A/N: Knowledge of the events depicted in TOS episodes 'The Tholian Web' and 'Turnabout Intruder' will add understanding to this piece, which serves as a bridge between 'His Last Breath' and 'Learning Curve.' It's not necessary to have read either of those works for this one to make sense … I hope … ;-) Written for 'The Sound of Silence' challenge at Ad Astra.
Beta: Beth and Gul Rejal were both gracious enough to read this over for me to make sure it could stand on its own; their comments and suggestions to improve the piece were pretty darn good, too. ;-)
Silence
The silence between us is deafening. Not the silence without, for there is none – we engage in the same things we always have; on the surface we interact with one another as usual, as the crew expects us to, and all would seem normal to the casual observer – but the silence within is all encompassing and eclipses everything else. Over the last few months, I have grown accustomed to his quiet, unassuming presence in my mind, and I find myself unable to come to grips with the fact that it's inexplicably vanished without a trace, and for the life of me I can't fathom why.
Wait. Scratch that. The truth of the matter is that I can't help blaming myself; can't help feeling that it is something I have done which has caused this mental distance between us; triggered this psychic 'burnout,' for lack of a better word. Despite our years of close association, there are still so many things I don't know or completely understand when it comes to Vulcan culture. And I'm afraid I've inadvertently violated some taboo; crossed some mystical line, but he clearly doesn't want to discuss it, and I'm reluctant to bring it up lest by doing so I make things worse somehow.
Our minds have been linked for several months now – I don't know why, or how – but the fact that that link has dwindled away to almost nothing eats at me more than I would have thought possible only a short time ago.
Am I the only one troubled by this development? I look across the desk at his dark, unreadable face, and it is a question I cannot answer; will perhaps never know the answer to, for I can see from his demeanor, from the set of his jaw, that he is not ready to offer me an explanation – either for why it appeared or for why it abruptly all but disappeared. There is a chance he never will be. And I am reluctant to pressure him for one.
At first I was unsure what to make of, or even how I felt about this startling connection between the two of us. We, as humans, are used to being self-contained; alone and separate within ourselves, and when I first realized that for some unexplained reason he was now inside my head, it almost seemed like an invasion of my privacy, an uninvited and unwelcome foray into my most personal space.
It wasn't a sudden change, like the flipping of a switch, but a gradual presence that slipped in so inconspicuously, I can't even pinpoint exactly when it happened. All I know is that once I became aware of it, took the time to examine it calmly and rationally, it felt right, and natural, as if it had been there all along; should have always been a part of the unique bond we share.
And it's certainly proven helpful – a lifesaver for each of us on more than one occasion – despite the fact that it doesn't behave like a meld – there is no silent communication. We can't hear words, or each others' thoughts – at least I can't; how it functions for him is still a mystery to me – but on some basic, subconscious level I am aware of his presence in the back of my mind; can sense his mood, and from that discern whether or not he is content, or concerned about something; whether or not he agrees with a plan of action I have decided on.
But more than anything I am buoyed by his steady support; his quiet regard for me and as much as I hate to admit it, his presence seems to be the strongest when I need it the most, as if he is attuned to my moods as well. As a matter of fact, it was this steady support that helped to carry me through the whole Janice Lester affair. I could sense confusion on his part as to why I was so rattled, but because he was still linked to my mind, regardless of what body was housing it, it wasn't until the meld we shared in sickbay that he became aware of the situation, and of the ramifications that would have resulted had we not been able to reverse the process. His calming influence in the back of my mind made all the difference in the world. Just knowing he believed in me, that I had his trust; seeing that quiet resolve indicating that he would stand behind me no matter what, is what gave me the strength to survive it.
But I have not come through the ordeal with Janice unscathed. During my waking hours, it is but a distant, fleeting memory, relegated to the deep recesses of my mind, but all of the panic, the fear, the helplessness I felt at the time rises to the surface as soon as I close my eyes at night. I find myself plagued almost daily by nightmares – of being trapped in a body that isn't mine; of seeing my ship sail off without me, my crew unaware that it isn't me in the center seat – but when I wake and sense his presence, it centers me, and all of these irrational insecurities slowly dissipate.
This is a development I can not bring myself to share with him, or even Bones. This is a personal issue I must conquer on my own. Until recently, his tacit assistance was enough to help me wage this silent battle within myself.
Over the last few weeks and since the events on Uriman V especially, the nightmares have become more frequent, and vivid. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something; to make me aware of just how much I would have lost had he died on that untamed world. Realizing this has not diminished, but rather increased my need for that unconventional connection to him, despite my attempts to handle the situation on my own. That is, until that connection virtually faded into oblivion a few days ago. Since then, I have tried numerous times to follow the slender mental thread to his mind, but each time I have come up against an impenetrable barrier. It must be due to something I've done. I wish he'd confide in me, so I can at least make the effort to set things right between us.
I am trying to reach back across the months; to figure out just when it all began. I suspect that even though I wasn't aware of it at the time, he must have sensed it somehow; perhaps it does work differently for him. There is no other explanation for his unshakable, single-minded belief that I was still alive, or for his steadfast determination to rescue me from Tholian space, despite the tremendous risk it posed to the ship and the crew. Even Bones seemed to pick up on it. When he and I finally discussed things several days after the fact, he hinted that he'd never seen Spock so hell-bent on doing something that to everyone else around him appeared totally hopeless and completely illogical – crazy even. I dismissed it at the time, chalking it up to Spock's unwavering sense of loyalty, but I now realize it must have gone much deeper than that.
Perhaps his withdrawal is due to the meld I initiated with him on Uriman to keep him from surrendering to certain death; a meld which for all intents and purposes I shouldn't have been able to establish, for I am no telepath by any stretch of the imagination. I suspect it was only possible thanks to this mental affinity between us; an affinity that has all but disappeared. Could he have viewed this interference on my part as an unwanted invasion of his privacy and disentangled himself from the mental contact we share as a defense mechanism, or is it due to something else altogether?
We briefly discussed the meld while he was recovering from the injuries he sustained on Uriman V in sickbay, but as usual skirted the deeper issues, just dealing with the superficial. It is the dance we do; the norm we have established for handling uncomfortable matters between us.
As I look across the chessboard at him, his face is uncharacteristically closed, unreadable; I can glean nothing from the strangely impassive features. This is the face he shows to others – to McCoy, to his shipmates – but not to me. With me, he's always been able to let his guard down a little, to slip from beneath the mask of total non-emotion so to speak. This is troubling as well. While most people don't have a clue as to what's going on behind those dark, impenetrable eyes, for several years now I've been able to read him easily, almost effortlessly – in much the same way that Scotty can tell the status of the engines just by the feel of the ship – but without warning he has become as closed off to me as he was the first day I took command.
I try to catch his eye, cannot keep the hurt and question from my own, but he glances away, and the butterflies start their mad thrashing in my gut. I've said before that I don't like mysteries – they give me a bellyache, and the one I have now, caused by this strained mental silence between us, trumps all the others by a light-year.
Over the past few months, I have come to find this extraordinary bond I share with my enigmatic First Officer to be soothing, reassuring, comforting, and something I'm not sure I can function without, now that I've experienced it. As much as I long to understand its significance, explore the reasons why this spontaneous link developed between us, I have been following Spock's lead, deferring to his judgment. But as usual, I have questions.
Unbelievably, when it seems we have grown closer to one another than we have ever been, when communication and trust between us should be at an all-time high, this incomprehensible distance, this silence, is proving to be an insurmountable obstacle. Spock has shown an almost pathological reluctance to fill me in on what is happening between us, and I'm unsure whether he's somehow ashamed to be linked to a human, or if there are cultural repercussions of which I'm unaware. In any case, much as I'd love to drag the truth out of him as I did with the Pon Farr, this time his life is not at stake and I can't justify invading his privacy like I did before.
Even during those frenetic, harrowing few days when his life was hanging in the balance, we tiptoed around the issue; talked of duty and responsibility, rather than friendship and affection. It is the way we have always done things, but that doesn't make the current situation between us any easier for me to bear. I have tried to accept the fact that if it's something we need to discuss, if this link can somehow be detrimental to either of us – or both of us – he'll come to me when he's ready, on his terms. Until then, all I can do is be patient, and learn to endure the endless silence…
oooOOOooo
There is silence between us, as there has never been before, and I am at a loss to explain it. Correction; that is an inaccurate statement; I know precisely the cause, but am unsure how to remedy the situation. Discussion of the personal rapport between us has never been our strong suit; we tend to quietly dismiss matters of a non-professional nature; ignore them as if by pretending they are not there we can somehow deny their existence. I view this as a failing on my part rather than his. He knows I am reluctant to admit to anything more than a professional relationship between us; am careful to note that any questionable actions I may commit on his behalf are motivated by duty and loyalty, as opposed to friendship and affection. These words are simply not part of my normal vocabulary.
It is not unprecedented; there have been instances of strained silences between us in the past, but those were caused by personal issues we were facing as individuals – his reluctance to express his feelings with regard to the loss of his brother; my reluctance to explain the nature of my problem with regard to the Pon Farr to name a few. But never before has one surfaced due to a specific problem between us. And as such, each of us is uncertain how to proceed. He will not broach the subject out of respect for my Vulcan mores, and I because of the lengths to which full disclosure may drive him.
It is the nature of the problem that is causing me the most difficulty. For some time now, a mental connection has been developing between us. The fact that our minds are inherently compatible, combined with the intense meld we shared on Uriman V, have caused this connection to transform into the ancient bond of t'hy'la. It is a bond I have not been actively cultivating or encouraging, but it persists and endures, gaining strength of its own volition with each passing day.
It is not as invasive as it would seem to the uninitiated. This bond does not function like a meld – there is no sharing of thoughts and ideas; rather it manifests more as a bridge between two analogous psyches, a shared state of consciousness that during ancient times provided comrades in arms a way to stay in contact with one another during the heat of battle; allowed for a fundamental understanding of what each was doing at any given moment; presented a way to formulate a common strategy which could then be applied to achieve certain success against the enemy.
A side effect is a residual awareness of the other's current state of mind, of his mental fingerprint at any given time. For telepaths, it is not problematical; we instinctively know how to manage the link. We are able to tone down periods of heightened emotional upheaval as a way to shield the other from psionically turbulent situations – such as the Pon Farr or the passing of a bondmate. In days past, this was a crucial skill, especially given that at the time the bond of t'hy'la first appeared, my people's thoughts and actions were much more emotionally driven than those of contemporary Vulcans.
Were he a Vulcan, this would not be an issue, but since he is human, a member of a non-telepathic race, he is not trained in the mind disciplines. As a result, I believe that more of his personal pain and anguish are bleeding through the link than would be acceptable to him otherwise – a side of him it would distress him greatly to know that I have seen. It would be possible for me to instruct him in the proper use and management of the link – his mind is strong and remarkably disciplined for a human, and he is certainly capable of learning to control the link on his end – but to do so would then mean having to explain to him my reason for doing so.
It is obvious at this point that Jim is aware of the link's existence, but we have yet to discuss it among ourselves. To do so would be outside the comfort zone for both of us. I do not believe he realizes just how much of his inner turmoil I have been privy to. Yet it is something that warrants further consideration, for in order to protect his privacy, I have tuned down the link between us to the point where it is essentially non-functional.
Even now we are seated in his quarters, the chessboard on the desk between us, discussing 'safe' matters – the status of the ship with regard to the upcoming scheduled repairs at Starbase Two; the crew's proficiency rating – down seven percent overall – an indicator of how much the people for whom we are responsible require rest and relaxation.
And yet, when his eyes meet mine, I can plainly see the unvoiced question there – 'Why Spock? Have I done something wrong?' And I find myself unable to answer, unable to meet that open, vulnerable gaze, because the fault lies not with him, but squarely with me.
My hesitance to provide a response stems not from a desire not to shoulder full responsibility for the problem, but because doing so would mean discussing the issue in great detail; making him fully aware of the ramifications and repercussions of the growing link between us – the full implications of which I do not believe he has considered.
I surmise that, in the event of full disclosure, he would insist upon immediate termination of the link. The question then becomes would he do this in order to protect his privacy, or my own; to hide that side of himself from me, or to keep me from being subjected to his chaotic, nightmare-induced emotions? In light of this, my dilemma lies with deciding on the proper course of action. If I believe his wishes would be to extinguish the link posthaste, it would be illogical for me to choose to add to his pain and anguish by divulging to him that I have unintentionally witnessed him at his worst. The end result would be the same – the link would be gone – so why would I not endeavor to spare him knowledge of this hurtful and potentially humiliating information and simply acquiesce to his wishes?
Inwardly I permit myself a deep sigh, because I know the reason – I do not wish to sever this link. Jim is the only individual in the universe to whom I feel a strong connection. The fact that this bond of t'hy'la sprang up of its own volition only serves to reinforce my conviction that our paths were meant to cross someday; that I belong at his side, as Edith Keeler so eloquently pointed out once. Ultimately, selfishly, this is the reason why I do not wish to broach the subject with him. It is one thing to close down the link of my own free will; it is another thing altogether to do it because he has become disillusioned with me; feels that in some way I have betrayed the trust he has so freely given me.
And so I adhere to topics with which we are both comfortable, and upon completion of the chess game I climb to my feet and bid him goodnight. He hesitates slightly, as if toying with the idea of confronting me, of extracting the truth from me as he has been known to do in the past. Reluctantly he dismisses the notion and allows me to make my escape unmolested, trust and unmitigated regard for me shining in his eyes – trust that this link does not represent an inherent danger to us, or to our ability to successfully run the ship, and the utmost confidence that I will reveal all when the time is right. With mounting trepidation I wonder what I have done to deserve that unquestioning trust.
Meditation on the matter has proven ineffective, and I abandoned the attempt hours ago. Over the course of the last hour I have been 'brooding' over how to proceed, as Doctor McCoy would be likely to describe it.
And yet, even now as I sit here contemplating the possibilities, I can hear him through our shared bulkhead, caught in the throes of his recurring nightmare, the link between us surging to life unbeknownst to him, alive with his fear and uncertainty. As a result of this, I know precisely what must be done, for this unforeseen complication is unacceptable. My captain is the most private of men; it would disturb him greatly to learn I am aware of his inner turmoil courtesy of the fledgling link that has developed between us – a link which is a direct result of my Vulcan heritage. Through no fault of his own, he is being subjected to the idiosyncrasies of my alien biology. This is wrong, and I must act swiftly, decisively, to remedy the situation.
And so, I proceed with the only option available to me – I close down the link, effectively blocking out his tumultuous emotions, but barring my presence from his mind as well. It is the only course of action that will guarantee his privacy. I am fully aware that he will not understand my reasoning for doing so, and will view this as a withdrawal from him on my part. Unfortunately, it is the only means I have to protect him from myself. I do not know which scenario would cause him the most anguish – my sudden, unexplained silence or his discovery that I have been privy to his most private pain. I opt for the lesser of two evils; make the choice I believe will cause him the least amount of distress. As fate would have it, this decision is the one that will most assuredly be the least unpleasant for me as well.
The ultimate irony is that we are in each others' minds now, the burgeoning bond of t'hy'la strengthened and honed by the meld we shared on Uriman, and yet we are still separate, more alone than we have ever been before, and the silence between us is deafening…