Title: These Not-so-simple Feelings (2/6)
Characters: Kirk, Spock
Universe: TOS
Word Count (this chapter) 4723
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Five times Spock did something illogically dangerous for the sake of his captain, and one time his captain returned the favor. happy_trekmas fic for xlcatloveress.
Warnings: (this chapter) Educated speculation as to what actually constitutes a mind-meld. Spoilers for Dagger of the Mind.
V.
McCoy had the captain in Sickbay for three days both for uninterrupted rest and also to flush the stims from his system and rebalance his biochemistry, after which he was released to light duty. In that time, Spock as Acting Captain had his hands more than full in dealing with the tragedy on Bola II. The times he had stopped by Sickbay, Kirk had been either sedated, asleep, or so morose and/or angry that they had no time or inclination to actually speak; the rest of his time was spent in ship's business, meeting up with the Constellation and the passenger ship to evacuate the cities, and overseeing the rescue efforts and the many medical teams which were swarming the worst-affected areas. It was more than a full-time task, and one that he was relieved was concluded for the most part before the captain was released from Sickbay.
Over the next twenty-four hours, he finally took a shift to rest, while Kirk finished up their business at the planet and received their next orders from Starfleet. After that, their duty shifts did not correspond for another two days, and so it was well over a week by the time they actually found the time to discuss what had happened on Bola II. Spock half-thought the human would simply let the matter drop, but he should have known better.
He was not truly surprised to hear his door chime deep into ship's night, 2350 hours to be exact, and to find that Kirk had discovered from the computer that he was still awake and had decided to act accordingly.
The captain was looking marginally better after some rest and (mandatory) proper nutrition, though the shadows under his eyes remained sad and dark. Spock offered him a cup of herbal tea, which Kirk accepted gratefully, and after a few quiet minutes together he finally placed the cup on the desk and turned to face his First Officer.
"Spock, I…" the captain swallowed, stared down at his interlaced fingers for a moment before raising his gaze again to the Vulcan's patient eyes. "You said you could help me," he blurted at last.
He nodded calmly. "If I am capable, then I certainly shall, Captain."
"Jim," the man corrected automatically, almost distractedly. "Spock, I – I've been having…" his voice trailed off, a faint flush of worry or embarrassment (or both; Spock was unaccustomed to recognizing the emotions) coloring his face.
"You may safely tell me, Jim."
"I've been having…" Kirk swallowed, "…these mental issues, of late. Unexpected flashbacks of things I thought I'd buried so deep no one knew…memories surfacing which I've dealt with years past…" Spock noticed the human's hands begin to shake slightly. "…Emotions just…overtaking my mind, almost out of my own control," he finished shakily.
Supposedly, according to human medical knowledge, 'talking it out' or speaking further of one's burdens was supposed to alleviate the pain of said burdens. "Such as?" he prompted with infinite gentleness, not condemning or explaining or even understanding just yet.
"Anger," Kirk managed through a rigid jaw; it was obvious the captain was exercising an incredible amount of willpower to remain calm through this. "Grief…loneliness…and…and fear, Spock."
Loneliness was something he could readily identify with, and it was most likely a natural emotion for an isolated figure such as a starship captain – but fear? Captain James Tiberius Kirk? Something was desperately wrong, if so.
"Can you remember when this started, Captain?" he asked, for it could not have been solely triggered by the reappearance of Kodos the Executioner.
Lips pressed tightly together and hands clenching around the tea cup, Kirk nodded.
"At what time, then?"
"Right…" Kirk swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, the words falling hurriedly, as if he wished to get the accursed sentence over with as fast as possible, "…right after Adams used VanGelder's machine on me."
And in that instant, the entire thought-landscape lit up in a brilliant flash of lightning-like comprehension. What torture Kirk had undergone as a result of that neural neutralizer the captain had never spoken about; but he had heard the words on the Bridge afterwards, heard a man who showed no fear admit that he knew well how a man could die of utter loneliness. And no one knew exactly what the neutralizer did to patients, especially in the hands of an unprofessional, malicious individual.
"I hadn't thought about Kodos for years," Kirk was continuing, almost speaking to himself rather than Spock now. "You've seen my psych evals, Spock; I dealt with it long ago, learned to live with it, and to be honest it really hasn't controlled my life or caused any kind of medically-alarming trauma. But…" the man swallowed again, "…after Adams used that – that thing, on my mind…I've been seeing things, remembering things with such clarity…I can't take it," he finished, lowering his eyes as his voice cracked on the last words. "I can't take this any more, Spock, I can't do it!"
"Jim, please remain calm," he soothed, removing the tea cup from the human's trembling hands before the man broke it.
"Spock, I'm unfit for command and will be until I get this under control! I can't be having flashbacks to – to Tarsus IV, of all things, while I'm on duty, I can't be losing control of myself like I did on that planet back there, breaking protocol on my emotional whims!"
"I can help you, Captain," he interrupted the half-hysterical tirade with as much gentleness as he could, given what he was about to do. "But…I am afraid that I will not be able to do so without causing you more mental distress."
"What can you do?" Kirk whispered desperately.
"Dr. McCoy informed you in his report about the Vulcan concept of a mind-fusion?"
"Yes, he did; that's what you did to VanGelder."
"Affirmative. If you will permit the intrusion, I could…" here he hesitated, again trembling under the onslaught of sacrilege, of horrified Vulcan solitude screaming a warning at him, calling him a betrayer of all things Vulcan. But this man meant more to him than the temporary giving up of his privacy; that much was fact, and to deny fact was not logical. "…I could perform one of the same upon your mind, Captain," he finished slowly.
Kirk's eyes shone with hope, and he suddenly realized the captain had probably known exactly this all along. "You were aware that I could do so," he stated the obvious.
The human sighed and, patting his arm, offered him a sad smile. "I was also aware that if it's a Vulcan medical technique, and the best CMO in Starfleet knew nothing about said technique, that it also must be a highly private and personal, almost sacred thing. And McCoy said you'd never before done it on a human."
"That is correct."
"And yet you did it without question, to save me from Adams on the colony," Kirk said fondly. "How could I ask you to do such a thing a second time, Mr. Spock?"
Once again, he marveled at this extraordinary human; to know of the solution, and to refrain from attempting to implement it due to a being's discomfort with the procedure, was utterly illogical – almost ridiculously so – and foolhardy.
And also, quite considerate; no human had ever been so with him before, and the novelty itself was enough to negate the breach of privacy he would be forced to endure during the joining.
"You need not ask, Captain; I am offering," he settled for the simplest reply, and received a look in return that was so utterly grateful it was as if the human had been offered a priceless gift.
Mind-fusions, or mind-melds as the more shallow ones were termed, were not processes to be undergone flippantly, not the casual telepathic conversations some uninformed species assumed them to be. A mind-fusion was a highly intimate act, an extremely private sharing of one's soul with another, something to be undertaken only in two instances. One, in dire emergencies when no other recourse was available to save a life – and two, for ease of communication or pleasure, for complete understanding, between bondmates, family members, or the few beings which even fewer Vulcans accepted as friends.
Regarding this one, he had no idea what to expect. If their minds were not compatible, the results could be disastrous, chaotic – and extremely painful. While he was fully capable of all Vulcan telepathic abilities, one could not predict what latent effects might result from his half-human genetics, what possibilities could result from such a mind-joining – for there was no precedent for a half-human and fully-human mind-fusion.
He explained as much, quite carefully, to Kirk, who listened with the attentiveness the human always had to Vulcan custom and basically anything Spock spoke of.
"You're making a point to ensure I understand what I'm agreeing to," Kirk finally said after the Vulcan had finished. "Is this so…private, that you basically are asking for consent?"
"No Vulcan would dream of performing one upon an individual without asking, Captain. My mental joining with Dr. VanGelder," he hastened to add, when he saw the question flare in the captain's eyes, "was not only a medical emergency, but also not of the depth which will be necessary here. I saw nothing personal of the man, as his mind was far too chaotic and distressed for me to communicate more than the ability to heal."
"And this will be different…how? Aren't you just fixing the damage from the neural neutralizer?"
"There is…an unpredictable variable," he admitted reluctantly.
Kirk looked more intrigued than alarmed. "Being?"
"We are…highly attuned individuals to each other," he answered, steepling his fingers in the beginnings of a calming exercise. "There is a remote possibility that your mind could accept mine as easily as you yourself have accepted me as a person."
"And if that happens, what does that mean?"
"I could see far more private things than you wish, especially if there is damage done to your mind which has produced these episodes you mentioned."
Kirk looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you're saying it's a gamble, that if my mind likes you enough it could just fling itself wide open to you, and neither you nor I would be able to stop it?"
He nodded, pleased with the human's quick perception and rephrasing into the least complicated way of putting the risk.
"Well, I have nothing to hide from you, Mr. Spock," Kirk shrugged, smiling. Then the man's eyes narrowed. "But what's the risk to you?"
"The same applies. There is a remote chance that my Vulcan mind could recognize compatibility and…" He hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it.
"If you see something you like, you'll unconsciously start looking at it?" Kirk supplied, seemingly more amused than anything else.
"Essentially correct," he admitted. "Also, there remains a very small possibility – highly unlikely, but it is possible – that you might be able to do the same, without realizing it."
The human blinked. "I'm psi-null, Spock. I couldn't even telepathically talk to you, much less start poking around in your head."
"It is not a matter of verbal or even conscious communication, Captain," he explained, wanting very much to ensure that this human knew exactly to what he was consenting, knew the risks involved, and did not wish to find some other method of dealing with the situation. "You would have no choice, nor would I; our minds would simply be, your knowledge mine and vice-versa, one and together and without separate consciousness or identity. Verbal communication is unnecessary in such joinings – it is more a state of awareness, of perception, than of conscious communication in words."
"I see…I think," the human replied honestly, sandy brows contracting in thought. "But…your privacy is extremely important to you, Spock. Are you sure, absolutely sure, you want to take such a risk?"
He appreciated the thought, but frankly the idea of finally seeing the mind of this extraordinary human was no less than fascinating…almost, if the emotion were not abhorrent, almost exciting.
"The risk is far greater for you, sir."
"Look, if you're going to be poking around in my head you can drop the 'sir' right now," Kirk admonished him, smiling a little nervously. "I'm – I'm ready when you are."
"I will need a few moments to prepare, Captain. You would also do well to attempt to achieve a state of as close to peace as you are able to reach; clear your mind as much as you are capable, and if there is anything you do not wish me to see –"
"I have no secrets from you now, Spock," Kirk answered quietly. "You've not yet seen me at my worst but I'm sure you will someday; it might as well be today."
The amount of trust this man had in him was both flattering and disturbing, for it was a given principle that the giving of such an emotion opened up one's self to the possibility of hurt; the greater the trust, the greater the betrayal. If he were to ever betray that trust… But such thought were not conducive to the amount of control necessary to control the meld, and so he firmly pushed them from his mind, along with all other thoughts save that of helping this man sitting before him.
Finally he was prepared.
When he settled into place across from his captain, their knees almost touching, he realized the man was breathing shallowly with suppressed tension, and as soon as he drew near, reached out to gently place his fingers in position, he realized it was not simply stress which caused the reaction but also a good deal of fear. Kirk's lips were pressed together, his eyes tightly closed, silently shaking from the very human characteristic of fearing the unknown – and yet this human willingly trusted him with his mind, the most valuable part of any sentient being's essence.
"Jim," he said softly into the unnatural stillness of the room, and the human started under his hand, eyes flying open. "You need not fear me."
"I don't!" was the quick, slightly aghast reply, and he fought the illogical urge to smile at the human's indignation. "I just – I just don't know what to expect," Kirk whispered, warmth flooding his face as it flushed in shame. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm not frightened, not of you – never of you. Just…"
"Do not apologize for that which is only a natural response to the prospect of unknown danger, Jim," he admonished gently, and all the while keeping the human's gaze while he maneuvered closer, insinuating his other hand into position on the opposite side of the man's face. "Breathe in, with me," he continued, attempting to project a suggestion of calm through the skin contact. "And out…again. And again." He did not need touch-telepathy to be able to feel the gratitude that seeped through the cracks in the panic as the man gradually calmed. "Excellent. We begin."
He had no more idea than Kirk of what to expect the moment they truly joined, and so had been nearly as wary of the fusion as the human. Kirk's personality was one of the most vibrant, impetuous, brilliant ones he had ever encountered, and he had expected the man's mind to be equally blinding in its intensity of chaotic passion...
…
…Instead, he is entirely taken aback to find himself drifting in a mind that is in many ways identical to his own – orderly, controlled, and precisely vivid. Like an ancient library, he realizes, plucking the image from Kirk's favorite memories, full of books ordered in systematic rows, each containing the information necessary to commanding a starship, to everyday living, to anything under the sun – all ordered and neat, with very few stray volumes littering the tables and floor.
Surprised?
The thought-question which dances against his consciousness startles him from his stunned state, only to send him further into bewilderment.
Spock?
You should not be able to do this, he responds, still astounded. No human, especially one with no telepathic abilities, should be able to truly correspond in verbal form in a mind-fusion. Mind-melds are when two minds become one, and simply sense communication, not when they actually communicate in tangible sentences; this is impossible.
A human should not be able to verbally communicate in a mind-fusion, and especially not with such ease.
Maybe I'm just a fast learner?
He is utterly at a loss to explain the phenomenon, as much as he is to explain how incredible it is that this is the first instance where he has joined minds with another being and not felt at least a modicum of instinctive rejection. He feels, for lack of a better term, that he has not even left his own mind – that he belongs here as much as in his own head.
Fascinating.
I told you, I trust you, Spock. A movement, as if he has been mentally swatted on the back of the head with something, and he feels the reverberations of delighted mental laughter.
He shakes his head in wonder, and feels the gentle brush of thoughts wrap around him. You're smiling, comes the astounded observation.
I assure you, I am not.
You are, I can see – feel – whatever, it! This is incredible.
I will not debate that fact, he answers bemusedly, looking carefully about for any signs of direction. The shelves containing Kirk's thoughts are meticulously labeled and ordered, and he begins to stride slowly along, seeking the indications of distress the man had spoken of.
It is not long before instinct guides him toward the shadowed corners. Barely has he rounded a row of shelves than he sees it – the chaos of destruction, books lying on the floor, some open and spines torn, ripped pages fluttering limply. Gaping holes are visible on the shelves, their contents scattered and damaged. One of the bookcases containing old, rare volumes has been previously protected by thick glass and a lock; now, the glass lies shattered in jagged shards on the floor, the contents of the case in the same condition as the others.
He feels the first twinge of terror flicker in the human's consciousness, and he immediately backs away.
No, don't go…I just…Spock, is there some way I can, I don't know – get a physical body in here? This is just so strange…
He acknowledges the frustration he hears in the thought, and sends a feeling of calm back toward it. Simply imagine yourself entering the library, and finding me here. Results will be easiest achieved by your unpracticed mind if you imagine yourself in the most comfortable attire you possess – how you see yourself when no one else is present.
He should not have been surprised to see the man materialize in a transporter beam-like effect a moment later, dressed in his green wrap-around Starfleet uniform.
"So you do really laugh and roll your eyes at us, inside at least?" Kirk asks with a grin.
He is unsure if his glare carries the same weight of doom he has been told it does outside the meld; regardless, this man is remarkably unaffected at either time.
But he can tell instantly when the levity leaves the human's expression, and Kirk turns a determined eye on the damaged shelves, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Well, let's get to work," the captain says quietly, and bends to pick up the nearest volume.
"If there is something which you do not wish me to read, simply imagine the book closing itself, and I will be unable to open it," he instructs, and Kirk nods. He pictures a broom and dustbin, and begins to carefully, so very carefully, sweep up the broken glass shards from the locked bookcase.
He feels the instinctive twinges of raw pain as he begins, but when he makes to pause Kirk's image shakes its head at him, lips pressed tightly together, and motions for him to continue.
How long they work, he does not know, as time sense does not function properly in a mind-fusion, but finally they draw near the end of cleaning up the chaos. Only twice, once when Spock picks up an open book and barely sees the word Kodos on its index page, and once with a slim volume titled Carol Marcus, do books snap themselves shut in his hands, and again he wonders at the incredible trust of this human to allow him access to his most private thoughts.
One of the last volumes to be replaced in the locked bookcase lies opened two meters away. When he retrieves it, he sees its spine has been cracked and its pages shredded at the edges. The words Tristan Adams catch his eye on the page before him, and before he even realizes what he is doing he is caught up in the story…
He – they stand defiant as the hated man enters. "Time for another treatment?"
That condescending, soothing, so patently false smile. "Please don't fight me, Captain. The pain only gets worse when you doubt me. You believe in me completely."
No, no, no, fight it, he wants to fight it, wants so badly to fight it, but he can't – "I believe in you," he says, and hates himself for it, hates himself for not being able to stand the pain enough to deny.
"You trust me completely," Adams coaxes, promising relief, and he fights it as hard as he can but his mouth won't cooperate –
"I trust you." Success, for he did not say the word completely, but such a small success and it hurt, it hurts so much –
"Excellent, Captain; I compliment you. Do you know Dr. VanGelder was down on his hands and knees sobbing at this point?"
He can see why, because it's only stubborn refusal to give in even if it kills him that's keeping him from doing the same…
"It was so gratifying," Adams continues, and he would kill the man if he could move without agony right now. "I'm so fortunate to have had a couple of excellent specimens to work with. I've learned a great deal." (1)
And then the other comes in, tells the man that Dr. Noel is gone, he knows it's wrong and so he fights it as hard as he can but just the sound of her name makes him want to scream, to give in and die so the pain will just stop, and Adams is asking him where she went but he won't tell, he will not tell, no matter what they do to him –
Spock snaps the book closed with enough force that it vibrates up both arms, and he only realizes he is shaking when he sees that Kirk's hands are on both sides of his, that it was Jim who closed the book when he had been helpless to do so, and that it is Jim who is holding him now as he trembles under the realization of the power that insane man had held over an unprotected, noble mind.
How had a human survived such a thing, with no defenses set in place against mental predators, with no way of combating the invasion, with no way of healing the trauma? And how could any being willingly inflict such pain upon another, invading such a brilliant mind in such a horribly agonizing way, tearing apart something so beautiful with intentional desecration?
"Spock. Spock," the Kirk-image is saying, and he barely can register the deep concern behind the words as they are murmured soothingly. "It's all right."
"It is not," he breathes shakily as he attempts to regain control of this mind-joining, for he obviously had lost control of it for a moment, not intending in the first place to read the pages and then become trapped in their contents.
"It is," Kirk whispers, a sensation of wonder infusing the words and surrounding both of them. "Because look, Spock."
He glances down, and sees their hands still holding the volume closed. "I do not understand," he says, shaking his head.
"Spock," and the human's image smiles, the brightness banishing at least half the shadows in this corner. "Spock, I tried so hard to close that book so many times since that mission – and I couldn't get it to shut!"
He blinks, staring at the volume in their combined grip.
"It took you and me both to close it," the man whispers, and the almost sobbing gratitude which floods him is enough to swamp his mind in its intensity. "Thank you, Spock."
Together they place the book on the shelf, and then step back to survey their handiwork.
"The glass will take longer to be replaced," he says at last.
Kirk shakes his head resolutely. "I'm not replacing it," the man replies quietly. "That way it can't be so painfully shattered again." A sidelong look, and he feels uncomfortably like this man is staring straight into his soul. "You know as well as I do that locking things away deep inside isn't the way to deal with them; they come out at the worst possible times."
Jim, when I feel friendship for you…I'm ashamed. (2)
No, no, no…how had the human pulled that memory out of his own consciousness, along with the mortification he still felt at each remembrance? Kirk should not be able to do this!
"You know, Spock - it's a funny thing, friendship," Jim is saying, smiling mysteriously at the now pristine bookcases. "It's a two-way street; a give-and-take, a complete sharing…kind of like your definition of a mind-fusion."
He does not find that amusing, but apparently the human finds his annoyance to be so for Kirk's image laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "You're hilarious when you're grumpy, you know that?"
"I am not, as you put it, grumpy."
The humans' lips twitch. "Right. My apologies, Mr. Spock."
He shoots the human a glare, which only earns him one of those melting smiles. "You are incorrigible, Jim."
Kirk's eyes are dancing. "And you know you enjoy it."
For the first time, he regrets not being able to prevaricate effectively in a mind-joining, for he has no way of refuting the claim which will convince this irrepressible human.
A warning sounds from somewhere deep within his consciousness; it is time to end the meld, or risk causing permanent damage to either of their minds.
Jim seems to understand instantly, for his image smiles and then disappears from view.
I must separate us now, Jim.
I know. Spock…I don't know exactly how I can thank you, the thought reaches him, tinged with something akin to awe. Such an incredible sacrifice…I don't deserve it.
It was not, and you do, he answers, and both are true; this has been a rare gift for him, to discover such a mind which would not only not resist his intrusion but even welcome him despite the initial misgivings and fear such alien abilities generate.
I hate that word, alien, Jim says quietly. It's an unnecessary distinction. Do you truly feel like an alien in my mind?
Negative, he admits, and cannot hide his wonder from the human. It is…an incredible gift.
Least I can do, is the easy reply, but it lacks that flippancy which sometimes characterizes their banter. You've been salvaging my sanity, Spock.
I am amply repaid.
Jim's smile follows him as he retreats, back through the orderly layers of the human's consciousness and back into his own...
…
…They were both exhausted from the meld; Jim fell asleep against him even before he had helped the human stumble to his bed, and Spock himself barely had the strength to send a message of success to McCoy's office terminal before he succumbed to the meditation mat in his own cabin – but he had made an incredible discovery, and one that would bear much contemplation when he had the strength to assimilate the experience.
He especially needed to recall and decide if the words Jim had called after him as he left had really been Come back soon, or if he had simply imagined that.
(1) Dialogue is taken directly from Dagger of the Mind; the rest is mine.
(2) Line is taken from the infamous briefing room scene in The Naked Time