Title: In All But This
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, some Kirk/AU!Spock
Rating: R
Length: ~27,000
Summary: Transporter accidents are a captain's worst nightmare – nearly ninety percent result in casualties or loss of life, usually with horribly mangled results. The remainder are the kind that dump emotionally traumatized versions of his First Officer in Jim Kirk's lap, and are a different sort of nightmare altogether.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and am not making any money from this.
Notes: Wooo, my longest fic to date! Huge thanks to my fabulous beta, sangwin, for providing so much help, without which this wouldn't be nearly as good. All remaining errors are completely my fault, and please do point them out so I can fix things. Thanks to the ksbigbang mods as well, for putting in the work to get this big bang going!
I've removed the smut scene in a later part so that this doesn't get taken down, so if you want to read the fic with that scene included, it's over on my livejournal (where my username is scienceblues). Also, I am planning on writing a sequel dealing with AU Spock's situation at the end, but I have no idea when that will happen.
Jim's head snapped up from the requisition forms he'd been signing when the alert sounded from the science station, signaling trouble with the biological survey team on-planet. "What kind of readings are we getting, Lieutenant?"
Davidson took a few seconds to double-check the readings. "Looks like a particularly strong ion storm, Captain. It's approaching the survey site."
"Kirk to landing party," Jim said into the chair, activating the comm built into the arm. "You there?"
"Spock here, Captain."
"Get everyone together and prepare for a beam-out; you've got an ion storm heading your way. I'm contacting the transporter room now."
There was a brief pause over the line. "Understood, Captain. Spock out."
Once Spock acknowledged, Jim switched over the comm to link to the transporter room. "Bridge to transporter room."
"Scott here!"
Good – having Scotty at the transporter controls would minimize the time needed for retrieval and greatly improved the chances of its success. "I need an emergency beaming for the landing party. There's an ion storm heading for their area."
Scotty's response rang clearly through the connection, and Jim turned down the comm volume with a wince. "Aye, we're ready to start now," Scotty finally grumbled.
"Do it." Jim cut the connection and stood, heading for the turbolift. "Chekov, come with me. Sulu, you have the conn. If the interference starts to affect our equipment, take us outside of the storm's area of influence, got it?"
Sulu's confident "Aye, sir," reached Jim just as the turbolift doors swished closed behind Chekov. Not for the first time, Jim briefly regretted sending Spock to lead the away team – given the natural ability of the Vulcan brain to detect and analyze patterns, there was a chance that Spock would've foreseen the development of the ion storm within the subtle shifting of atmospheric data. Davidson was a good officer, and one of the stars of the science division, but she was working with human limitations.
Jim smiled wryly at Chekov. "Get ready for transporter chaos. I want you there to help Scotty if anything goes wrong."
The line of Chekov's back visibly straightened at the indirect praise, and he returned the smile easily and enthusiastically. "Of course, Keptin! Mr. Scott and I have been reading the latest journals on transporter technology. He calls it our book club. Keptin, did you know that Starfleet is developing a program to correct anomalies in the beaming signature that –"
The lift doors opened, and Chekov kept up a constant stream of technical chatter for the remainder of the walk to the transporter room. Jim felt a little relief at seeing six members of the landing party exiting from the room as they approached, reassured that the transporters were still functioning for the time being.
"Problems so far, Mr. Scott?" Jim asked once they entered the room. Chekov made a beeline for the secondary controls, while Jim headed directly towards the comm panel.
Scotty looked grim when he answered, though his sight remained focused on the screen in front of him. "I already had some difficulty getting that group up here. It wasn't anything major, but it did cause quite the delay. Chekov, have you finished the recalibration yet?"
"Yes, sir," Chekov said quickly.
"Good lad. Commander, we're ready for more," Scotty remarked, leaning towards Jim to speak into the comm.
"The next group is prepared. Energize."
"Spock, there were thirteen officers on the away team, right?" Jim asked warily, eyeing the wavering shadows beginning to appear on the transporter pads. Next to him, Chekov frowned and tapped insistently on the screen in an attempt to stabilize the transport.
"That is correct, Captain. Sickbay says Vargas brought Luka back early with a sprained ankle."
Jim rolled his eyes upward. "Why did you have to take fifteen instead of just twelve? Spock, I hope you have a damned excellent survey to show for this hassle."
The hazy forms finally solidified into his crewmembers, who immediately vacated the pads without having to be told. Scotty and Chekov turned their attentions to recalibrating the delicate sensors affected by the storm, and though Jim wished to make himself useful, he was aware that their knowledge of transporter theory went so far beyond the normal that he wouldn't be able to keep up.
The comm crackled to life again. "Fascinating. Captain, the plants here seem to respond favorably to the stimulation caused by the ion storm. Their production of cytokinins has increased by eleven percent."
Jim blinked once before rounding on the comm as though it had personally offended him. "Spock," he began, attempting to keep his voice level, "are you seriously taking tricorder readings right now?"
When Spock's voice came through the link, he sounded like he'd been offended. "Of course, Captain. What else –"
"We're ready, Captain," Scotty announced, finger hovering over the button that would bring Spock home.
"Spock, we're doing it now," Jim warned. Instead of wasting time on an acknowledgment, he nodded at Scotty to begin.
A flare of light started forming on the pad, but the primary and secondary control screens flickered ominously only a few seconds in. "We're losing power!" Scotty said frantically, a look of disbelief etched on his features.
No way Jim was letting Spock get stuck down there, alone, for the hours it would take the storm to pass. The laws of the physical world loved to wreak havoc with the Enterprise's away missions, so it stood to reason that something bad would happen down on the surface – Spock would be attacked by a nocturnal carnivorous monstrosity, or he would become hypothermic from exposure, or he'd contract an illness resulting from prolonged exposure to that particular environment. He couldn't leave Spock alone against an unfortunate propensity for unlucky accidents.
Jim dropped to his knees and ripped off the panel protecting the transporter wiring, then dove in without a second thought. He wasn't as academically invested in the latest transporter theories, but he was genius with electric material of any sort, and all he needed to do was get Scotty more power.
He had the densely packed wiring loose beneath his hands in seconds, unfolding to reveal the delicate connections and relays hidden within. Jim ignored the segments associated with maintaining structural integrity during transport – those were perfectly fine, thank you very much – and ruthlessly attacked the power relays instead, probing into the space on the wall that housed the routers. Normally, the routers obeyed the built-in safeguard that prevented the controls from receiving more than the recommended amount of power, and diverted any extra power attempting to come through to another area of the ship. When Jim mangled the wires that were supposed to pass on that extra power, however, it allowed the power to build up within the transporter controls. If he'd done it right, the transport would end successfully before the controls burned themselves out.
"Aye, Captain, we've got him – almost finished – there we go!" Scotty crowed triumphantly, turning to high-five Chekov over Jim's head as he extracted himself from the mess of wires he had created. As soon as the top of his head emerged, Jim twisted towards the pad, and was rewarded with a glimpse of Spock stepping down towards them.
Abruptly, a wire near his head sparked angrily, forcing Jim to bolt out of the way as more and more wires followed its lead. "What the hell, Scotty?" Jim demanded, stumbling out of the way.
The engineer immediately returned to the controls, surveying the output with a critical eye and a frown on his face. "It's a massive power surge, Captain. The power you routed through here should be gone now that the Commander's finished materializing, but…wait, we have another transport coming through!"
Jim slammed on the comm button, gesturing for Spock to leave the room as light began to shimmer into existence on the pad. "Armed security team to the transporter room immediately."
Instead of obeying Jim's unspoken command, Spock came to stand innocently beside him, loosely linking his hands behind his back. In response to the irritated glare aimed his way, Spock murmured, "Truly, Captain, you must improve the clarity of meaning behind your hand signals."
"Asshole," Jim shot back, watching the body appear ahead of him. He hoped the team from Security would arrive soon; all they had in the way of defense was the meager barrier of the control station.
The lights on the pad coalesced into solidity, filling in until they created an unmistakable form. "Spock?" Jim croaked in confusion, glancing wildly between the Vulcan next to him and the one standing on the pad.
And Jim had thought his Spock was thin. The one standing in front of him was absolutely emaciated, with his dirty clothes hanging limply off his body. His hair looked weird, too – buzzed close to his head, revealing a number of raised scars under the thin sheen of black, which made his ears stand out even more than usual.
The other Spock's eyes swept the room quickly in blatant bewilderment before his gaze suddenly narrowed in on Scotty. A menacing growl rumbled out of his chest, and before Jim could fully tell what was wrong, he had leapt for the engineer's throat, clearly intent on ripping it out.
Spock moved from Jim's side to intercept the intruder midway, attempting to drop him with a nerve pinch. The other, however, saw him coming and darted to the side, expertly evading the grasping fingers before landing a blow to Spock's side.
Shitshitshit – Jim knew better than to try and insert himself between two Vulcans, especially since they were emitting various feral noises as they grappled on the ground. Even if he tried to interfere in any way, he wouldn't be any help against a strength three times his own.
Just as Jim was about to check on the status of the Security team, a quick flash of motion from his Spock's hand sent the intruder crumpling to the floor. Spock stood gracefully and began to rearrange himself, straightening his tunic and flattening his hair into its typical arrangement.
Jim caught his gaze and smiled weakly. "So, we got another you, huh?"
The Security team burst through the door.
"Mr. Spock, could I have a word?" Jim called across the bridge, glaring at the screen imbedded in his chair. When he looked up a few seconds later, Spock was already standing there patiently, attentive gaze focused on him.
"Um. I heard from Sickbay?" Jim started, briefly thrown off by Spock's closeness. "Bones did a full physical; turns out he's malnourished and a little dehydrated, but he doesn't have any other health problems. Bones is busy pumping a nutrient solution into him as we speak. Apparently he has most of his strength, too, so he's in restraints until he wakes up and explains the sudden murder attempt. Have any theories on how he got here?"
Spock handed him a PADD containing all the information to date on the ion storm. "From Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov's accounts, it appears that you were able to provide the transporting mechanism with more than the amount of energy required for beaming. This excess of available power, coupled with the irregular properties and energy flux associated with the ion storm, was likely responsible for the appearance of an additional version of the being in transport."
"Which was you."
"Precisely."
Jim sighed and pulled up the data Engineering had sent through moments ago. "Scotty's keeping me updated on the transporters, but it looks like they're fried for the time being. I knew that was going to happen when I rerouted the power, but I thought all they'd have to do was beam you up. I didn't think we'd have to worry about returning another you afterwards."
"Understandable, Captain." Spock paused for only a beat before continuing. "Nevertheless, I am gratified by the measures you took in order to ensure my safety."
A small grin formed on Jim's face. It had taken a long time for the two of them to become truly close friends, and he found himself gratified every time Spock recognized their friendship aloud. "Well, I can't lose my chess buddy, can I? Besides, you'd do the same for me."
Something in Spock's eyes softened at the words, warming Jim inside at the Vulcan's increasing confidence in acknowledging certain emotions. "Affirmative, Jim." The tone he usually only used in private accompanied the affectionate look, to Jim's surprise. He'd given up on denying his huge crush on Spock ages ago, but even so, he couldn't help the small thrill that ran through him every time Spock gave any indication of returned interest. Chess buddy, right.
The blinking light of an incoming message appeared on the chair's screen, taking Jim's attention away from his First Officer. He pressed the 'open' option and suppressed his desire to dawdle once he read the message content. "Our visitor's awake," he told Spock instead, standing. Might as well get the questioning over with immediately. "Only took him what, three hours? You have the conn."
Spock raised his chin slightly, somehow managing to convey the Vulcan version of distrust. "Captain, would it not be more prudent for me to accompany you to Sickbay?"
"Bones has him restrained, okay? It's perfectly safe to be down there. You can come in a few minutes, if you want." Jim had a strong impression that Spock held a dislike for his counterpart that went beyond the violence he'd displayed in the transporter room, and he didn't want to start questioning the newcomer while he was being subjected to Spock's (frankly, quite terrifying) glower. A few minutes alone with the other Spock would probably serve them best in the interest of getting the information they needed, which dealt primarily with figuring out if he was going to go homicidal on any other crewmembers. And from what he'd heard, the Spocks and Jims of all universes were supposed to be great friends, so maybe the other Spock would recognize him and be more willing to talk about where he came from. After his unexpected behavior in the transporter room, Jim was curious to hear why his Vulcan pacifism had fallen to the wayside.
Spock managed to look distinctly troubled without rearranging his expression at all. "Very well, Captain. I will join you shortly."
"At least ten minutes," Jim warned, well aware of Spock's propensity for twisting orders into the most literal definition possible.
The line of Spock's lips tightened slightly. Ha, caught him. "Yes, Captain."
Jim threw a triumphant grin at him as the doors to the turbolift swished shut. The trip to Sickbay didn't take long, but by the time he reached the deck he'd mostly sorted out how to phrase his questions so that he would be able to find out about the other Spock's universe without coming across as nosy or demanding. He knew from experience that if he seemed to be either one of those, Spock would stop answering and start staring down his nose at him in distaste.
Feeling pretty damn proud of assembling a game plan within two minutes, Jim practically bounced into Sickbay, ready to irritate McCoy now that he had gotten over his initial reluctance to talk to their unexpected visitor. "Hey Bones!" he called cheerfully, stopping in the middle of the room. An orderly over in the corner pointed him in the direction of one of the private observation rooms, so Jim thanked him and stepped into the room.
The first thing he noticed was Chapel's unconscious body lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, right next to the knocked-out form of one of the male nurses. Jim's gaze snapped over to the other side of the room, where McCoy was warding off the other Spock with two loaded hyposprays.
…Dammit. Okay, so he apparently needed to start carrying a phaser on board his own ship.
The Spock slowly closing in on McCoy didn't seem to notice his entrance, occupied as he was with berating the doctor. "Even outworlders need to sign consent forms to be subject to testing!" he snarled, looking both incensed and terrified, which meant that his jaw was clenched minutely and his eyes were a fraction wider than usual. "We are prisoners, not animals, and I am not required to submit to your barbaric methods of –"
"What, my barbaric methods of feeding you? Oh, excuse me, I'll just spoon-feed your logical self next time you need your vitamins, never mind that you're unconscious," McCoy snarled right back, fully into self-righteous doctor mode. "And I'll have you know that I'm the damn CMO here, and since your green-blooded body's malnourished, you can bet your ass that you're required to submit to your prescribed nutrient regimen!"
Jim's attempt to sneak back out the door to page Security failed miserably when Spock ignored McCoy's tirade and turned swiftly towards him. "Remove yourself from the vicinity of the door," Spock ordered, brown eyes snapping with barely-controlled emotions. After becoming accustomed to seeing respect in his Spock's eyes and fondness in the older Spock's, Jim found the hard edge in them unnerving. They reminded him of the view he'd had while suffocating on the navigation console, which almost made him want to obey the command.
Jim raised his hands in a placating, peaceful gesture even as he remained near the door. "You don't need to feel threatened, okay? Dr. McCoy was just trying to get you healthy. We're only trying to take care of you, Spock."
Spock sent him a flat look, shifting so that he could easily keep Jim and McCoy in his sight. "Forgive me if I disbelieve you, Captain, but I am of Vulcan blood. Humans never take care of outworlders, unless using it as a euphemism for execution."
Something churned in Jim's midsection at the bleak certainty in his words, and he suddenly doubted how much he wanted to know about this other Spock's existence. "Not here. You're in an entirely different universe than your own, where Vulcans and humans are allies. I don't know what's happened to you in your universe, but I can assure you that I won't hurt you. You're safe here, understand?"
"Safe?" Spock repeated, doubt still evident in his expression. But at least he had stopped looking like he would kill Jim once he tired of hearing him speak, so that was a definite improvement.
"Yeah, definitely safe." Jim offered an encouraging smile as he shuffled forward a half-step, hopeful that he could reach through to this Spock after all. From the other corner, McCoy looked like he was hoping Jim could do it, too.
Rage abruptly flooded Spock's expression, and he gestured mockingly to a spot behind Jim. "You would keep me safe in slavery, as you have done with this one?"
Bewildered, Jim turned and saw that his Spock had entered the room behind him and was holding himself very still in deference to the feral Vulcan holding the room in his sway. He turned back around and locked eyes with the other Spock, who was breathing a little heavily. "Remember how I said this is a universe different than the one you come from? This is the Spock of this universe. He's not a slave, he's my friend and an officer, and he's not going to hurt you, either."
"Indeed. I will refrain from inflicting bodily harm upon your person unless you prove a hazard to the crew," Spock confirmed, tone droll as ever.
Jim shot him a confused look. How was that supposed to be reassuring? "Listen," he said, reaching forward to soothe any feathers ruffled by the blunt phrasing, "he just means that as long as you play nice –"
The very tip of Jim's index finger accidentally brushed the outside edge of the other Spock's wrist as he reached out. Unaware that Spock had moved, he only realized something was wrong when he turned back and saw that the Vulcan was positively reeling, still frozen in place, Jim's finger serving as a bare point of connection between them.
He heard a faint growl rumbling somewhere behind him, but all of Jim's focus was on the Spock in front of him, who was staring at Jim's finger in what appeared to be shock. Slowly he raised his head to meet the blue gaze, and Jim was astounded to find that his eyes were filled with a brightness he had yet to see in any Spock.
That look was all the warning Jim received before he suddenly found himself wrapped up in Vulcan, victim to desperately clutching hands in the vicinity of his forehead that Jim knew he couldn't bear to dislodge. A flow of mumbled words fell from Spock's mouth, and Jim thought that was all overwhelming enough, but then his mental shields came crashing down and Spock's thoughts were everywhere, greedily soaking up every drop of affection Jim held for his counterpart. It was dizzying, even though it was incredibly tempting to stay linked to the mind where he was wanted, and after a few seconds of feeling Spock's crushing need for positive emotions he choked a little.
"You will remove yourself from Captain Kirk at once," came an intimidating voice outside their little bubble of Spock-and-Jim, and it was enough to make Spock pull away just slightly.
The decreased body contact reduced the pressure that had been building in Jim's head and swarming his mind with thoughts that didn't belong to him. Breathing came a little easier after that, until Jim happened to notice his First Officer's faintly furious expression.
"What the hell?" he asked, not caring that he sounded annoyed. He unconsciously tugged the Spock holding onto him a little closer, and tried to ignore the way the tense body relaxed against his shoulder.
"He is in indecent contact with your person," Spock replied stiffly, the weight of his gaze burning into Jim and bringing him to new levels of discomfort. He was suddenly acutely aware of the physical similarities between the Vulcan he held and the one standing a few paces away. "He is taking advantage of your mental state."
Taking advantage seemed like too negative and too mild a phrase to be associated with the gentling give-and-take of emotions between them – it was intense, but Jim was only too willing to oblige the unknown need for positive reinforcement that seemed to be calming Spock down. To be honest, he wasn't sure how much it was really helping, but at least Spock hadn't acted homicidal in the last several minutes.
Deciding that he didn't especially care about Spock's opinion of indecency, Jim leveled a glare in his direction. Wisely, Spock snapped his jaw shut with a click and offered no further interruptions, allowing Jim to proceed with handling his alternate. McCoy briefly glanced between the two of them, then shook his head and started carting off the unconscious nurses to the empty Sickbay beds.
"C'mere," Jim murmured, disentangling himself and taking a seat on the edge of the biobed. The other Spock followed without question, settling down next to him and carefully resting his hands flat on his thighs. It was a relief to see him behaving more like the Spocks he knew, rather than the needy, touchy-feely stranger from a few minutes earlier. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Of course," Spock replied solemnly, inclining his head. Jim had to close his eyes at a brief sense of vertigo from moving so soon after a meld – it had happened on away missions before once, when moving had become necessary to staying alive, but this felt worse for all the confusion that Spock had shared with him. He ignored it and plowed forward regardless.
"Can you tell me what your universe is like? You mentioned that humans and Vulcans don't get along," Jim prompted. He saw the familiar blank look fall across Spock's face as he finished the question and regretted the necessity of asking. Still, he needed to know what kind of universe the ship would connect to once the transporters were repaired.
Spock paused for a moment, clearly assessing what information to include in his description. Jim just hoped he was debating for the sake of timeliness, not deception. "There was a complication of sorts, at our First Contact with Earth. One member of the Vulcan party unintentionally and mistakenly displayed the extent of his strength during the initial talks, and the human with whom he was speaking became threatened. Once they left, he spread the word that the aliens were strong enough to conquer Earth if they chose, and were therefore a threat to the planet's safety. Since then, Earth and Vulcan have been hostile to each other, capturing each other's starships and crews as part of the conflict." Spock's eyes flicked away from his, and he suddenly fell quiet.
"Was that what happened to you?" Jim asked softly, trying to keep him talking. Part of him didn't want to know what had happened to this Spock to reduce him to a bony frame with shredded emotional control, but if he had to make him talk, he was going to do it in a way that didn't damage his opinion of humans any further. The mention of long-term imprisonment and execution earlier filled in as even worse details of this other universe, now that Jim had some context.
But wait…Amanda. For a brief, horrible moment, he wondered if she was dead in this Spock's universe, too, but he shoved it aside for discreet questioning when Spock was under a little less stress. Regardless of that possibility – and Jim fervently hoped that he hadn't had to go through his mother's death like his Spock had – he'd most likely spent enough time with her to know beyond doubt that not all humans were assholes like the alternate Zefram Cochrane. And all of Earth at the time, it seemed.
After an extended pause, Spock nodded curtly. "I was a science officer on a Vulcan research vessel, the Tar'hana, when it was captured. Her crew has spent the last four years imprisoned on Earth."
It was starkly clear from the look on Spock's face that he wasn't going to elaborate on his stint in prison. Jim knew he should still press for more information or risk getting reamed out by the admiralty for being lax, but further questioning could wait until later. The starved, half-bald, big-eared Vulcan in question was still Spock, and Jim had earned worse than a scolding for him before.
"Okay." Jim glanced over at where McCoy was standing in the corner, lips pressed tightly together, no doubt smothering all sorts of medical objections to Spock's prolonged absence from a nutrient drip. "You should probably get some rest, and you should definitely take whatever vitamins Dr. McCoy says you should. And I know you don't trust doctors and you'll probably hate me for this, but can you please agree to stay here for treatment? I want you to get healthy, and Bones here is the best man for the job."
Spock took a moment to answer. "You will vouch that he will not cause me harm?" he finally asked, voice low.
On an impulse, Jim reached out and touched Spock's wrist reassuringly. "I will. He cares about you, too," he said, keeping his voice just as quiet. No need to make Bones aware of the fact that he knew he counted Spock as a friend, when Bones would only deny it vehemently and then happily dose him with a vitamin hypo every day for the next two weeks.
Louder, he added, "Though, you know, I can't totally promise that he won't hurt you, since he hurts me all the time."
Both of Spock's eyebrows rose in obvious alarm as he glanced over at McCoy, as though expecting to see a sharpened medical instrument in hand. Right, no jokes, at least for a while. Unhelpful as always, McCoy held his hands up in mock-surrender, waving the hyposprays of nutrients and sedatives and directing an exasperated scowl at Spock.
"Most people can tolerate hyposprays without crying once they reach the age of ten, Jim."
"Asshole."
"Infant."
They conducted the entire exchange in a supremely friendly tone of voice and without looking at one another, causing Spock to move uneasily on the biobed. As skinny as he was, the surface of the bed didn't even move in response to his shifting weight. "I will agree to medical observation," he announced, glancing impassively at McCoy. His eyes returned to Jim, and he asked, "Will you also be observing me, as a study of the effects of the transporter?"
Jim was about to answer that yes, they'd look into any potential issues the transporter had caused in him in a non-invasive way, when he cut through the Spock-speak and realized what he was really asking. With a grin, he promised, "I'll visit you after my shift's over, okay? Don't want you going stir-crazy from being stuck in here until you're better."
Spock nodded, expertly projecting an air of indifference. "That will be acceptable."
"Great." Jim stood and went to the door, stopping when he was level with his First Officer. "Walk with me to the bridge, Mr. Spock?"
Spock's eyes flickered to his counterpart on the biobed, then back to Jim with an intensity he rarely saw. The nod he gave Jim looked identical to his counterpart's, but he could still tell that Spock was displeased.
Probably at him.
The rest of alpha shift proceeded with mind-numbing normality; the most exciting part came when Sciences sent up their report confirming that the plants on the planet's surface required occasional ion storms to promote significant growth and spreading. The report arrived in Jim and Spock's station inboxes at the same time, and Spock barely had time for an enthralled "Interesting" before Jim gave him permission to visit the botany labs. He'd intended to speak with Spock about his alternate immediately after shift, but when he was still roaming the labs after shift ended, Jim decided he'd just find him later and headed to Sickbay.
A visibly aggravated Nurse Chapel greeted him at the door, saying, "Good to see you, Captain. Are you here to stop him from terrorizing everyone?"
"Who, Bones or other-Spock?" Jim asked, grinning a little at Sickbay's misfortune. Karma was wonderful sometimes.
"Both of them," she said flatly. Clearly, the obvious crush Chapel had on his First didn't extend to alternate versions of him. "The Commander's counterpart keeps resisting any kind of additional treatment, and he snaps at the littlest things. As for Dr. McCoy…well, I thought he had trouble handling one Spock. Now that there's another one, he's worse than usual."
Jim refrained from mentioning the existence of a certain half-Vulcan ambassador currently residing on the colony. With the physical similarities, it was impossible to conceal the identity of their newest visitor, but only a few people knew about Ambassador Selek's true identity. The deep red Bones had turned when Jim introduced him to the ambassador had been a sight to see, though.
"I guess I'll tackle Bones first, then," he offered, and almost laughed at the look of profound relief that crossed Chapel's face. "You're feeling okay, right? No lasting damage from the Vulcan freak-out earlier?"
She backed out of his way and gestured towards McCoy's office. "None whatsoever. I'll be fine once Dr. McCoy calms his murderous impulses."
Oh god, if Chapel was saying things like murderous impulses, then McCoy really was in a foul mood. Usually she was just as bad as him when it came to terrifying patients into submission, even difficult ones who wanted to refuse treatment. "I live to serve," he replied gallantly, and marched into the office well aware of what might lie ahead.
McCoy was already in mid-bitch by the time Jim took a seat in front of his desk. "He's been criticizing my sickbay all afternoon, can you believe it? When he's not pointing out that the medicines are inefficiently organized – which they're not, by the way – he's complaining about my bedside manner. Well, I bet all my patients would prefer me to fix them and be prickly rather than actin' all sunshine and rainbows and unable to fix them!"
Wordlessly, Jim stood and fished out the well-loved bottle of Saurian brandy along with two tumblers, taking care to pour a generous portion into the doctor's glass now that his official shift was over. He waited until McCoy had sucked down half his drink before observing, "So he's acting exactly like our Spock, is he?"
"Dammit, Jim." McCoy sagged into his chair and glared at him while swiping a hand across his mouth. "I can barely handle one overgrown elf as it is, and now you're expecting me to have one in my sickbay constantly while the other runs around the ship? No. Once he's fit to discharge, I want you to take him," he declared, pointing a threatening finger in Jim's direction.
Honestly, Jim had hoped the two of them could refrain from baiting each other long enough that Spock could stay in sickbay for the night; given their track record, though, he should have known they would have come to this already. Spock and McCoy's tempered dislike for each other bore a superficial resemblance to the resentment that had festered between Spock and Jim during their first days on the Enterprise, before they started the mission for real and Jim reached out in an attempt to develop a healthy professional relationship. They still argued all the time and swore they couldn't stand each other, but Jim knew they were an odd sort of friends. A little over two and a half years later, while Jim felt no hesitation in claiming Spock as his best friend, McCoy could still barely stand to speak with him for more than ten minutes, when any kind of interaction between the two inevitably soured. Some of that had to do with Delta Vega – Bones had admitted to holding the remnants of a grudge only once, when they were both drunk off their asses over an ensign's senseless death – but Jim got the feeling that their frequent, mutual annoyance at each other's behavior was often accompanied with a little bit of affection.
Or maybe affection was too strong a word – affection was part of what Jim felt towards Spock, but McCoy's relationship with him was too frequently antagonistic for Jim to simplify. Regardless, he knew despite appearances that they didn't hate each other, and he wasn't above using that to get McCoy to hang on to Spock until Jim had a better understanding of the situation. Besides, he had to organize necessities such as a room and a few sets of clothes before Spock could be released following treatment. "I'll tell him to play nice, Bones, but you're going to have to put up with him a little while longer," he said apologetically as he finished his drink and stood.
McCoy huffed out a disappointed breath. "Fine. Don't stay too long, understand? He's still weak from prolonged malnourishment, so if he looks like he needs to rest, you need to let him."
"Got it." Jim wandered out of the office and into Spock's room, grinning enthusiastically when he saw that the Vulcan was sitting upright in bed, wide awake and perfectly alert. "How are you doing, Spock?" he asked, dragging over a chair so he could sit next to the bed. If his complaints about the uncomfortable sickbay chairs were particularly effective after away missions, he could occasionally get away with sitting on the very edge of Spock's bed, well away from any accidental physical contact, but he figured he'd better not push this Spock that far.
"I am much improved, Captain," he replied, and Jim hated the formal tone and the wariness that had returned to his eyes. It wasn't fully there, but his expression was more closed off than it had been when Jim last left the room.
"Come on, Spock," Jim coaxed, briefly grasping his arm to convey his sincerity and complete lack of ill will. "It's just me. I know humans are usually the bad guys, but you know from earlier that you can trust me."
Spock bowed his head, and even though his spine stayed rigid as ever, Jim could tell that he didn't feel as cornered. "I understand, Captain. To elaborate, I feel well-rested and adequately hydrated. Additionally, it does not seem likely that an attack of severe cranial discomfort to which I have become accustomed is imminent." Spock paused, took in Jim's concentrated look as he sorted through the Spock-speak, and then added, "The human term for this affliction, I believe, is a 'migraine.'"
Jim narrowed his eyes. Not that he hadn't suspected Spock of leading him on before, but now that he had confirmation, he was totally calling him on it next chance he got. "You know it's called a migraine? Any time I try to use a human term like that, Spock pretends he doesn't understand what I mean, since 'Vulcans have superior physiological control' or some other excuse. I totally have him figured out now, the liar."
Spock raised an eyebrow, and the familiarity of that small gesture made something ache fiercely inside Jim's chest with the wish that this Spock, like his Spock, had been spared the ordeal of imprisonment and humiliation at the hands of unnecessarily xenophobic humans. He realized how illogical that was as soon as he had the thought, because none of the Spocks he knew had led particularly happy lives thus far – this one was isolated, one had lost his planet and most of his family, and one had lost his universe in addition to all that. Still, at least Jim could do a little to help this Spock by getting him to realize that there were some humans who, like his mother, weren't concerned about species.
"My mother suffers from migraines on occasion, as a result of the differences in atmosphere and temperature between Earth and Vulcan," Spock explained. "She has mostly adapted to the thinner air through a combination of medications and long-term exposure, but the human body is not designed to withstand the conditions that exist on Vulcan without some consequences."
Jim worried his lower lip with his teeth as he wondered whether it would be smart to ask his next question. It was possible that it would be very, very stupid, but Spock hadn't seemed overly distressed when he spoke of his mother, so it was probably safe. Finally, he asked, "How's your mother? If humans and Vulcans don't get along where you come from, is she ostracized, or…?"
"Apart from myself, my father, and a trusted healer, my mother's existence is not known to any Vulcans. When my father first encountered her, she was being held in the prisons reserved for captured humans, and when he freed her in order to facilitate their bonding, it was no great leap of logic for the guards to believe that she, like several others that night, had been killed by rioting prisoners. My family's home is far enough from the city to prevent contact with others, and when it is necessary for me to venture into Shi'Kahr, it is generally assumed that I am the product of my father's first marriage."
Jim tried raising only one eyebrow, which, going by the subtle shift of Spock's features, was not at all successful. "That's really, awesomely sneaky," he said, genuinely impressed. Honestly, he had been convinced that Vulcans weren't capable of that level of deception, despite knowing from first-hand encounters with Selek that the pretense of Vulcans being incapable of lying was far from the truth. "So she basically gets free run of your estate without having to worry about getting found out?"
"That is correct. In addition, a pseudonym has allowed her to continue publication of her research into alien languages, which she pursued prior to her capture. I asked her, once, if she found it unduly confining to be limited to the boundaries of our property, with only myself and my father for company." A tiny, sweet smile curved at Spock's lips. "She replied that our company was more than sufficient for her happiness."
Jim was stuck staring at the barely-there smile, completely in awe over its appearance. He'd seen it before on Selek, but never on a younger Spock, and he was surprised to find himself wishing that he was seeing it on his First.
Something warmed inside his chest at the thought of that smile on his Spock's face, similar to plenty other mildly embarrassing occurrences since Jim figured out the severity of his crush on Spock nearly six months ago, but he shoved it aside for later perusal and focused again on the Spock in front of him. "I'm not surprised," he said, reflecting Spock's smile but redirecting the conversation away from danger-ridden territory. "So what, are your migraines genetic?"
Spock tilted his head slightly to the side, considering the possibility. "While the healer who attended to my family said that it was possible for my mother's human genes to affect me in unusual ways, mostly concerning the expression of emotion, they did not begin until my incarceration. If I am not mistaken, several of the other inmates with telepathic capabilities comparable to my own in strength are similarly afflicted, due to the strong undercurrent of negative emotion among the guards within the prison."
"…You guys get headaches because they hate you?"
The barest corner of Spock's mouth twitched. "While crude, your rephrasing is essentially correct. The xenophobia in the prison is certainly strong enough to affect the telepathically gifted, even without direct physical contact."
"Oh, so now you're gifted, are you?" Jim teased, grinning. When Spock just looked at him blankly, he remembered that this Spock was not accustomed to jokes, as his First Officer now was after more than two years spent among humans in close quarters. He certainly wasn't as emotionally locked down as Spock had been at the beginning of the mission, probably thanks to years of his mother's unhindered influence, but he was equally ignorant of various aspects of human culture from only interacting with those who worked in the prison; as such, Jim needed to revert back to the stage in their relationship where he had to explain unfamiliar idioms and instances of humor in order to avoid offending him.
"It's just a joke," he reassured Spock, watching as the slight lines of tension near his temples smoothed out. "So if negative telepathic transference messes you up physically, does positive telepathic contact make you feel better?"
Too late, Jim recognized the appearance of a protest on Spock's lips. "Sorry, I forgot, you don't feel. Does it physically impact you in a positive manner?" He sent an unimpressed look at Spock to convey the fact that he didn't buy into his unemotional bullshit.
Spock took a minute to answer, and before he did, he broke eye contact with Jim. "That is correct. There are many physical and psychic benefits to positive telepathic feedback, which are the primary reasons Vulcans seek out compatible –"
"Sorry to interrupt, but don't freak out, okay?" Before Spock could object, Jim carefully set his hand down next to Spock's arm where it lay on the bed. When the Vulcan didn't say anything, he inched closer until his fingers were resting gently against the skin of his forearm, only lightly touching him. Spock didn't react beyond a slight intake of breath, so Jim assumed that it wasn't too overwhelming or unwelcome.
"Is this all right?" he asked, wanting to be sure. Spock nodded stiffly, and Jim couldn't help noticing that his fuzzy head looked silly performing a motion that his Spock usually made look regal.
Quietly, Spock replied, "Your emotions are…calming, Captain."
Jim shot him a blinding grin, feeling ridiculously pleased that he could do something to help Spock recover both physically and mentally. Satisfied, he leaned back in the chair, keeping his hand in contact with Spock's arm.
"So, you said you were Science Officer. What's your ship like?"