Title: Human Behavior
Characters: (this bit) Spock, McCoy, distant Amanda Grayson, Kirk, various
Word Count: (this bit) 5300
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Operation – Annihilate!. Reference to theme of Stockholm Syndrome referring to the neurological parasites. References to deleted scenes and script of OA. Speculation for this and other parts of the arc. Shameless H/C and character exploration. Lack of plot. The usual, in other words. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Summary: Five human behaviors Spock did not understand, and one that he definitely did understand.
A/N: As a general rule, I shy away from leaving important fics unfinished, and upon coming back to this I remember why – I haven't the faintest idea where I was headed with this, even though it was nearly done when I began posting. It, along with a few other miscellaneous bits and bobs I'd created, vanished into the Nexus of all artistry when my last laptop crashed about six months ago, only the last in a string of highly unfortunate events (to put the situation lightly). While I had been in the habit of backing up more recent projects online, I hadn't begun doing so with older WIPs, this one included, because I apparently never learn; and so it along with a few other fanfiction projects were lost.
However, I had a very kind guest reviewer spend far more time reviewing this little monstrosity than I probably spent writing the last chapter, and the least I can do is try to reboot this thing as the first in several attempts at wrapping up unfinished business in this fandom before I try anything new (yes, I am debating NaNoWriMo again for the first time in years because I am an idiot like that. Ideas, anyone?). So, Hayley, this is for you, and hopefully the rest of you won't be too unhappy with it since we're all going to see where it leads together, myself included.
III. Apathy toward one's own species
Doctor Leonard H. McCoy, while one of the most frustrating of humans Spock had ever encountered, was also one of the most intriguing individuals of any species he had met in all his travels through the galaxy. Rarely had he met a human who was so explosively emotional himself, and yet could also pinpoint with uncanny accuracy the hidden feelings which lurked under the surface of any other being around him.
It was of little wonder, that the man had a dual doctorate in both psychology as well as xenobiology, though the former was not as well-known a fact as the latter; obviously, despite a healthy self-preservational fear of all things telepathic, the human did have an instinctive inclination toward the very rudimentary beginnings of empathic ability. That was why the Enterprise did not have a ship's counselor, as most constitution-class starships did; McCoy was more than qualified to hold that title in addition to his primary one, and in fact the captain's preference was that one trusted man had the pulse of the ship and reported upon that, rather than several such, all carrying differing opinions which could conflict with each other.
Therefore Spock should indeed have known better, than to think that he would escape Sickbay without being outed, so to speak. Certainly, such a tactic had rarely succeeded in the past, but he had thought perhaps with the recent distractions he might have a better rate of victory this time. Nurse Chapel was willing enough to cover for him, their rocky relationship having settled into a professional companionship that was actually rather enjoyable when she was not blatantly attempting to cultivate romantic feelings toward him. But unfortunately, she was not quick enough to hide the evidence from a paranoid and overly suspicious Chief Medical Officer.
"Is that a headache reliever?" McCoy asked incredulously, staring at the empty hypospray in his Head Nurse's hand.
The guilty look on Chapel's face was corroboration enough, and Spock silently wished for unconsciousness, as he was obviously not going to be able to leave Sickbay as quietly as he had entered.
"This I gotta hear. My office, Spock. Now."
Twenty minutes and a lengthy explanation later, Spock felt slightly vindicated to find that he likely was not the only one who now was developing the human weakness known as a headache, albeit his was due to tension and McCoy's was likely due to a rapidly rising blood pressure. He had been previously unaware that such a color could be produced by the facial capillaries.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Must you continually ask such ridiculous questions, Doctor?"
"Jim has bent over backwards to give them everything they've ever asked for! You two just got back from being prisoners of a Klingon occupational army and negotiating the Organian peace treaty, for pity's sake - that's supposedly the diplomatic prize of the decade!" (1)
"I am aware, Doctor."
"If this was any other starship in the 'Fleet, there wouldn't even be any questions asked; it's standard practice for an immediate family member to be given at least three days for bereavement leave, especially for someone so high up on the chain of command!"
"I am aware, Doctor."
"Then why are they refusing to grant it?"
Spock gave up the will to pretend Vulcan control and leaned forward, wearily massaging blood flow back into the constricted vessels at his temples. If this was what the captain went through every time a migraine struck, it was a small medical miracle the man could still function at command capacity. It was highly unfortunate that his pain controls had shattered under the attack from the Denevan parasites and had not yet been fully rebuilt, as evidenced in his inability to fully disperse this accursed human weakness.
"It is obvious that Admiral Komack's promotion to Head Admiral of Section Fifteen rides heavily on the visibility of the Federation at the Altair VI inauguration ceremonies in six weeks, Doctor, and there is talk of the ceremony being moved up by as much as one month's time. Should they grant the captain his requested two weeks and the ceremony be adjusted by that large of a time frame, there is a minute possibility that the Enterprise could be twelve hours late for the opening ceremonies." (2)
McCoy's jaw dropped in shock. "Are you serious?"
Spock sighed. "That is the only explanation I can cogitate which will explain the admiralty's unusually callous behavior and breaking of basic human resources code."
He was given a calculating look. "That's a pretty petty reason, Spock, especially for a Vulcan to come up with. I'd have thought you'd have a more logical explanation than that."
"I am open to suggestions, Doctor; but while I can believe your species' human natures to be apathetic at times, I do not believe a board of Starfleet admirals would deny the captain's request for bereavement leave simply out of spite, surely. Do you?"
"If it's Komack we're talkin' about, then yes – I knew the man when he was nothing more than a Lieutenant-Commander, had him for a class at the Academy. He's a pompous, idiotic stuffed shirt, and if I'd been more than a cadet at the time I'd have filed a report on him more than once for xenophobic comments. I'd sooner trust a Klingon, at least they have a sense of honor."
Spock was forced to agree, if this were indeed accurate – which, much as it sometimes irked his logical nature to admit, McCoy's assessments usually were. The man knew his psychology, better than any other aboard – disturbingly so, when one was on the receiving end of the sharp scrutiny. If this were the case, then continuing to vie for the captain's leave against such a man was a hopeless gesture. Such a man would never be swayed by sympathy, for he would have no such empathetic inclinations; this was one trait of the human race which remained totally foreign to Spock's Vulcan nature. To ignore the suffering of another sentient being was never logical, nor acceptable.
"All the same, Doctor. The Admiralty's decision was logical, from a point of view."
"Are you sayin' it was a good reason?!"
"Certainly not. I am merely saying it was a reason."
McCoy's eyes sharpened suddenly. "I'm guessing, it was also a good reason for your headache? Being on the comms with them for over an hour?"
Spock stood, straightened the edge of his tunic. "That, and the knowledge that I must now enlist outside aid to secure the captain's leave. Aid which has not been forthcoming to this point in my career."
The physician raised an eyebrow. "And if that doesn't work?"
"Then I shall be forced to, as the captain puts it, get creative, Doctor. Please inform me when the captain and his nephew beam back aboard from their meeting with the executor."
"I take it you want your little chat with the admiralty to remain off the record, at least to his knowledge? Y'know he's not gonna be happy if he finds out you've been meddling, Mr. Spock."
"I believe you will find, Doctor, that said record has already been hidden from view. Whatever your opinions of my emotional shortcomings, I am not a fool."
Amanda Grayson was one of the most long-suffering of humans, in Spock's admittedly extensive acquaintance – and this opinion was entirely without familial bias. Only a unique being could live the life she did, as wife of the most prominent ambassador to Terra; and only an even more unique being could live with Sarek. Spock had yet to reconcile with his father since the day he entered Starfleet; while they had on two occasions crossed paths while on Starfleet duty, neither had even acknowledged their relationship – and upon neither occasion was anyone around them even aware of said relationship, so professional had they been. Sarek did not approve of Spock's desire to become a scientist through Starfleet Academy instead of the Vulcan Science Academy; Spock had, in that single act of human rebellion, alienated himself most effectively from his own family.
He never had quite understood Sarek's disappointment. Spock was quite well-received among his peers both in Starfleet and among the Vulcan scientific community, for most Vulcan scientists were logical enough to understand the advantage which human imagination offered a scientist, an advantage which full Vulcans simply did not have. It was the social community of Vulcan which rejected him as inferior, not the scientific community. Spock would have thought his own family, which had purposely created a half-Vulcan life form through science itself, would at least recognize this as well – but no, Sarek was a proud Vulcan, a traditionalist to the core, and apparently when Spock refused to fall into his social place precisely as expected he reverted to that traditionalist mentality and promptly rejected all but the strictest Vulcan standards in his own son.
Spock did not much care, if he were honest; he had his work in Starfleet, and that was all that mattered. Were it not that the friction between the two of them was a source of grief to his human mother, he would gladly never speak to Sarek again. However, because of said mother, he would continue to remain in cordial contact with her as an extension of the family, for her sake.
Now, perhaps this might be his saving grace.
Possibly it was the residual effects of a shattered mental control, but it did pain him slightly to see the shock upon her face when she answered the request for a live communique – the first in nearly ten years she had received from him. The last time he had requested such, had been two years into his first Enterprise posting under Captain Pike; after that, he had decided that such methods were unnecessarily emotional and that the usual written correspondence would suffice.
Now, she looked so surprised, and so pleased, to see him, that he briefly wondered if perhaps that had not been the best course of action. Humans' emotions, he was learning, were much more fragile than he had ever supposed.
"Mother."
"Spock," she replied softly, with a smile he knew she would never have offered him had they been in person, on Vulcan – Sarek must not be home, for her to so display human emotion with such readiness. "It is so good to see you, my son. Are you well?"
"I am. Though recently the Enterprise underwent a mission during which that outcome was uncertain." Perhaps he should not have said that, as it appeared to worry her. "I am fully recovered, however."
"I am pleased to hear that. I do wish you would keep us better informed about your state of health, though," she responded, gently reproving. "I do not wish to hear after the fact that you were in danger, my son."
"I…shall endeavor to improve that behavior."
The blink of surprise he received meant that she had not been expecting so easy an acquiescence; perhaps time has changed him. Or perhaps…perhaps those around him have changed him. Certainly, he would never have attempted what he is attempting now, ten years ago.
"Thank you, Spock. Now, my son – you surely have not contacted me out of the blue simply to say hello, after so long. Is something wrong?"
He paused, uncertain. "Of a sort, Mother," he finally said slowly.
Amanda raised an eyebrow. "With you, Spock?"
"Negative."
"With the Enterprise?"
"Negative."
A small smile. "With your captain, then?"
His steepled fingers lowered in surprise. "Your telepathic perception has improved over time, Mother. I was unaware your parental bond had become so strong."
Amanda laughed, a rare and soothing sound evoking nothing but childhood memory. "I must disappoint you, my son. Nothing so Vulcan, I'm afraid, but rather human intuition. I know of very few things which could bring that amount of concern to your eyes, and even fewer beings who could do so. It is no great leap of logic."
Spock sighed, looking away from the viewscreen for a moment.
"What is it that has happened, Spock? Are you comm-ing me to ask for human advice, or advice in dealing with humans?"
"Neither, mother. I…require political advice. And possibly Sarek's intervention, if you are able to secure it."
Amanda sat back slowly, rearranging a fold of her lightweight Vulcan robe. "That is an unusually tall order, especially from you, Spock. This must be a grave matter indeed."
"Grave enough."
"Tell me what has happened, from the beginning, and I will give you what advice I can, knowing what I do about Federation politics. Then we will decide what is necessary as the next step."
Spock had always appreciated Amanda's logical approach to any problem, one reason why she was an excellent human companion; very few humans in his acquaintance even as an adult had ever matched her in the ability to strike at the heart of a problem and logically find a solution with such rapidity – in fact, it was that very quality which she had in common with Captain Kirk, one reason why both minds were equally successful in navigating the treacherous waters of Starfleet diplomacy. She listened intently as he detailed the events of the Deneva mission, what he could divulge without classified information, as well as the more personal of those events and how they affected the captain. His current problem, he outlined in closing, and inquired as to how he might go about reversing that decision.
Amanda exhaled slowly when he had finished, shaking her head. "Spock, that is disgraceful."
"I am aware, Mother. Unfortunately, such is the life of a starship commander. And while the captain has accepted that decision, I do not."
Amanda's eyes sparkled at him, even through the static of a subspace connection. "My son, you are becoming positively human."
"Really, Mother. I did not request your advice only to be insulted."
"My apologies." Somehow, they did not sound at all sincere. "But you have a particularly tricky problem, Spock. Unfortunately, if an hour of logical argument couldn't sway the Board in your favor…something tells me there is far more behind this than one admiral throwing a temper tantrum. I don't see an official way to get that decision rescinded."
"An unofficial way, then?" He chose for the moment to ignore the phrase 'temper tantrum,' mentally making a note to look it up in the ship's library banks at a later date. McCoy had used the term once before as well, in reference to the captain's arguing about a meal card restriction; he did not see the correlation between the two now.
Amanda smiled ruefully. "Spock, even the best diplomat must sometimes accept that there is no compromise to be reached in an argument. Could you find through enough digging, something capable of unofficially blackmailing this Admiral Komack into giving your captain what he wants? Certainly, with your abilities I have no doubt you could, my son. But then how do you suppose he is going to treat your captain when you arrive at Altair VI for the opening ceremonies?"
Spock had thought of that already, the only reason why the process was not underway.
"As for asking for Sarek's intervention, I would be more than happy to do so if I thought it would do any good, my son – but he is halfway across the galaxy, in the Medusan sector, under a communications blackout for the next seven Standard days." Amanda looked at him with sympathy as his disappointment must have reflected in his eyes. "Besides this, I doubt his influence extends as far into the Council as you might believe."
"That is unfortunate."
"Indeed. If anyone could have made this happen, my son, it would have been you – your own diplomatic skills are formidable in their own right, Spock. You know this."
"Apparently, they are not."
"Apparently, they simply are not a match for human selfishness," she corrected gently. "Very few forces in the worlds are, Spock. It is unfortunate, that one of the worst human emotions is the one which governs many authorities' decisions."
"Quite." He had no idea what to do now.
"Spock. If there is a way around this, you will be the one to find it. Not I, not your father – you will. Of this, I am certain."
He raised an eyebrow, tolerant as always of her emotional confidence. "Upon what do you base this conclusion, Mother?"
Amanda smiled, and lifted a hand to indicate the two of them and their video-feed. "Spock, for the first time in ten years you have altered your habits, all for the sake of one human. Surely, finding a legal loophole in a Starfleet code is not an exercise outside your mental capabilities, if that human is so important?"
He shook his head slightly. "Your hypothesis has no structural evidence upon which to base this conclusion, Mother."
"Yes, yes, you may call it science all you like, Spock. The fact remains that you were willing to actually ask for Sarek's help in this, when I believe your exact words last time were, you 'would be quite pleased to never cross paths with him again, professionally or personally'?"
Spock firmly quashed the urge to fidget, something this woman had not been able to produce in him since he was an adolescent. "The cause is sufficient."
"So it is, my son." A small smile. "Someday you will have to bring this young man on a shore leave to Vulcan so I can meet him, you know."
"I do not see the necessity of that."
"That is exactly what you said about live video-communiques ten years ago, my son – and yet here we are."
Spock looked uneasily to the side and then back to the monitor. "I must return to the Bridge, Mother; the captain will be returning from the planet shortly. Thank you for speaking with me."
"Not your subtlest change of subject, my son – but go to your duty. Be well, Spock." Amanda offered him a solemn nod, and the ta'al, before reaching up to turn off the video link.
For a moment he sat before the computer, contemplating what seemed to be a dismal failure from start to finish. He was no closer to his goal than he had been this morning, when he attempted to win over the 'Fleet board of admirals regarding their denial of Kirk's application for bereavement leave. Seldom had he been unable to sway a group of people to his side, by means of logic or what the captain always called creative diplomacy, but no amount of either had been successful in this case.
Fingers steepled against his lips in thought, he looked at the blank computer screen for a moment in contemplation, before sitting up suddenly.
"Computer, access Federation library banks."
"Working."
"Access all Starfleet personnel regulations dating back to Starfleet foundation, including any obscure regulations by founding members."
"Accessing Starfleet historical records."
"Specifically, those regulations put into place by Vulcan founding members."
"Regulations accessed. Import files?"
"Import files. Correlate current and discarded Starfleet regulations and sort by date made effective."
The files rapidly flitted across the monitor, flashing too rapidly for a human's eye though his could follow well enough – and within a few seconds, a spreadsheet had flashed up onto his screen. He moved closer to scan it, scrutinizing the time periods and when regulations had been brought into effect, when they had been discarded or overruled or adjusted on the books, if they were still in effect or not.
And finally, one of the spreadsheet columns caught his eye.
What was it the humans said?
Bingo.
Captain Kirk had returned from Deneva a full twelve hours after beaming down that morning to speak with the executor of his brother's estate. No one had expected the process of converting the estate into a trust fund for Peter, sorting through the possessions the child wished to take back to Terra with him, and disposing of the rest, to take that long; that was one reason why Spock had had such a long time to make his attempt at manipulating the admiralty with no one the wiser – but the time had not been as kind to the captain or his nephew, obviously. The child was visibly drained, small feet dragging in his battered sneakers, and McCoy took him off to Officers' Mess and promised to see him to bed. Neither Peter nor his uncle put up any protest, which was indication of how exhausted both truly were, emotionally no doubt as well as physically.
Spock had met them both in the transporter room, accompanied by the doctor, and then followed the captain as he entered the turbolift, having sent a couple small parcels to his quarters with a helpful yeoman they passed in the corridor.
"Bridge."
"Captain, nothing of import has happened today; you would be better served to –"
"Bridge." The word was brittle, broken, like shards of stone. "I did not request a commentary on my choice of destination, Mr. Spock."
"Sir, I merely intended –"
"Well, don't." The words were snapped, almost viciously, over the man's shoulder as he exited the lift onto the Bridge.
The beta shift crew, about to leave for the night, all jumped in their seats, shocked to see the captain at the unusual hour and many of them not having seen him at all since word had spread of his recent loss. DeSalle, the engineer on duty in the central chair, scrambled out of it with an alacrity which would have been amusing in other circumstances. Kirk gave him a curt nod as he passed, before climbing up and collapsing into the seat himself.
Lieutenant Uhura, the duty watch officer for the evening, shot Spock a quick look over her shoulder, to which he shook his head silently. She turned back to her sound board with a worried frown.
"Sir, the day's reports," Ensign Tormolen piped up nervously from where she hovered at the captain's left elbow, holding out a data-padd at arm's length. "Anything else you want from us before we go?"
Kirk took the padd and from somewhere conjured up a smile for his crew. "No, Ensign. Have a good evening."
"Thank you, sir." A muted chorus echoed her as the shift began wrapping up, staccato chirps and beeps suddenly filling the silence as they entered final logs and signed off on consoles. Spock moved silently over to the Communications board.
"Lieutenant, please silently notify the gamma shift crew that their shift will begin an hour later than scheduled this evening," he said quietly.
Uhura tilted her head in question, but sent the written communication immediately to the crewmen's personal comm-links and data-padds, which would prevent them from coming to the bridge to replace their beta shift counterparts for another hour.
"When you leave, please place a lockdown on the turbolift's Bridge exit for the period of one hour, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir." Uhura glanced back at the command chair, where the captain was fully engrossed in whatever report he was reading. "Mr. Spock…"
"I am caring for it, Lieutenant. That was the purpose of my instructions."
"Thank you, sir."
Meanwhile, the beta shift crewmen were departing behind them in twos and threes, chatting eagerly about the evening's plans or about what they hoped was on the menu for evening mess; usually due to auto-piloting sequences the shift hand-off did not require immediate personnel swaps unless they were in the middle of a yellow alert, and so it did not raise any alarms to the captain when no one immediately replaced them at their stations. Uhura was duty watch officer, and as such was last to leave, handing over watch in the official logs to Commander Spock, as current XO on the Bridge.
Spock waited until the light above the turbolift door went from orange, to red, and then started flashing rapidly to indicate a lockdown was in place, to take his seat at his station and wait.
He did not have to wait long; the dead silence broke through the captain's concentration faster than a phaser blast would have. Within ten seconds, Kirk glanced up, then did a double take at the empty bridge.
Spock had been almost hoping for an explosive reaction; those, he was more than familiar with by this point in their mission, and those he was well-suited to counter, one reason why they functioned so perfectly as a command team. But this: this cold, quiet, almost Vulcanlike control that had taken over in the wake of Kirk's brother's death? This, he had no real idea how to deal with, and now was no exception.
The captain calmly set the data-padd down on the floor beside the command chair, swiveled it toward the science station, and leveled a look that could flash-freeze plasma in the direction of his First Officer.
"I do not appreciate being ambushed on my own Bridge, Commander. You overstep yourself."
"Sir, I had wished to have this conversation in your quarters, but you insisted upon coming to the Bridge while off duty."
"A captain is never off duty. Something you might remember were you focused more on this ship instead of poking into my private life."
Spock bowed his head in acknowledgment, for it was a fair enough statement, though he did not deserve the anger behind it.
Hazel eyes flashed fire at him, the first spark of something other than depression or that blank mask of nothing he had been privy to during the past forty-eight hours. "What. Do you want."
Spock stepped to the dividing rail – no longer just a physical divider between them, unfortunately – and reached over it to hand the captain a data-padd.
"What is this."
"Your itinerary for the next seven days, sir."
"My what." Kirk roughly clicked the document open and held it closer to his face, squinting at the print before him. Spock pondered absently if he really did need reading glasses, so early in life, or if it were simple fatigue from lack of sleep and stress.
He saw clearly the moment that the contents of the document registered. What little color remained in the human's face drained suddenly, and he swayed alarmingly against the dividing rail, leaning against it at last to finish reading the page's contents.
Spock sat hesitantly on the rail nearby and waited in silence, looking down at his interlocked hands.
He heard a soft sound of disbelief, and Kirk shook his head, still staring down at the padd. Finally he looked up, and for the first time since the Deneva mission began Spock saw the beginnings of unchecked tears in his eyes. "How did you do this?" he asked. "It can't have been anyone else."
Spock offered him the Vulcan equivalent of a self-deprecating shrug, a tilt of the head and raised eyebrow. "Call it…creative diplomacy, and a thorough knowledge of obscure but still in-effect Starfleet regulations. Also, I may have bargained away half of our next shore leave in favor of guest appearance at a scientific lecture at the Vulcan Science Academy. Sir."
Kirk gave a kind of strangled laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob, muffled into the back of his hand. He set the padd down on the rail, and blinked desperately several times. "What did I ever do, to deserve you, Spock?" he whispered. The words were followed by a concerningly slow, shaky exhalation of breath that left no room for doubt that the man was on the edge of his breaking point. "What would I have done, if –"
Spock looked over at the struggling human, wondering anew at how this incredibly unusual man could not see it himself – that the gratitude was more than reciprocated; he simply battled far more to show it, and in this case especially had no idea how to assist in dealing with such a loss.
He had done what he could – but was it enough?
"I…" he paused, uncertain, kept his eyes on his clasped hands. "Regret that I was unable to do more, Captain."
He heard a choked noise of disbelief, and looked up in time to see Kirk making the slight jump up to sit on the rail as well, opposite him a few centimeters away.
"Only you…would apologize for that." At such close quarters, the utter exhaustion was so evident in every feature of the captain's face and posture he wondered how the man was still conscious. "From the very beginning of this…mess, you've been the one thing that's kept me sane. And I've hardly been pleasant to deal with, to you or my crew…"
"Enough, Jim," he interrupted with as much gentleness as he could muster, given how the human emotion of frustration was battering his already thin mental shields. This human really was that clueless, apparently. Kirk's head jerked up in some surprise at the unusual sharpness of his tone. "You do your crew, and your officers, a disservice, Captain," he continued, more quietly. "They are well aware of the recent circumstances, and I believe you will find your own welfare to be their only concern. Do you truly have so little idea of the regard this crew holds for you, that it must be pointed out by a Vulcan?"
Were the situation not so unfortunate, the look of dumbfounded shock on the captain's face at that last would be quite amusing; but now, it only produced a sense of sadness – but also one of resolve, for in this moment he now knew another of this man's weaknesses, something to note for future reference. They were still such a young command team, still developing and still learning – and this, just another quotient in that fascinating equation which was Captain James T. Kirk. That brash, charismatic charm was apparently not as deeply-ingrained as one would think.
Fascinating.
But not the point at hand.
"I…look, Spock…"
"Your refusal to properly acknowledge and assimilate your human grief is harming not just yourself but your crew as well," he interrupted quietly. Kirk's face turned another shade of white, but he at least did not move away when Spock's hand landed hesitantly on the gold sleeve beside him. "You must let this go, sir."
"I can't." The words were honest enough, a painful whisper that sounded torn, ragged.
"If not for yourself, then for the sake of your crew, you must, Captain."
Fists clenched under his hand, fiercely defiant despite their shaking. "I can't."
He could already see the mask returning, the Starfleet captain's training taking back over – never allow your crew to see weakness, do not permit yourself to lose control or you risk losing command, the lessons every command track candidate had practically forced into his head from the beginning of his first cadet trimester. The emotions which had been so close to the surface were fading away now, sinking back below that thick veneer of professionalism that now bothered Spock more than he wished to admit – he, a Vulcan, bothered by a human's lack of emotion. Truly, a study in contradiction.
Kirk had been so close! And yet, still, the man remained unyielding, his willpower stronger than all their efforts.
Unless Spock acted quickly, this chance would be lost, and most likely they would not get another.
Spock did not usually prefer deliberate frontal assaults, in battle or in chess; he favored the more subtle methods of stealth tactics, and that carried over into life as well. Jim Kirk had all the subtlety of a photon torpedo at times; that and creative unpredictability were his choice of strategy. But on occasion, they each did adopt the other's tactical approach, with impressive results.
"I appreciate this, more than I can tell you, Mr. Spock," the captain said softly, picking up the data-padd from the rail and sliding to his feet. "Perhaps someday I will be able to repay the gesture." With weary footsteps, he began walking toward the turbolift, intent no doubt upon disabling the lockdown and leaving.
"There is one thing," he called suddenly, without moving from his position, "which you could do, Captain."
Kirk paused, then turned around, padd tucked under one arm and that calm, bland mask firmly back in place, even the hint of a smile. "Of course. Name it, Mr. Spock."
"Let me help, Jim." (3)
(1) I try to go by the TOS order of episodes, considering that to be the timeline, so Errand of Mercy would have been extremely recent in this timeline.
(2) Amok Time is the next episode following Operation Annihilate, and in it the Enterprise is headed to the inauguration ceremonies for the new President of Altair VI, being in a hurry because the ceremonies have been moved up by a month. Admiral Komack is the one who interacts with the Enterprise during its multiple course changes during that episode, and he is the one who gets told off by T'Pau at the end of it, prompting what most assume is a series-long dislike for Captain Kirk. I've written the timeline like this, because in the Blish novelizations of the TOS episodes, shortly after the events of OA and CoTEoF, Spock supposedly takes Kirk to Vulcan for a period of time to recover from the loss of his brother and Edith Keeler.
(3) For casual fans: the significance of this phrase comes from the episode City on the Edge of Forever, the episode directly before Operation Annihilate and arguably the best episode in the entire series. In it, Kirk tells Edith Keeler that someday that phrase will become the most important in the galaxy – more important than "I love you" – and due to Edith Keeler's death being directly before this episode's additional losses, this is some fairly serious ammunition.