Title: Clothes Make the Man (or the Vulcan)
Characters: Spock, Kirk, McCoy, various
Rating: K+
Word Count: 3850 (this bit)
Warnings: Among other things, this is total fluff, angst, and crack; though probably no more so than an actual episode of the show. You have been warned; proceed with caution. Disclaimer: I own none of the storybooks named herein; they belong to their original authors.
Summary: Five times Spock wore something other than his uniform, and one time he was only too glad to put the uniform back on.
A/N: Adaptation from a writing prompt given to me by imbecamiel, during my recent whining about a lack of muse on my LiveJournal. Other prompt answers to come; this is just the one that grabbed my attention the most. This is going to be a chronological story, following the Triumvirate through the years and how their perceptions of each other change through those years.
IV.
Spock of Vulcan only vaguely comprehends the human concept of down time.
As he has said to the well-meaning humans with whom he serves aboard the Enterprise, in his culture to rest, is to rest – to cease from activity; not to engage in alternate activity which is equally or more physically exhausting than that which is everyday. While he does recognize the value of variety, and the occasionally stepping back from a mental problem in order to gain alternate insight into its intricacies, he does not understand why humans seem to be unable to gain their own mental balance through meditation or a similar technique.
No, these humans apparently require stimulation in order to maintain a pleasant mental state; hence the concept of vacation, and shore leaves. Neither of which hold any interest for him, a Vulcan scientist. He has taken exactly twenty-one days of leave since he began his journey in space fourteen years ago as a young Science lieutenant; seven of those days, to attend a scientific conference regarding a breakthrough in preliminary transwarp beaming studies – and two weeks of leave just last year, taken to accompany Captain Kirk on an extended bereavement leave, first to Earth to see his young nephew into his grandmother's foster care, and then to Vulcan, in an effort to help the grieving young human recover from the deaths of both Sam Kirk and Edith Keeler in rapid succession.
Neither had been a particularly joyous time, nor full of what he knows humans call 'R&R.' They had both been entirely necessary instances of leave, beneficial, and time well-spent. He does not grasp why one would take time from important activities and waste it upon non-productive pursuits.
And yet, somehow, he finds himself preparing to beam down to a crowded spaceport on the planet Rigel IX, in the company of the captain and Dr. McCoy. In his defense, he was not aware that the captain had also invited their Chief Medical Officer when he finally agreed (meaning, he lost the chess game and therefore the wager involved) to accompany Kirk on an evening of leave, before they must beam back up to the ship to oversee repairs with Chief Engineer Scott for the remainder of their stay in orbit.
Now, Dr. McCoy looks no more thrilled than he to discover that the three of them will be beaming down together. Spock suspects the night will certainly be memorable, trapped as he is in the company of two humans who, by all reports, heartily endorse the occasional libation from impeccable reputation and the strictures of command. He is mentally prepared, thanks to a double meditation session, to endure the worst through which he might be dragged tonight, and he can only pray to the Ancient Ones that should his companions decide to follow up on their more…carnal, desires tonight, that he is permitted to make his escape rather than offend one of the spaceport's young hopefuls.
It is bad enough that the lieutenant on duty at the transporter is quite openly staring at him, obviously never having seen him in attire outside his usual uniform. Slightly discomfited, he adjusts the hem of the silvery tunic and black walking cloak (a gift from his mother, brought when she and Sarek were escorted to the Babel conference aboard the Enterprise), and ignores Dr. McCoy's smirking when he notices the starry-eyed young lieutenant at the console.
Thankfully, he is saved from further humiliation by the abrupt and slightly ungraceful entrance of Captain Kirk, who skids into the room out of breath and grinning at his officers like a child caught running in the corridors of a museum.
"Sorry," the man chirps with entirely too much enthusiasm for the outing ahead, "Scotty had some last-minute questions about the plasma vent repairs. We good to go?"
McCoy gives the captain a sour look as he ascends the transporter pad, and then jerks his head in Spock's direction with an eyeroll. "Why don't you just get matching t-shirts down at the spaceport and be done with it?" he asks dryly, gesticulating between them both with one hand and adjusting the strap of his satchel with the other (he refuses, much to the captain's amusement, to leave the ship even for shore leave without a full medical kit, given the troublesome history of her commanding officers and their luck while off-ship).
Spock closes his eyes in further mortification, for his well-intentioned but highly embarrassing mother had brought 'a present for Jim' when she came aboard as well, knowing as she did that Spock had made few friends in his lifetime and therefore the captain was somewhat special by anomaly alone. This is the first off-ship and therefore non-uniform opportunity to present itself, and Kirk has obviously decided to wear the lightweight tunic to the planet below, since it is high summer on the planet's surface and most of their normal shipboard clothing is, in fact, rather heavy.
Spock has ceased to wonder at the fact that Kirk does not look out of place in the alien attire; part of this particular human's charm as a starship commander and diplomat is his ability to heartily embrace any and all cultures. Jim has the remarkable ability to shine like a star in whatever milieu he chooses; he does not need the emerald glimmer of lightweight Vulcan silk to do so now. He represses a twinge of private amusement at the sight of the captain staring incredulously down at himself, as if it had simply never occurred to him to don a plain button-down and trousers as McCoy is currently wearing.
The doctor in question only rolls his eyes, and flaps a hand at the transporter technician, who is now unabashedly ogling his commanding officers. "D'you mind, Lieutenant?" McCoy drawls, and smirks as the young man blushes to his ear-tips.
Jim half-turns, gives Spock a sheepish shrug, and mouths what looks like a totally insincere apology as they disappear in the shimmer of a transport beam.
Spock is fully expecting to be summarily dragged to the nearest drinking establishment, but he is quite astounded to find that the captain apparently has nothing more exciting planned than strolling along the spaceport's boardwalk, artificial ocean to their left and various shops and souvenir stands to their right.
He is still not optimistic enough to hope for a museum visit, but is pleasantly surprised at the compromise he anticipates happening, when Kirk utters an exclamation of delight and promptly disappears through a doorway, leaving himself and Dr. McCoy looking at each other awkwardly outside.
"I blame you, just so y'know," McCoy grumbles, as they follow the captain into the vintage bookstore. "I wanted a good non-replicated meal and a few drinks with a friendly young lady, but nooooo."
"I can hardly be held responsible for the captain's affinity for ancient Earth literature, Doctor," he protests, more out of habit than anything else. "Captain Kirk himself has stated on more than one occasion that he has always been an omnivorous reader, the habit stemming from his days at Starfleet Academy." (1)
"True, true. 'S why he was bullied quite a bit there, he always has been more in favor of brains over brawn." McCoy muses, only half-aloud. Blue eyes dart sideways at him, and he raises an eyebrow uncomfortably. "Hmm."
"Doctor?"
"Nothing, Mr. Spock. Nothing at all."
This, Spock highly doubts, but he certainly has no desire to have the human elucidate further. And besides, they have already lost the captain amid the smell of leather and the brittle rustle of paper, hidden deep within the towering shelves.
"We're never gonna get him out of here," McCoy mutters, scanning the titles nearest them with vague interest. He espies a small table and chairs over in the corner by a window, and settles into the nearest one with a tolerant sigh. "Say, what do Vulcans read about in their spare time, Spock?"
Spock sits opposite the doctor with well-founded wariness, trying to ascertain if the question is sincerely inquisitive or merely a setup for yet another cultural disagreement. However, the curiosity appears to be quite genuine, and so he responds in kind.
"The subject matter varies, Doctor, for each adult, chiefly scientific studies and historical documents; though there is a set requirement of galactic literature for every Vulcan child during his formative years. Selections of various genres, including some of your ancient Terran literature, are included in every Vulcan child's upbringing. Language is a crucial component of diplomacy and scientific understanding, and it is only logical to develop a galaxy-wide sense of the species which inhabit the various planets within."
"Well, that's logical enough. So what do you Vulcans consider to be classic Terran literature for your kiddos?"
"Your Dante and Shakespeare, among others," Spock answers readily, for that much he remembers from his slightly human-biased upbringing. "I recall also reading much of your Charles Dickens, regarding the more fictitious side of your literary history."
"Pretty heavy stuff for a kid, even a Vulcan kid," is the mild response, and Spock refrains from showing his amusement.
"In that, Doctor, I am quite alarmed to say we agree." McCoy's eyes widen, and a crooked grin appears. "My mother had quite different views on what reading material was appropriate for children."
"Meanin'?"
"Meaning my young childhood was considerably unbalanced in favor of your typical Terran children's literature. My father thought it quite illogical."
"I just bet he did." McCoy's grin has softened slightly as he grows thoughtful. "It's interesting to me, Commander, psychologically speaking, how influential are those ways children spend their childhoods. Look at Jim, for instance – he was readin' chapter books before he was five years old, and you can tell it's benefitted his strategic thinking. Most kids were so wrapped up in vid-games at that age, you can immediately tell during brain evals which ones had parents smart enough to at least balance that with education."
"Indeed."
"How do you think it affected you, having a human mother who saw that you were at least introduced to her side of childhood?"
The directness of the question makes him slightly uncomfortable, but as this is possibly the longest conversation he has had with this particular human without it devolving into a battle of insults, he believes McCoy is genuinely curious; and to satisfy curiosity is merely a logical action.
"Learning of your Terran childhood fantasy-worlds, and learning how human children sometimes view those worlds as a retreat from reality into a safer realm of fantasy, served to clearly illustrate the differences in our cultures, Doctor. It was…completely alien, to me," he answers honestly, and certainly does not continue into the also honest fact that it thoroughly fascinated him as a Vulcan child. "While I grasped the concept, the allure of such fantasy-worlds, it never seemed logical that one should permit one's self to lose his sense of reality by retreating into one such world."
He has the doctor's full and totally curious attention now, and for the first time realizes that possibly, his people have done themselves a disservice by simply refusing to discuss themselves with outworlders. Surely many of the misunderstandings between their species could be satisfactorily explained, if one took the time to see past the frustrating illogicality of humans.
"That's…actually very intriguing, Mr. Spock," McCoy says, eyes gleaming with what Spock recognizes as a scientific thirst for exact knowledge. "So Vulcan children are not taught to exercise what you view as an illogical part of the brain – that of imagination?"
"In some sense, that is correct, Doctor. We are a scientific species; and as imagination is crucial to any unknown science we do utilize that creative aspect of the mind – but to imagine simply for the…"
"Joy of it?" McCoy supplies, and Spock nods.
"Simply for that reason, holds no scientific purpose and therefore has no use in our culture. That is why a Vulcan makes a flawless exploratory vessel commander, but a human is by far the preferable choice to be a Federation starship commander. You humans use your imaginations for unscientific purposes, and are able to create paths of thought and action which a Vulcan simply is incapable of seeing."
"Huh." The doctor shakes his head, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips. Leaning casually against the nearest bookcase, he glances up suddenly, eyes glinting. "Have you ever thought about writin' that theory up as a scientific treatise for one of the interspecial medical journals?"
"…Negative, Doctor. My scientific work aboard ship is usually classified, under Starfleet order; I have little opportunity for outside publication, and certainly have never considered the idea under a medical field."
"Well, you should," the human declares, and Spock is totally taken aback – both by the idea, and by the fact that they have now had a complete and intelligent conversation on cultural difference without one single barb being thrown at the other's species. "I have an outlet to publish medico-scientific research, Spock, and there's a huge dearth in the field for the psychological differences in various species, mainly through a lack of data. Your people aren't very forthcoming with medical or cultural knowledge, Commander."
Spock is curious now, as to just how influential this volatile human is in Starfleet scientific circles. "I was given to understand your doctorate was in xenobiology, Doctor?"
McCoy grins sheepishly, a sincere expression of smugness if he is any judge. "One of my doctorates, Mr. Spock. The others are in xenosociology and psychology."
Spock's eyebrows inch upward of their own accord. How is it then, that so intelligent a human can irritate him, a Vulcan, like no other in the galaxy?
His thoughts must be betrayed on his face, for the human laughs. "Never thought I'd see the day where I actually managed to surprise you, Spock," McCoy says, grinning. "Why d'you think the Enterprise doesn't have a ship's counselor, like every other constitution-class starship in the 'Fleet? Jim said he didn't want one, told the powers that be that he'd rather that position be reallocated to extra Science personnel, since I'm over-qualified to be Ship's Counselor."
"…Indeed." This is surprising news, certainly. He has never really considered the fact, never needing a counselor himself; but it does explain why McCoy works far more hours than the rest of his staff, and why the captain appears to prefer speaking to him more than anyone else over matters which must weigh heavily upon his mind.
"So…if you're interested, we could put together something that – " The doctor is cut off by the sudden reappearance of their captain, who staggers up to their table with a truly impressive stack of books, over which his eyes are barely visible.
"You are not buyin' all those," McCoy splutters, as the items are dumped unceremoniously on the table in front of him. "Where in the world are you gonna put them?"
"I'll make room," Kirk replies cheerfully, hooking an empty chair with his foot and dragging it over. He plops himself down between his subordinates, fairly beaming at his literary discoveries. "And they're not all for me. So, you two try to kill each other yet? Or are you bonding over some obscure diplomatic treaty or something?"
Spock is about to answer, when he sees the volume at the top of the stack of books. It is a tale he has not heard in several decades, and he lifts the book without thinking, turns it in his hands to see the back cover and the shimmering gilt-edged artwork that he remembers viewing as a very small child.
When he looks up, it is to see that Jim is staring at him with unabashed curiosity, and McCoy is only grinning yet again – bearing a disturbing resemblance to the drawing of the feline occupying the place of honor on the cover.
"This was the first book Sam ever bought me, when I was little," the captain says, his voice softened with memory. "The drawings used to creep me out as a kid but I loved the stories. Book fell apart a long time ago, and I've never seen a replica quite like the original until now." He reaches out a finger, and gently traces the whorls and spirals of the calligraphy on the front cover. "I'm sending it to Peter," he adds after a moment, and Spock can clearly see the pain that is still buried deep inside at the captain's past losses.
"I believe this was the second volume of Earth literature my mother read to me as a very small child," he suddenly finds himself volunteering the information, despite not intending to so bare his privacy in such an abrupt manner. Jim has that effect upon him, he has found to his chagrin, and there apparently is no counteraction capable of withstanding that force.
The sudden sparkle of mischief in the captain's eyes causes him to not regret the action this time, however. "Really? You, a baby Vulcan, trying to understand Jabberwocky and un-birthdays?"
"It was…highly disconcerting," he admits, and for some reason does not feel insulted when McCoy laughs aloud.
"You said the second volume of Terran literature your mother introduced you to – what was the first book, Spock?" Kirk inquires curiously.
He glances downward for a moment, feeling that horribly human instinct of blushing beginning to creep up his neck.
"I'm sorry, Spock. I wasn't trying to be embarrassing," the captain says quietly.
"Captain, embarrassment is a –"
"Oh, stop it." Kirk smiles, and pats him on the arm. "Though I doubt it could be any more embarrassing than my first book was," he continues ruefully, shooting a glance at an entirely too interested Dr. McCoy.
"What, did someone give you a Cinderella pop-up or something?" the doctor drawls, smirking.
"No!"
"Well, what was it, then?"
The captain's face turns an interesting shade of crimson, and mutters something in a tone so low that only Spock can hear – though the words do not make precise sense to him, so there is no advantage in Vulcan hearing.
McCoy, however, is grinning wickedly. "Come again, Jim, I didn't catch that."
"I said it was one of those centuries-old Golden books; you know, the ones that used to come in a boxed set for kids?" Kirk says reluctantly, blushing again. "The only one that made it past my toddler years to where I remember being read to, was The Pokey Little Puppy."
Spock is thankful they are apparently the only occupants of the bookstore, because the doctor bursts into a howl of laughter that would certainly have them thrown out of any library.
"It's about a roly-poly little dog that doesn't get anywhere on time, Spock," Kirk finally takes pity on him and explains, all the while glaring at his CMO, who is still cackling, slumped in his chair with a hand over his eyes. "I was a chubby little kid, and apparently had a hard time waking up in the mornings. Very apposite, unfortunately, as my brother and parents were constantly reminding me."
Spock does not fully understand the doctor's continued amusement (or Kirk's mortification), but he suspects McCoy's pleasure is derived more from being given private information about the captain, than anything else. To entrust another being with a potentially embarrassing anecdote is to give that being power over one's self; it is the ultimate expression of trust, this much he has learned in his life among humans.
And it is considered to be bad form and worse diplomacy, to not return such gestures in kind.
"The first story I can physically remember hearing before my nightly sleep cycle was an old Earth book called Goodnight, Moon," he says abruptly, giving himself no time to rethink his decision.
The doctor stops laughing and gapes at him, wide-eyed, but Jim grins from ear to ear, fairly lighting up the whole alcove with glee. "Are you serious? I loved that book as a kid, Spock!" he exclaims, almost childish in his enthusiasm. "But Vulcan doesn't have a moon, does it?" (2)
"It does not," Spock agrees, secretly relieved that it is apparently not such a shocking, horrifying thing to humans as the heretical book certainly is to Vulcans. "That is why I remember it; the very premise of the story was most illogical, on Vulcan."
McCoy snorts, but the sound is more amused than annoyed. "So you thought it was illogical because there's no moon on Vulcan – not because you're sayin' goodnight to inanimate objects? That's not illogical?"
"Bones, play nice," Kirk warns, though his own eyes are dancing with mischief. "Mr. Spock, you are full of surprises."
"Indeed, sir."
The captain grins, and scoots his chair back from the table. "I'm going to go pay for these and have them beamed back to the ship – then we can go get that steak dinner you're still grumping about, Bones. There's a vegetarian bar at the restaurant, too, Spock, so no worries there. Be back in a few."
He stares in surprise as the captain scoops up his books and darts away, though by now Kirk's consideration for his preferences should not be the surprise it always is; Spock is simply unaccustomed to humans thinking about cultural differences as this particular human does constantly.
Nor is he truly surprised later that night, to find himself the dubiously proud owner of a very dog-eared but still quite legible paperback copy of Goodnight, Moon.
No doubt his yeoman must think him to be quite insane, when she tidies up his cabin only to discover that little gem amongst his shelves full of Vulcan poetry and dissertations about warp physics.
But it is only logical to keep a gift, after all.
(1) In the very first episode, Where No Man Has Gone Before, Gary Mitchell says to Kirk and Spock, that in the Academy Kirk was basically "a pile of books with legs," to which Kirk agreed with the addition that he was "positively grim." Later, in Shore Leave, we find that Kirk was also bullied by certain cadets, including a guy named Finnegan.
This has always been one of the most fascinating facets of Kirk's character, to me; because it's a huge, clear departure from pop culture's perception of Kirk, and also because it shows clearly one of the differences between TOS and AOS Kirk, and possibly why they are the men they are.
(2) It is true, in TOS Spock is shown telling a flirting Lieutenant Uhura that Vulcan has no moon.