Broken

Storyshark2005


~-O-~

Chapter Four: Falling

~-O-~

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,

These leaves that redden to the fall;

And in my heart, if calm at all,

If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,

And waves that sway themselves in rest,

And dead calm in that noble breast

Which heaves but with the heaving deep.

-From Tennyson's In Memoriam, XI


-O-

Officers Quarters, Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth

01:39 hours

-O-

Spock hesitated.

Correction.

He did not hesitate. Hesitation implies uncertainty, which is a fear of the unknown. Fear is an emotion.

If Spock were to, theoretically, possess the emotions which his Vulcan upbringing and physiology had made impossible, Spock could be feeling fear at the moment. He would because certain human social parameters would determine his present situation to be 'awkward'. And in awkward situations humans, quite logically, experience nervousness. The feeling of nervousness is another result of uncertainty. Of fear.

All of this ran through Spock's pristinely organized mind very, very quickly as his finger, quite purposefully, pressed the entrance indicator to Nyota Uhura's quarters.

A beat.

Perhaps Nyota was asleep. That would be logical, considering the normal human sleep pattern.

He pressed the indicator again.

A few seconds later the door hissed open and revealed a very exhausted Nyota Uhura. Her annoyed expression quickly fell into a look of concern.

"Nyota. I do apologize for the interruption, and for the early hour-"

She shook her head. "Spock, shut up. C'mon in." Her long nails lingered on the door frame as she turned back into the dark apartment.

It was just as he remembered it. The last time he had been inside…approximately three years ago. Just before the Enterprise was sent on her first five-year mission. When they were still engaged in a physical relationship. His glance slid to the dark bedroom door.

"Don't worry, I wasn't sleeping. Can't seem to without the damn engines…" She trailed off, swallowing hard. They both knew that wasn't the only reason.

She motioned to the couch. It was L-shaped, tucked into the corner of the room under an elliptical shaped window cut deep into the wall. Stars were visible through the soft white fabric blinds pulled down. The couch was meant for lounging, the satiny purple seat dipping down to a curve, cradling the occupants. Spock sunk into the familiar cushions, feeling himself relax marginally. He closed his eyes, and let his head drop back, breathing deeply.

He would always care for Nyota. He knew this deeply, though far more than he would ever admit to himself. She was the first person he had ever let his guard down around. He remembered those long afternoons and evenings, first spent in his quarters. He had been reluctant to let her in…inside his life. But she had been so persistent. So…determined to know him, really. She would cook for him while they were studying Vulcan, discussing cultural differences revealed in the cadence of the words, the logic of grammar and structure, how thought processes are literally different because of the language, not just a translation of universal thought patterns. All she had ever wanted to do was study language. Every language ever spoken. She was brilliant, an observer in the same vein of his own scientific study. But she observed people. How they carried themselves, what they chose to say and do, their conscious and unconscious body language, across a variety of cultures. She was the first person to read him. She was the first person ever to come close to having him figured out.

He found himself letting go around her. Only while they were totally alone, but for her, it was progress. The occasional upward turn of his lips, the rare joke. They were cryptic, but she always figured them out and laughed out loud, sweet and tender.

But he couldn't do it. There were painful nights when she would prod him, "What's wrong?", an innocent question, a loaded gun. He could never tell her. She would never understand…completely. She was a kind of therapy for him, but a cruel one. He could pretend that he was human around her. It never worked, it was a game. A glimpse of a world and a life that he could never have. That voice, deep down inside him, "You are Vulcan. This is illogical. You do not feel. You have been in the presence of humans for too long." And just as deep, "You're a failure. You can't pretend you don't feel. You aren't a Vulcan. And you aren't a human. You fit in nowhere, and you'll never belong anywhere or to anyone. You're a freak and a half-breed, and you're alone. You'll always be alone."

"Nothing."

And so he turned his back on her, tucking a hand under the cold pillow and closing his eyes, willing himself to sleep. She slid down a moment later, her back to his. Quiet tears. Long nights.

"I can still hear him."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, curled in on herself, feet up on the edge of the couch.

"It's….it's his voice. I mean, after all these months, I almost can't remember how he looks, its fading and, it's funny but his voice I hear. So clear still. Sometimes, it's at the edge of a conversation, sort of faded in the background. Or at night…I don't even know what he's saying. Or if he's really saying anything rational at all. It sounds so real, like he's just hovering over my shoulder or something. It's always on the tip of my ear and I…I almost miss it. But it's there. And…I want to hear it. I think if it stops, then he'll really be gone."

She closed her eyes. "And if I concentrate hard enough…" Her head tipped slightly sideways. "...there." She smiled. "I can see him. Only if I remember something he said to me. Then I can see his face." Her smile widened, now a grin. "God, and those blue eyes. I've never seen anything like them." She opened her eyes and looked over at him. Her smile faded.

"Spock…" her fingers reached up to ghost over his jaw, his cheekbones, sliding to a rest behind his ear. "I know you're hurting, baby. Please, let me help you."

He couldn't say anything. He had come so close…just like he had come close with Doctor McCoy back on the Enterprise, the day before they got to Earth Spacedock.

So he compromised.

"Could I…could I be permitted to sleep here tonight." He said quietly, looking down. "With you?"

Her hopeful face, teetering on the edge of disappointment, collapsed in relief. "Yes, yes of course you can Spock."

She pulled him up, and walked back to the dark bedroom, flipping on the lights. He slipped off his shoes near the door, and unzipped his grey uniform jacket. Nyota pulled open a drawer and rifled through the contents.

"Here…these should fit." She handed him some sweats and a soft t-shirt. He held it up to read 'Starfleet Academy Water Polo.' On the back, 'Archer' with a large number 14.

Nyota blushed. "It's Charlie Archer's. Gaila and him used to date, and she kept those in her room. After I was cleaning out her drawers….I kept some stuff. They reminded me of her more than him. All I remember was he used to have his stupid beagle with him every time he came over. God, I mean every time. I'd leave, and his tie would go on the door, but the damn dog was still in the room with them…" she trailed off, clearing her throat.

He pulled his undershirt off, and slipped the soft cotton over his skin, and then the sweatpants. The routine felt comforting, familiar. He didn't need to hide, or go into the bathroom to change. Nyota was already in pajamas, and pulled back the covers, climbing into bed.

He switched off the light, bathing the room in starlight. The sheets felt cool, his shirt and sweatpants soft and warm. He noticed that she had turned the environmental settings to a more comfortable temperature for him. She snuggled back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. There wasn't any tension, any pressure. Just the comfort of each other and the tempting call of sleep.

Spock's eyes gave into gravity, and fell shut. He listened to the sound of Nyota's breathing, pulled in her scent, heard the faint hum of the environmental systems. Probably too faint for a human ear…

And he was asleep.


-O-

Quarters of Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth

0354 hours

-O-

A glaring white sun scorched red orange rock, contrasting with a cobalt blue sky. Cloudless. Sweat poured down his back, heat radiating from every pore.

Steadying himself on a small ledge, he reached over to the three cams anchored into the crack veining up the cliff face. One by one, he pulled them out and clipped them back to his harness. The rope tightened from above him, and he reached out for the next hold, hauling himself and continuing up the sheer rock. That was the last anchor to clean, and he could see the rope disappearing over the larger ledge jutting out above him, about 50 meters away. The last part of the pitch was convex, and his muscles screamed in protest at every move. The next hold was just out of reach. He knew exactly why Jim loved this route- Spock secured his left hand, backstepped and rocked his weight to his left foot, edging it close to the wall. His right hand and leg were free. He took a moment to assess his position and chalk his right hand. He looked up, focused on the hold, and jumped.

He heard a loud whoop from Jim, and his right hand scraped reassuringly against the rough sandstone. His head tilted up as he swung from the hold, to see sweaty blond spikes and a sunburned face lean over the ledge above him.

"HAHA! DAMMIT, SPOCK, THAT WAS A HELL OF A DYNO!"

They were almost to the final pitch of Sheer Lunacy, a Class IV 5.12 day long climb in Zion, Utah. The six pitches had taken them all day, and the exhaustion was starting to show. Once Spock reached the belay station where Jim was anchored in, he could rest awhile before switching leads with Jim and then make the final ascent.

Somehow, he maneuvered the last 10 meters and slapped a hand up on the ledge. Jim reached down and clamped Spock's wrist, hauling him over the lip. Not caring about his usual composure, Spock collapsed in a shaded vertex of the small oasis of solid ground. Jim threw him a water bottle and unhooked his equipment belt, falling down beside Spock to share the small patch of shade.

Spock ran a hand through his damp hair, and futilely tried to wipe the stinging sweat from his eyes.

Jim chuckled. "Spock, I've never seen you make a jump like that. You're always so goddamned careful."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It was the only viable option. If there would've been a more…logical alternative, I would have taken it."

"That's such bullshit! You know you just wanted the adrenaline rush."

Spock's brow lowered thoughtfully. "I do not believe I have ever expressed a desire to intentionally experience an 'adreneline rush'. Why would anyone wish to induce such a survival response, similar to fear or panic?"

"Because it makes you feel ALIVE, Spock."

"How illogical. Do all humans tempt death to feel 'alive'? It seems an inherent contradiction. Or is this a physical exercise of compare and contrast?"

"Yeah, you could call it that. Its like…to know how awesome it is to be alive, you've almost got to lose it…just for a second. To be so close, feel it slip out of your fingers. And when you know you're ok, when you're not going to die…" He closed his eyes. "The air is sweeter, the breeze is cooler…everything is just so much more vivid, and real somehow. Like you never really saw everything before. You know?"

Spock took another drink. "I believe I see your logic, however flawed. Human reasoning inevitably fails, since it is based in emotion. However, looking at your argument from a purely human point of view, and assuming emotions are a logical part of your reasoning process….the argument could be considered…not entirely unsound."

Jim's bark of laughter echoed over the canyon walls.

The sun dipped lower, bathing them in more shade. He stood and walked to the edge, breaking into the sunlight. Gold washed Jim's torso bronze, sheened in sweat. Spock's own planes of skin seemed paler than usual. Jim had talked him into wearing climbing shorts instead of his usual full body suit of abrasion resistant durnylon. There was something faintly grand about the feeling of a cool wind whipping up from the canyon, wicking the sweat from your bare skin, all the while the sun is beating down, hot and cold.

"Hey, Spock."Jim slid back down to sit on the sandstone.

"Yes, Jim."

Jim was turning a rock over and over in his hand, memorizing its texture with his hands. Spock stared at the rock as Jim's voice washed over his ears.

"D'you…do you ever think you'll get married?"

Spock looked sharply up. The rock still held Jim's gaze and attentive touch. The sun's glare eclipsed Jim's gold spikes for a moment as he leaned back, searing Spock's vision. He could still hear his voice.

"I mean, I know you had that girl you were like, bonded to or whatever."

"T'Pring is dead Jim. She was on Vulcan. That arrangement is no longer valid for obvious reasons."

"I know. I mean, you told me. But does that mean you're like…done? For life, or whatever?"

Jim tossed the rock over the edge, but his eyes remained down.

"Jim…why are you asking me about this?"

"I dunno. Just forget it."

Spock dropped his head back against the dry sandstone, letting silence fill the space between them.

"Spock, you know you're my best friend right? I mean, you and Bones, of course. But we're like…different. You and me. I mean, every shore leave, I make you go climbing, or surfing on Pacifica-"

"I don't recall surfing."

"Well, I surfed. You just swam all day. After I taught you."

"There is little water on Vulcan. And what is is not suitable for swimming. It would've been illogical for me to have learned to swim."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome. You had a little smile on your face for a week."

"Vulcans don't smile, Jim."

"Well you're not completely Vulcan, are you?"

"No. No, I am not."

Jim nodded. "Good. I'm glad. I like you better that way. Bones says you're 'unique'."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Doctor McCoy said I was, 'unique'?"

"Well, not in those exact words. But pretty much. You two would get along great if you got to know each other."

"Doctor McCoy and myself are…very different."

"Yeah, you are."

Jim's cryptic answer was left unexplained as he suddenly stood and walked back to their gear. He picked his equipment belt from the ground and latched it securely around his waist.

Spock stood, steadying himself with one hand on the rough rock, too tired to raise an eyebrow. "Jim, it seems exhaustion is interfering with your thought processes. I need the lead belt to make the final pitch." Spock picked his lighter belt up, offering it to Jim with a nod.

Jim shook his head. "You're too tired still. And I want to lead this pitch."

"If you had expressed a desire to lead the final pitch, you should have let me lead the first one."

"But I wanted to lead both."

Spock suppressed the urge to groan and roll his eyes. Arguing would get him nowhere.

Instead, he pulled on his own gear, and set about clipping himself into the belay anchor already set up by Jim. He pulled up all the slack, and handed the end to Jim, who began tying himself in to start- he double checked all his gear, making sure his cams and quick draws were within easy reach, the knots were secure, and his harness was snug.

Spock gave a final once over to Jim's equipment, before nodding. He snapped the belay device onto the rope feeding from his harness.

'Belay on. Ready to climb?"

Jim jerked his head in the affirmative, and approached the wall, dipping his hand to chalk it. "Ready to climb."

Spock watched the young captain intently, feeding him slack and constantly pulling the rope down and locked in the belay device.

10 meters up. Jim paused to pull a couple cams from his belt, slide them securely into the crack, and snap them to his rope.

15 meters….Anchor.

25 meters. Anchor.

40 meters. Anchor.

Annoyance slipped through Spock's mental barriers as he noticed Jim was taking longer and longer intervals between his anchor points. If he fell, he would have a long way to go before the rope went taut and stopped him.

55 meters. Anchor.

He was making good time too, and taking less time to set his cams.

75 meters. Anchor.

90 meters. Jim stopped after the longest interval yet, and began to set his anchor.

"SLACK!" he yelled, echoed endlessly by his own voice bouncing off the canyon walls.

Spock let a little more slack through the belay, gaze fixed intently on Jim's stance, his holds, his posture…he seemed steady. It only took one slip though.

He was taking a little longer than usual and seemed to be fumbling with his gear. He hadn't gotten the cam in the wall yet, and was still trying to unclip it from the loop on his belt. Spock set his heels and tightened his grip on the rope.

He saw it all.

Jim finally pulled the stubborn cam loose, and reached up to insert it in the crack, pivoting around, left foot balancing on a hold, the other wedged in the crack. Jim's weight shifted to the side, reaching, and his left foot slipped.

The canyon walls shook to life with Jim's sharp scream.

He skimmed the rock for a millisecond before his right foot caught, jerking him upsidedown. But he didn't stop…

Spock now felt of a rush of adrenaline that was definitely not pleasant. His stomach was in his throat, and he felt oddly like he was not in his own body, instead rushing to meet the young human on whom his gaze was completely fixed, flying down towards the ground.

The anchor point, 15 meters down, caught for an instant, and pulled free.

Spock acted without thought. He loosed the belay device and began a stop-slip pattern, reducing the fall force on the rope. The next anchor…the rope pulled taut….NO!

"JIM!"

Spock shot up in bed, eyes blown open, chest heaving. The dark around him danced with images, ghosts, reverberated with Jim's scream…

Sweat plastered his t-shirt to his chest, and he could still feel the breeze, the hot sun, the dry chalk under his fingernails, sunburn starting to prickle his cheeks. Adrenaline flushed hot cold through every fiber of his body.

Jim's limp body jerked to a stop as the rope pulled taught on his harness. The cam held. The rope stretched elastically, and Spock let his feet lift off the ground as the rope pulled him up , decreasing the drop force as much as possible.

That's what happened. He had stopped Jim's fall….the anchor had held. Jim was fine…shaken, but alive.

So why did he feel like he just saw Jim plummet all the way down? He had a sick feeling in his stomach. That last cam…he could see the rope go taut…and just before he woke up…

It pulled free.

He shivered. He was regaining his surroundings. He could no longer feel the sun or the breeze of the canyon. The air conditioner was blowing icy air onto his soaking chest. He was absolutely freezing, but a fever was shivering it way down his spine, and his insides burned hot. His head felt swollen and hollow, and ached terribly. His emotions were all over the place, his mental shields were completely blown down. He felt unbalanced, out of control. He wondered irrationally if this was what it was like to be completely human.

"Spock? Computer, lights."

Light slashed through his retinas, slamming back through his brain, pounding the sides of his skull.

Soft warm hands cupped his face. "Spock? Spock. Come back to me, baby. C'mon, Spock. Tell me what's wrong. You're alright. You're gonna be ok."

He let himself be pulled into her embrace, giving into fear and desperation and despair, as Nyota stroked his hair and wiped his brow and rocked him gently, whispering words he couldn't understand. His mind flashed back to years and years ago when he was a child, and his mother had comforted him in the same way. Before he realized the foolishness of such actions. Before he saw his friends muttering and whispering behind his back, before he knew what 'human' even really meant.

"Spock…what did you dream? Why did you yell out his name?"

He closed his eyes.

She waited.

"It was…we were climbing." His voice was shaking.

"You and Jim went climbing often on shore leave. Was this…was it a memory? Or a dream?"

"It started as a memory. We were in Zion. I think…it was our last shore leave on Earth. Before we left for the five year mission."

"You two had fun on that trip."

"Jim fell."

"I remember. Jim had a vid recorder. No helmet, of course, but he must've had it somewhere on him. He showed all of us the footage. It was 150 foot fall. You saved him, though. Spock, you saved him from that fall."

A pause.

"It was 164 feet. The cam pulled out from the wall. He fell another 20 meters after that."

"But you were belaying, Spock. You anchored him after that cam broke. You did exactly what you were supposed to do in that situation. And he was fine."

She waited, stroking his hair back.

He swallowed. "Dreams are…irrelevant." His mind began the painstaking process of piecing its delicate framework back into balance. Logic, reason, order. "The outcome makes no difference to the present situation." He slowly sat up, pulling himself together. Nyota watched him sadly, slowly letting her hand drop from his shoulder, ghosting down his arm. He sat motionless, trying to regain his faculties.

"Spock…Leonard talked to me earlier this evening. He said he invited you to go down with him to Georgia until the funeral."

"He did extend an invitation."

"Well, maybe you should think about it."

His back stiffened.

"I know you think you're needed here, or maybe you're just telling yourself that this is where you feel closest to Jim. Near the Enterprise. But Jim's not there, Spock." Her voice cracked, and she blinked back tears. "He's not going to walk around some corridor, or strut out onto the Bridge, or be waiting for you in a turbolift. And that cam is going to break every time, Spock. There's nothing you can do, and nothing you could've done. He's gone."

Spock shot straight up. He stood for a moment, before heading for the door.

"Spock, wait!" He could hear the tears in her voice, her heart breaking.

But he couldn't really find any room to care. The walk back through the corridors was forgettable. He collapsed back on his own cold, empty, dark bed and watched the sun rise slowly over San Francisco Bay. When it was light enough to see, he grabbed a duffle, and threw a week's worth of clothes and amenities in it. He zipped it up, threw it by the door, and picked up his communicator.


-O-

Cochran Station, San Francisco, Planet Earth

0628 hours

-O-

Spock watched McCoy shift restlessly in his seat. He wasn't voicing his discomfort, or giving any conspicuous physical signs. Just that small shift, a strained expression, white knuckles gripping the armrest.

He leaned down and spoke lowly.

"Doctor McCoy, you appear in distress. May I inquire the source of your concern?"

"No, Spock, you certainly may not." He shifted again, angling towards the window, the blind already pulled down shut.

Spock watched the Doctor's profile closely. "There are several plausible explanations for your current anxiety. Possibly, you are experiencing a feeling of nervousness regarding your return home, which you have not visited in several years. Another, that you are experiencing these same feelings in regard to my presence at your familial home."

"Spock, that's ridiculous. I invited you-"

"And, a third possibility. You are experiencing an irrational phobia, most likely aviaphobia. This is the most logical conclusion, as you did not appear to manifest these symptoms until boarding this shuttle. Also you have consumed a variety of anxiety medications and alcoholic beverages, which further supports my conclusion."

McCoy's mouth dropped.

"A curious affliction, doctor, for a man as rational as yourself. I do wonder how you managed to cope with a career in Starfleet. Starfleet does carry out its practical operations in-"

"Space, I know." He stared at Spock a moment, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

Spock gave him a questioning look. McCoy shook his head.

"It's nothing, just…Jim said almost the exact same thing to me the first day I met him."

A silence fell, filled with the noise of the shuttle's impulse drives spinning up, the dull dyne of chatter, Lee shushing Joanna's jittery streams of nonsensical babble a row ahead of them.

"I'm uh…I'm glad you decided to come."

Spock realized he didn't have a logical response. He could've extended a formal thanks for the invitation, or an impersonal comment about how he was looking forward to observing human behavior in the rural South, or how he was only taking the Admiral's explicit advice about getting off campus.

Instead, he simply nodded.

A rumble shook through the small shuttle, but was quieted as the inertial dampeners kicked in. Leonard's head fell back against the head rest, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

The thing was, Spock's logic was failing him all over the place. His mind seemed unbalanced still from the previous night's dream, and thought was becoming a bit precarious. At least, that's what he told himself when he realized exactly what he was doing.

His fingers closed around McCoy's cold wrist. He could feel ligaments strained tight against the pulse point. Before he could react, Spock closed his eyes and sent a wave of calm warmth and tranquility, willing it to flow through the small physical contact connecting him to his friend.

Nam-tor hayal, let'theiri. Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak.

Spock breathed and forced himself from the connection, residual thoughts pulling away like thick syrup, stubbornly hanging on. He opened his eyes, coming back to himself. He looked over to McCoy.

"Doctor…I must apologize. I do not know…."

"N-no…Spock, its fine." He breathed in and out, eyes a bit unfocused, before turning to face Spock. "Actually…thanks. I feel…great. Calm." He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what the hell you did…but whatever it was…well just ask next time. But thanks."

Spock nodded, and folded his hands in his lap. McCoy relaxed down into his chair, unwinding his muscles, stretching out his limbs. He looked over to the window, and pulled up the blind. Red gold sunlight poured through transaluminium pane, highlighting bronze and red streaks in the dark bangs growing long and falling into the doctor's eyes.

"Almost home…" he sighed.

"Indeed…Doctor."

He looked over at Spock, smiling, and dropped a hand to his shoulder, causing Spock to jump slightly.

"It's Leonard, Spock. Just call me Leonard."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Leonard just laughed out loud, and gave Spock's shoulder another slap before settling deeper in his seat for the journey home.


A/N-

Vulcan Translation:

Nam-tor hayal, let'theiri. Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak.

Be calm, be at peace. Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear. The 'cast out fear' mantra is one from Surak's teachings.

Thank you ALL who reviewed and especially if you PM'd me or talked to me or something. I was talking to a couple people, who I couldn't really say much to because it would give away the plot! Remember, there's a lot more stuff to find out. What happened on Galacia Prime? Why was Jim in Romulan space? What's going to happen to the crew now that they're back to Earth?

A couple days down in Georgia, then they go back for the funeral, and then….well, you'll find out in chapter 5 or 6.

FEEDBACK? Tell me what you thought of the climbing sequence. And the conversation between Kirk and Spock. Did you like the Uhura dynamic? Enterprise reference! I had to slip an Archer in there somewhere, maybe Jonathan got married. Charlie, names after Trip, would've been his grandson. Still got the polo gene, though! Oh, and look out. T'Pol will be showing up in later chapters!