A/N: God, finally.
I don't want to minimize Spock's story, but I have no doubt that some of you will do so in reviews if I do not make this note, so here it is: Spock's story is not as sensational as Kirk's, although I would posit that it is substantially more surprising. Additionally, I regret slightly how I have handled part of it, but I will not discuss plot here. If you are interested in further notes (such as why this chapter has been finished for four weeks but only now posted), please visit my LJ, which is linked from my profile.
Medicine has advanced enough by this century that a full procedure such as I (vaguely) describe is possible. This is a fairy tale, of course, but so is the rest of the setting, after all. I am very sorry that this is only a fantasy.
One scene in this chapter is taken nearly word-for-word from a deleted scene from the film; all apologies.
Vulcan male names traditionally begin with an "S"; Vulcan female names, with "T'P." This is not a hard and fast rule. Vulcan culture is referenced from official canon. Memory Beta was not accessed in the making of this chapter. All faults and fabrications are mine.
If any words or terms I use are cause for confusion, I believe Google is a useful reference tool. Additionally, this should be the last chapter with a funky timeline for a while. For those of you who are confused, go watch Memento. Or better yet, Primer.
x
Enterprise High
being a high school AU of ST: XI
with many hijinks
and much angst
x
Chapter Forty-One: The Changeling
x
Children are all foreigners.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
x
When Spock left the jail, he did not look back.
Thoughts do not take very long. In the time that it takes a being to articulate a sentence of speech, they can think a hundred such sentences. We do not generate thoughts so much as they generate us. So when it is stated that Spock regretted that he did not look back, the caveat must be this: he did not regret it for long.
The look back is an important thematic element in film, a common device in literature, and in this case, an overused metaphor. But like all clichés it has some meaning: the look back is a précis—a nutshell, a pithy summary. Spock did not think the précis of his relationship with Kirk had anything to do with a jail. Instead he glanced into the sky, and the smallest corner of his lip turned up in what he would never, ever admit was a smile.
x
"Jim," said Spock, clasping his hands in front of his stomach. "We need to talk."
Kirk, formerly frozen in the doorway of the holding cell, unfroze thoroughly and smiled, which was surprising. "Yeah?" he said, sauntering over to the chair in front of the glass that separated him from Spock. "Did you know I'm in with Mandana? She got convicted for the thing, which, I mean, it makes sense."
"Yes," said Spock, narrowing his eyes. "Jim—"
"Evidently she has to be in jail for forty days," said Kirk. He laughed oddly. "That'd suck, huh? Forty days and forty nights. That's Lent, right? Yeah."
"Jim."
"I tried Lent, one time," said Kirk. "I gave up happiness." His face stilled. "Worked out a little too well."
This time, Spock did not speak.
Kirk sank into the chair. "We do need to talk," he said softly, leaning back, the fabric of his shirt taut over his chest. He looked thin and shrunken. The halogen lights cast long shadows over his eyes. He was stretched thin, Spock thought, so thin that holes were wearing.
Spock knew how that felt. He recognized Kirk's fragile outer layers, the deep gouges in them, wrought by situations and society. Unlike Kirk, Spock had been at peace with himself for years. But there remained scars that pained him, and he was beginning to think that some of them were debilitating. Perhaps a dialogue such as Kirk proposed could be… mutually beneficial.
"Do you want to talk now?" said Spock, carefully laying emphasis on the now.
"No, not here," said Kirk. He closed his eyes. "I don't know when."
"We will talk," said Spock.
"Yeah," said Kirk. "We will."
There was nothing left to say. Spock nodded slightly to Kirk, and buzzed himself out.
x
Two hours later, it was Kirk holding Spock to it. Kirk's eyes were intent. "Tell me about you," he said.
Spock was in no hurry to divulge his own story, but he was also still concerned for Kirk. After all, Kirk had just recounted something immeasurably painful, something he had never told anyone. He looked different than he had in the cell. His hair stuck up; his eyes reflected the moon. He was brighter, thicker, more substantial, no longer a matte figure glued on a paper frame, but a real clay model, detailed and painted, features carved deep.
"Your appearance is improved," Spock said.
"That's not—"
"Please do not hurry me," said Spock quietly. "I did not hurry you. Jim, I am still worried." He hesitated. "How do you—feel?"
Kirk actually laughed. "Spock," he said, richly amused, "much better, now you've asked." He bent his head, smiling. "You're not abandoning me, so."
"I would never," Spock said. He wondered what his voice sounded like, because Kirk gave him a look that he didn't entirely understand.
"I think I believe you," said Kirk, half joking and half sincere.
"You should," said Spock. Without any transition he said, "I was born on Vulcan."
"Oh," said Kirk, trying to look interested and ending up just looking confused. "Yes? Well, I mean, with your father being… Vulcan and all…"
"Are you familiar with Vulcan society?" said Spock, leaning forward.
"Uh, well, you guys don't have much of a sense of humor," said Kirk, still at a loss. "You're a bit more serious than we are. Is that where you're going with this?"
"Yes and no," said Spock. "Generally I prefer if people's knowledge of Vulcan extends beyond how Vulcans are not like Terrans—which is a very ethnocentric viewpoint, I must remind you—but in this case, the difference between those societies is the issue at stake."
x
The house was gorgeous at dusk, all curving, sandy lines and dark entryways. The midwife, a gray-haired woman wearing the traditional shawl, handed a pitcher to the younger midwife and lifted the child in her arms.
"She is strong," she said.
The older midwife wrapped the infant in brown swaddling and extended the bundle to the mother, whose hair was damp with sweat. There were tears in the mother's eyes. She was exhausted and could barely support the child's weight. The reverence in her was like a choir.
"Hello," Amanda said softly, touching the infant's cheek.
The younger midwife emptied the pitcher at the back of the room. The older midwife came over to fetch water for Amanda, and saw the younger midwife looking back at the new mother.
"The baby is healthy," said the younger midwife. "Why does she cry?"
The older midwife paused. "She is human," she said. There were footsteps, and she looked up the stairs. "Sarek arrives," she said. She gave the younger midwife a significant glance, and they both departed. Sarek passed them on the stairs, and they nodded to him.
Sarek came to stand near Amanda. He looked down at the bundle in her arms, at the sweat on her face. "Well done," was all he said.
Amanda's look was nothing less than a glare. She was exhausted and delighted and very pissed off. "Thanks," she said, the sarcasm so heavy that even T'Pau could catch it.
Sarek knew he was in trouble, but he dug himself in deeper.
"Your tone suggests disappointment," he said, completely emotionless. "The Science Council required my presence for a session regarding—"
"Don't do that," Amanda snapped. "You knew I wanted you here."
Sarek glanced out the window. The shards of the sun were glittering on the horizon.
"As you are aware, the Vulcan male is traditionally not present at the moment of delivery."
"That is not how it works on Earth," Amanda growled. "I moved here, to another planet, to be with you, Sarek. I needed you to be with me today. Holding my hand and telling me I'm doing great, even when I'm just breathing—when breathing is the best I can do. Have you ever given birth?"
Sarek got down on his knees next to her. He took her hand in his and said quietly, "You are correct, Amanda. I should have been here. I am sorry."
Amanda smiled, and with her free hand, tugged Sarek forward to kiss him. Then the two looked at the baby, whose eyes were closed.
"I had a thought," said Sarek. "We might name the child after one of our respected early society-builders. Her name was T'Pock."
Amanda raised an eyebrow and stared down at the infant.
"Your silence does not suggest enormous enthusiasm," says Sarek.
"No…" Amanda murmured. She blinked a few times and stroked the child's forehead. "T'Pock. T'Pock. It grows on me."
Sarek nodded, realizing she'd come around. The baby opened her eyes, and Sarek was struck.
"The child has your eyes," he said to his wife.
Amanda reached into the baby's swaddling to reveal the side of her head. "And your ears," she said. "T'Pock. Our handsome girl."
"Our beautiful girl," Sarek agreed.
x
From the beginning, T'Pock was not a normal Vulcan child. She eschewed traditional clothing and spent vast amounts of time playing make-believe games with T'Pring, the daughter of Sarek's assistant, Idris. She was a little more emotional than Vulcans expected of their children, and Amanda, who laughed too much and hugged her daughter even more, was generally blamed for this. Sarek did not mind too much at first: T'Pock adored logic puzzles and math games as much as all Vulcan children did, and excelled in school, where she was much loved by her peers.
The thing that bothered Sarek the most was that T'Pock would insist on wearing male clothing. She kept her hair short, in a sharp bowl-cut that covered the tips of her ears loosely. T'Pring, on the other hand, always dressed reasonably, in a girl's loose greens and browns. T'Pock and T'Pring were the best of friends.
"And then the Federation starship, the Cassandra, flies into the Romulan Neutral Zone," T'Pock said, moving her model starship into a dark strip on the carpet of the receiving room. They were six, and Sarek and Idris were in the study, talking about Council business. Amanda was a few hours away, at a Vulcan school, consulting with teachers. "T'Pring, where is the Romulan warbird?"
"I hid it under the table," said T'Pring solemnly. "The Romulans will not attack the Cassandra because it has destroyed many Romulan warbirds before this."
"Yes, but this starship is new," T'Pock insisted. The neck of her black tunic was unbuttoned to the breastbone, and her white shirt beneath was crinkled. She had a chubby, wide-eyed face that easily rested into an expression of determination. "The Romulans do not know about the Cassandra."
"The Cassandra has been destroying Romulan warbirds since we were four," T'Pring said. She was already a beauty. She had high cheekbones and piercing eyes, and her long hair was tied up high on her head and fell down in rolling curls. Unlike T'Pock, she looked delicate and passive. She was everything but: T'Pring was top in her combat class.
T'Pock glared at T'Pring. "This is made-up," she said. "We know that the Cassandra can destroy the warbirds. But the Romulans do not."
"But the Cassandra—" T'Pring broke off at T'Pock's sign. "What?"
"Ssh!" said T'Pock, glancing around. "They will hear you!"
"Who will?"
"The Klingons! They are mounting a sneak attack!"
"Oh no!" cried T'Pring, snatching, from under the table, the model she had hidden there. "Here they come! They are using the Tak'rah Delta formation to surround the Cassandra!"
"Formidable!" gasped T'Pock. "The Cassandra arms phasers! Tactical maneuver four-four-tau-two!"
"The birds-of-prey arm phasers as well! Shields! Red alert! Battle stations!"
The Cassandra demolished the twelve Klingon birds-of-prey in an epic battle that spanned the entire receiving room. Exhausted, T'Pock and T'Pring retired to the kitchen to sit on the cold tile floor and drink water. They left the tiny, triumphant Cassandra on a carefully constructed stack of pillows as a reward for her hard work.
T'Pock unbuttoned her black tunic all the way and laid down on the floor, her thin chest rising and falling rapidly. T'Pring watched her, unblinking, and sipped her water. Finally she put the glass down and said, "T'Pock, why do you not wear clothes like mine?"
"Female clothes?" said T'Pock, her eyes closed. She was spread-eagled on the tile. The coolness of it seeped into her skin.
"Yes," said T'Pock.
"I do not like being female," said T'Pock. As T'Pring watched, T'Pock, eyes still shut, pointed at her head. "I do not feel female, in here."
T'Pring cocked her head. "That is not logical. You are female. Your DNA is female."
T'Pock sighed. "I know. I agree that it is not logical. But my make-believe is not logical either, and you will play it with me."
"Your make-believe is fun," said T'Pring. "Your mother has good ideas about playing. I very much like math games but make-believe is…" She frowned. "Differently rewarding."
They were quiet for a while.
"Do you dislike being female?" said T'Pring.
"Why do you inquire?" said T'Pock. She opened her eyes and sat up, shifting so that she was sitting against the kitchen island, facing T'Pring.
"I am curious," said T'Pring, raising her nose. "My father says curiosity is a good trait."
T'Pock (who was rather scared of Idris) nodded. "My mother says that as well. She also says something about deceased felines in a related context, but I am not sure what that means. I dislike being female, yes."
"Why?" said T'Pring.
T'Pock was silent for a while. She clasped her hands in front of her knees, which she had pulled up to her chest.
"Because it is not right," she said.
"I do not understand," said T'Pring.
"Do you need to?" said T'Pock.
T'Pring considered. "You are my best friend," she said. "And we are to be bonded in seven months. I would like to understand."
"Perhaps when we are bonded and are able to mind meld, you will be able to understand," said T'Pock.
T'Pring nodded. "I would like that very much," she said.
They heard their fathers approaching then, and stood up quickly. Sarek came in first, saying to Idris, "… can discuss this with T'Pau later. T'Pock, T'Pring, I greet thee."
"I greet thee," T'Pock and T'Pring intoned as well.
"Daughter, we depart," said Idris. "Sarek, thanks be. Live long and prosper."
"Remember the meeting, Idris. Live long and prosper."
T'Pring followed Idris out the door. T'Pock waved at her. T'Pring waved back solemnly and disappeared.
"What did you do with T'Pring today, T'Pock?" Sarek asked.
"We played make-believe," said T'Pock, watching as Sarek poured himself a glass of water. "We discussed how I do not like being female."
Sarek paused. "What did you say?"
T'Pock thought that was strange: her father had excellent hearing, for a male. "We discussed how I do not like being female," she repeated.
"You are female," said Sarek strongly. He fixed T'Pock with a cold stare. "T'Pock, you cannot be led to believe or lead yourself to believe that you are anything other than female. It is an illogical belief that is against the Vulcan way, and you will not express it in my house."
T'Pock shrank back. "Yes, father," she said. "I am female. I am sorry."
x
When Amanda arrived home, she found Sarek in his study furiously reading Surak and T'Pock in her room, in her informal robe, staring dolefully at a female garment that she had laid out on the bed.
"Okay," said Amanda, sitting down next to T'Pock. "What happened?"
Sarek's reply to T'Pock's explanation, and the ensuing fight, took about an hour. By the time Amanda had slammed every door in the house between her husband and her daughter and was sitting on T'Pock's bed, trying not to scream, Sarek had stormed out of the house entirely.
"Mother," said T'Pock worriedly, "are you well? Did father leave?"
"I am well, dear, yes," said Amanda, opening her arms. T'Pock climbed onto the bed next to Amanda and scrunched up next to her. "How was your day?"
"It was normal," said T'Pock, picking at her robe. "Mother, do I have to wear that dress?" She nodded behind her, at an unworn moss green dress that lived in her closet, so much like T'Pring's favorite outfit.
"No," snapped Amanda. "You can wear whatever you want."
"Father said—"
"You ignore what your father said," Amanda said. T'Pock saw a bright red blush of anger spread across her mother's cheeks. "You can wear what you want and cut your hair how you will, T'Pock. You are my child, and if you are happy, then I am happy. How you are happy does not matter to me, as long as it infringes on the rights of no one else."
T'Pock didn't say anything.
"T'Pock," said Amanda, softer. "I know you don't—do traditional girl things. I mean…" Amanda sighed. "This isn't a problem, where I'm from. On Vulcan, they don't really have…" She struggled to articulate the issue. "They've never had problems with male/female equality on Vulcan. But there are different codes of dress and behavior here, for boys and girls."
"I know, mother," said T'Pock.
"And you… and people who don't fit into that package… they don't… they aren't nice those people," said Amanda. "I am sorry to say that your father is one of the 'they'." She sighed again. "But they're all theys."
"T'Pring is not a they," said T'Pock, looking up at Amanda. "She said she wanted to understand me."
"That is wonderful," said Amanda, smiling. "Good. Good for T'Pring. Children are always open-minded. They used to say, 'People aren't born homophobic.'"
"What is 'homophobic'?" said T'Pock.
"It's an old term. I'm glad you don't know it, Tocket," said Amanda, rubbing T'Pock's back. "It means, 'afraid of homosexuality.'"
"That is illogical," said T'Pock matter-of-factly. "There is nothing to fear from any sexuality."
"Oh dear. You're six," said Amanda, rather sadly. "I suppose we'll have to have The Talk soon. Vulcans grow up too fast." T'Pock looked like she wanted to ask more questions, so Amanda said quickly, "No, I am glad you know that, T'Pock. Since you know what 'homophobic' means, can you tell me what 'transphobic' means?"
"Phobia is fear," said T'Pock. She scrunched up her face. "Trans is change. To fear change?"
"There is an essential root left out in the word, but, yes, to a certain extent. T'Pock, did you know that there are people who are born as one sex, but have surgery to become another sex?"
T'Pock's eyes widened. "They do?"
"Yes, they're called transgender people. After they have changed, they are transsexual people." Amanda watched T'Pock's face. "That's simplifying the gender spectrum quite a lot, but."
"Why… why do they change?" asked T'Pock. There was something in T'Pock's voice indicating that she already knew the answer.
"They change because their sex is not the same as their gender. Do you know what the difference between 'sex' and 'gender' is, T'Pock?"
"No," said T'Pock, clearly concerned that she lacked any knowledge at all.
"Sex is body. It is what your body is. My body is female. Gender is what your mind is. My mind is female as well. This means that I am cisgender: my sex matches my gender."
"Then my sex is female and my gender is male," said T'Pock excitedly.
"Are you sure?" said Amanda gently.
"Yes, yes I am sure," said T'Pock. She had a wide smile on her face, and it hurt Amanda's heart to see it—T'Pock smiled so rarely. "This is logical, mother. It explains all of what I feel. It was illogical when I did not know this because I did not know how I could be female and feel male. But this is logical and this is how I am. When can I change so that I match?"
"Oh honey," said Amanda, wrapping her arm around T'Pock's shoulders. "That's a big, slimy barrel of eels."
x
The idea burrowed into T'Pock's head like a worm and consumed her. She told T'Pring about it first thing the next day. T'Pring was hesitant: she had never heard of something so outlandish, and a small part of her wanted to blame this on Amanda, the illogical, human influence in T'Pock's life. But most of her was happy that T'Pock had found a solution to her problem.
One day, at school, they were put in a rare group-teach to learn about electricity. The teacher set them at lab tables and had them repair transistors. T'Pock was paired with Melor, one of her dear friends. Melor was taller than everyone in her class and less intelligent than everyone else too, but he was very charming, and much liked.
He did well with their transistor and did not require much help from T'Pock. He was soldering a small piece inside of the machine when he asked T'Pock to hand him an instrument. As she did, the sleeves of her boy's tunic caught on another instrument, and it took her a moment to untangle herself.
"Why do you wear male clothing?" Melor asked. It was a question T'Pock had always been faced with, but since almost everyone she knew had first asked the question years ago, she had not had a chance to give her new answer until now.
"Because I am male," she said proudly, handing him tool.
"That is untrue," said Melor firmly. "You are female."
"My sex is female," T'Pock explained. "My gender is male."
"There is no difference between sex and gender."
"But there is a difference between katra and ak'shem, mind and body," said T'Pock, who had philosophized this herself. "This is taught. My katra and my ak'shem differ."
"That is illogical," said Melor. He had stopped working and was watching T'Pock. "A dysphoria such as what you describe is a sign of madness. Perhaps it is a result of your mixed heritage."
"I do not know what it is a result of, but it is not of madness," said T'Pock. "Melor, you know me. I am not like other girls."
"Indeed you are not," said Melor, standing up. "You are not Vulcan. Teacher, I will not have this partner."
Perhaps blindly, T'Pock was unconcerned. But for the first time, she felt real determination. Before, being transgender had been a logical solution to the problem she experienced. Now, it was something more visceral. Melor was wrong. She was not mad, and she was not female: she was male, and if her katra was her true self, as she had been taught, then she was done with any part of being female. She had thought about her male name, Spock, before. It was what she would call herself after the surgery, whenever that occured. But it occurred to her that she was already Spock. And that she wasn't she. She was he. He was he. I am I.
Spock was distracted for the rest of the day, thinking about his new identity that was not new, but that was newly come by. T'Pring, as usual, walked home with him, to meet her father at Spock's house.
"Melor was saying terrible things about you to T'Pera and the others," said T'Pring, the tiniest hint of concern evident on her face. "I tried to explain to them how you are male, but they would not listen. They called you mad and not Vulcan. They think that your human blood is bad."
"My blood is perfectly fine," said Spock confidently. "T'Pring, I would ask you not to call me T'Pock. It is not a true name."
"But it is your name," said T'Pring.
"It is a female name. I am Spock."
T'Pring nodded. "This is logical. Your katra is male, and your voice speaks from your katra, and I speak with your voice. Yes."
"Thank you, T'Pring."
"You are welcome, Spock."
Spock almost smiled. The surge of pleasure that zipped up his spine when T'Pring said "Spock" was something he would never forget.
x
For a long time, it was beyond Spock to see why everyone did not feel as he did. That night, he asked his mother and father to call him "Spock." Sarek, fed up by his daughter's insistence that she was not a she, exploded (as much as a Vulcan can explode) at the table. Amanda sent Spock (who she immediately called "Spock," much to Spock's pleasure) to his room. Spock listened at the door, but he could not hear what his mother and father were saying. After a long time, Amanda came in to his room.
"I am very sorry about your father," she said, standing near the door. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was trembling slightly. "This is a cultural difference that I had not expected to need to surmount. It is well documented in the Federation that Vulcans are highly transphobic. Earth, Andoria, and Tellar have tried for many years now to change this, but it is difficult to—it is—" Amanda let out a huff of frustration. "Truthfully, the others do not think that it is a major issue."
"It is to me," said Spock quietly.
"Oh, Tocket, I know," said Amanda sadly, coming over to him. "We'll convince your father. Don't worry."
x
A month and four days after T'Pring turned seven, Spock did as well. The bonding ceremony was held a week after that.
The day before the ceremony, Spock was walking to the kitchen when he passed Amanda's study and heard her talking.
"… and he just won't listen to me, Sybok. Did you know that my father is transsexual? Sarek even knew that, and he blamed it on being human—I mean, it was something I had to not discuss with him, because otherwise, he's completely wonderf—well, I need to repeat that to myself, at the moment, because I'm this close…. But anyway, like humans have some lease on gender dysphoria. It's universal, studies have shown…. I know, it's a bullshit point of view. It's Vulcan and it's idiotic, I mean—yes, I don't have to tell you. I just can't stand it. This would be so simple if we were on Earth." There was a long pause, and then Amanda's voice rose. "No, Sybok—no, you can't possibly—Sybok…. Listen. You can't—ugh!" Spock heard call-cancel being pressed. He turned away from the door and hurried to the kitchen.
Amanda came in just as Spock was pouring himself water. "Get me a glass as well, dear," she said, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"Yes, mother," said Spock dutifully. He watched Amanda out of the corner of her eye. Her elbow was on the table; her head rested on the heel of her hand. She stared out the window.
"Mother? What concerns you?"
Amanda blinked. "Oh, nothing. Did I tell you Sybok's going to be here? He can't make it tomorrow—evidently he has to testify on Antares at noon tomorrow, and it couldn't be moved, but he's coming."
"Ah," said Spock.
Spock did not know Sybok very well. Sybok was Sarek's son by his first wife, a Vulcan priestess named Erire who had died in childbirth. Sybok was much older than Spock and he did not live on Vulcan. Nor did he follow the teachings of Surak, much to his father's displeasure.
Amanda eyed him. "How are you?"
"I am fine, mother," he said.
"You know I can't convince T'Pau to change anything in the ceremony," said Amanda, her eyes going sad.
"Yes," said Spock. "I know."
x
Bonding ceremonies between individuals of the same sex had been occurring on Vulcan for millennia, but their numbers had increased greatly within the last millennium. It was now, and had been for centuries, considered commonplace to arrange bonds between children of the same sex.
On the morning of the ceremony, Amanda delivered Spock to the temple, where he was accepted by three lower priestesses. They took him to the water sanctuary, where he was bathed and clothed, and words were said over his katra. A senior priestess helped him to prepare his mind.
In the Words, he was T'Pock, bonded to T'Pring, and his ornamentation was female. His hair, shorter than ever, was done up with beads and other ek'zeru. His robes were dark green on the outside, the finest Andorian silk and Bajoran lace, with a royal blue line and edging. Spock was practically Vulcan royalty, and no expense was spared.
Spock and T'Pring stood before T'Pau, who spoke the Words over them. They put their hands palm to palm, making the ta'al with their fingers, and together recited, when it was time, "Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched."
Spock felt a hole form in his consciousness, and T'Pring fell through it, into his mind.
x
Even as seven-year olds, it was evident to Spock and T'Pring that they were not meant to be.
The touch of T'Pring's mind on his felt like acid. All of the other mental contact Spock had had, with his father, his brother, and his teachers, had been soft; with his father, the intrusion was lessened by love. But even the slightest hint of T'Pring's consciousness felt like stepping on broken glass.
Spock was very upset, and so was T'Pring. They were close friends, and T'Pring was the only Vulcan who came close to understanding Spock. Amanda, who had no direct knowledge of mind melds and psychic bonds, could not help, and Spock was unwilling to talk to Sarek about it. T'Pring thought that the problem stemmed from Spock's human half interfering with his Vulcan half and insisted that they did not need to pursue the issue.
So they grew apart.
Of course, there was another variable. Actually it wasn't so much of a variable as it was a catastrophe mixed in with a miracle. The day after the bonding ceremony, Sybok arrived.
He looked nothing like Sarek, Spock thought. He wore Andorian clothing and a thick black beard and smiled. Amanda greeted him hesitantly; Sarek woodenly. Spock, back in his boy's tunic, raised his hand in greeting. He had not seen Sybok in three years, and then it had only been for a week.
Sybok made his position on the matter of Spock's gender identity clear by smiling at Spock's raised hand and saying, "Hello, Spock."
Thunder flashed through Sarek's eyes. "Your sister's name is T'Pock," he said.
"My brother's name is Spock, father," said Sybok. "Your wife has told me all about what you've done to him, and I will not have the situation continue." He adjusted the collar of his tunic and walked towards Spock.
"Sybok," said Amanda warningly. Spock would later realize that Amanda didn't expect Sybok to do what he did, although she knew it was a possibility. He never blamed her for it.
"Don't wait up," said Sybok. He was standing next to Spock, now. He touched Spock's arm, and Spock looked over in time to see Sybok press a button on a small remote he was holding.
A warm transporter beam pulled him apart and put him back together. Spock stumbled. He did not expect to be transported. He was standing in the small transporter panel of a ship, with Sybok still at his side.
"Brother, where are we?" said Spock carefully. He hadn't expected this. He was afraid. He was so many things and they were all boiling up in his stomach, threatening to come out, and he was convinced Sybok was betraying him, and he missed his mother already, and he didn't know what to do.
"We're on a ship heading to Earth, Spock," said Sybok, helping Spock out of the panel. He bent down in front of him, the folds of his clothes thickening as he crouched. When he was at Spock's level, he smiled widely. "You want to go get that surgery?" he said, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. "If you'd like, Spock, that's what we'll do."
Spock's heart stopped beating for a second, and the fear inside of him reversed itself completely. Little black spots danced over his eyes and his throat tightened, and for the first time in a long time he felt dampness in his eyes. "Yes, brother," he breathed. "Nothing would be more logical."
Spock looked back many times at this minute. He looked at how surprised he was and how afraid he was, but how excited he was. He had never expected to feel such a surge of hugeness in his soul when he considered how he would be he soon. He would also think that he placed too much importance in the surgery: after all, he didn't require a physical male form to consider himself male. But at the same time, he knew the surgery was what he wanted—what he required.
Spock was too jittery to pay much attention to the other people on the ship, but he remembered one of them in particular. She was a very tall Bajoran woman with earrings that went down to her breasts, and she wore her light hair in a bun on the very top of her head. He remembered her saying to him, "You can never see behind your own eyes," while they were eating dinner with the rest of Sybok's friends (three Andorians, a Tellarite, and two Orions). He remembered her saying to him, "Don't ever think it's over."
Earth let them beam down. Spock walked into a hospital in his boy's clothes and walked out of the hospital in his boy's clothes. The doctors were strange: they smiled and laughed, and touched him gently and asked if it was alright that they did so, and they took measurements differently and Spock had to remember that Earth used something called the metric system, and the rooms were warm (welcoming) and cool (to his hot skin). After a day in a hormone therapy apparatus, he laid down on a table and a gorgeous man with one bright brown eye touched his arm more considerately, more understandingly than Spock had ever been touched, and he fell away into a pool of sunwater, and when he woke up, there was an ache was back behind his teeth, shifted away by the medicines but still present, and he was right, he was whole, he was something he had always been but was only now becoming.
They told him afterwards, after he had stood in the hospital courtyard with his hand over his heart, staring at the beech tree with a chirping bird perched in the tufts of its hair, after they had asked him wide-eyed how he was, how he felt, if he needed anything, what they could do, after they had scanned him for hours and then smiled and rubbed their hands to say, "Yes," as if he didn't already know how yes he was. They told him then that, actually. Well. There had been an incident. Not during the operation, no, no (shaking their heads quickly). Nothing had happened to him. And just as their use of that pronoun was finally going to make him smile, they said (and it didn't matter how), "Your brother, his ship, a crash, all dead."
x
There was so much more but the gist of it was that for a long time, rather than making things better, it seemed that the surgery had made things worse. Spock had always been a boy but not everybody had known that. Spock had always been a rebel too, but that wasn't his fault. And Spock had never been a murderer or even anybody guilty or capable of manslaughter, but the story rode on the wind's wings and everybody knew.
Sarek took a long, long time to come around, and it was not until Spock attempted suicide at the age of twelve that he finally understood what his son was going through, and agreed that they should move. Convincing the Vulcan council that this was necessary was nearly impossible, but they finally transferred him to Earth, and so by the time Spock was thirteen and ready to start high school, they were living on Aktor Street and I-Chaya was sniffing fire hydrants while they walked him across Golden Gate Park.
x
Sybok's wake was lyric and sweet. The Bajoran woman with the long earrings and (Spock remembered now, as he stared at her urn) leaf green eyes had left a book, and her parents gave it to Spock, because Spock told Amanda quietly what the Bajoran woman had said to him, and her parents had overheard, and they (were quick to say that) they disapproved of their daughter's (free-wheeling, transitory, hippie) lifestyle, and they had this for him, because they (didn't want it) thought he might need it. There was poetry and prose in it, and Spock read it front to back, back to front three times, and then never again, because he had a strong memory of reading it in the study of their home on Vulcan, with the light just so at sunset and the dust motes like glittering gold leaf, and he couldn't read it anywhere else, and he had memorized it anyway.
Spock was seven, it has to be recalled. Vulcans at seven are humans at twelve, although the maturation slows soon after that, and by the time Vulcans are eighteen years old, they are about as mature as humans at twenty. (From then, their maturation begins to vary in an even greater measure from humans, but that does not matter here.) Even so, he was seven, and there was nothing in the world to convince him that he had not just killed a man.
More than one man: eight people. Eight living beings that would not have died if it wasn't for him. He ignored all of the other factors (as one does), such as: they chose to come get him. The ship belonged to one of the Andorians, and he had not kept it in as good repair as was required. They were all Sybok's friends, and they agreed with Sybok that something had to be done to help his half-brother, and they smiled at him (Spock remembers this too, at the wake) when he came on board, and talked over dinner (Spock does not remember this) about the gender binary and genderqueerness and gender in general, and how they would so like to disregard it. Primarily, it was an accident, and accidents happen, and accidents are awful, and they are not as a whole the fault of anyone, although small pieces of them have fault attached, but no piece of that fault was Spock's, or anyone's still living.
But tell Spock that. For the next five years he knew he had caused the crash. He knew it was all his fault. He knew that the transition had been a mistake, he knew that he had caused a huge rift in his family, he knew that his peers loathed him and it was his fault, he knew he didn't talk to T'Pring the same way anymore, he knew he was terrible, he was a murderer and a fraud, he was wrong, he was confused, he wasn't Vulcan. That was what beat in his head like a drum. He wasn't Vulcan. He would never be Vulcan. He had no place among Vulcans.
Negative perception bends the glass of social acuity to the point that the distortion begins to hurt. The distortion wraps itself around the brain stem and squeezes, and your eyes cross and your hands start to shake whenever you speak. You are always right (or at least on the right track), but you never know it. You stand there in a pit while all around you, bent out of shape and twisted, the world stones you, and you bleed enough that you don't want the bleeding to be sluggish anymore.
Five months into Spock's twelfth year he made perfect grades in all of his classes, walked out onto the Fal'haek Overlook, and without hesitating, took a step off of it.
x
"I recovered," said Spock.
Kirk looked at him. After a while he said, "Comprehensively?"
If Spock were fully human he would have said "Sure," with a wide shrug, but instead he said, "Yes," and raised his eyebrows very slightly. Probably only Kirk and Sarek would have noticed the eyebrow raise.
"Almost," said Kirk, kind of getting it.
"Yes," said Spock. "It helped. Helped is—not the right word. Yet it is accurate."
"Yeah," said Kirk. "Yeah, okay.
"Is that it?"
Spock shifted back on the heels of his feet, stretching his shoulder blades. The dew had begun to seep through his pants. It was definitely uncomfortable. He wanted to go inside and get in his bed and curl up next to Kirk and breathe in the scent of his hair, and have Kirk run his hands down his back, and fall asleep, and awake in the morning to eggs, possibly.
"That is the précis," said Spock.
"So I should go," said Kirk.
Spock blinked. "If you like. But Jim."
"Yeah?"
Maybe Spock was imagining it, but he thought Kirk's voice was heavy.
"Thank you."
"Thank you," said Kirk. Spock saw Kirk's muscles tense and they stood up together, Spock brushing his seat off discreetly.
Spock didn't know what else to say. Kirk was getting a funny expression as they walked back to the road, and to Spock's relief, when they were on the sidewalk and Spock needed to cross and Kirk needed to go left and find his bike, Kirk said, "Spock, really. It's alright."
"Yes, I know," said Spock, knowing he sounded impatient and hoping Kirk understood that he had to sound impatient because he was Spock and all. "And I hope you know that I will not leave."
"And I won't judge you," said Kirk. "Not in a million years."
Spock didn't know what gesture to make and he could see a break in the traffic coming up. He wanted to shake Kirk's hand at least, but he couldn't read Kirk's body language, and he settled on stepping forward to wave, and Kirk waved too, his eyes glittering in the headlights dancing by, and Spock took two steps off the curb and Kirk was gone into the dark.
Spock slept, deeply and darkly, comprehensively, and sweetly.
x
Spock broke his back a second time in the hospital, and they had to sedate him and restrain him to stop him from doing more damage. He floated, for a while, watching the sky.
There was a bird on the ledge outside, an edik. It tilted its orange head. The feathers at the back of its neck stuck up comically. The sky was wide and lemon-colored, and a page of heat slipped under the window's seal.
Spock's mind made a few connections, and he thought: "'Don't ever think it's over.'" The haze in him was thick like a line of numbers, and humid, too. He wanted to fan himself. He would have done anything to be cold and away. But he thought, "'Don't ever think it's over,'" and there was ice in his hands and coolness at his head. A nurse was giving him water and flipping over his pillow. He smiled and Spock thought he had the same brown eye that the nurse on Terra had.
For the first time the taste of memory was appetizing. He thanked the nurse, slurring, and drank the water, and in a few hours his back hurt more than anything ever had or ever would, for which he was glad.
x
I think I've replied to everyone who left a review for the last chapter. If I've somehow missed you, let me know. I have no current time frame for posting the next chapter, but as always, reviews are appreciated and taken into account. If you have any questions or complaints, they will be addressed.