Chapter 23 The Menagerie Pt 2
Stardate 3013.1
The past 24 hours have been surreal. Spock plead guilty to all the charges. Jim was able to tell me that much before he wandered back to his quarters in a daze. Spock had me barred from his room since then. In the sanctuary of my space, I shut my door and reinforce my walls. Nothing feels real. The walls crowd close and threaten to smother the air out of me. And yet I am infinitesimally small, isolated, and intangible within the infiniteness of space and the infiniteness of my mind.
No decision has been made on Spock's fate. I wrestle and roar against the claws of the crazed and timeless creature that attempts to consume my mind. Its power leaks into the physical realm and irritates my skin just below the surface with a maddening itch. I come in and out of bouts of restless slumber. I find myself crying every time I wake, and fall asleep in the same state. In a world where I've lost all my family on Earth, I cannot bear to lose anyone more.
Doc comms me a quarter of an hour before the next hearing. Today the General Court Martial will be held again with intermissions as needed. I camp outside the doors, back against the solid walls, and wait. Uhura attempts to persuade me to rest within the privacy of my own quarters. But I can't. I need to be here, even if it is illogical and uncomfortable and will change nothing. I wait in the hall, back pressed keenly into the wall, knees bunched under my chin.
My sense of time is unreliable at best and completely dysfunctional at worst. The only indicator of a lengthy period is the rigidity in my limbs when the room empties out. Jim steps in front of me as the last of the party disperses and Spock is lead away casting a glance at me over his shoulder.
"At ease. We're taking an intermission. Nothing has been decided yet."
I think I nod in acknowledgement.
"We should get something to eat." Jim offers.
I shake my head. The idea of consuming anything agitates my churning stomach.
"You really should. Bones will be furious."
I don't move. Whether from lack of energy or will, I'm unsure.
Jim sighs and slides down to sit beside me. The shock of the familiarity and intimacy of this act of solidarity does not escape me.
"I'm sure he has a plan. He's Spock." His desperate words lack conviction.
"Has he said anything to you?" The thumb worrying the bead on my wrist burns with the added pressure.
"Only to trust him."
Stardate 3013.2
The General Court Martial is reconvening. I have not moved from my spot and my limbs no longer scream. Spock walks down the corridor flanked by a redshirt. His eyes seek mine and hold until it is no longer possible, his face smoothed into practiced serenity. Only the corner of his eyes are shadowed. I focus on trusting Spock. Our most steadfast and reliable comrade has asked for our trust. How can we falter? The warm cobalt bead between my fingers spins round and round and round.
My thoughts spin much the same way. They tumble and whirl and spin, and on occasion, collide violently. Spock assisting a respected officer isn't shocking. He may negate the existence of emotions within him, but his fierce loyalty to his captain and crew have been demonstrated on various occasions. It is an admirable and necessary trait required of every crew member on board, and every officer enlisted in Starfleet. A shared trait that is too easily forgotten or overlooked by the majority of the crew that ostracize his alien-ness. But putting Kirk's career at risk and the welfare of the rest of the crew is shocking. Kirk – as the commanding officer of the Enterprise – is held responsible for the actions of the crew. Spock knows this, and how he planned to keep himself, Kirk, and the Enterprise safe from repercussions is the great mystery.
The doors whooshing open an unknowable time later has my complete attention. Pike is almost completely out the door.
". . . Mr. Spock." The Captain's voice rings out. "When you're finished, please come back and see me. I want to talk to you. This regrettable tendency towards flagrant emotionalism– "
"I see no reason to insult me, sir. I believe I've been completely logical about the whole affair." Spock comes into full view and pauses beside me for a moment. "Would it be amenable to meet in your quarters in 9.83 minutes?"
I nod in stunned silence and watch his back retreat with a distinct lack of guards.
"He not only had a plan, he had assistance." Kirk unfolds my numb limbs into a standing position and slowly leads us to my cabin supporting the majority of my weight.
"So he's fine? He's not going to die? You're not in trouble?" The pins and needles in my lower extremities make all my words little more than a grunt. However, the excruciating discomfort is secondary to the hedging relief. The walls no longer lean suffocatingly inwards. But my limbs are waking and screaming their disapproval of their recent abuse.
He shakes his head disbelievingly, "Turns out there was never really a Court Martial."
"What?" I stumble and his grip tightens.
"I'll let him explain." Jim sags as the weight of the past few days finally catch up to him. "I need to sleep before my next shift."
We depart at my door. The awful prickling in my legs are finally subsiding when Spock enters bringing with him a mixture of feelings. His head bows slightly in deference.
"Explain." My voice is harsh even to my ears. "Please," I amend, motioning to the spot beside me.
His story is long. The plan hatched complicated and bordering on convoluted though apparently necessary seeing as Kirk had voted against Spock that first day – a concept I am still struggling with at the end of Spock's revelation of the highly illegal and thoroughly tender reasons behind his actions, which under normal circumstances, would be deemed treasonous by Starfleet.
The void that has been hanging around me for the past few days is the only barrier between me and my emotions that allows me to remain outwardly composed. The fierce sting of tears burn around my eyes but I refuse to let them fall, my throat constricting painfully in my attempt to quell my emotions. The deepness and ferocity of his loyalty is admirable. To be considered an ally by Spock is a weighty honor and responsibility. And to my very human mind, the lengths and hazards he is willing to surpass for the well-being of those he keeps in high regard if nothing else, makes him all the more relatable. I believe they were actions he would willingly commit for his current Captain and very likely for our CMO.
"Echo." Spock's baritone is soothing. "I apologize for any distress this ordeal may have caused you. It was not my intention to implicate or affect any of you negatively. However," he pauses, "secrecy was of the utmost importance. Should the plan have failed to convince Captain Kirk and Starfleet Command, the knowledge would have secured your death." He continues softly. "I was willing to endure whatever the consequences it may have had on my own life, but not those of my friends."
I don't notice the tears falling down my cheeks until they cloud my clasped hand twirling the cobalt blue bead. I swipe my tears away quickly. My face breaks into a smile, a movement of muscles surprisingly unfamiliar with only a few days of disuse. "I am honored, Spock," I finally make eye contact with him, "to be considered among your friends." Because I know he would die for any one of us. For all of us. For the good of the many. And that is nothing short of commendable, awe inspiring, and precious. Few could truly claim the same care and selflessness.
"I apologize. . ." The tip of his ears flush olive green and he does not continue.
"For what? You've already apologized. I understand your reasoning." I assure him.
"Yes. However, I regret the . . . undue strain you endured on my behalf." He's not looking at me. "If that was indeed the cause of your distress yesterday."
It's my turn to blush, an awkward chuckle my only response. Had I been crying loud?
"Most Federation vessels do not yet have adequate sound insulation for the higher hearing sensory of Vulcans." He continues by way of explanation.
I nod.
"I believe chocolate is among the approved list of substances that can help elevate endorphin levels in humans."
I nod slowly. "In this particular case, I am open to bribery." I placate his affronted expression with a chuckle, "or a peace offering."
A chocolate croissant and a hot cup of coffee chase out the last of the icy shivers left over from the ordeal. I munch happily at the buttery, chocolate goodness as Spock pushes a second helping my way. He's still nibbling at his first fruit tart.
"How are your studies proceeding?" he inquires around a sip of spicy tea.
"Good." I swallow another bite of croissant. "The chances of a less that satisfactory grade is highly unlikely in any exam." I'm quite pleased with myself.
We fall back into our customary lull of conversation and his occasional notes on facts and topics about Old Earth that flicker through. The lingering surreal sensation that fogs my mind does not lift all at once and I muddle through it as it fades over the course of the next few days.
My midterms last throughout the entirety of the following week. No one is surprised when my results return with outstanding marks on most of my exams, and nothing less than satisfactory on those I truly struggle with. Spock continues our routine of close-quarters-combat practice in the gym every other day. He reports I am improving at a satisfactory rate. I still get my butt handed to me every time, but I am beginning to last longer in the ring.
"Again."
I crawl back onto my knees and try to stand. It's suffocatingly hot and the world is shaking. My legs wobble beneath me like cooked spaghetti. Finding my balance is near impossible.
"Again." Spock commands, waiting for me to continue with vo'ek—pukan training.
It takes a long moment to ground my stance. A thick, heavy bead of salt drips from my hairline down a winding trail over my left eye and falls over my lip. I do not enjoy the dampness of my skin seeping into my clothes. But the strain on my muscles feels good. If only my head would stop spinning.
I resist and resist. My arms are shaking and my legs tremble with great force, but I hold my ground. I hold and hold, pushing to keep my initial space, not giving an inch against the increasing pressure of Spock's weight. My body quakes like a struck board. My limbs are screaming against the strain of Spock's arm against mine when my body finally gives under the tremendous pressure. I'm sprawled out on the training mat, trying desperately to keep my breathing measured and failing miserably.
"That was adequate." Spock straightens the sleeves of his long robes. "I recommend you replenish your electrolytes before continuing."
I can't. "I think I'm going into cardiac arrest."
"You are doing no such thing." He replies curtly, the mirth in his eyes a stark contradiction to his sharp tone.
"You sure about that?" I pant. "My heart is hammering my ears off."
"Affirmative." He gives me his equivalent of an eye roll and hands me my water before turning to grab his own.
I laugh and chug the enhanced beverage. "You know," I joke, "Bones isn't going to be very happy if you break me."
He looks over his shoulder, mildly affronted. "I exercise the utmost control at all times."
Don't I know it. "Bring it." I stand at the ready, legs open and bent at the knee, arms tucked in close to me.
Uhura's sitting at the foot of my bed when I get out of the shower. "How are you today?"
"Sore," I laugh running my towel through my hair. "I think I'm used to having my butt handed over to me."
"Most of the crew thinks you're out of your mind sparring with a Vulcan. There's no way you'll ever win."
"It's a good workout."
She shrugs, pulling out her PADD and setting up our studying materials. "You know, you've been particularly clingy the past few weeks" she states suddenly.
Oh. I frown, startled. I shift to my right so my left side is no longer parallel to her.
Uhura tugs me back next to her. "That's not what I meant." She smiles kindly. "I meant you are becoming touch starved. We've been in space for months now. It's normal. It's the reason most of the crew has worked through half the ship by now. We'd lose our minds if we didn't." She looks at me meaningfully, "the engineering department is throwing a little rendezvous. I suggest you go and see who catches your eye."
I look back down at the PADD in my palm a little uncomfortable. "I'd really rather not. Not like that." I can feel her watching me and I struggle not to squirm.
"Well, if my company isn't enough, there's always the cuddling services offered on the lower decks."
"They have that?"
"Of course. For the people who just need to hug or cuddle for a while. Touch Deprivation is a serious issue. It's a mandatory subject in Deep Space Psychology and everyone is required to take at least an entry level course at the Academy." She shakes her head sadly. "There's a scary amount of cases to study from the first Deep Space voyages." She shivers.
I nod, a thought wriggling uncomfortably in my mind. "Uhura. I think I know you well enough to say you don't mind sharing your personal space with me." I blush at the mortification in my next words. "Have I been clinging in an unseemly fashion to Spock?"
Her eyes are sympathetic and that's just worse. "If he wasn't Vulcan, I'd say no. But you stick to him as much as you stick to me. I don't know if he's voiced any rejections, if he hasn't maybe it's not really bothering him, but he's Spock. I thought I should bring it up just in case." She looks almost sheepish, as if she's the one whose been clinging to Spock like a baby chimp to its mother.
I bury my face deep into my bed, my long suffering moan muffled by the sheets. I am beyond mortified. Oh dear gods. What have I been doing? "Thanks, Uhura." I croak.
She pats my shoulder before pulling me to my studies, unwilling to let me wallow in self-pity. Conjugations and modifiers are always a welcome distraction. The harsh vowels and consonants of the Klingon tongue claim my full focus and I absorb them eagerly.
The next time I'm out with Spock, I keep a much wider distance than what has become customary. It feels odd, the space strangely cold. But Spock doesn't mention it and I figure he's relieved he has his personal space back. A week in, Spock makes a particularly sassy observation and I forget the whole personal-space thing and bump his shoulder at the quip. At the moment of impact I remember and I try to scooch back to my bubble without jumping across and making it weird. I chastise myself mentally but Spock doesn't seem put-out so I call this a quick save.
"I'll catch you later then." I wave Spock off as I head toward a different corridor.
"Are you not headed to Dr. McCoy's office?"
"Not yet. I have another appointment first."
"Ah." He's about to turn, the top half of his body already turned to the turbolift before he pauses and looks around. "On this deck?" His eyes continue to scan the walls looking for something.
"Yeah." I fidget from foot to foot uncomfortably though there is no reason to be. "With the Companionship Services." They need a different name, I muse not for the first time.
"Ah." He repeats again, looking around a little lost. "I will meet you again at the appointed time and place."
"Yup. The diner at 1900." My legs carry me briskly away so I don't have to keep looking at how uncomfortable Spock looks at the thought of two people sharing the same space. But I need this for me. I've always been a very tactile person with the people I'm close with. Even before space, I never really felt quite satisfied with the amount of touch I had. According to Uhura, there isn't negative human stigma against using companion services to fulfil this basic social need on starships. I silently hope she is right.
The inside of the office is lofty, soft couches gathered in intimate clusters, plants and paintings warm the soft brown walls. A smiling receptionist greets me upon entrance, small smile lines around his eyes suggesting a cheery soul. He hands me a species-specific manual of do's and don'ts regarding their specialized care-givers and assures me that Sabine will go over the pertinent information with me.
"Don't worry. We're not here to stress you out." His soft smile is infectious.
My appointed care-giver is a few doors down. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like swarming bees. If I don't feel comfortable or am incompatible with my appointed caregiver, I can request a new person. And vice versa. I cross my fingers.
The door slides open revealing a figure engrossed in their PADD, legs tucked neatly beside them on the couch. Shoulder length plum-red hair and dusty turquoise skin enhance their beauty. Orion heritage is also evident in the elegant poise held in such a casual activity as reading. "Hello," a kind smile and golden eyes greets me. "I am Sabine."
I shake the offered hand. "I'm Echo. Nice to meet you." The room is painted in frothy greens to deeper blues not unlike diving into a lake. The color palate compliments Sabine's skin beautifully. From the plush ivory rug in the middle of the room to the navy couch and jade-green daybed, the entire room is a splash of cool, sweet water. It calls upon a distant memory of watching a blue sky and towering green pines beneath gently rippling water.
