Historian's Note: Takes place shortly after 'Catspaw', with reference to 'The Return of the Archons'.

Author's Note: I realize this is an over-used prompt, but I couldn't resist adding my own two cents worth.

=(^)= "I have tried, Captain." =(^)=

"Check," Spock said, placing a rook onto a tile on the third tier. He folded his hands in his lap and studied his opponent.

Kirk was staring into the depths of a ceramic mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, and Spock was not certain if his last statement had been heard. His captain's mind was obviously elsewhere. He had made several tactical errors that Spock knew were not some carefully hidden plan of attack, and he did not give his moves much time for consideration. Spock, conversely, had been taking more and more time between turns. Not because he needed to give thought to strategy – for he could not fail to win at this point – but because he knew it would be wise to draw out the game. Kirk seemed to want the company in spite of his somber mood, which implied a need to discuss something. His reluctance to speak implied this would be of an emotional nature.

There had been a time when such a purely human need would have made Spock uncomfortable.

Spock watched his captain with serene patience as Kirk's attention shifted from his cup to the board in a pretense of studying it. Sometimes a simple query would be enough to prompt Kirk to discuss what was on his mind, but Spock knew this was not one of those times. He once again considered the most recent mission, but could think of nothing that might explain his captain's state of mind. They had lost a crewman, and this always grieved Kirk, but did not usually result in such a prolonged state of morose contemplation.

And so Spock waited. He watched as his captain escaped the threat to his king, turning it into a poorly executed pincer move. This was their second match of the evening, and Spock was willing to sit quietly through as many dull, unchallenging games as necessary. Spock waited another full minute before making his counter move, neatly cutting off a prong of the pincer by capturing an undefended bishop.

Kirk glanced up at him, giving him an almost apologetic smile that seemed at odds with the general air of unhappiness surrounding the human, before looking back at the game. The tiny smile instantly faded, and Spock wished suddenly that Kirk would speak up and end his self-imposed misery. He knew from experience, however, that Kirk could not be rushed with such things.

Kirk was, in his own way, possessed of a duality not dissimilar to Spock's own. There was a savage, barbaric streak within Kirk that had to be ruthlessly controlled at all times. But Kirk did more than that. He used it, bent it to his will for constructive purpose. This was tempered by his softer side and Kirk openly enjoyed poetry, or the beauty of a flower. Kirk did not have perfect control, and it did sometimes happen that one side or the other took over with inappropriate timing. The captain of the Enterprise was prone to bouts of self-doubt and self-recrimination, and McCoy had assured Spock that this was normal, even healthy. Kirk needed his friends during such times, and Spock no longer felt shame to be counted among that number. For the most part, however, Kirk maintained a balance.

It was a balance that Spock envied.

It was unpleasant to think of it, but under the right conditions his captain could just as easily have been a ruthless conqueror. Or a criminal mastermind. Spock knew that a very troubled, embittered Kirk had gotten into some difficulty with the law as a youth following the horrific events on Tarsus. He had required assistance to be accepted into Starfleet Academy, despite a phenomenal score on aptitude tests. Kirk had an interest in the penal system that was peculiar for a man of such moral integrity if one did not realize that Kirk himself was well aware of what could have been. If circumstances had encouraged him to submerge his gentler nature, it was unthinkable to consider what his captain might be capable of.

Spock viewed Tarsus as a crucible, and it was distressing to think what the universe would be like if Kirk had died there, or if he had not recovered his faith in humanity. Spock's hands tightened around each other in his lap and his mind shied away from the thought.

The tiny motion seemed to shake Kirk out of whatever thoughts were consuming him. "I need you to teach me that nerve pinch," he said abruptly.

Spock blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. Kirk had occasionally expressed an interest in the technique, but nothing overt. As barbaric as it was, Kirk admitted to enjoying a brawl. This was something that Spock had simply come to accept as one of his captain's less admirable qualities, a concession to the animal within that Kirk needed in order to be the exceptional leader that he was. Both McCoy and Kirk were aware of the Vulcan's distaste for the traditional use of fists in combat, and the nerve pinch had become something of an inside joke between the three of them.

A whisper from his human half told him that something far more troubling was lying just under the surface of the statement. Spock had learned that sometimes it was wise to listen to that part of him which he usually ignored, especially when it came to his captain. Spock laced his fingers together across his chest and leaned back in his seat. "What has prompted this sudden interest?" he asked cautiously.

Kirk gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've been suggesting it for a while, Spock," he said with deceptive casualty. The tense set of his shoulders gave him away, however, and Spock narrowed his eyes at the attempted deceit. Kirk had the grace to look guilty. "I had to hit him," he blurted suddenly, and made an angry gesture that caught a corner of the chess board. He cursed as the assembly was jolted on the desk and several pieces spilled off of their tiles.

Spock steepled his index fingers in contemplation as Kirk quickly moved to retrieve them before they could roll away. Spock tried to place the statement into the context of recent events, and realized the captain was referring to McCoy. Whatever primitive pleasure Kirk derived from combat, this did not extend to striking innocents. Particularly his own crew, and certainly not close friends.

"I do not believe either McCoy or Sulu harbor any resentment towards you, Captain," he said as Kirk placed the last piece back on the board.

Kirk was shaking his head by the time Spock finished the sentence, and pushed the game aside to rest his elbows on the desk in its place. He wrapped the fingers of one hand around a closed fist and pressed them to his mouth. "I didn't hit him hard enough, Spock – I couldn't. If you hadn't shown up when you did…"

His voice trailed off into silence, and Spock glanced down at the top of the desk. The memory surfaced with perfect clarity, an image of Kirk staring sadly at the crumbled form of Sulu while McCoy snuck up behind him with an improvised club. Spock suppressed a mental wince at his own highly emotional cry of warning when he had seen that his captain was unaware of the danger. Spock looked back up as Kirk sighed.

"I had dismissed him as a threat. I know my training, Spock. He shouldn't have been able to get back up. That's the second time. I hesitated the first time, too – a few seconds difference and we wouldn't have been ready for the lawgivers. But…" Kirk made an open-handed gesture of helplessness before clapping them around each other again. "There's just something… wrong about hitting Bones."

Spock recalled the first such instance in which Kirk had been forced to incapacitate the doctor. His captain's softly whispered apology and expression of pained regret had struck something deep within Spock, and he had ruthlessly suppressed a rush of savage fury at whomever or whatever Landru was. Moments later, some of that fury had escaped his control and he had actually struck one of their captors in a rare display of physical violence.

"Who knows how many more times?" Kirk continued. "I know I can't take you on in hand to hand combat, Spock. Not for long. What if some day I have to? I don't think…" Kirk bowed his neck to rest his forehead on his hands and did not finish the thought aloud.

Much to Spock's shame, he had attacked his captain on more than one occasion. Kirk had deliberately provoked him, and it had been necessary, but Spock would never be able to erase the memory of having harmed him. Spock frowned slightly. It would appear that his greatest lapses of control were always directly related to the presence of his captain. That was a thought that he would have to meditate on later.

It was a fact that, without the aid of weapons or medical tools, there was no safe way knock out an opponent by means of physical force without risking serious injury. "You would likely have to kill me in that event," he replied calmly, and watched with dismay as Kirk's expression froze into a blank mask.

Kirk made no declarations that he could not do something so drastic, for when it came right down to it Kirk had the ability to suppress any and all emotions with a severity that any full blooded Vulcan would envy. They both knew that Kirk could and would do whatever was necessary when it came to the safety of the Enterprise. Had done, for Kirk had been forced to kill Mitchell with his own hands. A cold weight settled into Spock's stomach at the thought of what such an action would cost his captain, his friend. The coldness spread to envelop his chest at the thought that, if the ship was somehow not endangered, Jim might not find it within himself to survive at such a cost.

"'Compassion and command are a fool's mixture'," Kirk quoted softly, his thoughts obviously traveling a similar path as Spock's. He lifted his chin suddenly, his gaze determined. "You'll pardon me if I'd prefer an alternative."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I, too, would find an alternative preferable to being killed," he said with deliberate levity and was relieved when a slow smile replaced the open anxiety being displayed by his captain.

"So you'll teach me?" Kirk asked hopefully. "It's not some Vulcan taboo or something?"

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Even if it was, there was never any question that I would make the attempt," he chided softly. He sighed, for he truly regretted the reality of the situation. "However, I do not think it is possible."

Kirk frowned, mildly insulted. "Why couldn't I learn?"

"It is not simply a matter of applying correct pressure," Spock began, then paused in order to think how to explain.

"Show me," Kirk suggested.

"Most humanoid races have a cluster of nerve endings at the join between shoulder and neck," Spock began as he got to his feet. At a slight gesture, Kirk rose to stand in front of him. Spock lightly rested his fingers on the point in question, and Kirk angled his head down in curiosity. "Energy channeled through those nerves will usually induce a shock to the brain." He sent a tiny pulse to the tips of his fingers, and Kirk blinked in surprise. "Enough energy, coupled with pressure against the nerve bundle, is sufficient to render the target unconscious." Spock squeezed, applying the barest minimum of pressure, and increased the energy burst.

Kirk staggered forward a step, and Spock braced him until he regained his balance.

Spock released him and dropped his hands to his sides. "The location of the nerve bundle, the amount of pressure applied, and the degree of energy needed varies by species and by individual," he added as his captain gently rubbed at his neck.

"So it's basically like a stun blast from a phaser?" Kirk asked.

Spock nodded. "A phaser disrupts all the nerve cells within a body regardless of where it strikes, resulting in unconsciousness. The source of the energy is immaterial, but humanoid brains are generally incapable of generating the amount that a phaser uses. Targeting the specific nerve bundle has the same effect, however."

Kirk smiled at him. "That sounds like it takes a lot of practice," he commented ruefully.

Spock moved his shoulders slightly in a very small shrug of dismissal. "A certain inherent ability makes the task easier for some."

Kirk's smile widened. "I've seen you take out a lot of people with that, Spock, some of them barely humanoid. You make it look easy."

Spock dropped his gaze to the floor, unaccountably pleased by the compliment. He wasn't certain if an aptitude for rendering sentient beings unconscious was a skill Surak would applaud, but it was better than a blow to the head to achieve the same results.

"So, I assume the mental part is what I'm going to have trouble with?" Kirk asked.

Spock looked up, tilting his head. "What is your psi ability?"

"None that I know of," Kirk answered with a somewhat depreciating sigh.

Spock had not expected a different answer, for most humans did not physically have the ability to perform the nerve pinch. There were connections between the hand and the brain – nerve endings that transmitted information in the form of touch. The same nerves translated commands from the brain into actions. Very few humans, however, had the ability to channel energy through those nerve endings. Those few who did were also possessed of at least latent psi abilities.

Still, it would be wise to make certain, for this particular human had a habit of doing things that were improbable. He held up his right hand at chest height, wrist bent so that his fingers were pointed towards the ceiling. "Place your hand against mine," he instructed.

Kirk's skin was cool against his as he pressed their palms together. It was an intimate touch, by Vulcan standards, but Spock could think of no practical alternative. His hands were the most sensitive tool at his disposal, and he needed to make certain that he did not miss even the slightest hint. Any ability, any at all, could be trained and strengthened into something useful. Spock was more than willing to spend however much time was necessary to ensure that training, if it was possible.

"Concentrate on your fingers," Spock said. "Imagine that you are pushing against my hand, but do not use muscles."

Kirk obeyed, shifting position slightly so that he could look at their hands more clearly. His eyes narrowed in concentration and his fingers twitched, but there was no other physical indication of his effort. Spock could already feel his captain's curiosity and determination trickling through the contact. He did not know what it was about this human that granted him the ability to slip past Spock's formidable shields with no effort at all on his part.

Kirk glanced up at him briefly, and Spock gave a small shake of his head. Kirk frowned and Spock set about lowering his shields. A sense of frustration was sinking into Spock's mind from Kirk's, an unpleasant sensation. Spock ignored it and dropped his shields to absolutely nothing, closing his eyes as he focused on the impulses his hand was receiving. It was one step shy of a meld, and it was actually more difficult to keep his shields down than up.

Removing his shielding was far more uncomfortable than if he had stripped naked. This was something he had almost grown accustomed to, however, for his captain treated the ability like any other skill possessed by a member of his crew, and used it accordingly. The logic of this was undeniable, despite Spock's inherent aversion. Much as Kirk used his body if he believed it would be advantageous, so Kirk had more than once asked Spock to use his mind. He knew that Jim understood what it was he was asking on those occasions, and he never asked lightly. In fact, more often than not, Spock would volunteer to spare his captain the guilt of putting the ship first.

Spock concentrated, but he could not detect any indication of the kind of energy that was required to execute a nerve pinch. Spock opened his eyes, and there must have been some indication on his face or in his stance. Kirk dropped his hand, but not before Spock got a blast of nearly overwhelming disappointment, frustration, and a sense of immense failure. The first two Spock could understand, but the third twisted something inside him with an urgent desire to end it.

"Captain," he said, even as he struggled to re-clothe his mind. "It is not a failing."

Kirk turned away from him, not answering, and returned to the chair. He dropped into it with a weary sigh that did nothing to alleviate Spock's concern. "Jim," he tried again, and moved quickly to stand beside him. He touched his arm lightly to get his attention when he did not respond. Kirk looked up, an embarrassed smile curving his mouth. "I cannot breathe under water because I do not have gills – this is not a failing on my part."

His captain nodded, giving him a wan smile. Spock did not realize he still had his hand on Kirk's arm until he reached up to give it a brief pat of reassurance. "Thanks, Spock," Kirk said as Spock took a step back in an effort to regain some dignity. Kirk gestured at the chair on the opposite side of the desk and Spock sat down as he continued. "Well, at least we tried."

Spock folded his hands in his lap calmly. "You cannot prepare for every eventuality," he said.

"I'm the Captain," Kirk said. "It's my job to prepare for every eventuality."

Spock frowned slightly. His captain expected the impossible of himself, and then felt unjustifiably inferior when he inevitably failed these impossible expectations. It was distressing. There was no logic in attempting to dissuade him from this habit, and yet Spock tried. "Captain…"

Kirk waved him off. "I know, I know," he said, but smiled to take away any sting to the interruption.

Spock released his breath in a slow sigh. "There are other, less drastic forms of combat than fists," Spock reminded him softly.

Kirk rested an elbow on the desk and absently drummed his fingers against his cheek. "Hm, yes," he agreed. "I wonder if Sulu would agree to show me some more of that Judo of his. I've got a pretty good grasp on it already, just need some practice." Spock watched as Kirk's eyes narrowed, studying something only he could see. He picked up his coffee cup and downed the remainder of the contents with a grimace of distaste before pulling the chessboard back into place. "Come on, Spock, let's give you a real game," he said, his voice one of pure challenge.

Nothing had really been accomplished, but Kirk had been snapped out of his foul mood. Spock felt tension drain from his back and shoulders that he had not even realized was there, and his captain won the next game.

=(^)=

Author's Note: Based on feedback, I feel a need to explain my reasoning on this scrawling. The notion of the Vulcan Nerve Pinch was first postulated by Leonard Nimoy himself, as a more in-character method of disabling a foe. He explained it as an electrical shock, delivered through the fingertips.

In my opinion, the ability of various machine-based characters (Data, Voyager's Holographic Doctor) would have no difficulty sending a pulse of electricity through their extremities. The fact that some humans could do it (Archer, Picard, Seven of Nine) is fine as long as one can accept that they have at least some psi ability. The fact that McCoy, despite being in possession of Spock's katra at the time, attempted and failed to execute a nerve pinch only means that he was physically unable to do so despite having the knowledge of how it's done.

In one episode, Kirk jokes that it's a shame Spock can't teach him the nerve pinch – and Spock comments in reply that he has tried. If anyone could do it, with training, I would expect it to be James T. Kirk. While his on-screen fight scenes are, um, creative, we are expected to believe he is an excellent fighter. The idea that he cannot learn the nerve pinch out of incompetence is unacceptable to me.