Title: The Pursuit of Truth, II of III
Characters: Spock, McCoy, Kirk, various
Rating: T just to be on the safe side
Warnings: Spoilers for Plato's Stepchildren and mentions of all the baggage that episode entailed
Word Count: 3209 (this part)
Summary: Long long long overdue Haiti charity fic for raebb4ever, with the prompt A fanfic that focuses on the aftermath of the episode "Plato's Stepchildren," specifically on Spock trying to cope with his emotional violation and his near uncontrollable anger over Parmen's actions towards Kirk. Having McCoy be included would be a nice bonus. Bonding and emotional healing, yay! I would like specific interaction between Kirk and Spock.
Jim is fine, just out cold from the neural inhibitor/sedative cocktail he's injected him with, and so he feels confident in turning him over to Chapel while he sees Spock – knowing that if Jim were conscious not only would he not blame him, but would actually insist upon it – to the counseling chair in his private office. Spock seems to have shaken off the confusion of earlier, but is far too quiet to be normal; he notes with wry amusement that this is the first time he's ever crossed Sickbay with the Vulcan and not entertained everyone within earshot with their usual bickering.
On the way to his office he passes a couple of lieutenants from Hydroponics who got in the way of the first onslaught of the captain's collapse (poor guys are now sporting minor burns from airborne coffees), and warns the nurse attending them to make sure Jim doesn't see the reports of any injuries incurred in the Officers' Mess without specific CMO authorization. The crewmen themselves are more worried than injured, only concerned for their captain, and thankfully the Mess was not even at quarter-capacity due to it being an off-hour for mealtimes. Scott and Uhura had been eating together there when the incident began and had successfully evacuated the room before anyone was seriously injured, a fact for which he is devoutly grateful and intends to say so in medical recommendation on their records.
But for now, he has one very not-perfectly-functional Vulcan to take care of, and though he gets the idea that eggshell-treading is in order that's not in his nature.
So he doesn't bother.
"Just what, exactly, did you think you were going to accomplish there?" he growls even as the Vulcan is barely seated in the chair across the desk.
Spock raises one eyebrow at him, obviously displeased, but he doesn't give the stream of logical explanations time to even form on the thin lips before he continues.
"Mr. Spock," he states directly, and leans forward across the desk to drive the point home, logically and medically soundly, that he knows he has to get the First to admit, "did you really think that trying to join minds with him, however shallowly, while you're still boiling underneath all that so-called 'Vulcan control' would be a logical thing to do?"
The eyebrow dips low over the darkened eyes, and the faint flicker of anger in them doesn't escape his notice. He knows better than to say anything about it, and Spock knows that he knows, which only makes it worse. "Doctor," is the reply, and darned if it isn't as cool and calm and utterly wrong as it can possibly be, "you seem to be laboring under the misconception that I am still emotionally compromised from our interactions with the Platonians. I assure you, I am quite recovered and fully in control of my –"
"Bull," he interrupts rudely, and the Vulcan's expression tightens in a minute twitch. "And don't look at me like that; either we have this out here and now or I'm removing you from duty for endangering a Starfleet officer and your captain," he snaps, slamming a hand down on the desk loud enough to send a stylus rattling off the side of a PADD.
The regulation way is the Vulcan way, he knows full well, plus he's just played the only card in his hand – the Jim card – that will keep Spock seated instead of stalking out the door to file reports or meditate or practice the claws-against-wet-glass that is Vulcan classical music, or whatever he does in his off-duty time.
"Do you realize what you could have done, Spock? You could have seriously hurt someone – everyone, for that matter – including Jim!" he presses onward ruthlessly, noting the increase in pallor on the pale features before him. Good. If he can back Spock into a corner, he can get him to admit it, and that's half the battle right there. "Think about it logically, Spock," he adds, knowing the magic word will keep the Vulcan's attention. "You know the truth better than I do, and you know exactly what happened back there."
He sees the slight softening of unhappiness in the harsh lines surrounding the tense mouth and eyes, and knows he's struck a raw nerve that won't heal on its own. Now is the time to stop the excision and attempt to close and bandage the wound. "I know it, and you know it, Spock," he says quietly as he sits down, while extending one hand to rest on the desk a few inches from the tense blue-clad arm. "You just can't admit it to me or yourself, can you?" Spock tenses beside his hand, but doesn't move away, and so he continues, dropping his voice to a more gentle tone. "You are Vulcan, Mr. Spock, and so what you're…feeling, is inexcusable and therefore cannot exist."
Silence. Total, absolute, utter silence.
That's good, because it sure beats a rebuttal in perfect clipped diction, explaining how utterly illogical his diagnosis is.
"Am I right?" he asks softly, all animosity vanishing at the sight of the abject misery evident in every line of the Vulcan's tense posture and features.
Spock is a Vulcan, he is aware enough of that to bring it up in every conversation possible as a device to further arguments – but he also knows that Spock never looks as completely Vulcan as he does when he's at his most vulnerable. It is in human nature, and Vulcan nature, apparently, to overcompensate in other areas for an area which is considered to be a weakness; that's a medical principle. And he knows, just as Jim knows, that the only time when Spock really looks totally emotionless, pure logic and pure Vulcan, is when he's anything but. And as Chief Medical Officer aboard this ship, he's always prepared, when that absolutely expressionless mask goes up, to do what he has to, to crack through the façade.
What he's not prepared for, is for that mask to crack involuntarily, as it does now with a suddenness that shocks him nearly speechless.
Spock's expression morphs from tranquil annoyance into barely-concealed shame, right in front of his stunned eyes, and the transformation is so open and obvious that he can't imagine how he'd ever have said even in jest that the race doesn't feel a thing. The dark head bows in what he knows is a gesture of deep humiliation, but before it does he catches one slight glimpse of those intense alien eyes – and they're absolutely, desolately sad. There's no other word to describe it; he's never seen Spock look so miserable…heck, he's never seen a human look so miserable!
"Aw, geez, Spock," he find himself muttering (and no, he is not a 'softie', thank you very much) into the hand he's planted his face against just now. Dealing with emotionally-distressed Vulcans is Jim's area of expertise, not his; but if Jim is going to fix this then he at least has to lay the groundwork, and so he sighs and moves his gaze back to the bowed head before him. "Spock, there's absolutely nothin' wrong with feeling anger at someone who, for lack of a better term…" Red-hot anger blossoms deep in his heart at the remembrance, and he no longer wonders how and why Spock feels at the moment, "…violated your mind and emotions," he finishes as tactfully as he can.
He's never seen a Vulcan twitch before.
"It's a double violation," he adds, resisting the urge to impale his fist against the nearest object to hand that isn't living tissue. "And you've every right in the world to be angry. It's perfectly understandable, Spock."
"Not for a Vulcan, it is not, Doctor," is the low reply, though even he can tell it's not meant as more than an autonomic response to his statement.
"Even for a Vulcan, it is," he retorts. "For you, that's just as bad as being physically violated would be for a human, and don't give me that look – you forget I've done a lot of studying on Vulcan physiology since M'Benga came aboard. Don't bother denying it. You're so angry, so filled with utter rage, that you can barely see straight – even after three days," he finishes with due caution, aware of the flaring eyes that shoot upward to meet his cooler ones. "Aren't you."
It is a statement, not a question, and they both know it. For a moment only deathly silence wraps about the room, and then his patient's spine seems to lose its rigidity, surrendering to the contours of the chair as Spock visibly slumps – not caring any longer if the human can see his reaction.
"To deny that which exists is…illogical, and in this case would be medically foolhardy," the Vulcan replies, and though the tone is expressionless it's too much so. The dark eyes dart back to his face, this time curiosity for the moment quenching the fire burning deep within. "How did you know, Doctor?"
He sighs, not quite smiling, for it really isn't amusing but at the same time the cluelessness of this particular friend – odd, but he somehow has become one, though he'd die before admitting it, ever – of his is adorably awkward. "You are very particular in your word choice as a general rule, Mr. Spock," he informs the Vulcan, resuming the title for sake of giving the semblance of normality. "On the planet, you asked Jim and me if we felt anger toward the Platonians. When we replied that heck yes, we did, you told us that we needed to release it."
An eyebrow quirks upward as the scenario obviously replays in eidetic memory, and then sudden realization brings it crashing down again as the Vulcan's eyes close with remembrance.
He lowers his voice slightly, the same way he would try to soothe a hysterical crewman or a wounded animal. "But you said something very peculiar, Mr. Spock. You said you were going to master yours. Not release it, master it."
"Control and compartmentalization is the Vulcan way, Doctor," Spock replies, and his tone is painfully stiff, "and I believe I did quite enough 'releasing' of emotion while on that planet."
"I agree on both counts, Spock," he answers with a nod. "But," he continues, meeting the dark gaze without reservation, "the point is, that you haven't mastered it." Silence is his only admittance, but it's enough, and he moves on. "That little fiasco in the Mess just now proves it, Spock. Jim was out of control, and when you added your anger to the force of the kironide, however deeply buried the emotion was, the combined power of both almost took out half of C Deck."
Dark sage is creeping into the stark features now, and he's glad to see it even if it means Spock is embarrassed; at least it's better than that sallow complexion the hobgoblin's been sporting for three days.
"I have been…remiss in my methods of countering the effects of the incidents on Platonius," is the low confession, delivered over tightly clasped hands, now resting upon the very edge of the cool desk-top. Spock makes eye contact with him again, and he isn't surprised to see the fires burning yet again, deep and silent and deadly in that alien gaze. "I find myself quite…unable to relinquish the primal urge to retaliate for what nearly transpired on that planet, Doctor."
"Unable, Spock?" he whispers, gently as he can – and he's sure he's either going to break the final barrier in the next sentence, or else get decked a solid one as only Vulcan muscle mass can.
Either way, the gamble's worth it.
He swallows and takes the plunge. "Unable to relinquish the rage, Spock…or unwilling to?"
He's glad that there's a desk between them, for a few instants at least, because he's pretty sure Spock's hands just put a serious dent in the edge of it. "Doctor, you overstep yourself," the Vulcan snaps, and thrusts his chair backward in preparation to leave.
"Do I?" he retorts, knowing just how far to push this without harming either of them. Spock turns away, paces a tight, narrow line to the far wall, and stands there inspecting absolutely nothing while he folds his arms and waits.
After one long, interminably long minute, nothing has happened, and so he moves cautiously across the room. "Spock, whether you think it's proper or not, it exists, and you just said it was illogical to deny that which has been proven to exist," he says from a safe distance behind the Vulcan. "And believe me, Mr. Spock, it's perfectly normal to be angry with someone who has violated you; that's a proven medical fact. I understand –"
A bitter sound that could only be a sardonic Vulcan laugh startles his mouth into snapping closed, and his CO turns slowly around to face him, a self-deprecating grimace twisting his angular features. "No," Spock breathes slowly through his nose after speaking, as if fighting for control. "No, Doctor McCoy, you do not understand."
"Then tell me," he says simply, and no matter how irritating this pointy-eared database can be he hopes he can tell that the physician truly means it.
Spock takes a measured breath. "Doctor, the embarrassment of losing control of my emotions was nothing, a minor annoyance that was quite easily rectified in my mind even before the Captain had defeated Parmen. The fact that I was used as an object of amusement, too, was of no consequence. As a Vulcan, I – there are certain mental disciplines that enable us to cope with mental transgressions of that sort; and you are aware that I have endured such before with no lasting effects."
He nods, and somehow knows to not say anything and ruin the moment of revelation just yet.
Spock seems relieved at his lack of commentary, and paces a tight circle before jolting to a sudden stop immediately before him, scant inches from his nose. "Doctor, I am not angry at myself for being controlled, as I am well aware your next psychologist's question will be in this informal examination. There was no choice in the matter, and it would be illogical to feel guilt where none is merited; both Nurse Chapel and I have discussed this to a successful resolution. Nor am I angry at the invasion of my mental and emotional faculties, to be used for crude amusement. None of these, Doctor, are sufficient explanation as to why I am unable to control this…irrational urge to do bodily harm to Parmen."
He's a xenobiologist, not a psychologist, but living on this ship with this crew has made him rather an expert in that latter field as well. This is cruel, but he has to say it even if it means driving a wedge between them that can't be fixed very easily.
"How about the fact that you were absolutely scared out of your mind for a few minutes there, with Jim's face just lookin' up at you as you were about to seriously hurt him?"
He's never before seen a Vulcan look as if he's been punched right in the stomach – lower abdomen, since his ribs extend lower than a human's – but now he has, and he knows he's found the armor-chink and sent a flaming dart right through it.
"You've already killed him once, you know, due to circumstances you couldn't control – and they resurrected that whole nightmare for you in front of everyone."
"Doctor, I…" Spock falls utterly silent, for once unable to formulate a response to that, and he knows he has to move in now before the Vulcan closes himself off again to the world and everyone.
"Spock," he sighs, and moves closer to the motionless figure standing stiffly in front of him. "I told you, I do understand – better than you do, because I'm human and humans feel a sight more than you do."
Remembrances of Parmen's atrocities slice his memory from top to bottom with their horror, and he closes his eyes for a minute against the onslaught. And all he had been was an innocent bystander! The only wonder at the moment was why Spock hadn't beat someone to a pulp yet (or at least destroyed his computer like he did that once, years ago).
Spock is regarding him with understandable wariness, no doubt afraid that he is about to turn this into another of their verbal sparring-sessions and poke fun at his humanity showing. This isn't the time or place, and he besides he knows better than to do that when the Vulcan is at his most fragile.
"Spock…look," he tries again after a pause, "just…hear me out, okay? I know you're not supposed to feel any of this and all that but just listen." A slight nod, and he can see that despite the tension of the situation Spock's eyes are watching him with interest, and what probably is supposed to be trust (heaven have mercy!). "It's a perfectly normal reaction to feel greater anger over injustice being done to someone you care for, rather than over a personal offense," he explains, feeling slightly foolish as he does but plugging away nonetheless.
"I…have observed this phenomenon before, Doctor."
"Of course you have, because it's – forgive me," he interrupts himself with a hint of a smile, and he can see from the relaxing features of his conversant that Spock is starting to feel more comfortable with the topic, "but it's human nature. And much's I hate to claim you, Spock, you are half-human."
He receives a miffed purse of lips as answer to that and chuckles lightly, risking his neck (and reputation) by reaching out to place a light hand on the shoulder of the rumpled blue uniform. Spock stiffens but does not draw away, and he squeezes gently. "I can't tell you how to master it, Mr. Spock," he says matter-of-factly, "but I can tell you I understand it."
"Do you truly, Doctor?" The tone is almost wistful in its open inability to comprehend the emotion, and he smiles, pointing both of them toward the door of the office.
"Yes," he answers simply, allowing a smile at the uncertain glance he receives from the corner of the Vulcan's eye. "You see, Spock, I care an awful lot about Captain James Tiberius Kirk. And whatever that translates to in that Vulcan brain of yours, I know you do too."
At first he's afraid he really did overstep himself there, because the silence that falls could choke the life out of a man with sheer nervous tension, but then he hears a soft exhalation of breath from beside him, and a low murmur. "As you said, Doctor. To deny what has been proven to exist is not logical."
"You bet your pointed ears it isn't," he agrees, grinning over at the annoyed look he receives for his quip. He risks health and safety to give the Vulcan a gentle push toward the door, but meets no resistance. "Now go wait for him to wake up, and I don't want to see either of you until you've hashed this all out with him. Go on, get."