Title: Lesson Four (1/2)
Series: Insontis
Rating: G
Characters: (this bit) Kirk, McCoy, bb!Spock
Word Count: (this bit) 2693
Warnings: Crack. Quite ghastly amounts of fluff. Written by me. Utter lack of plot. It's not meant to be real fic, it's not even meant to necessarily be IC, since one of the protagonists literally is not in character.
Summary: Starfleet Command and the Federation have become interested in the Insonti technology which transformed their most prominent starship captain into an infant some weeks previous. The Enterprise has been handed the assignment of performing further research into the device, while developing a deeper rapport with this as-yet non-Federation planet, in the hopes of producing an allegiance between the Insonti people and the Federation.
This Bit Summary: In which bb!Spock learns a lesson about trust, and his primary caretakers learn their lessons as well. Written in response to a prompt by eavis, and incidentally my first foray back into writing in over two months. Let's hope it's not as awful as I think it is.
Chronological Order of This 'Verse:
When I Was a Child
Impeccable Aim
Lesson One
A Matter of Genetics
Taking Sides
Fangirls
Out of the Mouth of Babes
A Two-Way Trust
Lesson Two
Unleashed
Family Interlude
Artistic License
Blackmail Potential
Captain Sunshine
Sunshine and Darkness
Ducks in Space
Smart is Sexy
Lesson Four
Never Too Young
The Sincerest Form of Flattery
Lesson Five
Persuasive Arguments
A Decided Lack of Amusement (1/4) (2/4) (3/4) (4/4)
Catch a Falling Star
An Infernal Device
Lesson Six (and Seven, really) (1/4) (2/4) (3/4) (4/4)
The Second Time Around
Lessons Eight and Nine
Lessons Ten and Eleven (1/2) (2/2)
Outside the Box
Comprehension (1/4) (2/4) (Interlude) (3/4) (4/4)
And So It Begins
Fear Is Only Embarrassing in Public
Never Tease a Vulcan
Best Destiny (1/4) (2/4) (3/4) (4/4)
Parting Ways (1/6) (2/6) (3/6) (4/6) (5/6) (6/6)
The Wounds of a Friend (1/4) (2/4) (3/4) (4/4)
Lessons Learned
A Child of Two Worlds
First Impressions
Instincts
Lesson One, of sorts
Communication
Lesson Two
Lesson Three
Trust (Lesson Four) (1/2) (2/2)
Learning Diplomacy
Lesson Five
McCoy would love to be able to say, that he'd seen it coming. That they'd caught the signs early, that his medical expertise had perceived the growing danger before it became too drastic a problem to ignore. He'd like to be able to tell the captain, who was no less freaked out about the incident than his medical staff, that they had been prepared for this eventuality, and had a plan in place accordingly. He'd love to be able to say that it was perfectly normal for a kid, and even to be anticipated given the stressful circumstances.
Unfortunately, he could not, truthfully, say any of these things.
And Captain James T. Kirk was not happy with him. No, actually, that was a colossal understatement.
Jim was furious.
There was very little that could make their captain lose all pretense of command control, only a few things which might trigger a metaphorical explosion in front of his subordinates; but unfortunately for them all one of those few things was their (currently fun-sized) Chief Science Officer and said Science Officer's precious dignity.
The room had emptied within moments after the incident began, and now even McCoy knew to quail before the unleashed fury that was currently raking Officers' Mess.
And, if he were honest with himself, Jim's anger was more than justified. He or one of his medical staff should have seen it coming, or at the least most certainly should have realized there was a problem long before it came to a head like this.
They had been becalmed in orbit for over a week now, during which their tiny resident Vulcan had carefully wormed his way into the hearts of everyone aboard, almost surpassing the affection the crew had had for a starry-eyed little Captain Sunshine. Spock had acclimated to his new life and new circumstances with the same calm serenity and curiosity which characterized his adult self as a scientist and a Vulcan; and they had come to expect the little guy to accept everything around him with such equanimity as he had shown in the nine days he'd been aboard. By this time, Spock was around four years of age; old enough to converse fluently in both Terran Standard and in Vulcan, but still very small for his age, and as inquisitive as any fully human preschooler would be.
McCoy had gratefully turned the majority of babysitting duty over to their captain by this point, who for many reasons was the most logical choice for raising a baby Vulcan. For one thing, there was very little for the captain of the ship to do, when they were merely orbiting a peaceful planet on a research mission. For another, it was obvious to even the most clueless crewman that their tiny Vulcan worshipped the ground Kirk walked on, at any age. And thirdly, Kirk did have the most experience, and had done the most research, into Vulcan culture, and he had an innate, almost instinctual understanding of said culture.
So, if he was pointing fingers, McCoy rather thought it was Kirk who should have seen the indications, though in the captain's defense the sleeping hours were designated to him and his medical staff, in order to keep a close eye upon the child's Vulcan physiology in the event of an overnight age-change. Spock would leave his nursery cubicle in Sickbay every morning with Jim or another crewman, and would rarely return before evening mess; after which he would spend a bit of time with someone and then retire to Sickbay once more for his designated sleep schedule.
But regardless, someone – one of them, him or the captain, at least – should have seen it, should have realized Spock wasn't sleeping, at least not very well. Why he hadn't checked the bio-monitors to check the child's sleeping habits was an oversight he was not proud of; but in his defense, Spock had never required much sleep, no more than a few hours a night, and it was the last thing on McCoy's mind when trying to care for a baby Vulcan among his other duties.
Either way, one of them should have raised an alarm about Spock before the poor kid thoroughly embarrassed himself by bursting into real, honest-to-god tears in the middle of evening mess, right in front of a roomful of shocked, and more than a little freaked out, senior officers.
Nobody knew what had set it off, and at that point no one bothered to find out, because the room was emptying of gawkers under Scotty's hastily-snapped orders. McCoy had been lounging near the door, chatting with one of his gamma-shift nurses that he hadn't seen in a few days, when the abrupt, tearful wail of a miserable child suddenly shattered the pleasant white noise of crewmen finishing their meals. In a matter of seconds he had scooted around the perimeter of the room to where the senior command crew were accustomed to eating every evening, and skidded to a halt in front of the table shared with the alpha shift.
Ensign Chekov, who had been Spock's designated feeder for tonight, was hastily scooting back from the child in question, hands buried helplessly in his hair and looking absolutely shocked speechless – and no wonder, because who in the universe had ever even seen a Vulcan cry before, much less one that they knew so well? Child or not, McCoy doubted Vulcan infants even cried at all, because theirs certainly had not, not once during his baby days.
But now, Spock was curled up in a miserable little ball on the bench seat, head buried in his arms and sobbing helplessly just like any other kid his age might have been on Earth. All they could see was a silky mop of mussed hair, and two tiny quivering shoulders clad in miniature Science blues.
"Where's the captain?" he asked softly, motioning for Chekov to scoot out of the way.
"He vas getting a coffee refill, sir! Doctor I do not know vhat happened, he was very quiet during the meal but nothing was wrong that I know! But just suddenly –"
"It's all right, Ensign. You just go 'long with Sulu and let us handle it, okay? I promise I'll take good care of him."
Scotty was still ushering curious crewmen out of the room, and Sulu and Uhura had immediately taken one look at the situation and known their presence would not be welcomed. They had given him a look of sympathy and retreated to a nearby table, remaining quiet but not abandoning the child in the event their help might be needed.
Either that, McCoy mused ruefully, or they'd seen the look on the captain's face as he forced his way back through the room, coffee long since abandoned on a table.
"I was gone for fifteen seconds." The sentence was fairly snarled in his ear as the captain flew around an errant chair, knocking it to the side in his haste. "What. Did. They. Do to him? Spock? Hey buddy, can you hear me?" The child flinched under the captain's hand, though the tearful wails quieted slightly into just painful, heart-wrenching sobbing.
"No one did anything, Jim," McCoy muttered, his pocket medical scanner already finishing its scan, whirring eagerly over the huddled figure. "There's nothing wrong with him that I can tell, no viruses or elevated temperatures or anything else abnormal for a Vulcan! Granted, this pocket scanner's not a full medical exam but there's nothing medically wrong with him that I can see!"
Kirk ignored him, only crouched and squeezed without hesitation between the bench and the table, half-turning the child's huddled form toward him. "Spock. Talk to me," he said softly, the words more gentle than the firm hands he kept on the child's tiny shoulders to prevent his escaping.
A tear-streaked face made a brief appearance as the child shook his head, tugging relentlessly against the grip.
"Spock?"
"Ti'amah!" (1) The sobbed word was followed by a fresh volley of tears, and McCoy resisted the urge to throw the medical scanner against the wall, helpless even more so than the captain was to respond to whatever was triggering this by all accounts dangerously human reaction to something. A few meters away, he saw Scotty return to their shocked little group, the engineer's honest face drawn with concern.
But Kirk shook his head in response, eyes softening at the plea. "I will not," he said gently. "Talk to me, Spock-kam. Use your words, little one. What is causing this?"
"Nash-veh ri'fai-tor," the child sobbed helplessly, burying his face anew in his hands.
Kirk's sandy brows knitted in increasing concern.
"What's that mean?" McCoy whispered, hoping his voice wouldn't upset the child even more.
"He doesn't know, Bones. He's as shocked as we are, I think. Give me a minute, here." The captain turned back and gently pried the child's tiny hands from his face.
"Ti'amah!"
"I will not," was the reply, gentle but firm. Kirk carefully released one of the child's wrists, whereupon the hand promptly began rubbing at the tear-filled eyes. He reached up with his free hand and carefully tilted the child's head up with one gentle finger, whereupon Spock stared at him in silent misery, tears still running down his face. "Talk to me, Spock. Are you in pain? Is this a reaction to something someone has done?"
"I do not know," the child half-sobbed, scrubbing almost angrily at the tears which continued to fall. "I do not know!"
Kirk shot his Chief Medical Officer a quick warning glance, and then turned back to his miserable little Vulcan. Moving the tiny hand he still held up toward his face, he made certain they had eye contact before speaking. "Spock. Nahp, hif-bi tu throks," he enunciated clearly, eyes glinting with determination. (2)
McCoy started, banging his knee loudly on the edge of the bench in his shocked haste. "Hold it, Jim!"
The captain's free hand made a decisive slicing motion, effectively warning him to silence his protests. Hazel eyes never left the child's tear-filled ones, however, and a moment later both tiny hands latched onto Kirk's face with a desperation that was almost pitiful to any onlooker.
McCoy, who knew the dangers of a poorly-performed mind meld (besides the fact that even a well-controlled one was still an event he hoped never to repeat), was fairly terrified out of his mind; who knew what type of control a toddler could have over such a thing, and how much emotional transference was going to happen regardless! He raised his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in helplessness, and met the eyes of their shocked alpha shift crew with a painful shrug.
"Y'all'd better leave us to it," he said, motioning toward the door. "Captain wouldn't want you watching."
"Aye." Scott's face was pinched with worry, as he glanced back and forth between the two now-silent figures huddled together at the table. "Take care of the lads, Doctor."
The other three murmured similar sentiments before following their Chief Engineer out, and McCoy breathed a sigh of relief when the door had slid shut and it was finally the three of them left alone to deal with the fallout, as it usually was. He ran his pocket scanner once more over Spock, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and then moved it over Kirk, pausing over the man's closed eyes and silent, blank face.
Nothing. The captain's blood pressure was elevated, but then whose wouldn't be, with a bawling Vulcan child freaking out a few meters away. Strangely enough now, though, Spock's crying had petered out into an occasional hitching sob, or the odd silent tear which escaped his clenched eyelids.
It felt like hours, but in reality was probably only a minute or two, before a twitch of discomfort alerted him to the fact that Jim was either coming out of the meld or else was in trouble within it. A moment later the captain's features twisted, teeth worrying unconsciously at his lower lip and brows clenched as if in pain. He was just debating whether it would work to sedate the child and hope the backlash didn't destroy both their minds, when Kirk's eyes suddenly flew open and he rocked backwards, banging his head soundly on the durasteel table. A pained groan was followed shortly by a few shuddering breaths, and shaking hands dashed suspiciously over his eyes as he fought to regain his surroundings.
"Jim," he said quietly, crouched in front of them. Kirk nodded, almost absently, hand upraised to indicate he was fine, and took a shuddering breath just as Spock finally cracked open his eyes with a faint sound of misery.
Spock's lip trembled all over again, and McCoy scrambled back with a squawk of surprise as Kirk surged to his feet, taking the child with him. A tiny dark head slumped down to his shoulder, and he shifted to more firmly hold the little one close.
"Jim?"
Kirk's eyes flashed, though his voice remained low-pitched due to the quivering little body in his arms. "Someone should have noticed by now that he hasn't been sleeping, Bones. This is inexcusable neglect."
"What? Not sleeping?" His jaw dropped in total shock, because that was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "He's a Vulcan – they only sleep about three hours a night and still remain functional, and even with Vulcan children, it's not uncommon for them to only get six or seven! That I did check when he first turned himself into this, thank you very much!"
"He's been having nightmares an hour into his sleep cycle for the past few days, and he's afraid to go back to sleep afterwards," Kirk broke in abruptly, anger still burning in his eyes. "He's been getting nowhere near that, and none of us saw it. Not you, not me, none of us – and someone should have seen the indications of sleep deprivation and stress before his body and his mental controls just shut down on him tonight!"
On his shoulder, the half-conscious child twitched at the rise in tone, and Kirk immediately shushed him, running a hand soothingly over the tensed back. "Sorry, Spock," he murmured, gently swaying back and forth. "It's okay, I promise."
McCoy dragged a shaking hand slowly over his face. "This is my fault, Jim…I didn't check his sleep cycle records after the first three nights. He seemed fine, and never told me there was a problem…why I expected him to is beyond me…"
Kirk sighed, looking inestimably weary, and shook his head. "We can hash this out tomorrow, Doctor. Both of us are to blame. But right now, we have a baby Vulcan who's scared to go to sleep and more scared that we're going to be disappointed in him for it."
Spock murmured something that sounded suspiciously cranky into Kirk's shoulder, and he laughed softly. "My apologies, Spock; you are not a baby. You are a very brave little ne ki'ne who simply needs his sleep." (3)
"You going to take him to your cabin?" McCoy asked sadly, reaching hesitantly up to stroke the child's mussed hair. "Don't think Sickbay is the best place for him, if all this has happened right under my nose. How 'bout it, kiddo?" he asked, when one dark eye finally peeked out at him. "Want to go spend the night with Captain Jim instead of mean old me?"
The one eyebrow he could see seemed to scowl at him. "On'hafau," Spock declared, the words muffled into the captain's shoulder.
"Do what now?"
"On'hafau!"
"Right, headin' off another Vulcan tantrum, that's me – what is he saying?" he hissed, scowling at Kirk's amusement.
"Both stay is the literal interpretation," the captain explained, patting the child on the back. "I don't think he blames either one of us, Bones."
Spock yawned. "Riolozhikaik," he murmured drowsily, unconsciously snuggling closer.
McCoy's eyes fairly bugged out of his head. "The heck kind of word is that for a four-year-old?!"
Kirk hid his smile in the child's hair. "He just called us illogical, Bones."
"Wonderful. And so it begins…"
Unexplained Vulcan:
(1) Ti'amah means let me go
(2) Nahp, hif-bi tu throks is, literally, "Give me your thoughts," or the traditional first phrase to begin a mind meld.
(3) Seen in a previous chapter, ne ki'ne means shield-partner, or brother in arms