STAR TREK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.
The next fanfiction contains big spoilers from the latest movie. If you haven't still watched "Into Darkness", I'd recommend you to leave this page, go to the cinema to watch it and then come back here to read it.
This story is about Kirk and Spock and their growing friendship. It could be interpreted as preslash too, but that is completely up to the reader. I actually don't care about it. Whether you choose to see them as lovers, as friends, as soul mates or as T'hy'la, the truth is they both are featured in one of the most beautiful relationships of the universe, always willing to sacrifice their life and their career for the other's wellbeing.
After the beautiful and dramatic end of the movie I needed to write this.
14/8/2013
This story has been edited with the help of a beta: Khashana.
She corrected the mistakes for me several months ago, but serious familiar issues were keeping me away from the fanfictions. Now that my mom's health is finally improving and she's going to be fine, I so glad to say I've came back!
My first step is to publish this edited one-shot, and at the same time to say thank to Khashana for her help and her wonderful job, what I couldn't do before.
I'm really greatful to you.
I hope you all enjoy this brief story.
Only One Word: JIM
Spock disliked feeling. Most emotions were commonly painful, confusing and unpredictable, unworthy of all suffering that came with them. Spock was proud to say to everybody willing to listen —and to those not so willing— that he was a Vulcan, and as such he had been able to overcome the human need to feel a long time ago. It was the truth. Vulcans did not lie.
Privately, however, Spock knew that even if he had chosen to live his life without subjugating to that necessity, it didn't mean he was unable to. Every living creature in the universe had the capacity to feel, whether they opted to use it or not. That was a discovery which he was slowly coming to terms with.
At least, it was nor now as terrifying as it had been at the beginning. He was able to feel, but he still had the option not to. Most of the time Spock believed these words. More often than not, the half-Vulcan would rule his life and his decisions under the truth of such establishment. And still, still sometimes, very occasionally, he would find himself wishing that believing it was as easy for him as it seemed to be for the rest of the people.
His discussion with Nyota on the space shuttle, shortly before being assaulted by the Klingons, was still fresh on his mind. It had not surprised him when she accused him of being emotionless and unable to care for anything or anybody, and neither had it hurt. Even though her words had not been completely fair, she had been right in more ways than one.
It should have hurt. Subsequent to almost two years of sharing a romantic relationship with her, of nineteen months thinking of her as his partner; after having rationally included her in most of his visions of future... When she accused him of not caring, it should have hurt. She should have known him better…
It did not. It had not even bothered him enough to try to explain, neither the first nor the second time that she had launched the allegations against him. The third time was different though. The third time, even though the least suitable for that kind the conversation —they weren't alone, Captain Kirk was with them, watching and listening closely; they were on duty; they were in the middle of a very dangerous mission, in hostile terrain, and being probably surrounded by Klingons—he had been unable to prevent it. He had needed to explain himself.
What had been different on that occasion from the others?
He had tried to explain that he did, actually, care —both for his own life and for others'— that this "care" was the reason he had chosen exiling feeling from his life. Because he had sensed what a person felt when they are dying. He had sensed the fear, the anger, the confusion invading his last breath... the loneliness and desperation that they felt.
Sometimes it would be a strange, a member of the crew on duty or an extraterrestrial life form of a lost planet; other times it would be a person close to him, someone like Captain Pike had been. It didn't matter at the end. It was always a life, a living soul, a sad loss... Never as painful as the loss of his mother, though.
Nothing would ever be as painful as the loss of his mother, ever again. The impotence of knowing what was going to happen half a second before it did, and yet being unable to do anything to avoid it, to save her. Spock only needed to close his eyes to see her falling to her death, to see her disappearing before his eyes with the knowledge it would be the last time...
Seconds later his planet had been gone and millions of lives had been lost. He was a member of a species in extinction, and his heart was only able to cry for her.
Spock was not good at dealing with feelings and emotions, and he was not ashamed to recognize it. Growing up on a planet where everybody was taught how to suppress them from the earliest ages had that effect. It had left him unable to handle them, even if genetically his human half had the ability to do so.
But Spock did know one thing about emotions in all probability: he would not survive such pain a second time.
The only logical answer —the easiest and the most effective—left for him to use was to avoid the possibility. He would never allow himself to feel that kind of attachment again. Feelings had brought him nothing but pain and confusion; even worse, they had made him unable to fulfill his duty. After a long time of reflection and meditation, Spock had decided to embrace his Vulcan part as he never did before. He had chosen not to feel, not because he could not feel as Nyota accused him of, but because otherwise he felt too much.
He had tried to explain it to them despite all pain that the mere conversation meant to him. Spock had not understood the why of that urgency at that moment, but still he didn't regret it. It had seemed extremely important to make them both comprehend —to make him comprehend—.
Him.
All the irony of the matter rested behind that single word. Him. Captain Kirk. There were so many sentences and ways to describe him. Spock was convinced that if he asked every passenger of the Enterprise to define their captain with only a single word, he would get as many answers as there were members of the crew. He himself could add a few to the list: brave, irresponsible, bright, stubborn...
Nevertheless, if someday Spock had to choose a unique attribute above all others to define his Captain, that would be, without hesitation, Kirk's ability to awaken dormant feelings within him.
They had not been very kind feelings at the beginning. Spock remembered the impatience and the exasperation and, later, the deadly anger that had been linked to his presence. James Tiberius Kirk was, paraphrasing Doctor McCoy's words, "such a pain in the ass even when he tried not to be". It had been highly annoying to be unable to control his own feelings around him, and only another reason among many to avoid his company.
Spock had been very conscious of all of this —his own warning practically yelling in his mind— when he requested the role as science officer and First Officer under the command of Captain Kirk.
He never did regret it.
For a whole year theyhad worked together and successfully completed all their missions. Slowly, Spock had come to an understanding of the kind of person that the Captain truly was, and, along with that understanding, it had born a deep respect towards him.
Captain Kirk was still the only person able to produce a purely emotional response from him, but such emotions weren't as fierce and abrasive as they had been at the beginning. They were sedate and peaceful now, warm somehow, easy to ignore. Spock had proudly thought that it was because of him. He thought he had finally learned to silence them successfully; he was able to overcome them now.
Such a fool of him...
Teach me. Teach me to not feel. Teach how to make the fear go away...
That had been the Captain's request not many days ago.
Teach me to not feel.
The words were still too fresh in Spock's ears. He had been unable to get rid of them.
I'm scared, Spock. I don't want to die. Teach how to make it better.
He had failed. The Captain was dying. He was already dead, with only a few seconds to say goodbye to life and without any hope of being saved. He was trapped in a crystal box, and Spock would not even be able to hold his hand with his own, to touch him once more before the end. This lack of physical contact had seemed suddenly so important; so erroneous.
I cannot.
He could not help him to control his feelings —to stop the fear—because Spock himself had been so scared.
I cannot help you.
His answer had been selfish, he knew it. The Captain was the one who was dying. He was the one who had saved the ship and their lives, the one who had sacrificed himself for the wellbeing of the majority. He was the one who deserved all the comfort. Even so, Spock had been unable to prevent it. He did not want Kirk to die.
It was not a completely rational wish. Death was a regular part of his line of work. Every one of them had had to learn to accept it, even if it did not make it less painful or easier. Spock had come to terms with his own mortality a long time ago, and also with the possible loss of any of his coworkers. He could lose any of them at any time... Any of them but the Captain.
The idea of a world without Kirk had not crossed by Spock's mind until that precise moment. It was highly irrational, as the Captain was always the first one to walk across the danger line during missions. The possibility of something bad happening to him was higher than compared to others. Yet, he had never stopped to consider it.
Spock was not sure whether he should blame old Spock for it. He and his stories about a past future had led him to think that Kirk would live a very long and successful life; long enough to make a difference in the fate of the universe. Or perhaps he should blame the luck which followed Kirk everywhere, enhancing his own sense of invulnerability.
Whatever it was, Spock had not been ready to lose him.
The feelings had overcome him.
I cannot help you, because I am feeling right now. I am scared and angry because I do not want to lose you.
I do not want you to die. You are my friend.
All events that followed his goodbye had become a mist in his brain. He could name the anger, the pain, the loss... He could still feel the vacuum that had burned inside him knowing that the Captain was gone forever, and the fury which had possessed him to fight against Khan. And then, later, the hope.
Spock had spent more time in recent weeks in the infirmary than out, and he was not ashamed of it. He was not ashamed of saying he has been feeling all that time, either. There had been many feelings for him to deal with those last days, several things to think about, and some decisions to make. But Spock had to achieve an understanding with them all. He was finally at peace with himself.
Today, besides, he was full of anticipation.
Today was the day.
Doctor McCoy had assured him so.
Today felt like a new beginning. Not a beginning founded in loss and grief, as it had been one year ago, but the beginning. The beginning of that legendary friendship that would define them both. The beginning of that transcendental relationship which old Spock had described twelve months ago, but Spock had been too scared and too hurt at that moment to truly embrace the chance.
Today he was ready. More than just that, today he felt anxious for it.
He was still not an expert in dealing with their emotions, and was too proud of his heritage as a Vulcan to leave logic aside. He would never be a complete human being, and neither did he wish to. They would, in all probability, argue about almost everything, and most of the time they would be unable to achieve an agreement.
It was going to be like betting against all rational possibilities. If it was already hard not to kill each other in their working relationship, surviving to a friendship would be almost impossible. However, in the year serving under Captain Kirk, Spock had watched the seemingly supernatural talent of the Captain to bet against the odds and still emerge victorious. Perhaps this was a contagious talent.
The truth, beyond everything else, was that Captain Kirk had been dead for a few long minutes. Spock had believed him dead forever. For those minutes, all words that he had never spoken aloud, all experiences that had never taken place, all emotions that he had never allowed himself to feel... They all had burned within him with the force of an erupting volcano. He had been afraid, and because of that fear he had almost lost the chance.
It would not happen again. He was not going to allow it.
Captain Kirk opened his eyes after weeks fighting between life and death. He smiled at him. Spock let his lips arch slightly in response. They exchanged some words.
I thought I was dead.
I believed it too.
You've saved my life.
You did save us all.
They weren't too important. They weren't enough to transmit all things that Spock wanted him to know. All of the things that, despite everything, he wasn't still ready to say aloud —you're my friend, I do care about you, I did not know what to do when I thought I had lost you—. But Spock needed so desperately for him to know... There had to be a way that Captain would hear it without him actually saying it.
The answer came to his lips naturally, without even thinking about it.
The Enterprise is running again and ready to start engines. We were all waiting for you, Captain.
It's good having you back, Jim.
Jim. My Captain. Captain Kirk.
Spock had never allowed himself to refer to him as "Jim", not even in the privacy of his thoughts. He had been, first, "Cadet Kirk", and later he became "the Captain". But the name dressed him well: Jim. And the use of such a title was amply rewarded by the look of wonder and then happiness that Jim dedicated to him.
It was only a single word, and still Jim seemed to understand all unspoken meaning hidden behind it.
It's good to be back, Spock.
Jim smiled at him again, with a wider smile if it was possible. And for the first time in too many days Spock could, finally, breathe easily. Today was truly the beginning, and the half-human Vulcan was feeling anxious to find out what lay beyond... between the gloom and mystery of the confines of the universe.
Space: The Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five year mission: To explore strange new worlds... To seek out new life, and new civilizations... To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before.
Here it is. I hope you enjoyed it even if just a little. English is not my first language and for this reason I know this fic must be full of mistakes, but still. I just couldn't help it. I needed to write this.
The movie was good... But those last scenes were beyond amazing. When I thought Kirk was going to die... It reminded me of the second movie when Spock was the one who sacrificed himself to save the ship, but Jim was human, so how could they bring him back?
And I wasn't the only one. Spock thought Jim was going to die too, and for first time in the actual movie I could see all the emotions across his face. He was so hopeless! The goodbye between them was beautiful, and the welcome was even better! I know I didn't do it justice, but even so I needed to try.
So please any opinion of yours, any review, any criticism, any compliment will be welcome. I really want to know what you think about this, and about the movie of course!
I'm living in London for college so I could watch the movie two days ago, the premier day. My dad is in Spain and the movie is not coming out for another month there, so he was so jealous! I made a lot of fun of him! But I heard the movie is coming out next week in America, so most of you won't be waiting for long. I believe four whole years are more than enough!
Live long and prosper to everybody!