A/N: I've been watching the Original Series from start to finish lately. Part of me finds it amazing how many times intense, long-running emotions are simply buried under a joke or the famous 'end credits'. Very rarely are they actually addressed. It's a shame, I think. Thank you for the interest. Reviews are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: Claim to own, I do not.

Amber Façades
Chapter 1- Evolution
By: StriderX

Helpless. To be deprived of strength or power; powerless; incapacitated. Hopeless. Without hope; despairing; unable to perform as desired. Lost. Preoccupied; distraught; desperate; ruined.

Spock knew the definitions well from his study of human emotion. He knew them from mind. He was able to recite them with the all ease of a computer dictionary. They were simple, logical, words used to describe complicated, illogical, emotions.

He understood the words, he knew their meaning, but the feeling of them simply escaped him. In all his years, he imagined he'd…felt inklings (tiny, miniscule hairs) of such things in the very depth of his recessed human half, but never enough to understand what they can do to a man.

But yet, he sees it so clearly every time a crewman dies: the flashes of anguish staining his Captain's face. They last only seconds, sometimes not even that long, but Spock takes each opportunity to study the deep lines along Jim's face, the colorlessness in his eyes. He sees the heavy hitch of the younger mans' breath; just barely catches the tremble in his limbs.

Even as a Vulcan, there is something quite akin to sympathy that builds in his mind each time he spots the man he calls his friend leaning against a wall rubbing his eyes with weary, shaking hands.

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise, Guardian of over 400 lives every second of every day. Strong. Wise. Logical…..and yet…here, as another unnamed crewman falls to an unimportant alien threat: Helpless. Hopeless. Lost.

Few see it among the crew. As he should, Jim keeps a good front for most. For them, he is perfect, infallible.

When he, Spock and the remainder of the landing party beamed aboard, the lieutenant at the transport controls noted their weary expressions and dirtied clothes but saw nothing but his stalwart commanding officers and the best Captain he'd ever known.

Spock knew better. As Jim quietly gave the orders his men expected (Good work down there, ensign. Thank you, Lieutenant...the transporter feels a little bumpy. Check it over, would you? Landing party, you're all to report to sick bay then to rest.) Spock stood loyally at his side. When the men departed, the two commanding officers stepped into the empty deck hall. It was quiet and the lighting dim; the solar-simulated night made space life easier for earthlings, Spock learned.

He also learned that in such a light the deepest of human emotions tend to surface like a spot of oil in a pool of water.

From his position just behind the Captain, he noticed the significant slump in Jim's shoulders and the weak clenched-and-unclenched fists hanging at his sides. From previous study, Spock identified this as confliction—one of the more destructive of inner human emotions.

It was pure logic that moved Spock to speak to Jim on the matter. Logic, of course, to do whatever was necessary to see the commanding officer of the ship back in efficient working order. It was that and nothing more that had Spock gently coaxing the Captain out of his dark reverie.

"Jim, there was nothing that could have been done to save Ensign Reeves or Lieutenant Borcov. You should not blame yourself for their actions," to anyone else, Spock's monotone would have been cold and uncaring, but Jim knew better.

He lifted his head and stared his first officer dead in the eye (in more respects then one) and repeated the well-practice line that had burrowed its way into his heart. "They were my responsibility. They died under my command and I can do nothing for it," Spock caught the guilt and sorrow seeping through as rage in Jim's strained voice. "If you'll report to the bridge after you clean up, Mr. Spock, I'll be in my quarters."

Just as Jim moved to bolt down the hall (as quickly as a sprained leg would allow) Spock reached out in pure instinct to grasp the Captain's arm. Jim stopped, but didn't turn to meet his eyes when Spock's hold loosened. Spock understood why. For as much emotion that ran through Jim's veins, he did a great deal to hide it. (Often Spock found himself somewhat…confused at the oddity of Jim's behavior. At times, the human seemed just as ashamed of his emotions as Spock was his human genes.)

"If I may suggest, Captain," Spock ventured, softly. "At such times, the most adequate remedy for your species has seemed to be sharing an alcoholic beverage with a close companion."

Jim turned then. His eyes were red around the edges. There was a slight amusement just on the surface of his features, almost pulling his lips to a smirk. (Much like, Spock surmised, the calm surface of a sea when there is a tempest of currents exploding beneath.) "You want to share a drink, Spock?"

Without thinking, Spock's right eyebrow lifted. What the Captain suggested was not at all what he was referring to. "Vulcans do not indulge in alcohol, Captain," to this Jim nodded slightly. "But Doctor McCoy, I believe, is quite fond of Saurian brandy."

There was an expression hovering on Jim's face that Spock could only link to acquiescence—a rare trait not seen by many but Jim's closest friends. The Captain nodded a little; there was a flash of light in his eyes. "Quite right, Mr. Spock. I'll be in sickbay."

Finding the conversation's outcome quite suitable, Spock's brow lifted and head bowed as he characteristically clasped his hands behind his back. "Very well, Captain."

Watching Jim make his way down the hall, Spock pondered on how his notion of logic had evolved since his serving under this Captain. Indeed, he decided, sometimes a logical end could only be achieved through illogical means.

To be concluded...