Title: A Time for Every Purpose
Characters: Kirk, Spock
Rating: K+
Word Count: 752
Warnings/Summary: (Minor off-screen CD), missing scene from Where No Man Has Gone Before.
He hesitated for another moment, weighing his future actions against the reactions likely to occur from his interference. He had possessed little respect or personal tolerance for Gary Mitchell, but it was patently obvious that any vocalization of the stark truth (either of that dislike, or of the necessity of eliminating the menace the man had become) would be both unwelcome and unhelpful.
At first, the best course of action had been quite clear; relieving Mr. Scott at the controls and then ordering the corridors cleared from the Transporter Room to the Captain's quarters had required little thought. Then the Captain materialized, cast him one helpless look, and hurled the phaser-rifle against the wall with enough strength for the collision to be heard in Engineering before sinking bonelessly to his knees on the transporter platform, and it was this that had precipitated his current mental quandary.
His mind reverted briefly to the only other time he had seen the human so stricken: on the first away mission gone wrong, only three weeks into their travels, when four men of a six-man landing party had been lost on an uncharted planet. The first of many deaths for which the young captain felt solely responsible, and that dark return to the Enterprise had resulted in a similar situation as confronted the Science Officer now. Kirk hadn't moved, other than to tremble with shock, in the two-point-six-seven minutes in which he'd been crouched on the transporter pad, and the same scenario seemed to be repeating itself now, some months later.
Then, he had not known the young captain well enough to do more than summon a medical team to the Transporter Room, and take command of the Bridge until relieved the following morning. But now…now he found that course of action completely unsatisfactory.
What then?
He had perceived that the Captain was, like most humans, oddly reassured by physical proximity, and so seating himself on the platform beside the huddled figure seemed the logical place to begin.
His supposition was proven correct by a quick expulsion of shuddery breath, and the slight scrambling of the human to scoot to a corresponding position beside him. For fifty-three-point-six seconds they remained in that position, and then he ventured to break the silence by asking particulars about what had happened on the planet.
A bit of gentle coaxing elicited more information than he had originally intended, and it was with some surprise, after the Captain had trailed off following a tale of old Academy days with Mitchell, that he registered more than an hour had passed in this manner.
"You were right, you know." Kirk's eyes were no longer gleaming with horror, only with controlled grief, and he knew then that the time here had not been wasted. "We should have killed him. Before he harmed the others."
"No, Captain." At the quizzical look, he explained. "I was indeed correct in my assessment of the situation and Mr. Mitchell's intentions, sir. But the burden of killing a living creature – much less an old acquaintance – in a situation other than strict self-defense is not a weight I would willingly see you bear."
He received a sad sigh. "It's a weight all the same," Kirk murmured, rising unsteadily to his feet and holding out a hand to his Science Officer.
For the human's sake, he accepted the physical contact despite the want of needing assistance. "I am certain it is, Captain," he replied solemnly. "However, it is a scientific principle that the distribution of weight makes said weight that much less strenuous for the bearers." They began to walk, Kirk stumbling slightly from weary reaction, toward the doors. "I would share this burden with you, Jim," he added quietly, allowing his tone to convey only complete sincerity.
"I may take you up on that, Mr. Spock. Later…when I've had time to…evaluate things."
"A sensible solution, Captain."
The doors slid shut behind them, and they moved down the corridor, silent save for the faithful, steady hum of power from the ship. He felt warm eyes upon him, and glanced over to see that peculiar, fond smile tugging at the human's mouth.
"Captain?"
"You may want to tell the crew they can use the corridors again, Mr. Spock. It's been almost two hours, you know."
"One-point-eight-six hours, Captain."
A strangled sound caused his gaze to glide quickly over once more, but he found himself relieved – if he could admit to the human sensation – to find the Captain was laughing, not weeping.
Good. There would be time enough for the latter.