Home is the Sailor
By
Pat Foley
Chapter 2
Kirk tacked toward the building on a circular approach, somewhat surprised to notice on sensors that it was surrounded by a security field of respectable power. On a planet supposedly at peace for 5000 years. But apparently even on Vulcan, Federation ambassadors have to take reasonable precautions. Their little craft was automatically scanned before a window appeared in the field, granting them landing accessibility. Kirk brought the aircar inside and along the building's surrounding stone walls, what must have been the original land approach. There was what appeared to be a hanger, outside of a gate. But Spock was in no condition to walk unassisted even a short distance. Kirk unabashedly set up the aircar to approach a terraced courtyard inside the gates, protocol be damned.
If Spock's home had truly been a fortress for a ruling clan, as it appeared to be, then countless other injured 'warriors', as Spock surely was, must have been brought home along this same approach. The thought gave him some scant comfort as he landed the aircar as close to the front of the building as he could get, determined not to make Spock walk any further than necessary. Only a few low stone steps, randomly interspaced with paved walkways and irregular gardens, separated them from the entrance, still forbiddingly closed. No eagerly waiting relatives, no smiling faces, no hands or dishtowels waving from kitchen windows. Kirk compared that fact with his own last homecoming as he shut down the craft's engines.
McCoy had already removed his own safety harness, and was undoing Spock's. Almost unwillingly, Kirk freed himself from his own clinging encumbrance, and released the hatch, exposing them to sunlight far brighter than what had entered through the craft's polarized windows, and a rush of hot, dry air. He moved to assist Spock's exit, and felt the heavy gravity pulling against him, almost restraining his movements. Spock faltered as he stepped outside and his eyes closed again. Kirk thought for half a moment that it was only the sunlight blinding Spock's eyes, but then Spock swayed infinitesimally. Kirk quickly slipped an arm around his friend's waist for support. The increased pull of gravity seemed to be robbing Spock of his final reserves. Far from stiffening or rejecting Kirk's assistance, Spock leaned against him heavily, his head lowered as if he'd lost even the strength to hold that up. Kirk could feel, almost as if in his own body, the exhaustion Spock was fighting, the effort it was taking for him to remain standing, even with support.
Obviously, the sooner Spock was lying down, the better. But when Kirk tried to urge Spock a step forward, the Vulcan remained motionless. Spock was clearly beyond walking. From the rigidity locking his muscles, he was rapidly losing his ability to stand. Kirk tightened his grip on his first officer even as Spock slumped. As Spock became a dead weight, Kirk wondered how, in this heat and gravity, he was going to get them both up those steps and into the house. McCoy touched him on the sleeve, and Kirk looked up, squinting a little, to see Sarek coming toward them.
The Vulcan nodded to them, but his attention was on his son. Spock had lost the unequal battle against consciousness; his head had dropped to Kirk's shoulder. Kirk saw some emotion cross the Ambassador's face as he assessed his son's condition, but his Vulcan mask was too expert for Kirk to discern whether it was concern or something else. But when Sarek then frowned slightly, Kirk felt a rush of anger and defensiveness at the implied disapproval. Sarek glanced at him then, raising a brow. Kirk drew himself up as well he could with a Vulcan draped against him, flushing even more in the heat. Under these circumstances, he cared little for anyone's opinion of himself – he'd been fighting too many different people too long to discriminate. But he hadn't intended, for Spock's sake, to make his own ambivalent feelings about this situation known so clearly. Certainly not on Sarek's doorstep.
But if Sarek was curious or surprised at his expression, he didn't call him on it, Vulcan neutral again. Coming up before Kirk, he said, "If you will permit me, Captain." Without waiting for a response, he transferred his unconscious son from Kirk's arms to his own. Kirk drew a breath to protest; the sharp inhalation of air felt like fire in his lungs. But Sarek had already lifted his son easily, and was walking toward the house. McCoy followed. Kirk stood alone and forgotten under the Vulcan sky, his empty hands now clenched into fists of frustration, belligerent but with nothing here to fight. Sarek couldn't have made his opinion of Kirk's uselessness here clearer if he'd said it in words. After a moment Kirk followed. He might have lost the first battle, but he wasn't giving up the war.
Stepping into the cool stone walls of the house was an immediate relief. Kirk felt a little more clearheaded when he closed the doors behind them, blocking both heat and blinding light.
Sarek turned. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will attend to my son's needs and return shortly."
"I'll tag along." McCoy said cheerfully.
"Your presence would be most welcome, Doctor."
Kirk watched, eyes narrowed as they ascended a long staircase. Sarek had obviously regained full health since his heart operation, to be able to carry Spock so easily. He'd always been more physically prepossessing than Spock, a little taller perhaps, or maybe it was just the effect of his stockier, more muscled frame. Kirk thought it must be a Vulcan characteristic. He had never seen a fully mature male Vulcan that didn't have that look of stocky power. The younger males he'd seen all looked like Spock, with slender, leanly muscled frames that looked somehow unfinished. The Vulcan equivalent of teenagers, he guessed. Spock's 35 years wasn't much of a bite out of a 250 year lifespan. He knew all too well that Vulcans matured more slowly, after having personal experience with his first officer's equivalent of puberty. Spock looked even worse now than he had then though. Weeks of starvation, confinement, and physical abuse had stripped muscle mass from his body, giving him an oddly fragile look. Starfleet had only repaired the worst of the physical damage. Only time and care could take care of the rest. And most of that time was going to be spent here.
Kirk supposed he should get their luggage, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He stared, unseeing at the tapestries in the main hall and tried to get a handle on his temper. He wasn't dealing with this situation any better than he'd dealt with Starfleet during Spock's debriefing. Overprotective and angry. Partially, it was the end result of weeks of stress and worry. But he wasn't used to yielding to other's decisions regarding Spock's welfare.
For four years he'd been Spock's commanding officer and his best friend. First with Spock, both professionally and socially. It was disconcerting to realize how little weight those relationships carried off of the Enterprise. He'd been jealous and upset even at Chris Pike's prior claim, at Spock's devotion to the Captain who he had served for "eleven years, four months, five days."
But since the rescue, Starfleet had dictated Spock's every move. They had regarded Kirk's presence and opinions as at best unnecessary and at worst, an annoyance.
He'd had to fight to get himself and McCoy assigned leave during Spock's recuperation, and Starfleet had not been pleased to assign lengthy, and in their opinion, unnecessary leave simultaneously to three senior officers. Starfleet had regarded home leave for Spock as more a matter of course than of choice, in spite of Kirk's previously stated intentions. With Sarek's offer they seemed to believe Kirk had no need to take leave at all. Far from acknowledging the Captain's prior claim, and their reluctantly granted permission, they had been doubly reluctant to follow through with it once Sarek had made his request. Sarek had been neither opposed nor in favor to his and McCoy's accompanying Spock. As if the matter were totally superfluous to Spock's wellbeing.
McCoy called Kirk's single-mindedness about the welfare of his crew a captain's delusion. One more example of his being obsessed with his command. Particularly he warned him over his tendency to make close friends among his officers. But Kirk couldn't accede to McCoy's professional detachment. After four years of having first claim to Spock's time and attention, and first say in so many of his actions, he couldn't adjust to his lack of real claim off the ship. To being relegated to a poor and barely tolerated third in the eyes of Starfleet and Sarek.
And McCoy called it a Captain's guilt. But Kirk had ordered Spock on the mission. His perceived mistakes, real or not, had allowed Spock to be captured. He had planned and executed the rescue. He found it impossible, now, to relinquish his own sense of responsibility for Spock's welfare and recovery.
It seemed he'd been doing nothing but fighting anyone who had stood in his way to rescue Spock since the whole mission had gone sour. First the Klingons. Then Starfleet. If Sarek got in his way, he would be only too willing to turn his Irish temper on him.
But he had beaten the Klingons. He had gotten his way with Starfleet.
It wasn't until he came up against Sarek, on Vulcan, that he had any intimations of being outclassed.
To be continued…
