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Eleven

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Leonard McCoy and telepathy weren’t good friends.

There was something about this function that made him feel naked in the middle of a crowded room, whenever he was in the presence of someone in possession of it. Sudden nakedness made most people vulnerable. McCoy felt stupid and embarrassed. In his book, it was all right to be on display if one had a lot to offer. If one didn’t, however...

He sighed and shook his head softly. Healer, heal thyself. He accused Spock of being reluctant to derange his personal self-image, but he was just as reluctant himself. He was painfully aware of just how many quirks and traits he wore around himself like clothes to prevent anyone from seeing the real Leonard McCoy. Some had become a second skin, and parting with them would be unpleasant.

He knew that his reaction probably grew from lack of self-confidence, but he couldn’t help it. The last person who saw him for what he was had sent him the divorce papers. Second to last nearly broke his jaw. And the profound disappointment in his father’s eyes wasn’t exactly easy to stand. There were times when he didn’t like himself very much, either. It was difficult to decide what unnerved him more, though: letting someone else see him for what he was, or being forced to look at his own reflection himself. Either way, he didn’t like the idea.

Initially, Spock’s telepathy didn’t bother him at all. He half-forgot that the thing existed. He regarded Spock as a fellow human with a load of irritating quirks, but that was it. The first unpleasant reminder happened as he watched Spock perform a mind-meld with Doctor Van Gelder. McCoy remembered Spock’s reluctance to engage in this ‘highly intimate act,’ reluctance that had infuriated the CMO at the time. Jim Kirk’s life might have been in danger, and there was Spock, babbling something about hidden Vulcan practices reserved for their private lives. So McCoy pushed and pressed, slapping Spock with the danger his Captain was in to get him going. When he did, McCoy almost regretted it.

It was hard to watch. There was something in the way Spock touched the man, in the way he moved, something in the suddenly lowered timbre of his voice, in his all but glazed expression, that made the whole thing look eerie. McCoy didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. For the first time, he was forcibly faced with the fact that Spock really was an alien, different in most profound ways. What he was doing looked creepy and somehow almost obscene. McCoy even wondered for several highly uncomfortable moments, if as a physician, he had failed his patient, if he had exposed Van Gelder to something indecent and possibly damaging.

But then the meld concluded, and Van Gelder was free from the horrible torture of having his memories and his very personality repressed by doctor Adams’ machine. He slipped into a happy, relaxed slumber, and Spock... Spock slipped to the floor, pale as a sheet, perspiring and muttering something incoherent. He regained control in a few moments and assured a very freaked-out McCoy that he didn’t require any assistance. He was out of the door faster than McCoy could aim a scanner at him, not that the idea had crossed McCoy’s mind right that moment. Afterwards, Spock bluntly refused to answer any questions.

McCoy, however, was nothing if not persistent. Seeing Jim Kirk thoroughly shaken by his encounter with the device outweighed his apprehension of the mysterious voodoo.

‘The Captain needs your help, too, Mr. Spock. How can you be so selfish?’

‘Doctor, I have already explained to you that it is a very private, very personal thing to any Vulcan.’

‘And the Captain isn’t worth the trouble, right, Spock?’

‘You do not know what it is you are asking.’

‘I know that it helped Van Gelder! It can help Jim as well.’

‘Given due time, the Captain will undoubtedly restore his equilibrium—”

‘Good God, man! He’s hurting right now, Mr. Spock! Didn’t you hear his voice? Didn’t you catch the desolation in it? On the other hand, you probably wouldn’t, callous creature that you are. You don’t have a heart!’

‘A strange misconception for a physician.’

‘Well, you don’t act like you have one! I’ve heard the Captain call you a friend. I can’t fathom how he figures that one!’

McCoy didn’t know what it was that finally got to Spock. He doubted it was something he said, much as he’d like to think so. More likely, it was of Jim’s doing. The Captain did try to put on a brave façade, but the experience must have been so profound that he wasn’t able to fool anyone, from his Yeoman to—well, apparently, to his First Officer. Spock watched him carefully throughout his shift, and, by the end of it, he evidently had had enough.

The next day, as McCoy strode onto the Bridge for his usual visual survey, he was slightly taken aback by how relaxed and rested Kirk looked. His smile was back, he flirted with the helm officer on duty, which for him was a very healthy sign, teased Scotty about something in Engineering, and all in all was positively beaming. McCoy watched the display for a while, pleasantly surprised, then looked over at the Science station. Spock appeared to be deep in his work, seemingly oblivious to whatever was happening behind his back.

McCoy walked over, studying him closely. He remembered Spock’s less than dandy reaction to his meld with Van Gelder, and felt slightly guilty about pressing the Vulcan for another one. But Spock appeared absolutely normal. He feigned total ignorance of McCoy’s presence, but when the Doctor failed to throw a conversational barb at him after several minutes, he did glance up, lifting his eyebrow quizzically. McCoy grinned at him, somewhat shyly, and leaning over, whispered, ‘Thank you.’ Then, a miracle happened. Spock didn’t lecture him about thanks being illogical, nor did he ask for a clarification. He simply closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgment and returned to his work.

McCoy watched the two of them carefully for several weeks after that, looking for any sign of trouble. He didn’t, however, spot anything unusual, apart from the growing affinity between the two, which could easily be stemming from the professional bond that any good command team was bound to develop. McCoy did ask Kirk about the mind-meld once, but the Captain wasn’t overly forthcoming. He only said that it was a liberating experience and pretty much laughed away the rest of McCoy’s questions.

It wasn’t all that long, however, before McCoy got his own personal experience. Spock didn’t ask for his permission. Spock needed information, and McCoy’s mind contained it. Spock wasn’t gentle or considerate. His intrusion was formidable, swift and utterly humiliating. And somehow, the fact that it was a Spock from another universe didn’t help matters much. McCoy felt violated, faced with his own helplessness to stop it, and the most degrading thing was that it wasn’t even Spock’s intention. He only needed the information and was rather clinical while extracting it. No pleasure emanated from his mind, no sense of joy about overpowering his victim. The only emotion that transferred from him to McCoy was slight revulsion over having to dig into an inferior human mind.

McCoy was almost literally speechless in the Transporter Room. His relief at their safe return made him lightheaded and helped him survive the first day. He even teased their Spock on the Bridge, laughing along with Jim. But in the weeks to come, he couldn’t go near Spock without shivering. He was, of course, intellectually aware that his Spock, this Spock, had nothing to do with the immoral actions of his counterpart. Intellectual awareness, however, did little to appease his gut feeling. This Spock and that Spock were basically the same person. If one was capable of it, then logically so was the other. McCoy knew he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight himself.

Spock seemed to be aware of his trouble, through Jim no doubt, but it was obvious that the Vulcan didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it. He went as far as apologizing awkwardly, trying to reassure the distressed human, but McCoy only waved him off, ‘It’s my problem, Spock, not yours.’ But when Spock reached to touch him unconsciously, acting out of some deeply sewn human instinct, meaning to comfort, McCoy couldn’t jerk his hand away fast enough. They both felt utterly miserable that night, neither hiding it very well.

Unable to withstand the edgy silence, Kirk finally intervened, cornering McCoy at the end of his double shift.

‘Dammit, Bones, they are not us! You read your medical log in their Sick Bay—are you capable of those things? You heard what your medical staff did on their side—do you hold it against Chapel or Demarco?’

‘Look, Jim, I’m trying—’

‘Then you’re not trying hard enough. Has it ever occurred to you to ask Spock what our counterparts did while they were here? Do you know what that Jim Kirk did before he was apprehended? Do you see Spock wincing every time I walk into the room?’

‘No. But, Jim, he’s a Vulcan—’

‘I’m not. Do you see me holding a grudge against Chekov? Do you see Uhura shying away from Sulu? Dammit, Bones! We dealt with our demons. Why can’t you?’

‘It’s not the same. What he did—’

‘He didn’t do anything to you! Stop treating him like he’s responsible. He takes enough guilt trips as it is.’

‘Dammit, Jim, don’t you think I want to feel differently? I do! But no matter how much reasoning I do, sometimes he’ll just look at me in that same way, and I can’t help it. They are so alike! You said so yourself! We—each and every one of us—were so different in that blasted mirror, totally unrecognizable! Except for him! He was so goddamn much himself only in a different environment.’

‘Bones, what happened to you is terrible, and I sympathize. But it wasn’t Spock’s fault. Forget the other one, think about our Spock for a moment. He’s the most benevolent person I know.’

‘Sure he is. He only killed you once.’

‘I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you’d hold anything against a person in his condition. Don’t you remember him trying to talk T’Pau out of that decision? He did everything he could to prevent it, more than anyone could have expected! You’re a physician, for God’s sake! How can you condemn a patient for contracting a genetic disease?’

‘I don’t know, Jim. And I’m sorry. I know none of this is his fault. I’ll work it out, I promise.’

‘Bones.’ A sigh. ‘I didn’t mean to say that it was your fault. I realize you sustained a heavy trauma. But if you and Spock are to work together, you’ve got to get a hold on yourself. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be happy to.’

McCoy couldn’t think of anything at the time, but after that conversation, he felt that the resolution to this issue was long overdue. But if it weren’t for a timely case of bad luck, he doubted he’d have any luck at all. Being stranded with Spock on a planet with an extremely hostile population for two weeks miraculously helped them regain their footing. The fact that McCoy managed to get severely injured on the second day, the result being that Spock had to basically take care of his every need, seemed to restore their faith in each other. It took seeing that openly terrified look on Spock’s face when he thought he had accidentally caused McCoy further injury for the Doctor to finally get in touch with this Vulcan, not his darker reflection. If not for fear of worsening his wounds, he’d have laughed at how safe he suddenly felt in Spock’s company. The pain was almost worth it.

The events of his first two years as the Enterprise’s CMO made McCoy painfully aware of how limited his knowledge of Vulcan physiology and psychology was, and he was nothing if not dedicated to his patients. The moment he got wind of a talented young doctor taking his internship at the Vulcan Medical Academy, McCoy made it a point to make him join his staff. It took a lot of negotiating, and scheming, and sometimes even blackmail, before Jabilo M’Benga boarded the Enterprise, but McCoy didn’t regret it. Spock got in trouble as often as Jim did, as if the two of them were competing for who could get more injured. It felt reassuring having someone around who knew what was going on.

“Tell me it’s not what I think,” McCoy said grudgingly, looking over the diagram.

“It’s not what you think,” M’Benga confirmed obediently. “Whatever that is,” he added. “I see no evidence of a link of any kind.”

“But?”

The younger doctor hesitated slightly, then relented. “But there’s some predisposition towards it present.”

“Anything to make it tougher. What kind of link are we talking about anyway?”

M'Benga sighed, clasping his hands on the desk.

“There are numerous types of telepathic connections on Vulcan,” he spoke softly, preparing for a long lecture. “They are a telepathic society, even if it doesn’t float on the surface. You know how protective the Vulcans are of their offspring. One of the strongest connections is the parental link, helping to keep the children out of trouble. It dissipates as the child enters adulthood. Then, there’s obviously the betrothal link, with which you are familiar. When consummated, this link grows into a full matrimonial bond, which doesn’t fade unless one’s bondmate dies. There are also more shallow links between siblings, sometimes friends and even colleagues, which could be initiated and resolved by consenting parties without external intervention. Such connections are relatively superficial, but they do create a more transparent and efficient working environment.”

“Like a human collective attains a certain affinity after many years of working together?”

“Quite, but where humans would need years to develop such a connection, Vulcans can simply establish it from day one, should they wish it.”

“Sounds like cheating, if you ask me.”

“It’s their way. They don’t like to waste time, Doctor, for all those getting-to-know-you things. That only happens if they are interested in becoming friends or romantically involved, but it’s not essential for colleagues.”

“Wait, romantically involved? I thought Vulcans didn’t do casual romance.”

“It’s not casual. They do assess every partner as a possible life-mate. But you have to understand, they are a very closed society. They don’t exactly advertise their internal affairs to outworlders. That doesn’t mean they don’t have them.” M'Benga smiled somewhat leniently. “And unbonded Vulcans consider themselves no less on the market than you and me. Sometimes it goes for those betrothed but separated, too.”

“But I thought they didn’t...” McCoy felt confused. “I thought they couldn’t...”

“Have sexual relations outside pon farr?” M'Benga blushed faintly, suddenly becoming very interested in his hands. “That is a misconception.”

McCoy studied him, fighting a grin and not quite succeeding.

“I won’t ask you how you came by that particular piece of information.”

“Thank you, sir,” M'Benga nodded. “After all, a gentleman does not—”

“—kiss and tell,” McCoy chuckled. “I think I heard that one before. Was she or he worth it?”

M'Benga looked up at him, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

“They were very much worth it.” He laughed softly at McCoy’s round eyes. “Well, I did spend five years there, Doctor. You couldn’t expect me to, well...”

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m two hundred years old?” McCoy complained into space. Then he grew serious again. “Your love affairs aside, you said there was some predisposition towards forming a link between Spock and Jim. What kind of link?”

“I can’t be sure,” M'Benga shook his head. “All I know is that their minds appear to be compatible and... show a certain familiarity with each other. You said they only melded once?”

“That was one time I know of. Neither of them ever mentioned there was another, but I don’t know for sure. Spock guards his privacy like a dragon guards his gold, and Jim’s very protective of his secrets.”

“You’ll pardon me for the presumption, sir,” M'Benga fixed him with a penetrating stare, “but the Captain appears to be very protective of Mr. Spock himself, rather than only his secrets.”

“They’re friends,” McCoy shrugged, unconcerned. “And you’re right, no one takes that damn Vulcan as seriously as Jim does, but that’s hardly surprising. You know they’ve started to call the two of them the best command team in Starfleet. All I can say, there’s a reason for that.”

“I don’t doubt it. But if we are to determine the nature of their connection, we have to bear in mind that a brief contact with the Captain had allowed Commander Spock to pull himself out of what would have resulted in clinical insanity twice now. The first time, one year ago on Vulcan. The second time right here, before our eyes.”

“See, that’s what I don’t like about it,” McCoy interjected, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. “It all seems to be pretty one-sided.”

M'Benga shook his head resignedly.

“Doctor, the phenomena I speak of wouldn’t be possible without the Captain’s consent, conscious or subconscious. A telepathic connection without consent is considered the worst crime a Vulcan can commit, but it’s interesting that it has its basis in physiological facts. You see, to enforce such a connection against the will of the recipient, the Vulcan in question must be in full command of his faculties. Neither in plak tow, nor in the mental state the Commander was in after his recent ordeal, could he possibly overpower anyone’s resistance. He’d lack conscious intent for that.”

“But Jim is psi-null. What if he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to?”

“It doesn’t have to be forceful. He would only have to say ‘no’ and feel reluctance. Vulcans are very sensitive in this regard. It would have been all it took.”

“I see,” McCoy said softly. “I see. Then I made a mistake by separating them.”

M'Benga looked skeptical.

“I doubt the separation had any kind of damaging effect on Mr. Spock’s health. From my observations, when injured, they do seem to feel better in each other’s presence, but it’s not something phenomenal.”

“Nothing a little friendly attention wouldn’t do.”

“Exactly. I doubt you caused them any harm by keeping them apart.”

“But apparently, there’s not much sense in it either,” McCoy sighed. “I’ll tell them the restriction is off. That potential link bothers me, though.”

“Why?” M'Benga looked at him steadily. “Strictly speaking, it’s not even a medical problem, but rather a personal affair. And Doctor, the only way it could be potentially dangerous to either would be if it was a betrothal kind, which could grow into a life bond. But there’s no evidence of that.”

“You’re saying it’s merely a... professional connection, Vulcan style?”

M'Benga shrugged.

“There’s no way to be certain until it establishes itself. It’ll probably be more personal than that, but none of the life/death bonds.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it takes one hell of a lot of Vulcan ceremonies, Doctor, to form one. If that was the case, it would have happened a year ago, and you’d be very well aware of it, believe me. Vulcans are nothing if not logical and thorough.”

“You’ve got a point,” McCoy conceded.

“There is, of course, a special category,” M'Benga mused quietly. “Antique types of bonds and links, used by the warrior class in ancient times. But I doubt there’s much chance of that. After Vulcans had adopted the teachings of Surak, such bondings became almost extinct. They are extremely rare nowadays, even among two full-blooded Vulcans.”

“I see,” McCoy said, frowning. “Jabilo, I’d like you to summarize all this in a short report I’d like to show the Captain. Tell him what he’s getting himself into.”

“Of course, sir.” M'Benga stood up and looked at him with a sly smile. “If you don’t mind me mentioning this, Doctor McCoy, but you seem very protective of the Captain yourself.”

McCoy glanced at him sharply. M'Benga only grinned ruefully.

“You do know he’s an adult, right?”

McCoy gave him a very telling look.

M'Benga laughed. “Well, technically anyway.”

McCoy fumed silently, watching his younger colleague go. Damn those closed-mouthed green-blooded pixies. He and Jim had been friends for many years without any need to poke into each other’s heads. Why wasn’t that enough for Spock? He’d been in Starfleet for eighteen or whatever-it-was years, he never felt the need to go all Vulcan about it. Weren’t humans as non-telepaths considered inferior? Whatever happened to his goddamned arrogance?

McCoy couldn’t quite explain why he didn’t like the idea so much. Was it because the concept was so completely alien? Was it because it had to deal with telepathy? Or was it simply because it had to deal with Spock, that walking Pandora’s box?

McCoy sighed, reaching to terminate the computer session. It hadn’t happen yet. He still had time to alert Jim and try and talk some sense into him. McCoy wasn’t overly optimistic, though. Jim assumed a rather funny attitude whenever it came to Spock.

If the Captain’s support was food, Spock would have been so round by now, he’d be rolling rather than walking. And this attitude, McCoy admitted grudgingly, had started long before any kind of Vulcan mumbo-jumbo was even introduced. Jim was, for lack of a better term, fascinated, and it didn’t seem to be wearing off any time soon. He often looked at Spock with the same kind of mindless adoration that a younger kid adopts towards his elder playmate.

Kids grew up, though. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to be stuck in a four-year-old mindset when it came to Spock, without even knowing it. He was simply too obvious, looking for Spock’s approval when he didn’t need it, trying to best him in everything just to make an impression, feeling upset when Spock kept to himself, and doing happy cartwheels when Spock found something he did logical, which for a Vulcan was the highest praise possible. The only thing that made the situation tolerable, in McCoy’s view, was that Spock seemed to be honestly and completely oblivious to any of this. Otherwise, McCoy would imagine, his smugness would have been truly unbearable.

It also didn’t look like Spock was in a hurry to pull Jim into whatever weird tie M'Benga had in mind. Given the Vulcan’s general predilection towards overlooking completely the simplest facts about his own condition, let alone anyone else’s, McCoy sincerely doubted Spock had a clue about what they were facing. If he did, he’d most likely be terrified. After their detour to Vulcan, Spock had been apologizing to both him and Jim for days, until Kirk had had enough and yelled at him to call it quits. Spock did shut up, but adopted an unnerving habit of throwing openly guilty looks Kirk’s way whenever the subject was broached. McCoy was pretty sure Spock made a point to keep Kirk as far away from all things Vulcan as possible. He definitely wouldn’t welcome the news.

McCoy sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do? Where did his obligations as a medic end and those of a friend begin? His instinct was telling him not to meddle, his conscience had another opinion. And the most disturbing thing was that he didn’t know what the best course of action would be. He couldn’t decide. His arguments were eliminating one another and his gut feelings were all conflicted. M'Benga pretty much indicated that, in his view, they should be left to their own devices. McCoy cringed at the idea, which sounded selfish and callous to his ears.

But he didn’t have much choice, did he? Until something happened, there was no way of telling if it would be for the best or for the worst. Reluctantly, he decided to let them steer their own boat for a while and see where it would take them. It would be hard, merely watching, when so many things could go wrong, but he really didn’t have much of an alternative. He’d have to trust them to be responsible for a while. After all, they were adults.

Technically, anyway.

--

“I do not believe it will work,” Spock said skeptically.

“Thank you for this vote of confidence,” Luca said sarcastically. “Coming from you, it’s practically a blessing.”

“Gentlemen,” Scott spared them a short disapproving glance. “I’m trying to work here.”

“Sorry, Scotty,” Luca muttered, with a sheepish grin.

Spock said nothing, choosing instead to inspect the rather unusual looking Engine Room. He had of course as much first-hand experience with the ordeal the ship had just undergone as anyone, but it still felt vaguely unnerving to see that what used to be a shrine of neatness now resembled the workshop of some haywire human genius.

Every panel seemed to be blown apart, its contents splayed open, twinkling and blinking at random, with a huge spider web of energy couplings and plasma conduits covering the room like a cocoon. If Spock hadn’t been here from the beginning of this ‘slight alteration,’ he was sure he would never have been able to tell heads or tails of it. Even as it was, he needed to stay constantly focused not to lose track of things. Luca gave up on the whole idea a long time ago, simply doing what he was told and staying happy about it. Most of the engineering staff was quite sympathetic to his position. It was Montgomery Scott alone for whom this apparent chaos made perfect sense.

“We’re ready here,” Kerr called from what used to be an intermix monitoring station. “Whenever you give the go, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, roger,” Scott called back, taking his phase modulator out of his mouth. “Spock?”

“Ready here,” Spock informed him, watching the display diligently. “Phase variance less than point zero zero one. I do not believe it will get better.”

“Gabler?” this time, Scott spoke to his communicator.

“Everything steady here, sir,” his deputy reported from the reactor chamber.

“What’s that sound?” Scott asked.

“Nothing, sir. Uh, Davis here is knocking on my head, sir.”

“Why?”

“He has mistaken it for wood, sir.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

The sound of a struggle.

“I have corrected him now, Mr. Scott. His head... I mean the wood has now been properly knocked on, sir.”

“Mighty glad to hear that. Keep at it, and ye’ll both be pulling extra shifts for a month.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean—”

“We’re starting,” Scott cut him off, straightening up and looking around. “Brace yerselves... just in case.”

“Now he warns us,” Luca grunted under his breath.

“In three, two, one.” Scott threw the switch.

At first, it seemed that nothing had happened. Then a low hum filled the room, starting under their feet and steadily picking up the pace and intensity.

“Phase variance up to point zero three,” Spock warned, raising his voice over the hum. “And climbing.”

“Compensating!” Kerr shouted from the opposite end of the room. “Mr. Scott, I can’t—”

“I’m on it.” Scott dove back inside the cave of wires, trying to reach the flood regulator vent.

“Phase variance point zero seven,” Spock said. “Point zero nine!”

“Mr. Scott, we have to abort!” Kerr yelled, working her controls desperately. “We’re headed for a breach, I can’t stabilize the reaction!”

“Not just yet,” Scott muttered stubbornly, reaching within the open vent. “Not just yet.”

“Mr. Scott!”

“Easy there,” Scott raised his voice slightly. His face was rigid with tension, sweat trickling down his brow. “We stop when I say we stop.”

“But, sir—”

“As ye were, Lieutenant. That’s an order!”

“Phase variance point one two!”

“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be tellin' you to cool down,” Scott muttered under his breath. Louder, he shouted, “Tell me when it hits point five, not before!”

“Acknowledged. It will be critical by that point, though.”

“Spock,” Luca shook his head at him. “He knows that.”

Silence followed that statement, interrupted only by an occasional muffled curse from Scott. The deck suddenly lurched wildly under their feet, and all at once all vibration stopped. For a short incredulous moment, everyone in the room simply listened to the steady sound of the warp reactor at work. Then, Scott extracted himself from the vent and grinned, pinning the Vulcan with a smug stare.

“Mr. Spock?”

“Phase variance zero,” Spock said, and looked up from his display. “Congratulations, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye,” Scott nodded, picking himself up off the deck. “To all of us. Lieutenant, contact the Bridge and tell the Captain we have the warp reactor running.”

“Yes, sir,” Kerr grinned at him, looking elated. “The Captain will ask about warp drive.”

“And ye know what to tell him. We’re not gods down here.”

“No, Scotty,” Luca said, stepping over to him and clapping him on the shoulder enthusiastically. “I think you’re closer to the devil.”

Scott laughed. “No, no, that role’s already cast around here. No offense, Mr. Spock, but... Where is he?”

Luca’s head snapped towards the station that Spock had occupied only a moment ago. The Vulcan was nowhere in sight.

“What the hell?” Luca muttered. “Spock?”

There was no reply.

“He couldn’t have gone too far,” Luca said. “I’ll go, you need to stay here, with all this.”

“Aye,” Scott nodded, looking both tired and perplexed.

Luca was out of the doors already.

“Spock?” he called, looking around in hopes of locating the Vulcan. “Spock?”

He ran along the corridors, calling for Spock to no avail. He almost decided to call the Bridge for a ship-wide search when he finally spotted him in a dark corner in the intersection. Spock was sitting on the deck, with his back flat against the wall, his eyes closed and hands clutching his temples frantically.

“Spock,” Luca breathed out in relief, crouching down beside him. “Spock, what’s wrong? What—”

“Don’t,” Spock hissed sharply, recoiling when Luca reached for his hand. “Please do not touch me. I will be functional in a moment.”

“You don’t look remotely functional,” Luca noted worriedly, backing off slightly to give him some room. “What happened?”

Spock lowered his hands slowly and opened his eyes. His pupils were completely dilated, and his eyes appeared bloodshot.

“Nothing of consequence. It will pass shortly.”

“Spock.”

Spock straightened up forcibly, his body so tightly wound up it was painful to watch. He looked down at Luca who remained on the deck. There was a visible shift in Spock’s stance, and then he relented.

“Too many volatile emotions,” he said, as if it explained everything.

“Back there?” Luca rose up slowly.

“Yes. There were too many people.”

“And none of them felt easy about Scotty’s plan.”

“Yes,” Spock nodded blandly. “Anxiety. Worry. Fear. Excitement. I couldn’t... it was too much, too... strong. My shields are too weak, they could not withstand it.” He looked away, fighting to collect himself. “Please, if you would just give me a moment, I shall endeavor to repair the damage.”

“Spock,” Luca looked at him helplessly. “Can’t your doctor think of something? There must be something he can do.”

“I do not require anyone’s assistance,” Spock snapped sharply. “I can deal with this myself.”

Luca recoiled slightly from the ferociousness of his words.

“All right,” he said after a while. “I’ll leave you if that’s what you want.”

“I would appreciate it.”

Luca nodded, stepping back into the corridor. Then, he glanced back.

“There are people who care about you, you know,” he said mildly. “You don’t have to be alone all the time.”

Spock looked at him slowly, strange determination tugging at his features.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I have to. It is the only way.”

With that, he gripped the railing and climbed down the ladder, leaving Luca alone.

--

Kirk didn’t look up at the sound of the door swishing open, but grinned, studying his monitor.

“You know, Lieutenant, I could tell your step any day. If pumas wore heels, you’d be—”

“Sir.”

Something in her unnaturally flat tone made him turn around. His grin faded.

“Go ahead,” he prompted her softly. “I don’t usually kill messengers.”

Uhura took another step towards him, lifting her padd protectively in front of her. She was pale and looked thoroughly shaken.

“Captain, I have intercepted a message,” she started slowly and reluctantly, as if fighting to get the words out. “Six hours ago, someone destroyed Kalina Ranga.”

“The space station?”

“Yes, sir. The main center of Legourian commerce operations. Population about two thousand people. There were no survivors.”

Kirk closed his eyes briefly. “Who did this?”

Uhura actually swallowed. “The Legourian government has issued a statement,” she said, giving him the padd. “According to it, they consider the Federation responsible.”

“What?” Kirk stared at her, taking the padd automatically, but not looking.

“They said the Enterprise chased them into neutral space, then attacked the station without provocation and destroyed it. They are now demanding compensation.”

“The sum must be astronomical,” Kirk muttered, stupefied.

“They demand ten million credits. And that we build them a new space station.”

“But this is absurd!” Kirk shook his head, disturbed and perplexed. “We weren’t anywhere near it!”

“We have gone ‘missing,’ Captain,” she reminded him quietly. “With the subspace silence and all...”

“They’re going to need more than that to back up their claims.”

“They say they have a record showing the Enterprise attacking one of their ships.” Kirk groaned. Uhura bit her lip hard, and added, “They insist that it was a Starfleet officer who murdered their Ambassador.”

“Oh, this is simply too good a set up!” the Captain clapped at his desk in frustration. “Any reaction from Starfleet?”

She nodded, and for the first time Kirk realized that she was frightened. She tried desperately not to show it, but her very stance told him that the worst news was yet to come.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Starfleet has declared the Enterprise a rogue ship with rebel crew. They deny all responsibility for our actions.”

“For our actions?” He stood up, unable to remain immobile. “You mean, Starfleet holds us responsible, too?”

“It’s in their official communiqué, sir. You and Mr. Spock have been declared outlaws. Your officers are charged with following illegal orders. So is your crew. It also says there that the search operation will begin immediately.”

Kirk pressed his hand to his mouth, thinking. It wasn’t easy with the deafening pounding within his head, which was either his pulse or the sound of his complete astonishment. He was stunned.

“I disengaged the transceiver,” Uhura said barely above a whisper. “They could have tracked us, and I...” she trailed off and bowed her head.

“Me and Spock,” Kirk repeated pensively. “Me and Spock? Lieutenant, are you quite certain there weren’t any other names mentioned?”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

“Yes, sir, quite certain. Just you and Mr. Spock.”

“Really,” Kirk said, frowning with an air of something falling into place. “Lieutenant, do me a favor. Find Captain Radek and tell him I need to have a word with him. Then get a hold of Security and have them guard my door until I dismiss them.”

She stared at him wide-eyed.

“Sir?”

He met her gaze evenly.

“I think it’s long past time the Captain and I had a talk,” he said. “After that, I’ll make a ship-wide address.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, turning to go, then stopped suddenly and glanced back. “Captain?”

Kirk cursed himself mutely for being insensitive. He knew that look. It was the same one she had given him, before setting out to perform her task in the Mirror universe. The same look she sent his way at the Guardian planet. The look that screamed of her need for reassurance that she, as an officer, could never voice.

He stepped closer to her swiftly and clasped her shoulders. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t make himself say that everything was going to be fine, because at this point he had no idea if such promise had even a slim chance of being fulfilled. He knew that she knew it, too. All he could do was look into her eyes with a single message, ‘You are not alone.’ In this mess they had gotten themselves into, all of them were together. To think and possibly to sink. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and he was damn determined not to let that happen.

That was the only solace he could give her. She nodded silently, gave him a weak, slightly faltering smile, and left to execute his orders. Kirk sighed in the silence of his quarters. He hoped they were the correct ones.