacre becomes easier each day."
"But it's still hard," Jim said, voice confident.
"Yes. It is still hard," Spock replied.
They were both silent after that, neither one wanting to say something that would upset the careful balance they'd reached. Spock hoped Jim wasn't internally agonizing over what he should do. The more they spoke, the more Spock realized that Jim often internally agonized without mentioning it to anyone. It was odd to know that because Jim was so emotionally aware that Spock assumed he would be open about those feelings in the same way he was with everything else. However, he had only known Jim for just over three weeks. It really hadn't been long enough yet for him to make broad assumptions.
What Spock wanted to say was something regarding Jim giving these people food. It was an unwise move from his viewpoint as First Officer. The agreement had been the hyperelectric coil for some conversation, and they had provided their end of the deal. Giving away more than that made no logical sense. For some reason, though, it was reassuring to know that Jim was the type of person who wanted to help when he could. Even if it was illogical to do so. But there was nothing to say that would get Jim to understand why that mattered. Spock couldn't explain in a sentence or two how it had been to live with a group of people who were peaceful and yet ultimately too detached from their emotions to truly care about the well-being of others. Vulcans always helped where they could, but they kept themselves apart from the proceedings, detached in a way that had their help seeming more begrudging than it should have. Jim was the exact opposite-he cared and he didn't mind showing it, no matter the situation. It made everything he did stand out that much more simply because he wanted to do it.
Eventually Sulu beamed down with the food. The officers stationed at the outpost were surprised and delighted to receive it. They left on a pleasurable note, both sides happy with the trade, and Spock realized he knew why Jim had been made Captain. He could see the man Jim was and the man he would become-someone willing to go out of his way to assist others, someone who wanted his crew to feel at home on his ship, someone who broke deals when he needed to and did it in a way that nobody minded. It was only his third week as Captain, but for some reason it struck Spock that Jim fit the role more than he had three weeks ago. Spock found himself looking forward to this rare opportunity, knowing he had a chance to watch a man become a great leader.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Death was a completely normal part of life's process, and as such Spock had no problems accepting it as a part of the natural order. However, knowing that death was an aspect of life did not mean Spock was overly familiar with it. In truth, although Vulcans had funeral practices and mourned their dead, the actual experience of living through the death of someone close to him was not something Spock had ever encountered. He had read about it, had seen others on Vulcan disappear for a few days from school or work before reappearing and acting exactly the same as before. It was equally unpermitted to show grief as it was to show every other emotion, no matter the relation of the person who had died. So Spock had known death existed in a peripheral sense-people he did not know died and people he did not know mourned them. It was a matter separate from his daily life.
It seemed unfair that his first true experience with death should be so large and impossible to understand. But oddly, what struck Spock the most wasn't anything related to those deaths. The one thing that stood out the most to Spock was that, amongst all of the confusion and uncertainty that accompanied tragedy, he had found himself starting a new life. By sheer accident, or perhaps he should call it luck, he had been assigned to the Enterprise along with the majority of the crew he now worked with. Besides that, the chances that Jim would find a way to get on board the same starship Spock was on were infinitesimal. Yet without Jim there, Spock knew they would never have been able to destroy the man who had unknowingly re-shaped his life.
It was a fact that if Nero had never shown up, Spock would be living an entirely different life right now. He would have gone ahead with the charges against Jim and never once tried to look for anything more in a man he now considered to be a good friend. He would have continued his life as it had been, never knowing that he had missed out on an opportunity to explore the universe.
It was strange to think it, but the horrible truth was that Nero's actions had given Spock a new life. That was the one thought that continuously came to him. Yes, he was appalled at the deaths and grieved over everyone lost. Yes, he would never be able to replace his mother or home planet. Yet the past three weeks had given Spock more to look forward to than he ever had before. The thought of waking up in the morning and not walking onto the bridge, not going through the paperwork and records, not eating in the mess hall and relaxing in the recreation rooms-he simply couldn't imagine it.
And, as emotional and cliché and ridiculous as he knew it was, Spock was forced to admit, at least to himself, that he couldn't imagine going through a day without talking to Jim. The man's presence had taken over a large part of Spock's routine, and no matter what Spock pictured he could always see Jim standing next to him, making an inane remark or grinning stupidly or rolling his eyes dramatically. That was the kind of man Jim was. He forced himself into people's lives and carved out a space no one else could ever fit into. Spock had lost more than anyone should have to, but he also felt he had gained something irreplaceable. It was illogical, and so he didn't think too much on it, but it was the truth. A trade had been made by Nero's hand-an old life for a new one, Spock's planet and people and mother for a chance to explore unknown worlds and form friendships with people he was beginning to value. He would learn to do the best with what he had received in the trade, just as he would try not to think of what he had given up in exchange.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jim had known McCoy for longer than almost everyone on the ship-save for Uhura, who beat out McCoy by a few hours. But he had never actually gotten to know Uhura, had only flirted with her for kicks when he saw her, and so he considered McCoy the person he had actually known for the longest period of time before coming to the Enterprise. He was certainly closest to McCoy. Jim considered him a good friend, probably his best friend, and knew he would do what he could to help the other man out.
"Jim." McCoy said his name in the tone that meant he was about to say something he really didn't want to. Jim looked over his shoulder, gesturing for McCoy to come closer. They were on the bridge, and he was in his chair, and there really was no reason for him to actually get up from his chair when McCoy could simply say what he wanted to right there.
"Bones," Jim said in an equally dismal tone. "The answer's probably going to be no." Bones gave him an unimpressed look. "Hey, I just thought you should know," he said, spreading his hands out. "No need for the look."
"You're late," McCoy said.
Jim paused, blinking once, slowly. "Um… I am?"
"You are, Captain," Spock said.
Jim turned in the other direction to look at him. "For what?" Jim asked. "Did someone do something without telling me about it again?"
"I did inform you that your schedule had been changed for the day," Spock said.
"You did?" Jim asked, frowning. "Was this when I was ignoring you?"
Spock's lips thinned out. "Apparently."
"Not that I often ignore you," Jim said. "Because I don't. But I was tired and kind of had this headache, so-"
"Jim!" McCoy grabbed his shoulder, forcibly turning him back around. "If you don't get your scrawny ass to sick bay, I'm going to put on the record that you've got syphilis."
Jim's mouth dropped open. "You wouldn't."
McCoy stared at him. "Try me."
Jim blinked and closed his mouth. "Fine, I'm coming, give me a minute."
McCoy sighed and left the bridge, turning around in the lift and shoving his finger in Jim's direction. "Syphilis."
Jim stood up and walked to the lift, standing next to McCoy. As the doors were about to close, he put his foot in between them, forcing them back open. "I don't have syphilis," he said, scanning the bridge to make sure everyone acknowledged him. When everyone had given him some sort of sign, including a head shake from Uhura and a raised eyebrow from Spock, Jim nodded and drew his foot back, letting the door close.
"So why exactly am I going to sick bay?" Jim asked, glancing at McCoy. "Because you might have noticed no one told me yet."
"I noticed," McCoy replied.
Jim waited expectantly until the lift door opened again. The he sighed and said, "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Not even a little."
Jim frowned, walking toward sick bay without knowing why he was going there. "You know, I'm the Captain. People keep on forgetting that."
"Oh, I remember," McCoy replied. "I just don't care."
"That's great, that's exactly the kind of attitude I want my chief medical officer to have." Jim nodded, pressing his lips together in an exaggerated show of irritation. "You're a true soldier, Bones."
"Get in," McCoy said, gesturing to sick bay's door. Jim went in without complaint, still wondering what it was he was supposed to be doing. "Take off your shirt and lie down."
Jim turned to look seductively at McCoy, exaggerating it for kicks, all narrowed eyes and wiggling eyebrows and pursed lips. "Why, Bones, if you wanted me this badly, all you had to do was ask."
"Oh, yeah, Jim, I'm hot for you," McCoy said, blandly. "Now can you hurry up, I've got actual patients that need attending to. I can't be taking care of you all day long."
Jim hopped onto the nearest bed and quickly took off his shirt, throwing it next to him with the carelessness of a man who knew other people would be doing his laundry for him. "Ouch. That really hurts. In here." Jim patted his heart, pulling a frown. The he let his hand drop and asked, "No, but seriously, what am I doing here?"
"If you would have read your schedule, you'd already know," McCoy pointed out. He picked out a few tools from his medical kit and walked over.
"Please tell me I'm not getting a shot," Jim said. "You know how I feel about shots." He hesitated another second before adding, "And I feel the strong urge to remind you that I'm the Captain, and as Captain I can order you to not give me a shot."
"You can't order me to do squat and you know it," McCoy replied. "I'll give you a shot if I want to give you a shot."
"See, I don't think that's right." Jim bit his lower lip. "Is it a shot?"
"No, it's not a damn shot," McCoy said, rolling his eyes. "You're acting like a twelve-year-old girl."
Jim immediately brightened up. "I'm not, I'm very manly. Everyone says so." He relaxed, shoulders slumping and fingers tapping the bed. "So if it's not a shot, what is it?"
"Saving Earth doesn't make you manly. It makes you famous. There's a difference." McCoy drew out a few tools that Jim vaguely recognized. It was hard to keep up with the medical sciences. There were so many advancements that he was only really familiar with the most basic instruments. Luckily enough, he didn't actually need to know what they were. He only needed to trust that McCoy did, and that was as easy to do as breathing. "You didn't get your physical before we left. As Captain, you're supposed to have quarterly physicals. Which you would know, if you'd read the damn manuals."
"Hey, I read them," Jim said. "And by read, I mean browsed." He paused. "And by browsed, I mean flipped through once and then tossed across the room from boredom."
"That's what I thought," McCoy said. "Now shut up and breathe in deeply."
Jim went through a variety of tests, half of the time feeling like a trained monkey and the other half feeling like a porn star. He was sure there was some sort of medical reason why McCoy kept on asking him to bend over, but he was equally sure the nurses behind him probably had some work to do somewhere else. Not that he was complaining. It was just that the giggling was sort of distracting and had him losing his balance, and then McCoy made notes that probably said things like Unable to stand up straight. Likely cause: syphilis.
"I'm telling you, I don't have syphilis," Jim said, twisting his head around to try and see McCoy. The giggling abruptly stopped, replaced seconds later by the sound of footsteps moving quickly away. "I meant that," Jim called, hoping a nasty rumor wouldn't be spreading around. "I really don't!"
"Would you shut up," McCoy snapped. "You're screwing with the results."
"That's not the only thing I'm screwing," Jim said, grinning.
McCoy walked over and bent down so that Jim could see him. "If you touch my nurses, I'll take apart your chair."
"That was completely uncalled for," Jim replied, scandalized. "And they wouldn't have me now, anyway. Thanks to you."
"All right, you're done," McCoy said. "And it's a good thing because if I have to hear your obnoxious voice for one more second I'm likely to kill myself."
Jim stood up, stretching, already feeling his back ache in weird places. "You say that like you mean it."
"That's because I do," McCoy answered. "Put your shirt on, you're fine."
"Thanks," Jim said, grinning. "You're not bad yourself."
McCoy looked to the ceiling, throwing his hands up. "What did I do?"
Jim threw his shirt back on, patted McCoy on the back, and walked back to the bridge. He briefly wondered if there was someone on board who had been a masseuse. That would be a useful position. Ship Masseuse. It would be a vital addition to any starship. He'd have to look into it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At first, Spock hadn't understood why he was being left alone so completely. The crew members seemed comfortable when dealing with Jim. They walked up to the Captain and talked to him as if they were friends, as if there were no boundaries between them. If the crew felt that comfortable with the Captain, it was logical to assume they would have similar interactions with the First Officer. Yet it hadn't happened that way, and the reason for the differences eluded Spock for several days until he stumbled, quite accidentally, across the answer.
The mess hall was almost entirely empty. A few stragglers were just finishing their dinners, probably before either heading to their quarters or going back to complete the last of their assignments for the night. Spock preferred eating in this atmosphere. The quiet allowed him to focus on his upcoming tasks, which he often put in order of importance and when each job should be completed by. Although the schedule was basically the same every day, Spock believed he should keep on top of things due to his position. So it had become a habit of his to take a late dinner when he worked a night shift in order to contemplate his schedule in relative silence. No one ever bothered him, which worked exceedingly well for his purposes.
"Mind if I join you?"
Spock looked up to find Sulu standing next to the table, holding a tray. "Of course," he said, gesturing to an empty seat.
"Thanks," Sulu said, smiling. "I hate eating alone."
"I see," Spock replied.
Sulu sat down and began eating, doing so in a polite fashion that was the exact opposite of how most of the crew members ate. Spock was immediately relieved and continued eating, wondering what if he would have to engage in small talk. The idea of small talk was fine in theory, but in practice it was quite odd. There was no actual weather in space, the concept of a favorite food or color or sports team eluded him, and there were very few aspects of any of the crew members lives which Spock was not informed on.
"Do you usually eat this late?" Sulu asked.
"Yes, quite often," Spock replied. "I find it relaxing to eat with no distractions."
Sulu looked at Spock for a second before saying, "Would you rather I left?"
"I apologize. I did not mean to imply that I do not enjoy your company," Spock said. This is what happened when he tried small talk. He should be banned from all forms of social interaction. "I simply meant that the mess hall is often loud, which is not an environment I prefer to eat in."
"Well, that makes sense," Sulu said. "It can get pretty rowdy in here. Although, personally, noise doesn't bother me."
"I see," Spock said. He took another forkful of his dinner, hoping the conversation would continue without any input from him.
"So then, you tend to eat alone?" Sulu asked.
Spock thought for a moment before replying, "I believe this is the first time I have not eaten a meal alone since our voyage began."
Sulu's eyebrows rose. "Really? Wow."
"Is that surprising?" Spock asked.
"Well, I would have thought you and the Captain would eat together sometimes," Sulu replied. "You're always talking to each other, so I just assumed you ate together as well."
"Your assumption was logical," Spock said. "However, Captain Kirk and I have slightly different schedules. Our shifts begin and end at different times, although they do overlap for the majority of the day."
"Oh," Sulu said, frowning. "And there's no one else you'd like to eat with?"
Spock tilted his head. "I have no particular wish to share a meal with anyone, although doing so is equally satisfactory to me."
Sulu shook his head once, lightly, and continued, "I'd hoped this wouldn't happen." He sighed and dug his fork into his mashed potatoes rather forcefully. "Well, if you give it some more time, I'm sure they won't keep avoiding you."
"I do not understand," Spock said, yet again wishing that humans would simply say what they mean and not use implications all the time.
"You don't?" Sulu asked, frown deepening. "Then never mind." At Spock's pointed look, Sulu nodded and held up a hand. "All right. I only meant that I thought the crew would have started to warm up to you by now. They've already grown friendly with Captain Kirk, and I'd hoped the same thing would happen with you."
"Captain Kirk is a very sociable, engaging man," Spock said. "It makes sense why the crew would become attached to him." Although, in truth, Spock had wondered the exact same thing, he didn't feel it would be wise to say that.
"Yeah, of course, the Captain's great," Sulu agreed. "But I think it's not fair for the crew to treat you differently just because…" He trailed off, waving a hand. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure it'll pass." Spock sighed and stared at Sulu for a few seconds. "Just because of your situation," Sulu grudgingly finished.
"I still do not understand," Spock said. "What do you mean by ‘my situation'?"
Sulu took a minute to eat some more, and Spock waited patiently, allowing him the time to gather his thoughts. "Well, of course people don't want to upset you. They're still acting careful due to the Vulcan Massacre." Sulu paused, looking at Spock to gauge his reaction, before continuing. "The crew doesn't know how to act around you. You are part Vulcan. Your self-control is admirable, but the crew doesn't know how to approach you."
Spock considered his words carefully. He had known that humans relied on their emotions for interaction, but for some reason it had never occurred to him that his desire to control his emotions would cause the crew to view him as unapproachable. Didn't humans realize Vulcans had the same emotions they did? Spock assumed they must. The idea that the crew assumed him to be completely without emotions was a somewhat terrible thought.
"Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention," Spock said. "I had no idea the crew felt this way."
Sulu shrugged. "Not everyone does. But Vulcans have that reputation." He shook his head. "You'd think people would learn their lessons by this point. It is the twenty-third century." Sulu took a long drink, placing his cup gently back down on the table. "But prejudice still exists. I'm beginning to think it might always exist, no matter how many times it's proved wrong."
"Humans are a species filled with suspicion of the unknown," Spock replied. "It is unfortunate they have not yet found a way to counter that flaw."
Sulu nodded, taking another bite to eat. "I doubt humans will ever be as controlled as Vulcans. We've had long enough now to try and get there."
"I must agree with you," Spock stated. "However, I was under the impression that humans prided themselves on their emotions."
"Oh, we do," Sulu said. "That doesn't mean they can't be a problem."
"Vulcans also have trouble with their emotions," Spock said. "That is why we discipline ourselves to overcome them."
"I've heard that," Sulu replied. "Even if I hadn't, I would have guessed." At Spock's inquiring glance, Sulu continued, "Well, you did attack Captain Kirk on the bridge. He goaded you into it, but I wouldn't exactly call your reaction unemotional."
"Indeed, no," Spock agreed. He finished eating and put his utensils on his plate, ready to start his night shift, although now with something else entirely on his mind. "This conversation was incredibly enlightening."
"Thanks?" Sulu said, his tone indicating it was a half-question. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Spock."
"Yes, Mr. Sulu," Spock replied.
Spock walked to the bridge at a steady pace, but his mind was racing. Although he had made a commitment to live among humans and try to be more human, he knew he would never be comfortable showing emotion at the level humans did. Even around Jim, Spock felt constrained, knowing there was only so much he could say or do and still feel comfortable with. It appeared he had unintentionally cornered himself-either he showed more emotion to his discomfort in order to have a better relationship with the crew, or he showed the amount of emotion he was comfortable with showing and risked ostracizing himself from the majority of the ship's inhabitants. Spock recalled what it was like to be an outcast quite easily. He had no desire to repeat the experience. Yet he also knew it would be unwise to commit himself to doing anything he felt uncomfortable with. There should be a middle ground. Some kind of compromise had to exist. He only needed to think of it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part 4
Feedback makes me happy. On the inside. And the outside, too, actually. <3
Author: kowaiyoukai
Rating: R
Pairing: eventual like whoa Kirk/Spock (STFU), Spock/Uhura (blame JJ, not me)
Warning(s): Angst, meta, language, attempts at witty banter, overly-important tone, intentionally confusing parts, potentially OOC everybody
Spoilers: Star Trek XI (2009) (a.k.a. Star Trek XI, Star Trek 2009, Star Trek Reboot, New Trek, and can we please just pick one name for this fandom people?!)
Word Count: 7,332 (for this part)
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, mostly, but also a lot of other people/groups like Paramount, J.J. Abrams, and the various writers/directors. I'm not one of those people, sadly, because if I was I'd be filthy rich.
Beta Acknowledgment: None!
Summary: Jim quickly realized he was going to have to break the rules if he wanted to survive on the Enterprise.
A/N: Bah, RL crap happened liek whoa. And OMG, I am really not happy with some parts of this section. But whatever, such is life, I'm moving on and dealing with it. Also, I am DONE talking about death. I don't care what the characters say, I am going back to the main plot and they can all SUCK MY ASS. Just FYI. You'll also notice I have issues with giving OCs names. Sorry, it just bothers me is all. I hate naming characters who pop up once and have no future relevance. I wouldn't even have any OCs if I could get away with it, but I can't. ll that travelling around, meeting people, it just requires OCs. ;_; Finally, I started watching TOS, but everyone's so different that I doubt it'll have any effect on the fic at all. *shrugs* Also, LOL, I wrote a Pinto drabble. WTF self?!
EDIT: Part 3 edited on June 6, 2009 because I'm an asshat. I fucked up and forgot the chair does indeed swivel in the movie. However, because of my fuck-up, I unintentionally thought up something else, so perhaps it all works out okay in the end, yay? I took out the swivel mentions here, so the edits are very minor, in the fourth scene in this part (the one with McCoy). I'm half delirious from staying up all night and then freaking out over this swivel chair disaster. *headdesk*
Part 1
Part 2
Death was never something Jim dealt well with. He had run into it plenty of times in his life, and each time it had been more or less the same story. An accident had happened, something unavoidable, and now everyone else was left thinking things weren't how they should be. Someone was missing, someone important, and people would grieve and move on because if they didn't, they would get stuck in the absurdity and pointlessness of it all.
His father's death had been the most influential and yet also the only one he couldn't remember. Everyone talked to him about it, forcing him to learn through years of repetition and anecdotes that his father had been a great man. A great man-those were always the words. His father had been a great man who had done great things and lived a great life and died a noble death. No one ever used the word "great" to describe death, but "noble" was close enough that Jim figured it didn't really matter. His mother was the strongest voice of them all, the one with the most clout and anecdotes to tell, but she was only one of hundreds. Even literal strangers on the street had stopped him to tell him that he looked just like his father who, by the way, had been a great man.
There had been plenty of other deaths. Various pets had died over the years-one dog named Hunter (his step-father had named him in an ultimately futile effort to get the Golden Retriever to be more menacing), one cat named Jinx (his mother had named her that because every time she waltzed into a room something broke), and three gerbils (all named by Jim himself) dubbed Larry (due to lack of time and gender confusion, Larry was later re-named Linda, much to everyone's consternation, but the name had already stuck), Warthog (his prepubescent streak of nastiness had caused him to hope the namesake would come to fruition), and Gerbil the Third (simply out of sheer unoriginality and called Third by everyone except his mother, who believed in addressing all life forms by their proper names). They had all been buried in various containers in the back yard, so that now when Jim thought of his yard he thought of the small section in the back with five polished stones placed in a haphazard row.
He had friends who died. Family members had died-both ones he knew and ones he had never met. Two teachers had died-one in elementary school and one in high school. A bartender he had known for a few months died from a gunshot wound when an angry customer had opened fire because they had been out of the beer he liked. A kid from school died from frostbite when he had been stuck skiing with no way to get help. A woman had a heart attack and died in the local food store when he had been in the next aisle looking for the cereal that was on sale. The man who lived down the street and never talked to anyone died from falling down his stairs, and no one had known until he started to smell. His first crush's brother had died, and his crush had died not long after-car accident and suicide, respectively.
Death was just something that happened. It couldn't be avoided. He knew it and tried not to dwell on it because, quite simply, there was absolutely nothing he could do. There were no preparations to make, no words to say or actions to do that could get anyone out of it. Still, Jim thought the deaths of six billion people were a bit too much, even for him.
It wasn't just the fact that so many people had died. If he was being honest, he could admit that he had no real stake in Vulcan. It was a tragedy, yes, but it was a tragedy that had been so far away from his own life. He lived on Earth, and no matter how much he despised it, he still had a home to go back to. His bedroom was still how he had left it. His belongings were still there. His favorite bands, the actors he liked, the people he knew, the works of art everyone was supposed to see that he hadn't got around to yet, the evidence of hundreds of years of city planning in paved roads and cookie-cutter houses, libraries filled with thousands of years of literature, cartoons, postcards from every small town along every highway, shopping malls, universities, jeans and t-shirts, video games, G.I. Joes and Barbie dolls and cheaper knock-offs, cell phones and communicators, ID cards, huge slippers with heads on the top-all of that was still there. Everything he had ever seen or interacted with or heard about or even thought about-he could go back to Earth right now and have access to all of it.
Spock couldn't do that. He had no home. No bedroom. No favorite music. No famous people. No works of art or libraries or children's toys or clothing or schools or roads or food or anything. There was literally nothing left of Vulcan society. Everything that Spock had ever connected with the thought of home was gone. Not just somewhere else, not simply far away or lost, but gone. And none of it was ever going to be replaced.
(Even thinking of Vulcan recreation had Jim stumbling. They were so logical, so precise and deadpan and completely focused on work and attaining their form of enlightenment, that imagining any Vulcan in a moment of leisure was next to impossible. But Jim knew Spock did enjoy time away from work. He had seen Spock reading, listening to classical music, and playing a game of chess against either himself or an invisible opponent. So Jim knew Vulcans could appreciate entertainment, and that had Jim imagining what Vulcan music sounded like, what Vulcan art looked like, which Vulcan writing was considered to be the best or the trashiest. One day, when the Vulcan Massacre was far behind them and they were better friends than they were now, Jim would ask him. Maybe Spock would even give him an answer.)
Jim wanted to offer him comfort of some kind. But he knew there was nothing he could say or do, and anyway bringing it up again would only cause Spock more pain. Besides, in the end, the only reason he was even thinking of Vulcan at all was because of Spock. If he hadn't met Spock, the loss of Vulcan would have still been horrible beyond anything he had ever imagined, but he would have already moved on. It was thanks to his First Officer that Jim was thinking about it, really pondering everything that had been lost that day.
That was the worst part. He had only known Spock for a few hours before Vulcan was destroyed. They hadn't even been friends yet. How could he say anything when they both knew it was a lie?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Three days after the memorial services, Scotty was describing to Jim why they had to warp to the nearest Federation outpost. Jim was only half paying attention. He knew it was important to listen, but he had one eye on Spock, watching for any signs of distress. His First Officer had been, unsurprisingly, completely calm after the services had ended. The next day, Spock had appeared normal in every way. Jim hoped he was dealing with it and not simply ignoring everything, but the only way to be sure was to ask and there was no way he was bringing it up again unless Spock brought it up first.
"Captain?" Scotty asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
Jim blinked and looked at him. "Hm? What?"
"Which do you want first?" Scotty asked, and Jim assumed he had repeated himself several times before this from his heavy sigh.
"What are the choices again?" Jim asked.
Scotty stared at him. "Good news. Bad news. Pick one."
"Bad news," Jim said. "When those are the options, always give me the bad news first." He paused. "Unless they're both equally bad and you're just trying to joke about it, in which case it doesn't really matter."
"The bad news is," Scotty began, shaking his head, "the transporter will only run for another three to four beams, max, before the hyperelectric coil needs to be replaced." He thrust his finger up into the air and quickly continued, "The good news is that the ship didn't explode."
Jim laughed and then abruptly stopped when he realized Scotty was giving him shifty eyes. "Wait. Was that ever a possibility?"
Scotty scratched his eyebrow and looked off to the side. "There may have been, at one point, a very small chance that the ship might have exploded."
"And you didn't say anything?!" Jim asked, shouting and glaring at him.
"What could I say?" Scotty asked.
"‘Hey, Captain, the ship might explode.' That would've worked!" Jim ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.
"Actually, that was a hypothetical-" Scotty cut himself off when Jim glared at him. "Okay, no, you're right, sorry. I'll remember next time."
"Next time?" Jim crossed his arms unhappily. "There'd better not be a next time."
"Oh, there'll be a next time if we don't get that hyperelectric coil," Scotty said. "You just think about that. We warp to a Federation outpost or the ship explodes." He threw his hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture that was really unnecessary. "Your choice, Captain."
"Chekov, how far is the nearest Federation outpost?" Jim asked, sighing.
"Twenty-eight parsecs away, Captain. It's on a planet that's otherwise uninhabited." Chekov paused. "The report states there should be at least five people stationed there."
"It's not on Delta Vega, is it?" Jim asked. "Because I'm not going back there."
"No, sir," Chekov replied. "It's on Alpha Four Gamma."
"All right, then. Sulu, let's get there before the ship explodes," Jim said, shaking his head.
"Yes, sir," Sulu replied. "Happy to oblige."
"Thank you," Scotty said, giving Jim a half-hearted bow. "Now I'm going back to engineering to make sure the ship doesn't explode."
"Yes, do that," Jim said. "Make sure the ship doesn't explode." Scotty walked to the lift, and just as the lift doors were closing, Jim shouted, "That's an order! If the ship explodes, you're fired!"
"Captain, I feel it would be remiss not to point out that this Federation outpost might not have a hyperelectric coil available," Spock said. Jim turned around to look at him. "If they do indeed have a spare hyperelectric coil, we may have to trade for it."
"Trade?" Jim asked, frowning. "But we're in the Federation. This is a Federation ship. We shouldn't have to trade for anything we need from one of our own outposts."
"Unfortunately, due to the low amount of traffic Federation outposts receive, they often request survival items such as food or clothing in exchange for the services only they can provide," Spock explained.
"That sounds like a scam," Jim said. "They've got food there already. It's not like they're starving."
"Yes, they do have food. However, they also have the hyperelectric coil we need and the ability to set the terms for how we will acquire it," Spock said. "This is pure speculation, yet I believe we should be prepared in case the situation arises."
"All right. Thanks, Spock," Jim said, sighing. "We'll see what happens when we get down there."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As it turned out, what the five people who lived on Alpha Four Gamma wanted most was some company. Spock understood companionship was vital to every being's mental health, but their request convinced him that what he had already speculated was true. Humans were the strangest among all the races in the universe. When given the choice between what was necessary for survival and what was wanted for comfort, they would choose comfort over their own physical needs. It was so completely illogical that Spock could only let the entire affair fall under the catch-all category of Too Human To Understand and agree to their terms.
Jim, Spock, Sulu, and McCoy had beamed down to the outpost. Jim had explained his choices to Spock with the same logic he used when he wasn't thinking too hard about it. Sulu would go because of his polite nature and ability to soothe people who were aggravated, McCoy would go in case his medical skills were needed, and Spock himself went because, as Jim put it, there was no way Jim was going to another outpost without dragging him along, too. So the four of them had arrived and been greeted with excited smiles. It had been nearly an hour and already they were settled into three groups for conversation: Jim and McCoy were speaking with the two highest ranking officers, Sulu was speaking with two of the remaining officers, and Spock was currently engaged in conversation with the eldest officer there. This man was fifty-three years old and had served in Starfleet for over thirty years. He explained to Spock that, although he could have retired or asked for an easier assignment, he enjoyed the quiet, peaceful nature of life at an outpost.
"As a Vulcan, I'm sure you can understand my sentiments," the man said. "There is nothing so relaxing as being able to sit in the quiet and let yourself think. Don't you agree?"
"I do," Spock said, although he was not entirely sure he did. "Silence is indeed the best environment for meditative thoughts."
"Meditative," the man repeated, pondering Spock's choice of words. "That would be the best way to describe it, wouldn't it? That's you Vulcans. Always ready with the perfect answer."
"Vulcans take pride in the ability to quickly come to the logical conclusion of all problems," Spock replied.
"Yes, yes, that's very true," the man stated. "I have only met one other Vulcan in my time, and she had an answer for every question posed to her." He chuckled, glancing at his hands fondly. "Even if it wasn't the answer you wanted, she would still give it to you."
"I see," Spock said. He found he was often using that phrase to respond to comments that he did not entirely understand and yet required a reply. It was a tricky business, conversing with humans.
The man looked at Spock, face somber and all the laughter suddenly gone. "While we are on the topic of Vulcans, I must say, I am very sorry for your tragic loss," the man said. "We heard the news when over the fleet-wide broadcast." He shook his head, eyes wrinkling in sorrow. "What a senseless waste."
Spock inclined his head, unsure how to respond. He had grown more used to these statements as time passed and he continued hearing them, but he didn't think he would ever be entirely sure what the best way to respond was. There seemed to be no good way to respond, since he would either have to lie about his own feelings on the matter or lie to make the well-wisher feel better. Either way had Spock lying to cover up the depth of the tragedy, and he saw no point in doing so.
Spock was about to change the topic to something more light-hearted when he noticed Jim stand up, gesture to Sulu, and walk to the far wall. Sulu joined him a moment later, and they began a quiet conversation that Spock could not overhear.
"Ah," the man said, looking at Jim and Sulu. "It seems your friends are having a little pow-wow."
Spock had no idea what pow-wow meant, but context clues were a wonderful thing. "Yes, it would appear that way."
"I'd like to go talk to your doctor, anyhow," the man said, standing up and gesturing to McCoy. "I have a twinge in my back that I'm sure is only going to get worse if I let it go."
"I am certain Doctor McCoy will be happy to assist you," Spock said.
"It was good speaking with you," the man stated, smiling. "I enjoy good conversation more than anything else these days."
Spock inclined his head. "I am glad to have been of assistance to you."
The man walked over to McCoy, who immediately turned and began speaking with him. Spock stood there watching them speak for only a few moments before he began walking towards Jim and Sulu. As Spock moved closer, he heard the end of their conversation.
"Just whatever we can spare," Jim said, quietly. "There's no need to starve ourselves. But any extra comfort food, stuff they can't get out here, you know, like snacks and coffee and meat, bring that down. None of that frozen crap." Jim shuddered, pulling a face. "Once the transporter's back up, of course."
"Scotty said he'd have it running within the hour," Sulu replied. "I can beam up, collect the food in the meantime, and have it ready by the time he's done."
"Great. And remember, there's five of them. Bring enough for five-no more, no less," Jim stated.
"Yes, sir," Sulu said. He saluted Jim and then walked towards the entrance of the building, saluting Spock as he passed.
"Captain." Spock walked to stand next to Jim, both of their backs to the wall as they looked at the main room of the small outpost.
"Mr. Spock," Jim returned, grinning at him. Jim saluted with a quick, sloppy gesture and leaned back on the wall, crossing his arms behind him. "How was it?"
"What are you referring to?"
"Talking to the old guy," Jim said, nodding in the man's direction. "Was it boring? Did he tell you a thousand stories about how back in his day they had to drive to school?"
"Ah. No, he did not," Spock replied. "We talked at length about the virtues of silent contemplation, a subject on which you would have nothing to add." Spock felt the corner of his mouth curve upwards. There was a moment where he wanted to force himself into a blank expression. Quickly, he decided against it. He was attempting to be more human, after all. There was no real harm in a simple facial expression.
"Oh, I get it," Jim said, nodding. Spock saw his grin widen and was immediately glad he had made the joke. Humor was becoming easier. The one aspect of it Spock found he was quite good at was telling the truth in a monotone. People assumed it was a specific type of humor called sarcasm, which apparently was often accompanied by his characteristic eyebrow raise. It seemed to work. "You guys talked about how it's better to be quiet than talk. Because that makes sense." Spock could hear Jim's grin widening in the tone of his voice. "And we all know everything you do makes sense."
"Of course," Spock replied. He wasn't entirely certain he should bring up the other topic, but it was on his mind and he thought he should mention it. This was Jim, after all, who had helped him through several incidents due to his grief. It would be hypocritical and a step backwards in their friendship to avoid the topic now. "He also gave me his condolences," Spock said, slowly. Jim moved his head to the side to look at Spock. A few seconds passed where Spock looked directly ahead, but then he also turned to look at Jim. The feeling of warmth and comfort that ran through him was welcome and oddly unsurprising. "The outpost received the fleet-wide notice."
"Are you okay?" Jim asked, voice much quieter than it had been the last time he spoke.
"Yes." Spock knew Jim wanted more information than that, but it was difficult for him to find the right words. "Speaking about the Vulcan Massacre becomes easier each day."
"But it's still hard," Jim said, voice confident.
"Yes. It is still hard," Spock replied.
They were both silent after that, neither one wanting to say something that would upset the careful balance they'd reached. Spock hoped Jim wasn't internally agonizing over what he should do. The more they spoke, the more Spock realized that Jim often internally agonized without mentioning it to anyone. It was odd to know that because Jim was so emotionally aware that Spock assumed he would be open about those feelings in the same way he was with everything else. However, he had only known Jim for just over three weeks. It really hadn't been long enough yet for him to make broad assumptions.
What Spock wanted to say was something regarding Jim giving these people food. It was an unwise move from his viewpoint as First Officer. The agreement had been the hyperelectric coil for some conversation, and they had provided their end of the deal. Giving away more than that made no logical sense. For some reason, though, it was reassuring to know that Jim was the type of person who wanted to help when he could. Even if it was illogical to do so. But there was nothing to say that would get Jim to understand why that mattered. Spock couldn't explain in a sentence or two how it had been to live with a group of people who were peaceful and yet ultimately too detached from their emotions to truly care about the well-being of others. Vulcans always helped where they could, but they kept themselves apart from the proceedings, detached in a way that had their help seeming more begrudging than it should have. Jim was the exact opposite-he cared and he didn't mind showing it, no matter the situation. It made everything he did stand out that much more simply because he wanted to do it.
Eventually Sulu beamed down with the food. The officers stationed at the outpost were surprised and delighted to receive it. They left on a pleasurable note, both sides happy with the trade, and Spock realized he knew why Jim had been made Captain. He could see the man Jim was and the man he would become-someone willing to go out of his way to assist others, someone who wanted his crew to feel at home on his ship, someone who broke deals when he needed to and did it in a way that nobody minded. It was only his third week as Captain, but for some reason it struck Spock that Jim fit the role more than he had three weeks ago. Spock found himself looking forward to this rare opportunity, knowing he had a chance to watch a man become a great leader.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Death was a completely normal part of life's process, and as such Spock had no problems accepting it as a part of the natural order. However, knowing that death was an aspect of life did not mean Spock was overly familiar with it. In truth, although Vulcans had funeral practices and mourned their dead, the actual experience of living through the death of someone close to him was not something Spock had ever encountered. He had read about it, had seen others on Vulcan disappear for a few days from school or work before reappearing and acting exactly the same as before. It was equally unpermitted to show grief as it was to show every other emotion, no matter the relation of the person who had died. So Spock had known death existed in a peripheral sense-people he did not know died and people he did not know mourned them. It was a matter separate from his daily life.
It seemed unfair that his first true experience with death should be so large and impossible to understand. But oddly, what struck Spock the most wasn't anything related to those deaths. The one thing that stood out the most to Spock was that, amongst all of the confusion and uncertainty that accompanied tragedy, he had found himself starting a new life. By sheer accident, or perhaps he should call it luck, he had been assigned to the Enterprise along with the majority of the crew he now worked with. Besides that, the chances that Jim would find a way to get on board the same starship Spock was on were infinitesimal. Yet without Jim there, Spock knew they would never have been able to destroy the man who had unknowingly re-shaped his life.
It was a fact that if Nero had never shown up, Spock would be living an entirely different life right now. He would have gone ahead with the charges against Jim and never once tried to look for anything more in a man he now considered to be a good friend. He would have continued his life as it had been, never knowing that he had missed out on an opportunity to explore the universe.
It was strange to think it, but the horrible truth was that Nero's actions had given Spock a new life. That was the one thought that continuously came to him. Yes, he was appalled at the deaths and grieved over everyone lost. Yes, he would never be able to replace his mother or home planet. Yet the past three weeks had given Spock more to look forward to than he ever had before. The thought of waking up in the morning and not walking onto the bridge, not going through the paperwork and records, not eating in the mess hall and relaxing in the recreation rooms-he simply couldn't imagine it.
And, as emotional and cliché and ridiculous as he knew it was, Spock was forced to admit, at least to himself, that he couldn't imagine going through a day without talking to Jim. The man's presence had taken over a large part of Spock's routine, and no matter what Spock pictured he could always see Jim standing next to him, making an inane remark or grinning stupidly or rolling his eyes dramatically. That was the kind of man Jim was. He forced himself into people's lives and carved out a space no one else could ever fit into. Spock had lost more than anyone should have to, but he also felt he had gained something irreplaceable. It was illogical, and so he didn't think too much on it, but it was the truth. A trade had been made by Nero's hand-an old life for a new one, Spock's planet and people and mother for a chance to explore unknown worlds and form friendships with people he was beginning to value. He would learn to do the best with what he had received in the trade, just as he would try not to think of what he had given up in exchange.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jim had known McCoy for longer than almost everyone on the ship-save for Uhura, who beat out McCoy by a few hours. But he had never actually gotten to know Uhura, had only flirted with her for kicks when he saw her, and so he considered McCoy the person he had actually known for the longest period of time before coming to the Enterprise. He was certainly closest to McCoy. Jim considered him a good friend, probably his best friend, and knew he would do what he could to help the other man out.
"Jim." McCoy said his name in the tone that meant he was about to say something he really didn't want to. Jim looked over his shoulder, gesturing for McCoy to come closer. They were on the bridge, and he was in his chair, and there really was no reason for him to actually get up from his chair when McCoy could simply say what he wanted to right there.
"Bones," Jim said in an equally dismal tone. "The answer's probably going to be no." Bones gave him an unimpressed look. "Hey, I just thought you should know," he said, spreading his hands out. "No need for the look."
"You're late," McCoy said.
Jim paused, blinking once, slowly. "Um… I am?"
"You are, Captain," Spock said.
Jim turned in the other direction to look at him. "For what?" Jim asked. "Did someone do something without telling me about it again?"
"I did inform you that your schedule had been changed for the day," Spock said.
"You did?" Jim asked, frowning. "Was this when I was ignoring you?"
Spock's lips thinned out. "Apparently."
"Not that I often ignore you," Jim said. "Because I don't. But I was tired and kind of had this headache, so-"
"Jim!" McCoy grabbed his shoulder, forcibly turning him back around. "If you don't get your scrawny ass to sick bay, I'm going to put on the record that you've got syphilis."
Jim's mouth dropped open. "You wouldn't."
McCoy stared at him. "Try me."
Jim blinked and closed his mouth. "Fine, I'm coming, give me a minute."
McCoy sighed and left the bridge, turning around in the lift and shoving his finger in Jim's direction. "Syphilis."
Jim stood up and walked to the lift, standing next to McCoy. As the doors were about to close, he put his foot in between them, forcing them back open. "I don't have syphilis," he said, scanning the bridge to make sure everyone acknowledged him. When everyone had given him some sort of sign, including a head shake from Uhura and a raised eyebrow from Spock, Jim nodded and drew his foot back, letting the door close.
"So why exactly am I going to sick bay?" Jim asked, glancing at McCoy. "Because you might have noticed no one told me yet."
"I noticed," McCoy replied.
Jim waited expectantly until the lift door opened again. The he sighed and said, "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Not even a little."
Jim frowned, walking toward sick bay without knowing why he was going there. "You know, I'm the Captain. People keep on forgetting that."
"Oh, I remember," McCoy replied. "I just don't care."
"That's great, that's exactly the kind of attitude I want my chief medical officer to have." Jim nodded, pressing his lips together in an exaggerated show of irritation. "You're a true soldier, Bones."
"Get in," McCoy said, gesturing to sick bay's door. Jim went in without complaint, still wondering what it was he was supposed to be doing. "Take off your shirt and lie down."
Jim turned to look seductively at McCoy, exaggerating it for kicks, all narrowed eyes and wiggling eyebrows and pursed lips. "Why, Bones, if you wanted me this badly, all you had to do was ask."
"Oh, yeah, Jim, I'm hot for you," McCoy said, blandly. "Now can you hurry up, I've got actual patients that need attending to. I can't be taking care of you all day long."
Jim hopped onto the nearest bed and quickly took off his shirt, throwing it next to him with the carelessness of a man who knew other people would be doing his laundry for him. "Ouch. That really hurts. In here." Jim patted his heart, pulling a frown. The he let his hand drop and asked, "No, but seriously, what am I doing here?"
"If you would have read your schedule, you'd already know," McCoy pointed out. He picked out a few tools from his medical kit and walked over.
"Please tell me I'm not getting a shot," Jim said. "You know how I feel about shots." He hesitated another second before adding, "And I feel the strong urge to remind you that I'm the Captain, and as Captain I can order you to not give me a shot."
"You can't order me to do squat and you know it," McCoy replied. "I'll give you a shot if I want to give you a shot."
"See, I don't think that's right." Jim bit his lower lip. "Is it a shot?"
"No, it's not a damn shot," McCoy said, rolling his eyes. "You're acting like a twelve-year-old girl."
Jim immediately brightened up. "I'm not, I'm very manly. Everyone says so." He relaxed, shoulders slumping and fingers tapping the bed. "So if it's not a shot, what is it?"
"Saving Earth doesn't make you manly. It makes you famous. There's a difference." McCoy drew out a few tools that Jim vaguely recognized. It was hard to keep up with the medical sciences. There were so many advancements that he was only really familiar with the most basic instruments. Luckily enough, he didn't actually need to know what they were. He only needed to trust that McCoy did, and that was as easy to do as breathing. "You didn't get your physical before we left. As Captain, you're supposed to have quarterly physicals. Which you would know, if you'd read the damn manuals."
"Hey, I read them," Jim said. "And by read, I mean browsed." He paused. "And by browsed, I mean flipped through once and then tossed across the room from boredom."
"That's what I thought," McCoy said. "Now shut up and breathe in deeply."
Jim went through a variety of tests, half of the time feeling like a trained monkey and the other half feeling like a porn star. He was sure there was some sort of medical reason why McCoy kept on asking him to bend over, but he was equally sure the nurses behind him probably had some work to do somewhere else. Not that he was complaining. It was just that the giggling was sort of distracting and had him losing his balance, and then McCoy made notes that probably said things like Unable to stand up straight. Likely cause: syphilis.
"I'm telling you, I don't have syphilis," Jim said, twisting his head around to try and see McCoy. The giggling abruptly stopped, replaced seconds later by the sound of footsteps moving quickly away. "I meant that," Jim called, hoping a nasty rumor wouldn't be spreading around. "I really don't!"
"Would you shut up," McCoy snapped. "You're screwing with the results."
"That's not the only thing I'm screwing," Jim said, grinning.
McCoy walked over and bent down so that Jim could see him. "If you touch my nurses, I'll take apart your chair."
"That was completely uncalled for," Jim replied, scandalized. "And they wouldn't have me now, anyway. Thanks to you."
"All right, you're done," McCoy said. "And it's a good thing because if I have to hear your obnoxious voice for one more second I'm likely to kill myself."
Jim stood up, stretching, already feeling his back ache in weird places. "You say that like you mean it."
"That's because I do," McCoy answered. "Put your shirt on, you're fine."
"Thanks," Jim said, grinning. "You're not bad yourself."
McCoy looked to the ceiling, throwing his hands up. "What did I do?"
Jim threw his shirt back on, patted McCoy on the back, and walked back to the bridge. He briefly wondered if there was someone on board who had been a masseuse. That would be a useful position. Ship Masseuse. It would be a vital addition to any starship. He'd have to look into it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At first, Spock hadn't understood why he was being left alone so completely. The crew members seemed comfortable when dealing with Jim. They walked up to the Captain and talked to him as if they were friends, as if there were no boundaries between them. If the crew felt that comfortable with the Captain, it was logical to assume they would have similar interactions with the First Officer. Yet it hadn't happened that way, and the reason for the differences eluded Spock for several days until he stumbled, quite accidentally, across the answer.
The mess hall was almost entirely empty. A few stragglers were just finishing their dinners, probably before either heading to their quarters or going back to complete the last of their assignments for the night. Spock preferred eating in this atmosphere. The quiet allowed him to focus on his upcoming tasks, which he often put in order of importance and when each job should be completed by. Although the schedule was basically the same every day, Spock believed he should keep on top of things due to his position. So it had become a habit of his to take a late dinner when he worked a night shift in order to contemplate his schedule in relative silence. No one ever bothered him, which worked exceedingly well for his purposes.
"Mind if I join you?"
Spock looked up to find Sulu standing next to the table, holding a tray. "Of course," he said, gesturing to an empty seat.
"Thanks," Sulu said, smiling. "I hate eating alone."
"I see," Spock replied.
Sulu sat down and began eating, doing so in a polite fashion that was the exact opposite of how most of the crew members ate. Spock was immediately relieved and continued eating, wondering what if he would have to engage in small talk. The idea of small talk was fine in theory, but in practice it was quite odd. There was no actual weather in space, the concept of a favorite food or color or sports team eluded him, and there were very few aspects of any of the crew members lives which Spock was not informed on.
"Do you usually eat this late?" Sulu asked.
"Yes, quite often," Spock replied. "I find it relaxing to eat with no distractions."
Sulu looked at Spock for a second before saying, "Would you rather I left?"
"I apologize. I did not mean to imply that I do not enjoy your company," Spock said. This is what happened when he tried small talk. He should be banned from all forms of social interaction. "I simply meant that the mess hall is often loud, which is not an environment I prefer to eat in."
"Well, that makes sense," Sulu said. "It can get pretty rowdy in here. Although, personally, noise doesn't bother me."
"I see," Spock said. He took another forkful of his dinner, hoping the conversation would continue without any input from him.
"So then, you tend to eat alone?" Sulu asked.
Spock thought for a moment before replying, "I believe this is the first time I have not eaten a meal alone since our voyage began."
Sulu's eyebrows rose. "Really? Wow."
"Is that surprising?" Spock asked.
"Well, I would have thought you and the Captain would eat together sometimes," Sulu replied. "You're always talking to each other, so I just assumed you ate together as well."
"Your assumption was logical," Spock said. "However, Captain Kirk and I have slightly different schedules. Our shifts begin and end at different times, although they do overlap for the majority of the day."
"Oh," Sulu said, frowning. "And there's no one else you'd like to eat with?"
Spock tilted his head. "I have no particular wish to share a meal with anyone, although doing so is equally satisfactory to me."
Sulu shook his head once, lightly, and continued, "I'd hoped this wouldn't happen." He sighed and dug his fork into his mashed potatoes rather forcefully. "Well, if you give it some more time, I'm sure they won't keep avoiding you."
"I do not understand," Spock said, yet again wishing that humans would simply say what they mean and not use implications all the time.
"You don't?" Sulu asked, frown deepening. "Then never mind." At Spock's pointed look, Sulu nodded and held up a hand. "All right. I only meant that I thought the crew would have started to warm up to you by now. They've already grown friendly with Captain Kirk, and I'd hoped the same thing would happen with you."
"Captain Kirk is a very sociable, engaging man," Spock said. "It makes sense why the crew would become attached to him." Although, in truth, Spock had wondered the exact same thing, he didn't feel it would be wise to say that.
"Yeah, of course, the Captain's great," Sulu agreed. "But I think it's not fair for the crew to treat you differently just because…" He trailed off, waving a hand. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure it'll pass." Spock sighed and stared at Sulu for a few seconds. "Just because of your situation," Sulu grudgingly finished.
"I still do not understand," Spock said. "What do you mean by ‘my situation'?"
Sulu took a minute to eat some more, and Spock waited patiently, allowing him the time to gather his thoughts. "Well, of course people don't want to upset you. They're still acting careful due to the Vulcan Massacre." Sulu paused, looking at Spock to gauge his reaction, before continuing. "The crew doesn't know how to act around you. You are part Vulcan. Your self-control is admirable, but the crew doesn't know how to approach you."
Spock considered his words carefully. He had known that humans relied on their emotions for interaction, but for some reason it had never occurred to him that his desire to control his emotions would cause the crew to view him as unapproachable. Didn't humans realize Vulcans had the same emotions they did? Spock assumed they must. The idea that the crew assumed him to be completely without emotions was a somewhat terrible thought.
"Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention," Spock said. "I had no idea the crew felt this way."
Sulu shrugged. "Not everyone does. But Vulcans have that reputation." He shook his head. "You'd think people would learn their lessons by this point. It is the twenty-third century." Sulu took a long drink, placing his cup gently back down on the table. "But prejudice still exists. I'm beginning to think it might always exist, no matter how many times it's proved wrong."
"Humans are a species filled with suspicion of the unknown," Spock replied. "It is unfortunate they have not yet found a way to counter that flaw."
Sulu nodded, taking another bite to eat. "I doubt humans will ever be as controlled as Vulcans. We've had long enough now to try and get there."
"I must agree with you," Spock stated. "However, I was under the impression that humans prided themselves on their emotions."
"Oh, we do," Sulu said. "That doesn't mean they can't be a problem."
"Vulcans also have trouble with their emotions," Spock said. "That is why we discipline ourselves to overcome them."
"I've heard that," Sulu replied. "Even if I hadn't, I would have guessed." At Spock's inquiring glance, Sulu continued, "Well, you did attack Captain Kirk on the bridge. He goaded you into it, but I wouldn't exactly call your reaction unemotional."
"Indeed, no," Spock agreed. He finished eating and put his utensils on his plate, ready to start his night shift, although now with something else entirely on his mind. "This conversation was incredibly enlightening."
"Thanks?" Sulu said, his tone indicating it was a half-question. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Spock."
"Yes, Mr. Sulu," Spock replied.
Spock walked to the bridge at a steady pace, but his mind was racing. Although he had made a commitment to live among humans and try to be more human, he knew he would never be comfortable showing emotion at the level humans did. Even around Jim, Spock felt constrained, knowing there was only so much he could say or do and still feel comfortable with. It appeared he had unintentionally cornered himself-either he showed more emotion to his discomfort in order to have a better relationship with the crew, or he showed the amount of emotion he was comfortable with showing and risked ostracizing himself from the majority of the ship's inhabitants. Spock recalled what it was like to be an outcast quite easily. He had no desire to repeat the experience. Yet he also knew it would be unwise to commit himself to doing anything he felt uncomfortable with. There should be a middle ground. Some kind of compromise had to exist. He only needed to think of it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part 4
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