Chapter 5
This is what it's like to be Spock.
A logical being who finds himself lost in emotions that he can't fully understand. Emotions that he doesn't really want to understand. Yet he knows that he is supposed to feel this way, despite what his training has taught him. He just watched his planet be destroyed, lost his mother, his home...everything that he had ever known.
Gone.
So he knows, intellectually, that the constant ache is normal. That his sorrow over his mother is expected. That the pain over losing one's home doesn't go away overnight. And that his helplessness about the situation is irrational, but expected. Because what could he have done? What could anyone have done?
Nothing.
This knowledge doesn't stop his humiliation over what he internally faces on a daily basis. He is half-Vulcan and should have better control over how he feels. But he doesn't, and his emotions are a constant presence in his life, a shadow over his every move and thought. He feels as if he's being swallowed by his own feelings sometimes - and it makes him mad. Angry. Angrier than he can ever remember feeling.
Furious.
Spock knows what it's like to feel anger, yet he is never felt such a pervasive fury at everything around him. But he contains it, because he has to. Because he doesn't know how not to. Although, sometimes he thinks that he just wants to let it all out - to just give up. To stop caring, to let go, to hide away and let the universe get by without him. In the scheme of things, he is relatively unimportant. And why not?
But he can't. And part of him feels even more anger for it.
But life goes on, logically, and Spock hides his emotions well. He always has. But he is on a ship with humans, humans who don't completely understand his need to simply be left alone. His need to 'suffer in silence' if you will. And he finds that he chafes under the sympathetic stares that still find him occasionally. As if sympathy can really make anything better.
Nothing can really make it better.
The sympathy is worse than the apologies. The apologies have all but stopped, but many of them still ring in Spock's ears. Because, really, what good is an apology? An apology can't undo a past wrong. An apology can't bring back a planet, a home. An apology can't wrap its arms around you in an embrace or laugh or smile...or love. What is an apology anyways?
Useless.
But at least apologies, once said, don't reappear often. The sympathy lingers though, attempting to be appreciated and helpful at the same time. Spock doesn't need it. He just wants to forget about everything, to block it out, an attempt to go about life as if nothing happened. And really, that's all he wants. It's what he needs.
To be alone.
But they won't let him, especially the captain.
James T. Kirk.
Spock doesn't know what to make of him, though he continually tries to categorize him. The Captain confuses him in a way that not even some of his hardest scientific work ever has. He makes him feel, makes him admit that he feels, and makes him show it more than Spock has ever showed emotion before. And he finds that it doesn't bother him so much. Even if Vulcans don't feel bothered to begin with.
It's illogical.
And it's weird to Spock, to allow the human to break through his personal rules and desires. Don't feel. Be alone. Forget. And he knows that the Captain can see through his stoic mask, but instead of strengthening his efforts to hide behind indifference, he kind of relishes in the idea of having someone know him for who he is. Not a mask, not a half-Vulcan, or a half-human. No.
As a person.
And this is what it's like to be Spock.
~*00*~
Jim was starting to come to the conclusion that the universe didn't want him to sleep. Although he was relieved to find that his thoughts had started to take a healthy balance between worry about Spock and worry about their mission. It didn't change the fact that he still had a hard time falling asleep and then woke up hours too early to be considered humane. He glanced at the clock. Yep, he still had a decent hour and a half before he had to even consider waking up. Fucking hell.
At least they were almost there. The past two days had passed uneventfully, as expected. Bones still teased him for being so invested in a friendship with Spock, his crew was still pretty much the best crew ever known to mankind, and Spock was still more aloof to the idea of friendship than Jim preferred. And to think, Jim had thought they'd made so much progress. Well, considering the other half of the equation was half-Vulcan, they probably had.
Jim sighed and rolled out of bed. He might as well get up and go find food. He could have a nice relaxing breakfast, which would be unusual. For an hour...probably more. Well, maybe Bones would be up as well. Jim almost choked on his laughter at that thought. He knew very good and well that Bones wouldn't wake up for at least another hour. Oh well, that just meant that Jim wouldn't get his daily lecture about his unhealthy food choices. Which, upon reflection, Jim would miss as part of his morning routine. Not that he would ever tell Bones that.
He made his way to dining hall, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. Knowing that they were almost to Organia cheered him up exponentially. It meant that he would finally be able to do something. Not that he particuarly enjoyed diplomatic missions, but he was still eager to get this over and done with. As soon as this mission was finished, there would be another - hopefully one that was more exciting. And while the slightly unsettled feeling remained in the pit of his stomach, he had managed to talk himself out of most of his pressing concerns. He figured he was just being insanely paranoid.
When he entered the dining hall, he found that it was almost empty. There were only a few people sitting around, presumably from the night shift, seeing as he couldn't remember any of their names to save his life at that moment.
Jim walked over to find some breakfast and surprised himself when he chose a primarily Bones-approved breakfast. Minus the sausage. He would still throw a fit over the sausage. Without Bones sitting around to annoy, there wasn't as much in picking foods that would leave him glaring in disapproval. It was then that Jim decided that he just enjoyed irritating people too much.
But they seemed to appreciate it too...for the most part, so who was he to deny his fellow crew members their daily dose of irritation?
Jim chuckled to himself slightly as he chose a seat and sat down. Now he only had....no, he still had an hour to kill. Damn troubling thoughts...and Spock. He found himself almost missing the carefree days back when he had no direction or responsibilities. Until he remembered the disappointed look on his mom's face whenever he would come home with bruises on his face. No, he was happy to be here, boredom and worry included.
As he ate, he noticed someone entering the room out of the corner of his eye and he looked up. It was Spock, and Jim suddenly realized why he very rarely saw him in the dining hall. He probably consistently got up at godforsaken early in the morning everyday. He noticed his first officer's dark eyes sweep around the room before landing on him. Jim almost laughed when his fairly predictable eyebrow went up in a show of surprise. Their eye contact only lasted a moment before Spock seemingly pulled his composure back together and went to go get his own food. Jim watched him as he moved fluidly, with such an easy, enviable grace. It was almost inhuman. Well, Jim supposed Spock was only half-human, so it would seem like his Vulcan half was overcompensating. Or maybe he was just graceful. A concept Jim couldn't fully understand, but could accept in others. Albeit with jealousy.
Who did Spock sit with this early? Maybe he was better acquainted with the night crew than he was and therefore probably had more acquaintances than he did. However, Jim doubted it. Spock didn't seem like the kind of person to go out of his way to meet people and his very stature discouraged any form of interaction. Yeah, Spock wasn't so much a people person. He probably just sat alone all the time.
But then, did Vulcans get lonely? Spock would say no, but Jim couldn't imagine that they didn't. After all, everybody needs somebody sometimes...wait, that was a song. Jim almost laughed aloud at himself. It was an ancient song, but a song nonetheless with slight word alteration. So much for deep, original thinking.
Jim went back to his eating, deciding that it was far to early to try to contemplate the workings of Vulcan emotions. But he felt an interesting sense of guilt overcome him when he looked up and found Spock sitting on his own, eating methodically, his gaze fixed firmly downwards. Well, maybe not guilt, because Jim didn't feel guilt for such ridiculous things, but the need to do something was still firmly planted in his head. Spock was his first officer after all. And, if Jim had it his way, his friend too.
Well, you have to be a friend to have one. Jim inwardly groaned as his mother's advice rushed back to him and he stood up resentfully to make his way over to Spock's table. The damn Vulcan couldn't have just sat with him? He had been there first, after all, it was only polite.
The small, less confident part of Jim's brain mentioned that maybe he was sitting alone for a reason, but he quickly shook that off. Vulcan or not, nobody likes being lonely. Assuming Vulcans got lonely. Damn circular reasoning.
"Hey Spock," Jim said, setting down his plate with a loud clatter and plopping down across from him unceremoniously. Spock looked up, his face blank, yet still expressing a surprised kind of confusion.
"Captain," Spock acknowledged and continued eating. Shit, he was back to calling him captain.
"It's Jim, Spock," Jim sighed, already regretting his decision to come play nice with his emotionless roller coaster of a first officer. Ridiculous.
Spock inclined his head though, "Of course, Jim."
A small thrill went through Jim's spine. He didn't understand the response, but decided that there was probably a chill combined with his utter joy...he guessed that could end up with the result of a small thrill...or something. Either way, he was happy at his small success.
"So what's up?"
Sure enough, Spock, of course, looked up, and looked back at Jim blankly. Yep, he really should have seen that coming. Damn Vulcan, always taking things so literally. Couldn't say hardly anything without being misinterpreted. Although, Jim would have bet his left arm and three vital internal organs that Spock knew damn well what he was talking about and was merely being an ass about it on purpose. He supposed he deserved it though. He had come over here on his own free will with full knowledge of the potential consequences to his sanity.
Spock opened his mouth to give a very logical response to a very illogical question when Jim held up his hand and muttered, "Forget it. How was your evening?" There. There was absolutely no way Spock could misconstrue that sentiment.
"It was agreeable," Spock responded.
Oh. Agreeable? Jim felt the conversation die a rapid, painful death. Well, if Spock wasn't going to make any effort at all, why should he?
Because he cared.
Jim was temporarily surprised by his own thoughts. Well, he knew that he cared, but enough to put up with this kind of shit? Well, it was early. Maybe Spock just wasn't a morning person...or a noon person. Or a night person, either. But for some reason, Spock seemed worth it to him. And if it required a little bit more energy (or a lot, whichever), then Jim realized that he was willing to extend it.
"Well, my evening was spectacular," Jim said, just when the silence was getting unbearable again. "Thanks for asking though. Your concern was really touching."
Spock looked up at him, blinking surprise out of his eyes. "Pardon the miscommunication, but I did not inquire as to how your evening was, Jim."
"Yeah I know, but I decided it was easiest to pretend like you had." Jim gave him a cheeky smile. "I know that you were just burning up with a desire to make sure that I'm having a good life."
"It is good to know that you had a 'spectacular' evening then."
"Isn't it though?" Jim laughed.
There was another lull in the conversation, but this one wasn't nearly as suffocating as the previous one. It actually seemed like a silence that would happen after exhausting all conversation topics. A silence that appears after hours of excited chatter. A silence that comes between friends.
And Jim got this smile on his face. Big and bright. Infectious in a word. Because for a moment, if you were looking closely, you could see the corner of Spock's mouth curl up. Just for a moment, of course, but it was there. It wasn't a trick of the light or a reflexive move, but a genuine attempt at a smile.
Which of course only made Jim smile bigger. Spock just smiled.
~*00*~
This is what it's like to be James T. Kirk. For the moment, anyways.
Headstrong and brash, arrogant and stubborn, yet still caring and perceptive. Quick to fight and slow to give up, he is still charming enough to get most people to not only tolerate his antics, but appreciate and enjoy them as well.
Except for Spock.
The one relationship that matters, and Jim is at a loss. He wants nothing more than this, a bond that can span through decades. A friendship that will put all others to shame. A relationship that will change them both for better or for worse.
For good.
And he can't explain it, nor does he want to. The need, the desire, is there, burning with a strength that he is unfamiliar with. This isn't like other wants. It is more desperate, more important, more unnameable.
There's necessity behind it.
And it's strange for Jim, because already, he knows that he is willing to do almost anything for Spock - though he won't dare admit that to himself, let alone aloud. It's why he doesn't hesitate when Spock asks for a favor.
"Anything."
And it's a simple request, though Jim knows he would have flown to the edge of the universe and back if just to maybe see the small hint of a smile for just one more moment. Just the small upward twitch of Spock's lips had filled Jim with something that doesn't have a name - something that doesn't deserve a name.
Unconditional...something.
And Spock asks Jim to tell him about his previous encounter with his older self. Jim is momentarily surprised, because of Spock's blatant curiosity and the knowledge of said older self. After all, the universe should have come to an end by now. But Jim can't be bothered to care about the older Spock's lies. Because, in the end, it doesn't really matter. In the end, all he cares about is the bond that will someday exist between him and this Spock.
And it's enough.
It's enough to know that it will exist. To know that all the effort and energy is going to result in something that transcends what most people can even imagine. To take comfort in what the future holds, even if today it's still a struggle. To be okay with the idea that things of worth don't develop overnight.
They must be earned.
Fought for and earned. And Jim intends to fight for this, because he can see the reward at the end of the fight. It's vague and it's further away than he would like, but it's there. And it's worth it. He just hopes that Spock thinks that it's worth it too. Because no matter how determined Jim is, it can't be just him.
It takes two.
And if that's part of the struggle, so be it. Jim looks forward to it. The greater the challenge, the greater the win. And Jim ignores the small voice in the back of his mind: the higher the climb, the harder the fall.
It doesn't matter.
Jim's not afraid of falling. Jim can take the blows just as well as he can give them. He has a lot of practice in that area. He just can't give up. He doesn't know the meaning of it. And he knows that he would never stop wondering about what could have been unless he tries now.
Because Jim doesn't want to wonder for the rest of his life.
Jim wants to know.
And this is what it's like to be James T. Kirk.
A.N.
So, I've decided to experiment with my writing styles a little bit. A cookie goes to the person who can guess where I got the stylistic idea from. Haha. So, tell me what you think. It won't always be like this, just when I feel like writing more emotions than action. But if you hate it, it's also easy to avoid. Thanks for those who keep reviewing! It means a lot.