Series: Moments in Time
Characters: early Triumvirate
Word Count: 7400ish
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers for Where No Man Has Gone Before – the first episode chronologically after the pilot, though the third to air. There's a lot of fandom uncertainty and speculation as to the timeline of events which happened during this particular time period, and this is the sequence I've always gone with in my own head-canon as it makes the most sense according to what I see on-screen; however, it's not the only school of thought out there and so if you differ in opinion, I respect that – neither of us is right or wrong and this is simply what all fanfiction is – fiction.
Summary: After an away mission gone wrong, Spock reflects upon the captaincy turnover, and how in just a few months, two humans in particular have upended over ten years' worth of habits built aboard the Enterprise. Slice-of-life, nothing really whatsoever to do with the above-mentioned episode and its god-awful mustard uniform choices.
The past Standard six-month cycle has been a whirlwind of change for Spock of Vulcan, one being who, like all creatures of habit, is not particularly inclined to alterations of habit as a general rule. Were he any other species, he might say he dislikes change; however, as he is Vulcan, it is merely an inconvenience to so be forced to alter one's patterns of lifestyle. However, such a thing is inevitable in a non-stagnant society, and as such it is acceptable, if not slightly frustrating when one has developed such habits throughout the course of over a decade.
Such are the patterns he has settled into most comfortably, perhaps too comfortably, as Science Officer of the flagship of the United Federation of Planets. Although until recently, after a series of technological refits, the Enterprise had not held quite the prestige she does at the present time, the ship was always the pride of the 'Fleet, and it has become more a home than his own planet over the past eleven years, from the time he boarded her as the first lieutenant under the then-Chief Science Officer. In very short order, shorter than any other scientist in the 'Fleet ever had, he soon took that position, and under the expert leadership of Christopher Pike settled into his place in the universe as the foremost Vulcan scientist in Starfleet, and one of the most sought-after scientists even among his own people, who did not all hold the same prejudices his own family and their social circle seemed to about his chosen avenue of profession. And so, for eleven years, Spock has led for the most part the same life, with little to no variation, and that certainly has been most sufficient; there is never reason to alter that which is as close to satisfactory as variable life is able to be.
And then.
Then, Captain Pike decides a decade in deep space is enough, and that he will remain grounded for the foreseeable future – then, Starfleet allows another, much younger, captain to take the helm of the flagship. One who, by all accounts, is an impulsive young fireball of a lieutenant-commander straight off the bridge of an exploratory starship in the delta quadrant. Hardly the highest of credentials, despite the fact that the young man apparently had graduated the Academy in record time and was one of only four cadets to have ever beaten the infamous Kobayashi Maru – and the only one of those four to have done so borderline illegally, one reason why he had gained a reputation of a rule-bender even prior to graduating the command track with highest honors.
All this to say, whoever this James T. Kirk was, he obviously could not be more different from Captain Pike, and Spock is not anticipating the change.
At all.
When he vocalizes this concern on Captain Pike's last evening aboard, the human's rare laughter and advice to "loosen up, Mr. Spock, Kirk will be good for you," is not in the least encouraging.
Spock is in command of the Bridge (Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell is nowhere to be found, as is typical when they are in drydock anywhere within transporter range of a city with an infamous red light district) when the new captain beams aboard, apparently without letting anyone know he is coming and without the proper security protocols in place for his departure from Terra's transport station or reception aboard the Enterprise, if the transporter technician's panicked comm to the Bridge is any indication. This is typical of what he has heard of the human's disregard for regulation, and it does not bode well for their working relationship.
He refrains from indicating such to the transporter room, however, because he at least is a professional and to speak poorly of a superior is not done. Instead, he merely notes the fact in the captain's log, requesting that the man pay more attention to Regulation 417.5, Paragraph 47-a, Security Protocols: Transporter Operations.
Barely has he finished the note to that effect, when to his surprise the turbolift door opens to admit who must be the man himself. Interesting; he would have supposed the human would visit his quarters first, to inspect them for satisfactory furnishings and requisition anything missing from the quartermaster before they depart drydock tomorrow evening.
"Captain on the Bridge," he snaps sharply, seeing that the crew have only given the newcomer looks of mild interest, obviously bored with their auto-piloted stations and slow work-day.
"Please, that's not necessary," Kirk answers in a low tone of amusement as he moves toward the central seat, eyeing it with keen interest. "I'm aware I am a full day early and I have no wish to disrupt anyone's work. I'm just here to look around, people. Lieutenant-Commander Spock, I presume?"
"Affirmative." Spock rises from the chair and steps down, indicating the empty seat with a nod of his head. "Captain Kirk, we were not notified of your impending arrival."
"I am also aware of that, Mr. Spock, and it was fully intentional." Sharp eyes suddenly glint at him in a surprisingly piercing gaze. "Is there some reason a surprise inspection of my ship should be a problem, Lieutenant-Commander?"
"Certainly not, sir." Also an interesting tactic, if completely unnecessary. As if either he or Commander Scott would permit the ship to move an inch without being space-worthy. Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell, he could not vouch for on that count, but the man was not his concern. Thankfully.
"Good, Mr. Spock. Carry on, then." And with that, the human wanders away – there is no other term for the action – to amble curiously along the Bridge, occasionally pausing to chat briefly with a crewman or inspect a console. Kirk makes one transitory circuit around the area and then heads back toward the turbolift – he apparently intends to leave as unobtrusively as he entered. Spock's eyebrows rise in surprise as the captain merely nods at him before the doors close, hiding him from view.
Strange. This is not the arrogant, self-centered young human with a reckless disregard for regulation and common courtesy he has been led to believe by gossip-hungry crewmen eager to leave the ship at the captaincy turnover; if anything, the man appears to be more on the side of…rather boring.
What is the human expression? It could be a very long five years.
Part of being a leading scientist in any field is the necessary process of re-evaluating pre-conceived conclusions, and re-evaluate Spock does – in most alarmingly short order. Only two possible new hypotheses can be drawn from the data he has so far compiled, in this their shakedown cruise.
Possibility One: Captain Kirk is a fascinating enigma of contradiction, a human personality far more complicated than anyone he has met thus far in his limited human acquaintance, and more complicated than anyone has thus far taken the time to truly understand. Completely overturning any and all expectations or presuppositions of both his command style or rumored personal life, the man has single-handedly put any belligerence or reluctant transfer issues in their place, and almost simultaneously charmed his way into the hearts of everyone else aboard – a phenomenon which Spock is entirely at a loss to understand. It is simply not logical, that one human should so be able to perform such a feat, but it is a possibility. Or two –
Two, the man is simply borderline insane.
Spock is inclined more toward the former, but there are moments when he almost suspects the latter, due primarily to overwhelming supporting data.
Kirk had inherited Captain Pike's quarters, which (unfortunately) happen to be directly next to Spock's own (he had in turn inherited those many years back when Pike's Number One had moved to a different deck entirely to avoid the appearance of fraternization, an unhappy event for all concerned if the humans of his acquaintance were to be believed). This would not ordinarily be such a hardship, except that the captain apparently has an unfortunate habit of standing outside them yelling at the top of his formidable lungs asking if Spock wishes to share a morning or evening meal together, instead of utilizing the ship's intra-comm system as it is meant to be used.
The second week of their voyage, Spock finally breaks down and keys his door to the captain's bio-signature so the door will simply open at the man's approach instead of remaining locked; perhaps now at least the occupants of the cabins on either side of them will be able to concentrate upon their work or sleep without being so disturbed.
It is this same week, that he is CC'd on a memorandum, which apparently the captain shot off to Starfleet Command in a fit of pique – a most verbose four-page rant about the fact that the replicators in Officers' Mess held three hundred different entrée options and only twelve of those options were vegetarian, and how dare they call themselves an organization of diversity, and if the necessary software patches weren't coded and uploaded to their servers within a week's time then Kirk fully intended to hack one of the meal selectors himself before they reached the galactic border.
Spock stares at the memo for a moment in silence, and wonders how long it will be before he is forced to employ his little-used ambassadorial skills to smooth over a diplomatic incident.
If he recalls Kirk's indignant muttering last night when he discovered that Spock eats the same thing every evening for dinner because, well, most of the options simply aren't to his liking (or digestive system's liking), well…surely that is coincidence. There are many other vegetarians aboard, after all.
The human is persistent, he will concede that much at least; and for some reason which Spock is unable to fathom, is also totally oblivious to the fact that Spock is not subject to the same weak-willed whims as the rest of the crew, who have wholeheartedly and as a collective fallen under the spell of Kirk's charismatic charm. If Spock buries himself in the science labs for more than two consecutive duty shifts, he is ferreted out by a sharp-eyed young human; if he refuses a dinner invitation, he is only met with said human barging unceremoniously through their shared bathroom door two hours later with a request for a chess game. When he volunteers for gamma shift duty in Auxiliary Control due to Scott's coming down with Altarian flu, Kirk rotates their schedules to coincide and follows him down on his off-shift, poking around the controls until Spock is driven to forcibly escorting him from the room. When he does not report for a medical examination (he has never been forced to keep those appointments since he never requires medical attention), it is not Doctor Boyce which shows up at his cabin door but his irate captain, who apparently has no issues then overriding the lock Spock hastily puts on the door.
So there comes a point, some weeks into their shakedown cruise, that Spock comes to an all-important realization in this experiment.
Despite all Spock's efforts to the contrary, Jim Kirk simply will not take a hint, as the expression goes – nothing Spock can do will shake the man. He may as well try to resist the force of a gravity well, or remain unaffected by the rays of a sun; there is simply no stopping what appears to be a force of nature.
Their shakedown cruise is something of a small disaster, and while Spock never cared in the least for Lieutenant-Commander Gary Mitchell – the man was a terrible officer unless the captain was around – Spock would not wish such a fate on any being, human or otherwise. Worse, he would never wish a man to be forced into making such choices as the captain was forced to regarding the fate of another sentient life-form, and then to suffer such personal and professional loss in addition to that. These will not be their last casualties aboard this vessel, he is well aware; but they are the first, and as such are no doubt the most painful to a new crew and a new captain.
He has no frame of reference by which to offer any assistance in such emotional matters, and so he does what he can; assuming the duties of First Officer without being asked at first, and then continuing when Kirk does come to him shortly afterwards, assuring the human that it is no trouble and that he is content to do so until a choice is made about replacing Mitchell.
Spock is somewhat surprised, and not a little apprehensive, that he is Kirk's first choice to replace Mitchell as First Officer. Apprehensive, not just because he doubts Starfleet Command will allow him to hold two offices at once and he much prefers that of Science Officer. But Kirk's confidence in him is far greater than his doubt, and the man's force of personality is far harder to stand against than one would think; almost before he knows it, he is instated as the Enterprise's First and Chief Science Officers, and the transition is almost seamless, as if he has always been there and always will be. Oddly enough, with this new change in the command structure he and Kirk suddenly fall into place like two pieces of laser-cut machinery, a strangely successful yin and yang which even the crew can immediately sense. Spock has rarely felt such a sense of balance, and this alongside a human who upset his mental equilibrium like none other ever has, when he whirlwinded onto the Enterprise those months ago in a tornado of charismatic charm and chaos.
And then, as they officially set out on their five-year mission, they receive their last transfer, their permanent Chief Medical Officer – one Lieutenant-Commander Leonard H. McCoy. An old acquaintance of the captain's, but other than that having no previous connections to the Enterprise, and Spock cannot for the life of him understand why the man was assigned to them.
McCoy is volatile, explosive – a personality unfitted for his important position or for any authority position, for that matter; his personnel file is filled with contradictory reports, commendations for bravery beyond the call of duty and also reprimands for direct insubordination. He is a study in contradiction like none other Spock has ever seen – and from the moment he meets the human, Spock cannot help but dislike the man. Indeed, such an unVulcan emotion should never exist within him – but dislike it is, and to deny what exists is illogical. The doctor appears to share his distaste, and from the start they are not dissimilar to flammable chemicals in an unstable environment: highly explosive reactions occur when they are in proximity, and no amount of intervention can save the interactions at times.
That such a human should occupy the position of greatest final authority aboard ship in case of emergency – for Chief Medical Officer can, if the situation warrants it, relieve even the captain of command – is cause for deep concern; and while Spock has seen the man display nothing but professionalism while inside the parameters of Sickbay, outside of those doors McCoy is anything but professional.
He demands access to the Bridge, where he has no business being, and not for anything related to Starfleet, merely to wander about and demand the captain's attention over trivialities. He complains vociferously when asked to attend landing parties, grumbling about the transporter's unnatural effects on the body and making less experienced members of the crew thoroughly uneasy as a result. He responds to Spock's demands of excellence from the Medical division of Sciences with insults and flying objects if they happen to be in discussion out of sight of subordinates, and with insults sans the flying objects if within sight of subordinates. He hides alcoholic beverages in his office, when regulations prohibit such things clearly in the Starfleet manual of behavior and ethics. He speaks to his superiors with a lack of respect not only in title but in tone and familiarity, and takes far too much liberty with both his professional and personal advice. He 'pokes fun' of that which he does not comprehend, rather than trying to understand it, and that is an unbecoming quality for one in Starfleet Sciences.
And when the captain goes down in the middle of a firefight on what is supposed to be a routine colony check-in, the doctor is anything but professional – and it is probably that which saves all of their lives.
Spock has yet to be put in a position of command over humans on an away mission, in fact has not been in command at all, in a very long time – not since a disastrous away mission under Captain Pike well over six years ago. Therefore it is unfortunate, and he will not soon forgive himself for the fact, that he simply freezes, utterly blank with desperate shock, to find that the five other members of the landing party are scrambling for cover and looking to him for orders in the split seconds after being fired upon by apparently deranged colonists armed with Starfleet type-two phaser rifles – supplier, currently unknown.
The captain was struck in the head at nearly point-blank range by a phaser blast a moment ago, in the act of pushing McCoy toward the shelter of a nearby pile of rubble, and is now worryingly motionless on the ground. Spock knows only too well, thanks to eidetic recall and one not-quite-as-severe personal experience, the damage such a blast can do to a fragile nervous system, and if the blow had been too close to the brain stem…he does not wish to contemplate the possibilities, if he is to maintain his equilibrium in this chaos. But with Kirk out of commission, it falls to him to command the away team, as First Officer, and –
Spock literally has no idea what to do, other than the obvious direction for the crew to find immediate cover.
He ducks as a blast of ozone-scorched laser-light streaks dangerously close to his shoulder, and turns to see an angry blur of blue shove him roughly in the direction of their fallen captain.
"Get him out of here, you idiot! Matthews is workin' on a beam-out so go!"
The doctor looks vaguely demented, shouting two inches from his face while gesticulating wildly with the captain's humming phaser, but Spock is rather impressed when without flinching the physician calmly mows down another two colonists who are trying to sneak up on Lieutenant Matthews, who is behind a nearby wall dismantling a communicator in an effort to break through their signal block. Obviously, McCoy's oath to do no harm meets the end of its boundaries where his Starfleet oath begins, and the balance is quite notable to a well-adjusted Vulcan mind.
The other two security officers are crouched behind a nearby grouping of rocks, firing back at the colonists, and his own Xenobotany ensign, grazed in the shoulder but still functioning, is doing what she can to also signal the ship from her precarious position behind a thin, scraggy tree some distance away. Evidently, the crew had scattered in a dangerously disorganized formation when he did not give the orders necessary to ensure their survival, much less a plan of defense.
By the time these unpleasant thoughts have congregated into something more resembling rationality, he has with McCoy's help managed to pull the captain back behind a pile of rubble, semi-sheltered from the raging battle around them. Thunder rages in the distance, the electrical interference no doubt harming their transporter signals, but the storm will assist them in escape should it begin to rain and they be unable to beam out within a few moments.
He hears McCoy swear softly, medical scanner whirring rapidly over Kirk's head.
"Doctor?"
"Took that blast straight to the head and neck, and my guess is it was set on heavy stun – point-blank range, too," the doctor snarls, fumbling in his medikit for a hypospray. He squints at the small print on the side in the dim light and then tosses it back with another curse, scrounging for a different one. "That's a massive neural shock directly to the brain, on top of the normal stun damage to the body's nervous system. Could be anything from just a bad headache to blindness and paralysis, I have no idea until he wakes up – neural damage is a given, I just don't know how much without a medical tricorder."
Spock ignores the chill that runs through him at the words, despite knowing it is not from the rain-scented gale which whips through the area, heralding the arrival of the impending storm. The colonists appear to have lessened their fire; perhaps they are frightened of the hurricane-force winds which he remembers reading of, in their official briefings.
"We need to get back to the ship, Spock!"
"I am aware, Doctor," he replies mechanically, scanning their surroundings for a possible shelter; should they not be able to contact the ship, he must now find a way to keep them all safe. The colonists appear to be down to only a few men remaining, and at the sight of his head appearing over the ruins Matthews looks their direction, obviously weighing his chances against the current odds. After a calculated glance around, the young man sprints toward them, ducking and weaving through the rocks. He skids to a halt a moment later, spraying soil and bits of dusty plant-roots in his haste to stop.
"Lieutenant, report."
"Mr. Spock. My communicator's working, sir, but I can't tell if the signal's punching through this cloud cover or not. Nothing's coming in from the ship, sir." Matthews's eyes darken with worry. "If Mr. Scott got my SOS, though, you can bet he's working on it now, Commander. How's the captain, Doc?"
"Still out, Lieutenant." McCoy's reply is curt as he tilts his head, listening to the captain's breathing – Spock has noted with curiosity on more than one occasion this human prefers more archaic methods of hands-on medical applications rather than relying solely on tools and mechanical devices for diagnosis. "Did you –" He is cut off by a shrill chirp from the battered device in the security lieutenant's hand.
"Scott to landing party, come in."
Matthews raises a fist in the air in silent victory and then scrambles a few feet away to listen for beam-out instructions, sending a warning phaser blast with his free hand toward a foolhardy colonist who has gotten too close.
"At least we – " McCoy breaks off abruptly as the captain's eyelids flutter, forehead creasing in pain. "Here we go. Captain? Jim, can you hear me?"
Kirk's eyelids flicker, vision roving about aimlessly for a moment – then shock visibly sets in as sensation returns to at least some portion of his body. An expression of almost desperation crosses his face, and his eyes suddenly fill with tears of pain before blinking clear.
"Pain's a good sign, believe it or not, Captain – means there's not permanent damage to that hard head of yours," the doctor says in a more modulated tone, with a reassuring pat to the shoulder.
Spock can see the clear agony in the captain's eyes, as they dart around with almost panicked rapidity, trying to take in the situation. As he moves closer, Kirk's gaze lights on him and he sees a small measure of relief lessen the lines of tension in the man's face.
"Lieutenant Matthews is communicating with Mr. Scott to coordinate a transport through these storm conditions, Captain. We have no casualties yet other than yourself and a minor injury to Ensign Li's shoulder. Doctor, if the captain is stable, you should see to the ensign, as it seems the colonists have retreated in the face of the approaching electrical storm."
"Li is an officer just like the rest of them, Mr. Spock, and she knows protocol – unless she's seriously hurt, I'm staying right here! Don't look at me like that, Jim, you haven't even tried to move yet!"
The captain manages a passable glare, which loses any power it might have when he rebelliously does try to move, and nearly passes out on the spot. Having peered over their hiding place to ascertain the status of the colonists, Spock turns back in alarm as Kirk's face drains to a frightening shade of white and his head falls limply to one side.
"Captain. Jim. Hey!" A sound clap, startlingly loud in the pre-storm stillness, makes Matthews jump several meters away. Even Spock startles. The captain's eyes flutter back open, only half-aware of his surroundings; his breathing is shallow, perspiration standing out on his pale forehead from the pain. "Don't try that again," McCoy warns, jabbing a bony finger into the gold tunic. "You took a blast point blank to the head, meant to take down a man twice your size and keep him out for twelve hours. I have no idea what damage that did to your nervous system and you better not make my job harder by bein' a stubborn idiot."
"Saved you," the captain mumbles petulantly, and receives a gentle swat in acknowledgment.
"Like I said. Idiot."
"Doctor," Spock reproves, mildly disturbed by the level of familiarity the man seems to think he deserves with a superior officer. Medical expertise or no, such disrespect is unacceptable.
"'S ok, Spock." Kirk manages a faint smile, though Spock sees the trembling fingers which grip the stubbly grass beneath them in an agonized grip, tearing some of the fragile stems out at the roots – the man is good at hiding his pain, but not that good. "Sorry…left you…in charge, here."
Spock frowns, not at the apology, but at the sudden breathlessness in which it is delivered. "Doctor."
"I hear him. Jim, are you having trouble breathing?"
"…I…maybe?"
In one fluid move, Spock is on his feet and darting toward Matthews, at the same time that their resident physician roundly curses his captain, the mission parameters, the day he entered Starfleet, and the combined dubious parentages of the deranged colonists, in most colorful terms. (Spock absently makes a note to erase the auto-recorded audio files from the medical scanner before it uploads itself to the Enterprise's intra-network when they beam back aboard.) He snatches the communicator unceremoniously from his surprised subordinate's hands and presses the emergency recall button before comm-ing the Bridge, just to reinforce the importance of the recall in case it is not Scott who receives the signal.
"Bridge here! Matthews, what is –"
"Spock here, Mr. Scott. The captain's safety is now compromised and emergency beam-out is required. Make whatever preparations and alterations you must, but see to it that the transporter is ready immediately. Is that clear?"
"…Aye, sir. But I canna take more than three of ye at a time in that case, sir! Is the situation –"
"That will do, Mr. Scott. Wait sixty seconds and then lock onto the captain and Dr. McCoy's signatures; transport their group first."
"Aye, sir. Sixty seconds and counting, sir."
"Mr. Spock, we'll be fine here, the colonists are all but gone now and they aren't coming back, not with that storm poppin' up," Matthews says, pointing at the roiling clouds. "You can go with the captain and Doctor McCoy, I'll round up the others and follow right after you."
"Ensign Li is wounded and will go with the doctor and the captain."
"I'm fine, sir," a female voice pipes up from behind them, and he turns to see that the remaining three members of their party have finally managed to make their way across the empty spaces of the area, now that the colonists have stopped firing at them. Corban from Security has a hand under Li's elbow, though she appears to be trying to shake the man off with a tolerant frown. "It's just a graze, Mr. Spock, already cauterized from the phaser blast," she adds, and holds up her tricorder, "and besides, I want to get a few scans in here before the rain hits, see if there's something in the air that could explain why they were acting like this. If it's some kind of toxic flora, Xenobotany needs to know about it right away."
"Are you certain, Ensign? I would be more than willing to perform the scans and transfer them to your terminal for your use at a later time."
"With respect, sir, it's not the same. This is my first landing party, and I'd like to do it myself."
"As you wish, Ensign. Mr. Matthews, you are to oversee the remainder of the landing party and the safety of all hands. If at any time you see the colonists returning you are to signal for an emergency beam-out, regardless of the tests' completion status. Ensign, you have no more than ten minutes to complete those scans, fewer than that if the storm conditions grow any worse."
"Aye, sir."
Spock nods and returns to the captain and McCoy, feeling oddly accomplished; perhaps, with practice, he may yet learn to command humans.
But now, he has far more concerning things to occupy his mind – such as the fact that the man who is supposed to be teaching him to command said humans is at present struggling to even draw a breath, eyes wild and frightened and hands clenching feebly in the dry grass.
Spock drops to one knee just as Kirk's breathing stutters and grows more labored, sounding exceedingly painful.
"I can't do anything until I get back to the ship and can give him a localized anti-paralytic and some tri-ox straight into the bloodstream," McCoy says in a low tone, brushing a hand gently through the captain's hair in an oddly fatherly gesture.
"We will have beam-out within moments, Doctor. Captain." Kirk's eyes flick over to him and brighten in recognition. "Within sixty seconds you will be aboard the Enterprise, and Doctor McCoy will be able to alleviate your symptoms."
He receives a nod of comprehension, which is apparently a mistake as the captain then begins actually choking, breath hitching painfully in his throat.
"Hey, hey! Jim!" The physician nearly throws himself across the convulsing figure, arms bracketing the man's head. "Look at me! You do not get to suffocate when we're just a few seconds from home! Y'hear me? Breathe!"
No less concerned himself, though very much less vocal, Spock sits back on his heels for stability as he feels the familiar hair-raising sensation of a transporter lock made through adverse electrical conditions; and a moment or so later, the Enterprise's transporter room appears through the haze of disappearing photons.
The moment they finish materializing, McCoy is scrambling toward the medical team which has been waiting to the side of the room, leaving him on the transporter pad with a very panicked James T. Kirk. The captain is still fighting for breath, hands fairly shaking on his chest with the effort, and his eyes are now dull and hazy from both exhaustion and lack of oxygen. No doubt, being unable to breathe fully must be a most frightening sensation for a human, who relies far more on the autonomic nervous system than would some other species, such as his own.
"Nurse, I need a standard tri-ox compound and a localized anti-paralytic, and get me an oxygen kit, stat – Scotty, get on the comm to Christine and tell her to set up examination room three for an electro-cardio analysis and a complete neural scan…I don't care who's waitin' for an official report on priority channel whatever, you do what I say right now and if they don't like it you can tell them I said go to –"
On impulse, Spock secures his mental shields and then reaches out, hesitantly takes the trembling fingers in his own – and is then suddenly seized in a panicked grip as if he is the only lifeline tethering the captain to reality at the moment. The sheer amount of terrified pain that immediately swamps even his Vulcan control nearly floors him; that a human could so effectively hide that, is nothing less than impressive.
"Doctor, he requires something for the pain as well," he calls sharply.
McCoy glances up in surprise from selecting a hypospray, studies them for a moment, and then nods curtly, grabbing another. "Most of it will interact with the anti-paralytic but I'll do what I can until it wears off – then you'll get all the good stuff I can give you, Jim, I promise."
The doctor is the recipient of a human gesture Spock understands is called a "thumbs-up," an apparently positive indication of approval, as McCoy approaches with a series of injections.
"Ok, here we go…"
The hiss of a hypospray, and Spock feels the slight shock of surprise which runs through Kirk's mind as the tri-ox suddenly floods his airways with pure oxygen, an almost instant rush of clarity. While the oxygen does nothing to help him breathe again, it will help him not feel that he is suffocating while his muscles begin to relax from the paralytic stun effects.
"And this one's the good one, you should be feelin' better in about an hour, be able to move again in four. This will make it so we can move you without you feelin' like you want to murder one of us."
Spock raises an eyebrow, and the captain smiles briefly, exhaustion obviously taking over now that he can somewhat breathe again. His eyes slide closed a moment later, grip loosening on Spock's hand before going limp completely.
"'Bout time. All right, let's get him out of here. Move it, Anya." The physician gestures brusquely to the team still waiting patiently inside the transporter room doors, and they scramble to work, shifting the half-conscious man to an anti-grav gurney and beginning the trip down to Sickbay.
"You going to the Bridge?"
"Affirmative. I must report the tenuous situation below to Starfleet and await further orders, Doctor. Mr. Scott, ensure that the remainder of the landing party arrive back safely once they signal readiness, and report to me once they have done so."
"Aye, sir."
"I await your report on the captain's condition, Doctor."
"Uh-huh." Blue eyes glint oddly at him as he leaves the room, making him repress the human urge to squirm. "And if I don't, I suppose you won't be beatin' my door down about that report, will you?"
"That would be unnecessary, Doctor, as I have full access to every report in the ship's databanks."
"So you do, Mr. Spock." They reach the turbolift and wait for the doors to open, whereupon they enter in increasingly awkward silence. They are almost to Deck Six when McCoy's staring has grown too disconcerting to ignore.
"Doctor, if you have something to say to me, I suggest you do so."
"Nope, nothin', Mr. Spock."
"That, I highly doubt, Doctor."
"Okay, fine, Mr. Spock. You're a Vulcan, yes?"
"I believe we established that fact long ago, Doctor."
"Well. Weren't you just yammering the other night to me and the captain about how Vulcans don't have feelings because they're evil or something like that?"
Spock exhales in a controlled gesture of exasperation. "The Vulcan way, Doctor. And it is not because they are evil, but you are essentially correct. Such things would be distractions, and dangerous to the Vulcan way; therefore we do not form attachments, to either people or objects, as you humans do."
"Uh-huh."
"Your eloquence is, as always, astounding, Doctor."
Spock is quite humanly grateful that the lift chooses this moment to ping for Deck Six, Sickbay, and disgorges McCoy onto that unsuspecting floor's unfortunate patrons, all of whom obviously have taken the intelligent approach and are hiding somewhere, leaving the corridor empty. The doctor strolls out into the hall, hands in his pockets, and then half-turns, spinning smartly on one heel.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Spock."
Spock sighs and pauses the closing door. "Yes, Doctor."
"Just so y'know…us humans? We don't usually hold hands with people we don't have feelings for," the doctor says with a smirk, and leaves him staring at the closing doors in consternation.
It is five hours, not four, before McCoy sends a memorandum to his personal data-padd telling him that the captain is past the worst of the side-effects of the phaser stun, and Spock duly informs the alpha shift bridge crew of the fact and excuses himself. Given that his duty shift ended some two hours ago, this is nothing strange, and he does not understand the looks exchanged between Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu over his abrupt departure – but humans are impossible to understand, and so he does not concern himself overmuch with trying.
He has already debriefed the landing party and sent a report to Starfleet Command, who have ordered them to remain in orbit until the Grissom can come to their aid; the Enterprise is at heart an exploratory vessel, while the Grissom is better equipped to handle the type of long-term, conflict-heavy undertaking which may result from a second altercation with the colonists – and the question yet remains, who supplied them with 'Fleet-issue phaser rifles? They are not standard issue, in that quantity; and it was certainly that weapon which so nearly could have ended the career, if not the life, of their reckless captain this afternoon. The Grissom can be handed that problem to investigate, allowing the Enterprise to continue on her way.
McCoy is in his office in Sickbay, pouring himself a drink, and it is only the sheer exhaustion evident in every feature of the man's lined face that prevents Spock from a disapproving lecture on the breaking of regulation, blatantly and indeed while still technically on duty.
"Go on," the man mutters, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the recovery ward, "I gotta sit down for a while."
Spock raises an eyebrow, and pauses just inside the door long enough to ascertain that the physician does, indeed, actually make it to his chair rather than collapsing on the floor – it is no certain eventuality if his current state is any indication.
"Doctor, are you in need of anything?" he inquires politely, for he can be professional as well, despite this man's insistence at provoking the opposite from him.
"A new job," the man replies sourly. "One where my superior isn't a self-sacrificing idiot with a hero complex. I'm too old for this."
Spock's other eyebrow inclines to join the first, but he is halted by an upraised hand. "Don't even," McCoy drawls, stifling a yawn. "Just get outta my office before I remember I don't really like you."
"I assure you, the feeling is mutual, Doctor." The door closes behind him, and he hears what can only be an empty hypospray cartridge clank solidly against it. He wonders anew what enjoyment this unusual human derives from turning inanimate objects into projectiles. Most peculiar.
The captain is ensconced in a recovery cubicle Spock finds to be surprisingly warm; usually he is of the opinion that Sickbay as a whole is far too sterile and chilled for his blood. Likely McCoy raised the temperature to ward off any lingering blood pressure drops from the paralysis. Kirk is awake, if the slow-blinking drowsing state can be called that; the man is obviously on a stronger pain reliever now and is slightly euphoric from being free of the terror of earlier.
Strange, that the room seems to grow oddly warmer when Kirk brightens, smiling as he sees his visitor.
"Captain. I trust you are much improved despite the doctor's ministrations."
Kirk snorts a laugh into the pillow as he rolls to one side to face Spock as he sits in the chair beside the bed. "You two are going to either be the death of me, or the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?"
Spock allows his skepticism to clearly show his opinion on that particular piece of human idiocy.
The captain's smile softens. "Ship?"
"The rest of the landing party has been debriefed, and the reports are awaiting your perusal, sir. Starfleet Command has decided we are to wait for the arrival of the U.S.S. Grissom, and to partner with them in the attempt at a second contact with the colonists below. Other than that, no issues of note to report."
"Very good." A slow, drowsy blink as the man fairly melts into his pillow. "We need to work on your command skills, Spock – remind me when I'm out of here. I didn't think about the fact that I'd leave you in the thick of things if I went down on a mission."
Spock exhales slowly. "I admit to being of little benefit to your crew in this instance, sir. I welcome the instruction."
One hazel eye peers at him curiously. "When was the last time Pike had you command a mission?"
Spock looks down at his hands. "Over six years ago, sir."
Kirk sits up on one elbow. "Six years ago? He made you CSO and never had you lead an away team?"
"After a particularly disastrous attempt at commanding humans in the aforementioned instance, we determined I was not the preferred candidate for such a position."
"That is…" The profanity was obviously swallowed, and the anger along with it. "…Unacceptable," Kirk continued, more calmly. "And I will not have my First Officer unwilling, or unable, to command my crew."
"I am willing, sir. My ability, has yet to be proven."
"Then we will prove it, you and I." He is given another of those ridiculously blinding smiles, that have so upended his entire life in such a short period of time – no human has ever, with so little effort, been able to charm his way past such strict Vulcan barriers before. "Do I have your commitment to this, Commander?"
"Of course, Captain."
"Excellent." The human's exhaustion shows now, obviously having taken second place for a few moments to emotional outburst. Kirk slumps back to the bio-bed with a huff of breath, dragging a sleeve over his forehead. "Word to the wise, Mr. Spock; fastest way to scramble a man's brain is a phaser blast to the head at point-blank range."
"I shall keep that in mind," he replies dryly.
"All things considered, you might have an advantage now at chess," Kirk adds, with a wickedly provoking sidelong glance. This incorrigible human has been entirely too successful at holding his own at the game; they are evenly matched on the best of days, and he well knows it.
"Perhaps." He acknowledges the barb with a slight upturn of the lips, the only indication of amusement he will ever show, and that only to this one human. "However," he continues, despite the hopeful look, "as I have no wish to further incur the wrath of Doctor McCoy, that will be an exploration for another day."
Kirk winces. "He's still pretty mad at me, isn't he."
"Quite so, sir."
"Send him in on your way out, would you?"
"Of course. Good night, Captain."
Oddly enough, he does not have to return to the doctor's office; McCoy is waiting just outside the door, blatantly and unabashedly eavesdropping on their conversation. The human meets his eyebrow with an unrepentant look of What? before side-stepping him into the recovery cubicle without another word.
Spock resists the human urge to shift his eyes toward the ceiling, and merely leaves Sickbay.
Insufferable human.