A/N: As I was watching the 2009 Star Trek movie, this particular scene stood out as something that absolutely had to be written from Spock's point of view. I logged on to one of my most visited sites (this one) and was really surprised that I couldn't find it. So, I wrote it... problem solved. This is my first Star Trek fanfic, and I hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek… logically it would not be posted on Fan fiction. net
Emotionally Compromised
There is no logic that can be applied to my current situation. There is no sense to find in it, and no rational explanation. Even with all of my education and experience, I must admit to myself that I do not understand. Facts that are so plain in concept simply should not be this impossible to cope with. But I cannot cope with them.
Billions of peaceful innocents murdered in cold blood. Their home, my home destroyed. My mother, my irrational, illogical, lovingly human mother, was ripped from my arms when I failed to bring her to safety. When my gaze met hers as she fell, I distinctly felt a tear, a separation within myself.
As illogical as the sensation seemed, the two pieces of myself that I had tried so hard to reconcile my entire life, my logical self and my emotional self, split cleanly from each other in an instant. This seemed to be merely an act of self-preservation on the part of my own logic, as nothing within me could survive the havoc my emotional self was wreaking on my very essence. My logical self remained in control of my physical actions, but nothing else. As I continued to captain my crew as per the orders given to me, my mind was somewhere else entirely. It remained on Vulcan, staring into the eyes of my dying mother.
It is painfully illogical to waste time on events of the past. I should have accepted them, and focused my attention on the present. I was the captain, and people were depending on me. It was only logical that I forget the past and continue performing admirably. Logic can be deceptively simple.
Time ceased to have any meaning to me. It raced forward and stood stubbornly still, in a way that I did not, could not attempt to analyze. And having given up almost entirely on counting on logic to in any way present itself in the situation, I was not surprised when I found myself standing face to face with James Tiberius Kirk.
Not surprised, but in need of information regarding how he and his rather wet friend had managed to board a ship traveling at warp speed. If there was some sort of breach in the ship's defense system or some superior Romulan technology that was assisting them, it was my duty as captain to know about it. As he denied my demand for answers, I realized that my hold on the fragile façade that masked my emotional chaos was fading rapidly.
He knew though, somehow he could tell, but I didn't have the energy or focus to try to reason out why, in the midst of a crisis, he would attempt to bully an emotional response out of me.
"Are you afraid or aren't you?" he snapped.
Afraid was one thing I don't think I was. What was there left to fear? What precious things in my life had not yet been taken from me? I could not pull myself together to form the coherent reply I meant to. I was barely able to prevent my voice from shaking as I gave my retort. I tried to distance and detach myself from his naïve rage. My crew needed me, people were counting on me, we had a mission to complete, and I would not fail again. I could think of only one other thing, and my mind once again looked for solace on Vulcan. But I could not run far enough into my mind to avoid his tirade, and his taunting remarks became the narration of my last, and most painful memory on my home planet.
"What is it like not to feel anger?" I stopped only for a moment to take in the scene where I had landed. But that moment was more than enough time for the harsh reality to set in. My hands had quaked with uncontrollable rage as my home was ripped apart at the seams by men I had thought I had no quarrel with. I had indeed felt anger.
"Or heartbreak?" My mother's eyes were filled with sadness, then fear, and finally determination as I informed the council that our world had only seconds left. The expression in her eyes and her frail hand in mine as we ran tore my heart in ways I had never felt before, until it was almost a physical pain. I was quite familiar with heartbreak.
"Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?" As she stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the shaking remains of our mountains, it was clear in her eyes, that she had known her fate. As the rock crumbled beneath her, her expressive eyes had shown no more fear or grief. The only emotion I could read there was the love that she always had for me. That she always confessed in whispers, when no one else was near. I reached out to her, but she was gone.
The reality that I had quickly become conscious of was nearly as horrifying as the one that met me in the transporter room, when I realized there was no waking up from this nightmare. My face did not betray the turmoil that ruled my mind, only because it seemed there was nothing in the universe that could will any of my muscles to move ever again.
"You feel nothing!" At this point that was my deepest wish, and my greatest desire, but I felt every pain.
"You never loved her--!" With that, my control snapped. I was at the mercy of an animalistic nature I did not know existed inside me. Paradoxically, the logic of my actions became perfectly clear in an instant.
I had to let James T. Kirk know that he was wrong, dead wrong.
Reviewing is only logical. Spock would and that should be enough reason for you!
Sara-Leah :- l