Title: Small Steps
Series: Star Trek (2009 Movie)
Spoilers: Post Film, with small mentions to events within Star Trek: The Original Series, understanding of which is not necessary for enjoyment.
Rating: PG
Summary: To have what they had, Jim Kirk realizes it will take baby steps.
x.
James T. Kirk is no fool. He knows when there are things happening that he simply does not have the ability to see. Like how Spock keeps his facial expressions carefully blank, carefully neutral. They say nothing, and yet through that nothing, they say everything. Or at least, Jim likes to think that they do.
He could boast an awareness of the half-Vulcan known as Spock, but he knew that he'd be lying if he said that he truly understood the man. There was only so much that one brief instant of teamwork after hating each other's guts for the seventy-two hours (or so) that they'd been acquainted could do. Still, Jim thinks that the far more pronounced blankness in Spock's face is unusual.
"I take it that it's not." Jim says quietly. He folds his arms across his chest and his mouth dips downwards into a slight frown.
Spoke is stoic, which is usual, but there is a rigid set to his jaw that Jim doesn't remember being there before. He wonders what that could mean; for they are trapped in the dim glow of a streetlight and the play of shadows across Spock's face only seem to emphasize the blankness of his continence.
"No, it is not normal," Spock says, eyes straight ahead. "One should seek a mind-healer, a Vulcan more skilled in the mental arts, one who has dedicated their life to the study of the mind and how it is affected by the melds."
There is a flash, a brief contortion of Spock's face almost as soon as the words leave his mouth and Jim follows Spock's mental process with a skill he wishes he didn't possess. Vulcan is gone. There is no one that fits that description who is still alive, anywhere in the universe now. He is without help, completely alone in his predicament.
"Such healers rarely left Vulcan," Spock says, his tone is quieter now, but still as devoid of emotion as ever. Jim does not like the monotone, for it makes Spock damn near impossible to read, flashes of insight via unwelcome Vulcan mind-melding aside. "The odds that such an individual is still living today are less than one one-hundredth of a single percentage point."
Spock is retreating into technicalities, and Jim knows that it is a defense against the once again real realization that Vulcan was destroyed. He hates it, because Spock needs the chance to grieve and he isn't giving himself that chance. Jim just wishes he couldn't see that far past Spock's façade of calm to know all of these things. It felt like a violation of trust that had yet to be built.
xi.
There is a sense that he should be doing something now, other than being the bearer of bad news, and yet he cannot find a reason why he should be offering James Kirk any more help than the simple statement of facts. It is not his place to fix the problems that Kirk might encounter due to whatever it was that the Ambassador did.
Kirk pushes some dirt on the sidewalk around with his toe, his expression thoughtful. Spock is looking, openly, for any sort of meaning in his expression. He cannot understand an impulsive creature like James Kirk – his mind is too complex and a simple binary code of logic cannot explain away the problem.
Spock's human nature tells him that Kirk is truly and emotional being – and the past days have been proof of this alone. And yet, he likes being around this twisted knot of emotions and nervous energy that is James Kirk. There is a competitive nature, and an easy companionship that falls between them when they are not set against each other that Spock finds himself wishing to indulge more of.
"Do you--" Kirk falters, looking up and then away from Spock in very quick succession. In the gentle glow of the street light, it appears as though he's trying to say something very difficult. Spock drew a long, drawn-out breath and counted to ten in Vulcan – he could not react to whatever it was that James Kirk was going to ask.
"Could you look, Spock?" The question is as unexpected as their current line of conversation. Kirk digs his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and doesn't look at Spock. "To see if there's something wrong."
Spock swallows. He does not know if he can do what Kirk wants. He does not know if he even wants to. The intimacy that Kirk is asking for – he does not even know what he is asking for and yet here he is asking the question anyway. Has he any idea…
"You do not know what you are asking." He says, closing his eyes and breathing deeply and evenly. He cannot react, he cannot allow Kirk to see how this confession and request was so completely alien to Spock's frame of reference that he honestly has no idea how to tell Kirk no.
This is something he simply cannot do.
"How do you mean?" Kirk asks, it is as if he knows what not to ask.
Wuhkuh, dahkuh, rehkuh… The vein that runs under Spock's brow is now throbbing.
He clenches a fist around the hem of his mother's sweater. "That is a bond that is more intimate than anything that I can find the words in this language to describe. It is something I will not do with you as I certainly do not have those feelings for you, Mr. Kirk."
Perhaps it is better to know, for his own peace of mind.
xii.
Jim Kirk blinks once, twice, and then finally three times as he processes what Spock has said. Vulcans are a strange people, he's long since decided this. Their stoic attitude and strange logic makes it next to impossible to figure out what exactly offends them when they so obviously are offended. He narrows his eyes and stares hard at Spock.
He hates to tap into those feelings and emotions – that unknown knowledge of Spock that he inexplicably has thanks to the actions of that old man on Delta Vega. Spock will not do this for him. His jaw is set in a resolute fashion and his eyes are unblinking.
Jim can't. He cannot let this happen – he has to know.
"I am still your commanding officer; I can request that you do it, Mr. Spock." The guilt that's in the forefront of his mind is something that he cannot force away. He's scared that he's gone too far – that Spock will snap once again.
"Do not ask me to do this, Jim."
Jim frowned, his fists clenched as he realizes that he's as resolute as Spock is. He had to know, there's no choice. If his brain is messed up he can't command, and if he can't command – a position he's so new to as it is, he won't be able to do everything he always dreamed of doing. He made promises to so many people that he would be every bit the man his father was and then some. He has the chance now, he won't let something as bizarre as this bring him down.
His fists are clenched in his pockets. He hopes Spock doesn't notice. "I don't want to." He mutters, almost wishing that he was having this conversation with some other Vulcan – anyone but Spock. And yet he knows that it must be the man who did this to him that is the one to fix it. It makes no sense, but Spock is Spock regardless of what dimension or time he is from. He closes his eyes, pausing before turning them to meet Spock's inquisitive stare. "I just – I just have to know that there's nothing messed up in my head."
He stares at Spock, his mind searching for a way to find emotions in that blank slate of a face. There is nothing, there never will be anything. Even in anger, Spock's face is a picture of serene calm.
"I will do this; because I too want to be sure that the Ambassador did not make a mistake when he touched your mind. The chances that he did make such a mistake are infinitesimal, but the reaction that you are having suggests a transference of some magnitude."
Spock raises his hand and steps towards Jim.
There is a feeling of absolute terror in the pit of Jim's stomach. Not unlike the time that the ambassador touched his mind – but this is far more terrifying. He has to keep calm, or it will not work.
How do I know that? The thought comes unbidden to his mind.
"Only once." Spock says, as Jim steps forward to stand before him.