A/N: Spock remembers the person who had the greatest influence on his life. It's someone you wouldn't expect. This story is based upon events and characters from ST:V. If you are unfamiliar with that movie, you may want to peruse the synopsis at Memory Alpha before reading further. This does tie into my own fanon, and ST:TMP as well. Understanding those would help, but are not wholly necessary for this story to make sense.
Written for the "Remembrance" challenge at Ad Astra.
Shiav
He was glad to return to the quietude of his quarters. The party on the forward observation deck had not been overly boisterous, but too much had happened this day; he had ridden on the backs of too many emotional troughs and crests. He needed time to sort it all out; to make sense of what had occurred, and to logically assess the long-dead sentiments those incidents had whispered back into life.
When he'd first seen the renegade, he'd been inundated with a flood of emotions that followed the image: shock, anger, revulsion, indifference, and much to his chagrin, love. Jim had equated it to seeing a ghost. In truth, it had been much more powerful than that. Memories from the earliest days of his boyhood came flooding back unbidden…
oooOOOooo
"Don't let them get to you," his older, wiser companion had argued. "They have no idea of what they speak, for they are only regurgitating what has been force-fed to them. Their view of the world has been constricted by society; a constriction that affects all of us. If we are to view things only in black and white, without shades of gray or bright brushstrokes of color, then we are missing so much of the experiences that connect us as sentient beings to the marvels of creation that can be found all around us. These things should be celebrated, not bottled up in a windowless, dusty corner of the mind that doesn't permit the light of day to reach within, or the rapture to radiate out. Do not allow yourself to become a slave to this oppression that is being foisted upon you, for you, more so than any of us, have been granted the capacity for understanding."
Even at age five, he knew these thoughts, these opinions, were heretical, but they filled him with an unexpected prickle of exhilaration. Up till this point in his life, he had been taught that logic was the only thing that mattered. Logic, and not a wanton, mindless servitude to emotion, would lead to true enlightenment and understanding.
Two months ago his half-brother had returned to his father's house due to the untimely death of the older boy's mother. But Spock had soon come to discover that his half-brother had not been raised according to the tenets of Surak, which advocated following the principles of logic rather than one's heart. This had been the dominant philosophy on his planet for 2,000 years. However, his brother's mother had chosen to abandon the suppression of all emotion in favor of embracing this fiery side of the Vulcan soul. While the majority of Vulcans believed that following their animal passions would lead to the ultimate destruction of their race, there was a tiny minority who felt that by caging and controlling their emotions, they were also stifling the true nature of the Vulcan race.
Lacking the sophistication and wisdom of an adult, Spock had naively believed that due to his hybrid makeup he was the only one on the planet who had feelings. Ever since he could remember, it had been stressed to him by the adults in his life—family, neighbors, instructors at school, etc.—that it was imperative for him to learn to control and suppress that side of himself he had inherited from his mother in order to fit in with his planet's rigid society.
"They don't get you, baby brother, but I do. Someday you'll have the courage to slip out from beneath these contrived philosophies they've used to constrain you, and when you do you will see the world as it was meant to be seen, not through monochromatic glasses as they do, but colored with the full spectrum of wonder and joy that springs forth from an unfettered soul."
His tormentors had scattered into a narrow alley that ran perpendicular to the street as soon as his older benefactor had appeared. No doubt they feared for their safety, for his older brother did not adhere to the restrictions and limitations imposed upon him by their culture. Sybok was a "free spirit," and while keeping that aspect of his personality carefully hidden from the adults in their life, he had no difficulty in verbally, or on exceedingly rare occasions, physically pummeling those bigoted youths who made it their life's work to harass his younger sibling based solely upon the duality of the boy's heritage.
A comforting arm settled about his shoulders, the older boy's support and compassion bleeding through to him courtesy of the tactile contact. It never ceased to amaze Spock that someone who had been part of his life for such brief period could make him feel safe, so completely understood, and loved.
The vision before his eyes shimmered and melted into darkness, soon to be replaced by another: It was late; their parents had long since gone to bed. The boys had seized the opportunity and snuck outside. The two were now stretched out on their backs on the gentle slope of the slate roof of their house, easily accessible from their mother's garden thanks to a tall, sturdy nosan bush growing in a sheltered corner of the two-story dwelling.
A wistful voice disturbed the serenity of the silent, cool night. "Have you ever considered the possibilities elsewhere in the galaxy? How different life would be on a world where all aspects of our personality would be allowed free expression?" the older boy commented offhandedly, the gentle night breeze ruffling his mop of thick, dark hair.
"I do not understand," the almost-six-year-old lying next to him answered immediately. "Our world is not oppressive; here we are free to engage in the arts, sciences, the study of the history of any Federation world we choose, to write or speak without prejudice or censure on any topic we wish. How is it that you view that as restrictive?"
"You are correct; we are free to engage in any intellectual pursuit we choose. We have the right to comment on any topic, to undertake any kind of research, and yet, as a society, we are barren, cold; unable to truly appreciate the beauty of a work of art, the deeper meaning couched in the written word, or the stirring of the spirit unerringly evoked by a haunting piece of music."
"Explain," was the resolute demand brought to the older boy on the whisper of the arid wind.
Raising himself to a seated position, the thirteen-year-old wrapped his arms around his knees, bestowing an affectionate, albeit condescending look, on his young companion.
His younger self followed suit, sitting cross-legged, hands folded neatly into his lap, his gaze shifting to the older boy expectantly; waiting patiently for edification of the other's curious observation.
"We have all the intellectual freedom one could ask for; it's the emotional freedom that eludes us," came the surprising reply.
"You are incorrect; one does not need emotion to appreciate the craftsmanship behind a fine sculpture, the fluid, artful use of prose or a masterfully constructed melody," the youngster responded simply.
"That's where you're wrong; don't you see?" The older child's brow wrinkled in consternation. "We are taught to view everything through a prism of sterility; our emotional compass is locked away, quashed into oblivion, forbidden the inherent elation born from free expression. It should not be so."
He had groped for an answer, the words coming slowly. "Father says it is necessary; our ancestors gave in to their passions, and it nearly destroyed our society. Surely you can see the logic in transcending this danger, as opposed to succumbing to the complete annihilation of our race?" he declared with the consummate conviction of the very young.
The older boy's expression contorted into a mirthless grin. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't. And you shouldn't, either. These emotions are innate in all of us, but you even more so. Your mother's people do not run from their feelings but revel in them, and they have risen to become one of the most powerful and dynamic races in the Federation, so how can we then be made to believe that the expression of emotion is something to be feared?" The boy's next words came as a complete shock. "Would that I had your blood coursing through my veins."
He had paused to reflect on that unexpected declaration. From almost the minute he'd been able to comprehend it, he had always been taught to shy away from, to master, to view with disdain the taint of his alien blood, and yet here was someone from his own family espousing the view that his hybrid nature was something good; something to be celebrated.
Again, he struggled to provide a coherent answer. "We are not my mother's people. It is not logical to compare us to them. As we have been taught, all races must grow, evolve, find the life path that works best for them, or face extinction. Had our people not been able to overcome our harmful tendencies, such would unquestionably have been our fate."
"How can you be so sure?" the older boy egged him on, forcing him to think, to carefully scrutinize ideas and concepts that heretofore he had simply taken for granted.
He tried for the direct approach. "Do you not trust the wisdom of our ancestors; believe that they saw the inevitability of their own destruction and decided on change which would prevent that from happening?"
A sigh escaped from the older boy. "It's useless; you have already been brainwashed; thoroughly indoctrinated into the mythos of total logic and non-emotion touted by our people." His voice became soft; edged with pain. "Perhaps that is enough for you. Me? I long for something more; there has to be a greater significance to life than the simple advancement of intellect, or the pursuit of absolute knowledge. My mother certainly believed there was. If intellect and knowledge are not tempered by feelings and emotions, they become a barren wasteland, devoid of meaning, of purpose, as I am certain our people, our society, are destined to do."
Spock's eyes grew wide. "How can it be that you believe such things? This is in direct contradiction to what our father expects from us. Talk like this is certain to incur his disapproval." Mere mention of displeasing their father caused the younger boy to swallow convulsively.
A cynical laugh erupted from the older boy. "Don't worry little brother; I'm not planning to corrupt you with my wild ideas. I only know I have to select the path that is best for me, as you will be expected to do soon. And for now, I know with certainty what choice you will make. But it is my belief that someday, you will come to understand my words, and will finally be free to choose your life's course with your heart, not just your head. You will walk the path that pleases you, not one assigned to you simply because tradition dictates it should be so."
Once again the walls of Spock's quarters took shape around him, soon to be replaced with a new memory: He'd paused outside the closed door to his father's study, knowing full well he should not be eavesdropping, but motivated by fear for the brother who had been a stranger less than a year ago and had now become his staunchest supporter. In keeping with Vulcan tradition, the voices beyond the door were not raised in anger, but the undercurrent was there, for both parties, nonetheless.
"You are meddling in things you do not understand. Spock's path is already a difficult one; I will not have you confusing him with reckless, irrational ideas, thereby making it more difficult still."
"And that is where you are mistaken, Father. Of any of us, Spock is best equipped to manage his emotions. He can use his human half to temper the more passionate Vulcan side of himself. He is a child of both worlds and it is you who are suffocating half of who he is. And you are correct. This is something I do not understand. You married a human. I do not think even you would do so out of duty. 'Logically,' then, you married the Lady Amanda because you loved her, Father. You can appreciate the human qualities in the woman you love, but not in your own son. Please explain to me the 'logic' behind that."
Clapping his hands over his ears he had bolted from the spot, unwilling to hear or feel the sting of his father's reply.
As the memories of childhood faded once again, Spock's eyes came to rest on his Vulcan lyre, prominently displayed on a shelf in his quarters. His mouth turned up into the barest of smiles; a smile etched with sadness. The instrument had been a gift from his brother, given to him when it became apparent that Sybok was to be banished, not only from their home, but from Vulcan as well.
"Here, take it, brother," Sybok had insisted, the polished wood of the instrument gleaming as he held it out to his younger sibling.
"I cannot," he'd stammered in reply. "It belonged to your mother, passed down for generations in her family."
"But you are my family, too. Soon this will be all you have by which to remember me. Once I am exiled they will remove all traces of my presence from this house. But I do not believe Sarek would deny you such an exquisite instrument; nor do I believe your mother would permit it. She travels a difficult path as well, you know, trying to find the proper balance for you between her world and our father's. Make sure you understand that, and do not think ill of her, or feel that she has abandoned you when some of the battles she wages on your behalf are lost, for she clearly loves you, Spock." Sybok's eyes became unfocused, flooded with liquid for an instant. "A trait both of our mothers shared."
"Besides," his brother added, a thin, melancholy grin stretched over his face, "even at this age you are a more accomplished player than I can ever hope to be. Therefore, there is no 'logic' in me holding onto this trinket when it has the capacity to bring you so much joy over the years."
Spock had taken it reverently with shaking hands, tears that he willed not to fall glistening in his eyes.
"It is my hope that whenever you play it you will think of me and remember, little brother; that you will never forget who you truly are, for I see in you a uniqueness that others have missed, or dismissed." Sybok had then tugged him into a fierce hug, the other's pain, sorrow and regret sweeping through Spock with the jarring force of an antimatter explosion.
It had been close to forty years since Spock had reflected on those words. At age six, their importance had eluded him, but now he realized other voices had echoed Sybok over the years: his human mother, his captain and friend, Leonard McCoy, Stilek*, and T'Sai, but ultimately it was the voice of a 300-year-old earth probe that led to definitive enlightenment regarding who and what he was, and had given him the courage to finally throw off the restrictive shackles of conformity and act on that knowledge.
The sound of the buzzer to his cabin brought him out of his silent reverie. "Come," he called softly. Kirk entered in his usual flurry of motion, coming to stand beside Spock's desk, his features clouded with uncertainty. Spock gestured to the empty chair. Kirk seated himself, his eyes, teeming with worry, locked onto Spock's.
"You okay?" his captain asked simply, but his expression conveyed much more than just those simple words.
"If I understand you correctly, Captain, the answer would be yes. I have come to terms with the way events unfolded, and I am aware that nothing could have been done differently to alter the outcome. Sybok was unwavering in his determination to find Sha Ka Ree, and in his desire, at the end, to protect us from his error in judgment. Kaiidth. What's done is done."
Kirk shifted in his seat, grudgingly acceding to that explanation, but the air of dissatisfaction written into his captain's body language did not go unnoticed. Jim was his only brother now; he owed the man full disclosure.
"I feel the need to explain—"
"You don't have to," Kirk interrupted, but his look belied his words. "Everything worked out in the end, and I fully understand the Vulcan penchant for privacy," he finished cautiously.
"That is the case with strangers or acquaintances, or even shipmates," Spock conceded, "but you and I have been much more to each other than that over the years."
He could sense the shivers of gratification that declaration sent through Kirk. It was only on rare occasions indeed, that Spock verbally acknowledged their friendship. But since his death and rebirth, things had been strained between him and Jim, Spock unable to completely grasp the depth of feeling that had once constructed and sustained that complex friendship. He approached it tentatively, hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed, and for his part, Kirk responded with infinite patience, trusting that eventually things between them would be as they had once been.
"Thank you, Mister Spock." Kirk's reply to Spock's candid admission was couched in neutrality; an obvious attempt to avoid embarrassing or pushing the Vulcan beyond his current capacity for emotional transparency. Spock silently acknowledged the restraint that had gone into that decision.
"Sybok was the product of Sarek's first marriage," he began without preamble, "annulled when his then-wife T'Rea felt the calling to the priesthood. Unbeknownst to Sarek, she was with child—Sybok—when she answered the call. T'Rea went on to become the supreme master at Gol, where Sybok was born and raised as an acolyte," Spock supplied.
Kirk's look became muddied with confusion again. "Forgive me, Spock, but I don't understand. If he was raised at Gol, then why was he so…?"
"Emotional?" Spock finished for him. Kirk merely nodded.
"T'Rea soon became disenchanted with the teachings of Surak, instead embracing the old ways of the time before the Enlightenment. Sha Ka Ree was her dream, and her passion; one she passed on to her only child.
"She was duly stripped of her title, but she and Sybok were permitted to continue living at Gol. It was felt that she could do more damage out among the general populace, advocating the antithesis of logic and attempting to sway others to her point of view.
"Upon her death, Sybok was sent to live with us, no longer welcome at Gol due to the heretical beliefs instilled in him by his mother. Unwilling to conform to the teachings of those who had steadfastly refuted his mother's views, it was felt by the Masters that being part of a normal Vulcan family would give Sybok the best chance to once again embrace the storied teachings of his people and renounce the unconventional tenets set forth by his mother.
"However, we were not the 'normal' Vulcan family; nor was I the 'typical' Vulcan sibling. To Sybok, I embodied everything he had been taught, everything he believed in. Once Sarek grasped this, and realized Sybok's interpretations of the teachings of Surak were intractable, it was decided that Sybok would now be ktorr skann—outcast. From that moment forth he was no longer welcome in our home, or anywhere on Vulcan for that matter. He was sent away, and all record of his existence was expunged from Vulcan databases. It was as if he had never been." Spock dropped his eyes to his lap, struggling to suppress long-dormant feelings for his Vulcan brother.
Several protracted seconds of silence ensued as Kirk absorbed the full ramifications of Spock's revelation.
Gently. "How old were you when all of this took place?" Kirk asked finally.
"Not quite seven," Spock admitted quietly, eyes still averted.
"And your brother?"
"Fourteen."
Kirk sighed heavily. "Now I understand why you never spoke of him before, and why you couldn't kill him. He was the first person who accepted you for who you are." There was no hint of a question in Kirk's words; they were merely a statement of fact.
"Affirmative." Kirk waited silently for Spock to continue. "The name Sybok means 'seer,' or 'prophet' in the ancient tongue, but my brother confided to me that his mother had another, secret name for him; one shared only between the two of them: Shiav."
Spock permitted himself a small sigh before locking eyes with Kirk. "It means 'messiah.' Throughout my life there have been a handful of individuals, you included, who encouraged me to embrace my human half. It took me many years to comprehend the wisdom of those words and to do so. And yet, it is thanks to the words of my brother that I am here today, Jim, for it was he who first inspired me to take the initiative and choose my own path. His words planted the seeds within me to understand that I had ultimate control over my own destiny; that I did not have to acquiesce to the future that had been planned for me since my birth simply because traditionally this is the accepted norm in my culture. Sybok's words allowed me to go against my father's wishes and pursue a career in Starfleet. In that sense, he was my shiav, for I would not be the man I am today had Sybok not had a place, however briefly, in my life.
Now it finally made sense. Kirk expelled the breath he had been holding. "I grieve with thee," he stated, using the ritual Vulcan words of comfort. Unable to stop himself, he rested a hand lightly on his friend's forearm, unintentionally opening the mental link between them. He hadn't meant to intrude on Spock's silent purgatory, but despite the outward façade of calm the man's grief was raw and indisputable. Kirk sent feelings of empathy and affection through the link, and relaxed when he felt Spock respond with gratitude. The dance they had done around each other since Spock's death and rebirth was complicated, and fraught with uncertainty on both sides, but in spite of that their bond of brotherhood was strong. Recent events had proven the depth of that ethereal connection between them.
Satisfied that Spock had indeed made peace with his own and his brother's actions, as well as the latter's subsequent death, Kirk climbed to his feet, brushing Spock's shoulder lightly before bidding his first officer good night and disappearing into the corridor beyond.
oooOOOooo
Later, alone in his cabin, Kirk reflected on the events of the last twenty-four hours. However unintentionally, Sybok had shown him a side of Spock he hadn't experienced before. It just added understanding to the many layers that embodied the perplexing entity that was his friend. Kirk silently thanked Sybok for the role he had played in Spock's life, and for the fact that Kirk had the chance to meet Spock's long lost brother, even if he didn't fully understand the man. Despite Kirk's difficulties with Sybok's unconventional views and tactics, the eccentric Vulcan had helped to mold Spock into the man he was destined to become, in turn opening the door for the profound friendship he and Spock were destined to share. For that, Kirk was most grateful. Yes, Sybok was indeed shiav, to both of them.
* To learn more about the role Stilek played in Spock's life, see my story "Shadows and Dust."