FIC: Adventures In Solitude (Welcome Back)
Title: Adventures In Solitude (Welcome Back)
Universe/Series: AOS
Rating: PG
Relationship status: Pre-Slash
Word count: 3,121, unbeta'ed.
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Character Study
Summary: A year after the Enterprise starts its mission, Spock is still dealing with his grief over the loss of Vulcan and his mother.
Note: This was written for my dear friend reezoo's birthday, which is today. Happy birthday, darling! I hope you had a wonderful day. ♥
Note 2: The title of this was inspired by the song "Adventures in Solitude" by The New Pornographers.
James T. Kirk was an anomaly that should cease surprising Spock, yet at this juncture continued to do so.
His abilities were not under question - if anything, their first mission after Nero that concluded in a profitable trade agreement and ceasefire of a war were remarkable, and laid many doubts of his competence to rest. Kirk’s camaraderie with the crew, his ability to charm even the most bitter of enemies, and his interest in all workings of the ship proved that he was a more than apt commander.
Perhaps Spock had doubted. But after a year into their voyage, retaining any doubts would be unreasonable.
On the other hand, sometimes Spock doubted other things. After a year, the words of his alternate self had started to ring hollow - “A friendship that would define you both”. And yet, no friendship had even begun.
Perhaps this was because of his associations with Nyota; which was a friendship that remained illuminating and enjoyable even after their courtship ended, but occupied some of his leisure time. Or perhaps it was because his duties occurred on Kirk’s off-duty hours, and thus their paths rarely crossed beyond ship matters.
Or, perhaps it was because Spock usually kept to himself.
His mother had worried over this tendency of his. At the academy when he was a student, it had been a gentle nudging that Spock would choose to remain oblivious to, but which she would persist. It had only ceased once he became a teacher, and he at least reported on meetings with other professors and members of the scientific community on a regular basis. That seemed to fulfill her criteria of associating with other individuals.
But now it was Nyota, whose nudging was rarely gentle but equally persistent.
“It can be tea or something. Sometimes he’s in the mess where you, you know, can also be.”
And yet Spock took most meals in his quarters, and remained alone in consuming them.
Spock was comfortable with solitude. The only individuals that had ever bothered his meditations were his parents, and that had been on his mother’s urgings.
Now they were complete silences, punctuated only with his breath.
And thus, his only interactions most days took place on the bridge, when he relieved Kirk of command or congregated for missions.
Or chastised young ensigns.
“Ensign, you are scratching your arm at an alarming rate.”
Chekov turned in his chair with a sheepish expression as he continued to scratch his forearm.
“I am sorry Commander Spock, I vill leave it alone.”
Spock got up from the Captain’s chair, peering curiously at the large bandage that peeked out the edge of the Ensign’s gold uniform.
“Why have you not reported to Doctor McCoy?”
Chekov looked up with wide eyes as Spock stood next to him.
“Vhat, Commander?”
“The bandage on your arm - why have you not sought assistance for your wound?”
As Chekov gulped like a goldfish, Spock turned at the sound of smirking behind him.
Sulu cleared his throat. “Uh, Commander - Ensign Chekov got a tattoo. You’re not supposed to heal those.”
Spock heard a muted yelp and turned back to the timid ensign fidgeting at his console.
“I can take off bandage in tvelve hours, sir.” He kept eyes straight on the helm. “Sorry, I vill stop and ignore it.”
Spock tilted his head, wanting to ask many questions -
“Commander Spock, Admiral Komack is sending a live transmission from Starfleet Headquarters.”
He pushed it to the back of his mind.
“I will take it in conference room three.”
***
Ensign Chekov seemed to be of an age where humans sometimes made rash decisions. While Chekov did not necessarily display this trait, it could perhaps emerge suddenly to explain why he would choose to mutilate his body - especially in what was revealed to be a garish mark of his country’s heritage along his wrist.
Not that many species in the Federation did not do ceremonial tattoos as a part of their culture. But as far as Spock was aware, Russians were not among these.
Spock opened his eyes, staring into the single flame of his meditation candle. Images and information were surfacing, unbidden - about the detailing of tattoos, and humans, and some unfortunate designs they have chosen over the course of their history.
It seemed peculiar to Spock to mar one’s skin for vanity. A mark that would last on a human’s skin forever, decided on a whim that was difficult to reverse. In tribal societies of other planets this was the exact opposite, a mark denoting stages of life or sacred rituals. Things that made sense to Spock, although remaining unappealing.
Vulcan society had no mandate on tattoos. Spock supposed it was their sense of health and their stringent awareness of the body that made this unappealing. While scars were not unbecoming, they did suggest a history of injury that caused concern, not awe.
A tattoo seemed, intrinsically, to be one large scar that was administered to the skin purposefully, and sometimes without merit.
If Spock were given to hyperbole and metaphor, he would say he already had one over the whole of his heart.
***
“I was thinking it was weird, because Hikaru had just said last week - “
“What is on your ankle?”
“Huh?”
“There appears to be a mark on your left ankle.”
Nyota stopped lacing the boot on her right foot, and shifted her left leg to the side to look. The long, lean limb was barely covered by her miniskirt, with beautiful skin that was healthy and vibrant - except for the tattoo now evident to Spock.
Nyota smiled when she saw it. “Oh, I’ve had that a while. When we first got on the ship, Jim was telling me he used to - “
“Jim?”
Nyota blinked. “Yeah - Jim, Captain Kirk. Anyway, he told me he used to be a tattoo artist in Riverside, and sometimes did jobs for some extra cash at the academy.”
Spock’s mind whirled with the information. “I do not recall this mark at the academy.”
She waved a hand at him. “Jim did it for me once we got on board.” Nyota angled her ankle, showing her tattoo clearly. “It’s the entwining of my mother and sister’s initials, which also make up my grandmother’s.”
Spock looked closer, and what appeared at first as deep gashes now seemed like paint strokes. An H and L overlapped in thick lettering, combined as one image that was similar to an etched rune.
It was aesthetically unique, and Spock could admit it fit Nyota’s beauty in a pleasing manner.
She shrugged, then grabbed her other boot. “I really like it. It reminds me of home every time I see it.”
“It is very interesting.”
Nyota gave him a small smile. “I heard about your reaction to Pasha’s tattoo the other day.”
“I was surprised.”
She laughed. “Apparently you were wearing your ‘Judging You’ face.”
Spock raised his brow. “I was not judging anyone in any matter.”
“Oh, Spock.” Nyota had finished lacing, and was now looking in a mirror to put in her earrings. “I find that hard to believe. You are analytical of everything.”
“I had only found it peculiar, given that Ensign Chekov is normally a responsible individual.”
Nyota dropped her hands to the dresser top, meeting Spock’s gaze in the mirror with a stern look. “Are you seriously suggesting he is irresponsible for getting a tattoo?”
“He is young.”
She whirled around. “Do you think I’m irresponsible for getting a tattoo?”
Spock thought the opposite was obvious. “Yours has meaning beyond simple vanity.”
Nyota huffed at that, crossing her arms as she leaned against the dresser. “And Pasha’s doesn’t?” She shook her head. “Spock, you assume so much.”
He watched her from where he sat, as she sighed while grabbing a beaded handbag.
“He left home very young - a child prodigy. He hasn’t seen his home in Moscow for almost five years, now.” She walked towards his chair, stuffing necessities in the small bag. “He rarely even gets to talk to his family, and he misses them.”
Spock stood up, smoothing his dress uniform as all the pieces clicked into place. “He wanted a reminder of his birthplace.”
Nyota smiled up at him. “Of home. We’re all so far away, sometimes for our entire lives - for some, a reminder is all we have.”
Her words - for reasons Spock wished he could ignore - echoed in his mind, as they both left for the diplomatic dinner on the planet.
Nyota translated, but everything she said thrummed something deep inside of him - reminding him, regardless of the words, that he would only have reminders of Vulcan for the rest of his life.
“Spock, are you okay?”
It was an arm on his inner elbow that dragged Spock from his thoughts, as he met Captain Kirk’s blue gaze. They were alone in the transporter room, and perhaps it was the first time they had been alone for months.
There was not much to say. “I am fine.”
Kirk’s narrowed gaze was usually a signal on missions that he doubted what was said, and Spock wished it were not aimed at him now.
But instead of questioning, he quirked a lip. “Well, you know - I know we’re not the closest, but if you ever need to chat, I’ve got drinks and a chessboard in my quarters.”
A chessboard?
“Anyway - “ Kirk patted his shoulder. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Spock watched Kirk as he left the room, and knew he would get no rest at all.
***
Over six billion Vulcans had perished with their planet. The devastation had been immediate and painful - the psychic screams echoing what he felt when he saw his mother, just out of reach, disappearing in the depths of rock.
Sometimes he dreamt of that moment. What it would feel like to have a firm grip on that human hand, so much smaller than his own. The skin aged and weathered, but still soft against his fingers, strong and sure as they folded in with hers. Reassurance with the momentum and weight as he pulled her up, grabbed her to stand beside him in the transporter beam - transported both of them to safety.
The relief that followed being the most powerful emotion he had ever felt.
But Spock opened his eyes, staring in the meditation flame, and swallowed the keen sense of loss, of disappointment. The logic and awareness that those things had never happened - that his most powerful emotion was actually grief that sometimes flitted as despair.
It was indelible, that moment that was ingrained in his mind. Nothing else would play behind the darkness of his eyelids, in the darkness of sleep or silence, and harbored in most of his stray thoughts.
It would be a part of him forever - scarring him forever.
A thought occurred to Spock, just as he blew out the candle flame in the dim light.
***
“Christine, you can administer this to the measles patient - then tell ‘em to stop by tomorrow for when I got time to properly scold ‘em.”
McCoy handed Chapel the hypo, and she shook her head in amusement as she walked away. She only gave a cursory nod to Spock as she passed, and he waited until her footsteps had faded to approach McCoy himself.
It was perhaps a horrible idea to ask McCoy about the subject, but Spock knew he would have the most accurate information.
“What are you loiterin’ for, Spock?”
McCoy was shifting PADDs on his desk, and Spock approached with a raised eyebrow.
“I did not mean to loiter.”
“Yeah, whatever.” McCoy waved him closer. “What do ya want?”
Spock took a deep breath, which seemed to prompt McCoy to look him straight in the eye.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t hesitate for jack, so this is somethin’ important.” McCoy looked between them, then motioned to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down.”
His request was simple, but Spock chose the extra moment for contemplation. He watched as McCoy sat down himself, leaning back in his chair to give Spock a long and appraising glance.
“Now spit it out.”
Spock opened his mouth, willing himself to speak. “I wish to obtain information on Captain Kirk’s services.”
McCoy narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
Spock folded his hands on a knee. “I would like a tattoo. I have heard that Captain Kirk - “
“God, I need a drink for this.”
“I do not understand.”
McCoy harrumphed, getting up to peruse a cabinet. “You know, Jim’s been trying to get your attention and approval for a year, and this is how he gets it?” McCoy poured an amber liquid into two glasses. “Told him not to bother.”
McCoy shut the cabinet, then set both glasses on the desk.
Spock waved them off. “I do not drink.”
“Good, ‘cause they’re both for me.” He downed the first, then made a loud ahhh as he sat in his chair. “So, a tattoo. You don’t seem the type.”
Spock watched him lean over the desk, staring at him too keenly.
“I have come to appreciate his skills on others.”
McCoy nodded. “You know they’re forever, right? That we can regraph skin, but it’s still painful and involved?”
Spock gave a curt nod. “I understand.”
McCoy muttered under his breath, then downed the second shot of liquid. “He does it for free nowadays - just ask him. We can clear one of the beds here and he’ll bring his stuff.”
McCoy got up, gathering the empty glasses. “I know that first part is difficult, but Jim’s a nice guy. He eats all his meals in the mess - just walk up and talk to him. He won’t mind at all.”
Spock got up himself, pondering the last. “Then I will do so.”
As Spock intended to retreat, McCoy aimed him with a look.
“Thanks for coming to me, Spock. I know you don’t talk to anybody - it’s good to see that you can.”
Spock could only nod, not wanting to contemplate that statement as he left briskly for the bridge.
***
By the time Spock’s shift ended the mess was not crowded. It was several hours after the usual dinner hour, which if Spock had to guess, would mean his chances of catching the captain were highly unlikely.
Except the computer informed him this was not the case - that Captain Kirk was indeed dining there, late in the evening.
Spock entered the mess, surveying the scene to discover many tables empty. As he approached the salad bar, he noticed that Kirk was sitting by himself reading a PADD - peculiar in Spock’s mind, although the captain was intelligent. But unexpected that he was dining alone, when several other people were also in the dining hall.
It seemed incredibly opportune. Spock grabbed his tray, hoping the captain would not mind an intrusion of his reading.
“Captain Kirk?”
Kirk looked up startled, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. He quickly dropped it to his plate, a hand wiping his thigh.
“Spock!”
It was a bit loud, and he glanced around quickly before he looked back, sheepish. “I never see you in here. Care to sit?”
It was all easier than Spock expected, and he nodded. “If I am not intruding.”
“Huh?” Kirk followed Spock’s gaze to the PADD. “Oh, just reading an article from Earth , no big deal.”
Kirk set it aside, and suddenly they were face to face. Kirk watched as Spock picked up his fork, his spearing of a strawberry and spinach leaf apparently fascinating.
“So, Spock - “
“I have heard you are a tattoo artist.”
Kirk blinked, just as Spock distracted himself with another strawberry.
“Um, well - “ Kirk fidgeted with his piece of toast. “I don’t really advertise it, but yeah.”
Kirk took a bite, the crunch loud and slow in the descending silence. He wiped his hands of crumbs, then leaned back against his chair.
“Are you asking for a reason, or...?”
Spock wiped his hands on a napkin. “I wish to have one.”
Kirk narrowed his eyes. “A tattoo?”
“I was under the impression you still - “
“Yeah, yeah I still do, just - “ Kirk tilted his head, his eyes amused. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Spock.”
Spock had not thought so, either. “I am willing to reimburse you for - “
“Nah - are you kidding?” Kirk leaned forward. “You have one in mind?”
Spock tapped a PADD near his tray, bringing up the specific image before he passed it over. He twisted the PADD around, sliding it between their trays until Kirk took it with his fingertips.
Kirk analyzed the image, pursing his lips.
“It is unlabeled, however the system is - “
“No, no - I recognize it.” Kirk held it closer, a small smile forming on his face. “I can do this.”
Spock felt a strange moment of relief, the thought never having occurred to him. “Then I would appreciate it.”
“Let me talk to Bones, then I can comm you with the time.” Kirk set down the PADD, fully smiling at him. “Thanks for coming to me - I’m honored, to be honest.”
It was also strange, the weight that was suddenly lifted from Spock with that statement. But as they continued to eat dinner across from each other, it was also distinctly comfortable and welcome.
***
The pain was minimal. If Spock had to form a comparison, it was similar to a razor harshly scraping his skin; the worst of it being when Kirk had added color into his tender and sensitive flesh.
Spock had lain on his side, his face towards Kirk as he concentrated on etching the planets Vulcan, Delta Vega, and the lone star of Earth above his heart. Kirk had created an ink transfer before he began, and Spock had been impressed with how precise his measurements had been in replication - everything placed closely to scale, with the dot of Earth in the vicinity of his ribcage.
Every moment of pain dislodged things inside of him - memories of his youth, memories of ShiKahr, memories of his mother. All of the things he would never get back, but now scarred for the eye to see.
When Kirk finished, his serene expression shifted from skin to Spock’s gaze.
“Hey,” Kirk said quietly, his face close. “You were off somewhere else for a while.”
Spock swallowed. He felt drained, but it was followed by a calm that enveloped him entirely. As he watched Kirk gather gauze and tape, Spock would almost categorize it as... peaceful. A state of being he had doubted ever returning for quite some time.
Kirk cut the gauze to size, smiling down at him. “Welcome back, Spock.”
Spock closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling.
Universe/Series: AOS
Rating: PG
Relationship status: Pre-Slash
Word count: 3,121, unbeta'ed.
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Character Study
Summary: A year after the Enterprise starts its mission, Spock is still dealing with his grief over the loss of Vulcan and his mother.
Note: This was written for my dear friend reezoo's birthday, which is today. Happy birthday, darling! I hope you had a wonderful day. ♥
Note 2: The title of this was inspired by the song "Adventures in Solitude" by The New Pornographers.
James T. Kirk was an anomaly that should cease surprising Spock, yet at this juncture continued to do so.
His abilities were not under question - if anything, their first mission after Nero that concluded in a profitable trade agreement and ceasefire of a war were remarkable, and laid many doubts of his competence to rest. Kirk’s camaraderie with the crew, his ability to charm even the most bitter of enemies, and his interest in all workings of the ship proved that he was a more than apt commander.
Perhaps Spock had doubted. But after a year into their voyage, retaining any doubts would be unreasonable.
On the other hand, sometimes Spock doubted other things. After a year, the words of his alternate self had started to ring hollow - “A friendship that would define you both”. And yet, no friendship had even begun.
Perhaps this was because of his associations with Nyota; which was a friendship that remained illuminating and enjoyable even after their courtship ended, but occupied some of his leisure time. Or perhaps it was because his duties occurred on Kirk’s off-duty hours, and thus their paths rarely crossed beyond ship matters.
Or, perhaps it was because Spock usually kept to himself.
His mother had worried over this tendency of his. At the academy when he was a student, it had been a gentle nudging that Spock would choose to remain oblivious to, but which she would persist. It had only ceased once he became a teacher, and he at least reported on meetings with other professors and members of the scientific community on a regular basis. That seemed to fulfill her criteria of associating with other individuals.
But now it was Nyota, whose nudging was rarely gentle but equally persistent.
“It can be tea or something. Sometimes he’s in the mess where you, you know, can also be.”
And yet Spock took most meals in his quarters, and remained alone in consuming them.
Spock was comfortable with solitude. The only individuals that had ever bothered his meditations were his parents, and that had been on his mother’s urgings.
Now they were complete silences, punctuated only with his breath.
And thus, his only interactions most days took place on the bridge, when he relieved Kirk of command or congregated for missions.
Or chastised young ensigns.
“Ensign, you are scratching your arm at an alarming rate.”
Chekov turned in his chair with a sheepish expression as he continued to scratch his forearm.
“I am sorry Commander Spock, I vill leave it alone.”
Spock got up from the Captain’s chair, peering curiously at the large bandage that peeked out the edge of the Ensign’s gold uniform.
“Why have you not reported to Doctor McCoy?”
Chekov looked up with wide eyes as Spock stood next to him.
“Vhat, Commander?”
“The bandage on your arm - why have you not sought assistance for your wound?”
As Chekov gulped like a goldfish, Spock turned at the sound of smirking behind him.
Sulu cleared his throat. “Uh, Commander - Ensign Chekov got a tattoo. You’re not supposed to heal those.”
Spock heard a muted yelp and turned back to the timid ensign fidgeting at his console.
“I can take off bandage in tvelve hours, sir.” He kept eyes straight on the helm. “Sorry, I vill stop and ignore it.”
Spock tilted his head, wanting to ask many questions -
“Commander Spock, Admiral Komack is sending a live transmission from Starfleet Headquarters.”
He pushed it to the back of his mind.
“I will take it in conference room three.”
***
Ensign Chekov seemed to be of an age where humans sometimes made rash decisions. While Chekov did not necessarily display this trait, it could perhaps emerge suddenly to explain why he would choose to mutilate his body - especially in what was revealed to be a garish mark of his country’s heritage along his wrist.
Not that many species in the Federation did not do ceremonial tattoos as a part of their culture. But as far as Spock was aware, Russians were not among these.
Spock opened his eyes, staring into the single flame of his meditation candle. Images and information were surfacing, unbidden - about the detailing of tattoos, and humans, and some unfortunate designs they have chosen over the course of their history.
It seemed peculiar to Spock to mar one’s skin for vanity. A mark that would last on a human’s skin forever, decided on a whim that was difficult to reverse. In tribal societies of other planets this was the exact opposite, a mark denoting stages of life or sacred rituals. Things that made sense to Spock, although remaining unappealing.
Vulcan society had no mandate on tattoos. Spock supposed it was their sense of health and their stringent awareness of the body that made this unappealing. While scars were not unbecoming, they did suggest a history of injury that caused concern, not awe.
A tattoo seemed, intrinsically, to be one large scar that was administered to the skin purposefully, and sometimes without merit.
If Spock were given to hyperbole and metaphor, he would say he already had one over the whole of his heart.
***
“I was thinking it was weird, because Hikaru had just said last week - “
“What is on your ankle?”
“Huh?”
“There appears to be a mark on your left ankle.”
Nyota stopped lacing the boot on her right foot, and shifted her left leg to the side to look. The long, lean limb was barely covered by her miniskirt, with beautiful skin that was healthy and vibrant - except for the tattoo now evident to Spock.
Nyota smiled when she saw it. “Oh, I’ve had that a while. When we first got on the ship, Jim was telling me he used to - “
“Jim?”
Nyota blinked. “Yeah - Jim, Captain Kirk. Anyway, he told me he used to be a tattoo artist in Riverside, and sometimes did jobs for some extra cash at the academy.”
Spock’s mind whirled with the information. “I do not recall this mark at the academy.”
She waved a hand at him. “Jim did it for me once we got on board.” Nyota angled her ankle, showing her tattoo clearly. “It’s the entwining of my mother and sister’s initials, which also make up my grandmother’s.”
Spock looked closer, and what appeared at first as deep gashes now seemed like paint strokes. An H and L overlapped in thick lettering, combined as one image that was similar to an etched rune.
It was aesthetically unique, and Spock could admit it fit Nyota’s beauty in a pleasing manner.
She shrugged, then grabbed her other boot. “I really like it. It reminds me of home every time I see it.”
“It is very interesting.”
Nyota gave him a small smile. “I heard about your reaction to Pasha’s tattoo the other day.”
“I was surprised.”
She laughed. “Apparently you were wearing your ‘Judging You’ face.”
Spock raised his brow. “I was not judging anyone in any matter.”
“Oh, Spock.” Nyota had finished lacing, and was now looking in a mirror to put in her earrings. “I find that hard to believe. You are analytical of everything.”
“I had only found it peculiar, given that Ensign Chekov is normally a responsible individual.”
Nyota dropped her hands to the dresser top, meeting Spock’s gaze in the mirror with a stern look. “Are you seriously suggesting he is irresponsible for getting a tattoo?”
“He is young.”
She whirled around. “Do you think I’m irresponsible for getting a tattoo?”
Spock thought the opposite was obvious. “Yours has meaning beyond simple vanity.”
Nyota huffed at that, crossing her arms as she leaned against the dresser. “And Pasha’s doesn’t?” She shook her head. “Spock, you assume so much.”
He watched her from where he sat, as she sighed while grabbing a beaded handbag.
“He left home very young - a child prodigy. He hasn’t seen his home in Moscow for almost five years, now.” She walked towards his chair, stuffing necessities in the small bag. “He rarely even gets to talk to his family, and he misses them.”
Spock stood up, smoothing his dress uniform as all the pieces clicked into place. “He wanted a reminder of his birthplace.”
Nyota smiled up at him. “Of home. We’re all so far away, sometimes for our entire lives - for some, a reminder is all we have.”
Her words - for reasons Spock wished he could ignore - echoed in his mind, as they both left for the diplomatic dinner on the planet.
Nyota translated, but everything she said thrummed something deep inside of him - reminding him, regardless of the words, that he would only have reminders of Vulcan for the rest of his life.
“Spock, are you okay?”
It was an arm on his inner elbow that dragged Spock from his thoughts, as he met Captain Kirk’s blue gaze. They were alone in the transporter room, and perhaps it was the first time they had been alone for months.
There was not much to say. “I am fine.”
Kirk’s narrowed gaze was usually a signal on missions that he doubted what was said, and Spock wished it were not aimed at him now.
But instead of questioning, he quirked a lip. “Well, you know - I know we’re not the closest, but if you ever need to chat, I’ve got drinks and a chessboard in my quarters.”
A chessboard?
“Anyway - “ Kirk patted his shoulder. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Spock watched Kirk as he left the room, and knew he would get no rest at all.
***
Over six billion Vulcans had perished with their planet. The devastation had been immediate and painful - the psychic screams echoing what he felt when he saw his mother, just out of reach, disappearing in the depths of rock.
Sometimes he dreamt of that moment. What it would feel like to have a firm grip on that human hand, so much smaller than his own. The skin aged and weathered, but still soft against his fingers, strong and sure as they folded in with hers. Reassurance with the momentum and weight as he pulled her up, grabbed her to stand beside him in the transporter beam - transported both of them to safety.
The relief that followed being the most powerful emotion he had ever felt.
But Spock opened his eyes, staring in the meditation flame, and swallowed the keen sense of loss, of disappointment. The logic and awareness that those things had never happened - that his most powerful emotion was actually grief that sometimes flitted as despair.
It was indelible, that moment that was ingrained in his mind. Nothing else would play behind the darkness of his eyelids, in the darkness of sleep or silence, and harbored in most of his stray thoughts.
It would be a part of him forever - scarring him forever.
A thought occurred to Spock, just as he blew out the candle flame in the dim light.
***
“Christine, you can administer this to the measles patient - then tell ‘em to stop by tomorrow for when I got time to properly scold ‘em.”
McCoy handed Chapel the hypo, and she shook her head in amusement as she walked away. She only gave a cursory nod to Spock as she passed, and he waited until her footsteps had faded to approach McCoy himself.
It was perhaps a horrible idea to ask McCoy about the subject, but Spock knew he would have the most accurate information.
“What are you loiterin’ for, Spock?”
McCoy was shifting PADDs on his desk, and Spock approached with a raised eyebrow.
“I did not mean to loiter.”
“Yeah, whatever.” McCoy waved him closer. “What do ya want?”
Spock took a deep breath, which seemed to prompt McCoy to look him straight in the eye.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t hesitate for jack, so this is somethin’ important.” McCoy looked between them, then motioned to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down.”
His request was simple, but Spock chose the extra moment for contemplation. He watched as McCoy sat down himself, leaning back in his chair to give Spock a long and appraising glance.
“Now spit it out.”
Spock opened his mouth, willing himself to speak. “I wish to obtain information on Captain Kirk’s services.”
McCoy narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
Spock folded his hands on a knee. “I would like a tattoo. I have heard that Captain Kirk - “
“God, I need a drink for this.”
“I do not understand.”
McCoy harrumphed, getting up to peruse a cabinet. “You know, Jim’s been trying to get your attention and approval for a year, and this is how he gets it?” McCoy poured an amber liquid into two glasses. “Told him not to bother.”
McCoy shut the cabinet, then set both glasses on the desk.
Spock waved them off. “I do not drink.”
“Good, ‘cause they’re both for me.” He downed the first, then made a loud ahhh as he sat in his chair. “So, a tattoo. You don’t seem the type.”
Spock watched him lean over the desk, staring at him too keenly.
“I have come to appreciate his skills on others.”
McCoy nodded. “You know they’re forever, right? That we can regraph skin, but it’s still painful and involved?”
Spock gave a curt nod. “I understand.”
McCoy muttered under his breath, then downed the second shot of liquid. “He does it for free nowadays - just ask him. We can clear one of the beds here and he’ll bring his stuff.”
McCoy got up, gathering the empty glasses. “I know that first part is difficult, but Jim’s a nice guy. He eats all his meals in the mess - just walk up and talk to him. He won’t mind at all.”
Spock got up himself, pondering the last. “Then I will do so.”
As Spock intended to retreat, McCoy aimed him with a look.
“Thanks for coming to me, Spock. I know you don’t talk to anybody - it’s good to see that you can.”
Spock could only nod, not wanting to contemplate that statement as he left briskly for the bridge.
***
By the time Spock’s shift ended the mess was not crowded. It was several hours after the usual dinner hour, which if Spock had to guess, would mean his chances of catching the captain were highly unlikely.
Except the computer informed him this was not the case - that Captain Kirk was indeed dining there, late in the evening.
Spock entered the mess, surveying the scene to discover many tables empty. As he approached the salad bar, he noticed that Kirk was sitting by himself reading a PADD - peculiar in Spock’s mind, although the captain was intelligent. But unexpected that he was dining alone, when several other people were also in the dining hall.
It seemed incredibly opportune. Spock grabbed his tray, hoping the captain would not mind an intrusion of his reading.
“Captain Kirk?”
Kirk looked up startled, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. He quickly dropped it to his plate, a hand wiping his thigh.
“Spock!”
It was a bit loud, and he glanced around quickly before he looked back, sheepish. “I never see you in here. Care to sit?”
It was all easier than Spock expected, and he nodded. “If I am not intruding.”
“Huh?” Kirk followed Spock’s gaze to the PADD. “Oh, just reading an article from Earth , no big deal.”
Kirk set it aside, and suddenly they were face to face. Kirk watched as Spock picked up his fork, his spearing of a strawberry and spinach leaf apparently fascinating.
“So, Spock - “
“I have heard you are a tattoo artist.”
Kirk blinked, just as Spock distracted himself with another strawberry.
“Um, well - “ Kirk fidgeted with his piece of toast. “I don’t really advertise it, but yeah.”
Kirk took a bite, the crunch loud and slow in the descending silence. He wiped his hands of crumbs, then leaned back against his chair.
“Are you asking for a reason, or...?”
Spock wiped his hands on a napkin. “I wish to have one.”
Kirk narrowed his eyes. “A tattoo?”
“I was under the impression you still - “
“Yeah, yeah I still do, just - “ Kirk tilted his head, his eyes amused. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Spock.”
Spock had not thought so, either. “I am willing to reimburse you for - “
“Nah - are you kidding?” Kirk leaned forward. “You have one in mind?”
Spock tapped a PADD near his tray, bringing up the specific image before he passed it over. He twisted the PADD around, sliding it between their trays until Kirk took it with his fingertips.
Kirk analyzed the image, pursing his lips.
“It is unlabeled, however the system is - “
“No, no - I recognize it.” Kirk held it closer, a small smile forming on his face. “I can do this.”
Spock felt a strange moment of relief, the thought never having occurred to him. “Then I would appreciate it.”
“Let me talk to Bones, then I can comm you with the time.” Kirk set down the PADD, fully smiling at him. “Thanks for coming to me - I’m honored, to be honest.”
It was also strange, the weight that was suddenly lifted from Spock with that statement. But as they continued to eat dinner across from each other, it was also distinctly comfortable and welcome.
***
The pain was minimal. If Spock had to form a comparison, it was similar to a razor harshly scraping his skin; the worst of it being when Kirk had added color into his tender and sensitive flesh.
Spock had lain on his side, his face towards Kirk as he concentrated on etching the planets Vulcan, Delta Vega, and the lone star of Earth above his heart. Kirk had created an ink transfer before he began, and Spock had been impressed with how precise his measurements had been in replication - everything placed closely to scale, with the dot of Earth in the vicinity of his ribcage.
Every moment of pain dislodged things inside of him - memories of his youth, memories of ShiKahr, memories of his mother. All of the things he would never get back, but now scarred for the eye to see.
When Kirk finished, his serene expression shifted from skin to Spock’s gaze.
“Hey,” Kirk said quietly, his face close. “You were off somewhere else for a while.”
Spock swallowed. He felt drained, but it was followed by a calm that enveloped him entirely. As he watched Kirk gather gauze and tape, Spock would almost categorize it as... peaceful. A state of being he had doubted ever returning for quite some time.
Kirk cut the gauze to size, smiling down at him. “Welcome back, Spock.”
Spock closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling.