It was almost a week before he could persuade Dr. McCoy to attempt another mind meld. Naturally, he was not impatient, as impatience was not only an emotion, but one easily repressed and ignored. It would be disgraceful for a Vulcan with his training to be impatient. He was, however, considerably – relieved? – satisfied when the human announced that they'd best "get it over with."
His hands rested, now, on either arm of his chair, mirroring the human's appendages across him. (For a second, he felt the strange urge to also imitate McCoy's clenched fists, completing the symmetry. He dismissed it as, if not emotional, at least irrelevant mental static.) He was determined to be as careful and gentle as his professional desire for efficiency would allow. Any perceived abruptness would most likely be met by another panicked setback, which would, after all, be extremely counterproductive.
"Doctor?" he volunteered aloud, keeping his hands still. The human started, even though he must surely have been expecting S'vik to speak. The surprise quickly resolved itself into visible annoyance.
"Yeah, what?" he snapped.
"Are you prepared to begin?" He couldn't resist raising an eyebrow when the human hesitated. It seemed that the longer he spent on the ship, the more Commander Spock's strange demonstrative qualities made sense. "Further delay could cause your condition to deteriorate unnecessarily, which would be problematic as regards your future recovery." After another moment of half-irritated, half-nervous eye contact, the doctor sighed.
"Sure. Whatever you want." His fists tightened on the chair.
"What I want has little to do with my actions." 'I want to be in a well-appointed, preferably Vulcan, hospital.' "I repeat: are you prepared?"
"Yes, already. Just hurry up." His expression hardened into a determined glare. S'vik briefly wondered why, but set the thought aside in favor of slowly lifting his hands to the human's face.
"My mind to your mind," he intoned. "My thoughts to your thoughts…"
He knew, somewhere, that he was repeating the ritual words, but they were receding, their echoes rebounding in the empty spaces in his skull. His training took over; he knew that without his conscious will, he had begun the deep, ritual breaths that would allow his mind to sink into the meld.
It wasn't that he opened his eyes. Not exactly. Rather, another sense entirely separate from his eyes, usually held docile by the chatter of his thoughts, wakened, exploring the newly doubled space of his head. There was the usual cleanliness, the order of a Vulcan mind, but there was also chaos, weaving in and around his thoughts and permeating his being with fleeting, struggling emotions.
'What's he doing there – the damage, the collapsing struct – none of his busi – need to – out – just find it – out, get – just adjust the – out – only it's all so – go – confused, black, empty – out, out, OUT!'
Pulling back with what he hoped wasn't an audible gasp, S'vik reevaluated the situation. A head-on approach of the sort that he'd use with a Vulcan clearly wouldn't work. The human's mind was too disorganized, too hostile to his presence. Obviously, he'd need some level of cooperation to get anything significant done.
'Doctor,' he thought in what he hoped was a "gentle" manner. (He was distantly aware that he was speaking aloud, but as far as he was immediately concerned, the words existed only in his – their – head.) 'I cannot penetrate your mind further without incurring damage.' (Somehow, he managed to keep the thought that the damage would be mutual cloistered in the nebulous region of "his" brain.) 'There appears to be some sort of defense mechanism. I require your assistance. Sure, you do. Go away.'
The thought wasn't exactly his, but it was close enough to seem more like random intuition than a response; he knew better than to be fooled by the impression.
'I cannot readily assess the damage. Damage, what damage? I don't see – your mind as a whole is too chaotic – is that an insult? – for damage to be clearly distinguishable… at least from this distance.' There was a brief pause.
'What do we do?'
He would've sighed in relief had relief not been wildly illogical. 'Is there anything that seems… problematic to you? Something askew or amiss? Yes, there is. I can feel it. There is, isn't there – be clear, now – does this seem right? Jagged, crooked, not right – sounds like the textbooks – practicum? – no, just theory – what kind of greenhorns are they – can we please focus?
'What do we do? Let me adjust it – you said you couldn't – you can lower the barriers. How do I – just trust, focus on positive – thought Vulcans didn't do – different in meld. Focus! Right. You in? Yes. Only the damage – bad news, always bad news when they say – need time, can shore up – seriously – expected, only expected. Second meld later – need to finish initial shoring and – fixed? – repairs. No. Not yet.'
Once he'd been directed to a few areas of serious damage, he found the others surprisingly easy to locate. Perhaps it was the depth of his fusion with the human, the same fusion that forced their intertwined thoughts into constant interruption, but something about the majority of the chaos appeared normal. The trouble spots stood out as though they'd been… cut against the grain of the natural thought processes. It was still all horribly disordered, of course, but there was a sort of pattern in the unaffected areas that he could understand. (He distantly wondered if this was how humans could clearly distinguish "sane" from "insane," although there were few controlled and rational enough to truly qualify as the former.)
By the time he withdrew completely, blinking in the harsh light of his chamber, S'vik was confident that he'd not only reinforced the prior meditative work, but fixed some of the more noticeable problems. His patient seemed to agree, offering him a cheerful smile and a near violation of his personal space. (Thankfully, he withdrew the half-extended hand in time.) He even favored Spock with a broad grin. McCoy left with a wave and a promise to return the next day. Truly, a brilliant day's work.
As a result, S'vik was astonished to see an expression that approached… something on Commander Spock's face when they were alone.
"What did you do?" His voice was tight.
"I improved overall function, particularly equilibrium and calming mechanisms. I strengthened the areas dealing with potential seizures, nervous episodes, and related incidents. I – "
"Related incidents?"
"Nightmares. Irrational fear." Spock's eyes grew darker with each word. "Did I do something wrong?" He suddenly felt the urge to defend himself. "His openly expressed emotions are far more positive, which I was led to believe was the goal of these sessions."
"The goal was to improve long-term function." Spock paused briefly, gathering his thoughts, "Am I correct in stating that when you 'strengthened' the emotional areas, you constructed internal barriers to prevent their intrusion in the conscious mind?" S'vik nodded, allowing curiosity to overtake – nothing. (The meld must have interfered with his shields.) "Humans are fundamentally emotional, uncontrolled beings. As such, they make deliberate use of their more volatile states of mind. Anger and fear are seen as counterweights, rational reactions to trauma. Repression is unnatural to humans; it often interferes with their long-term function."
S'vik blinked once, twice. It was difficult information to process. All he could think was, 'I made it worse? How could I make it worse?'
"I see," he managed. "I will attempt to correct my oversight." Spock eyed him curiously, darkness fading from his visage.
"Forgive me, S'vik, but I must know: how is it that, in spite of your specialized training, you were unaware of this facet of human psychology? I am given to understand that it is quite fundamental."
"The relevant literature is… extremely limited." 'The Academy training was a waste of time. I would've done better to join a ship immediately.' "I believe further research is needed."
"Or at least better collaboration."
"Indeed." Suddenly, he felt exhausted. He wasn't sure whether it was the meld or the knowledge that he'd likely harmed his patient, but he doubted his mental shields would survive the rest of the conversation. "If you would excuse me, Commander, I must meditate."
"Of course. I will see you tomorrow."
"Until then."
