[Disclaimers/warnings at top of Part I] Thanks to Spockchick for suggestions!
Part VI
Kirk.
He and McCoy are having drinks in the captain's quarters.
"Spock is in trouble," the doctor says. He pours a shot of bourbon and sips it. "He's been producing higher-than-normal amounts of cortisol since the Vulcan holocaust. Some immune responses are lowered, his blood pressure – usually close to nonexistent – is up. Some of his higher brain functions are not at their usual exalted levels." Bones tosses off his bourbon. "It's gotten worse since the attack on him in that last Away Mission … if he isn't lookin' like the walking dead, he's lookin' like a thundercloud … for weeks now." He clunks his glass down.
"But Uhura – damn, I really notice it with her. Usually she's right bubbly – if she's not cheerful, she's intensely focused – she 'most always seems to take joy in everything she does. She's depressed. She's seeing Robi Tamargo a few times a week. What she says there is confidential, though."
"That explains it," Kirk says, taking a long, cold draft of his ale and thoughtfully setting the bottle down on the low table between them. "Damn. I was thinking about talking to one or the other of them but was hoping it was all my imagination."
He looks up to see McCoy looking steadily at him, the gaze that means Bones is totally focused.
"On the Bridge, I hear everything around me. It's ambient sound, but I know instantly if there's a change. If something's wrong I get a tight feeling in my gut and a tingle at the back of my head." He massages the base of his skull. "For the past few weeks I've been tense, and while it's nothing a drink or two can't fix, it bothers me."
He leans back in his chair. "Part of it's the lack of words between Spock and Uhura. They used to talk sometimes. Quietly, but easily. Usually I just get a happy vibe from Uhura's direction, no matter how busy she is, and – well, he wouldn't be 'pleased' to hear me say it, but … contentment from Spock's.
"Not anymore though." Pausing, Kirk sips some ale. "Uhura's just … pulled in on herself. Lately her eyes just seem to … give off darkness, and they're usually so … sparkly. And Spock – up till a month ago, he was starting to, I don't know, warm his expression, or be a little more open in his gestures? Not now. Closed off, wearing that 'Total Vulcan' face."
"Post-traumatic stress," McCoy says. "I've been afraid of that for awhile. Other things have happened to confirm my diagnosis."
Kirk looks at him for a few seconds, then nods in understanding. And feels guilt. Holy shit, how did I not notice it was that bad? Spock's good at hiding things, but what the hell kind of captain am I?
"Maybe you've noticed Spock's been physically careless lately. You wouldn't think he'd be. But he's needed medical attention quite often in the last few months. I looked back at his record as First Officer on the Farragut, under Pike. He was a lot better at taking care of himself and his teams then, against all odds. He's still taking good care of his teams."
Kirk nods. Until McCoy has pointed it out, he hasn't noticed a difference in Spock's professional performance. A few more visits to Sickbay since … when? Uhura's away mission on Al'Rugh, wasn't it? But except for protecting Hendorff on Athfer, and getting his own leg broken, nothing really serious. Well, and the Bridge officers' meetings … Spock's been inattentive, a word Kirk's never thought of in connection with his First Officer. Jim's been thinking Spock and Uhura have been going through a rough patch, that Spock's been trying to multi-task without success. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers Vulcans are experts at multi-tasking. Hmmm ... maybe emotions present greater challenges to their minds than facts, figures, calculations, or science?
"But …." McCoy pours himself another shot of bourbon. "Now it seems like he's trying to throw his own life away. It's not logical, of course – he's a member of an endangered species – but he feels a lot of guilt over something that wasn't his fault – it was Nero's fault – and Spock feels a lot of horror, as we all do, and a deep, deep sense of loss at the death of his planet. I can't even imagine that, can you? If Earth became a – what did Chekov call it …"
"A black hole?"
"C'mon, he used more than two syllables, Jim," McCoy says.
"A singularity."
McCoy looks at Kirk, then down. "Yeah. It's still haunting me."
"Spock prevented that from happening to Earth," Kirk's expression is solemn. He's told Bones many times that he didn't deserve command of the Enterprise, Spock did, and once the high wore off after his sudden elevation to captain, Jim's known it was politically motivated. Hoping the knowledge would temper Kirk's impulsiveness, Admiral Pike told him the Federation Council urged Kirk's promotion to assure the people of the "home planet" that Earth is safely in the hands of a human Starfleet hero.
Kirk has, for months, considered it a slap in Spock's face. Spock has assured him he didn't want a ship of his own, that he preferred the XO slot, because he could continue as Science Officer.
McCoy continues, "So let's imagine for a second. Our planet, our whole way of life, our many cultures, spiritual beliefs, ethnicities, literatures, histories, cuisines, beverages –" McCoy raises his glass, "everything we've been accustomed to, all our lives … our family members still on-planet, our childhood companions, the landscape and homes we grew up in, the cities and towns, forests, oceans, mountains, even the smell of fresh air … obliterated in under half an hour."
Kirk nods, sadly, and to hide the sudden heat of moisture in his eyes, gets up to get another cold one, uncaps it and drinks half of it down, grateful for the taste, the tickle of the fermented bubbles, the chill. He's leaning his lower back on the little bar he's set up in the dressing alcove. He and McCoy call it the drinking alcove. "Man. I can't even understand it, Bones. I had kind of a crappy childhood in Iowa, you know. When Mom got her divorce from Frank she got an assignment on Tarsus IV as a Fleet science consultant. It was supposed to be a two-year assignment for her and a place for us to start all over again as a family."
"I know, Jim," McCoy says in a soothing voice, the voice of a friend who's heard this story before. He always listens because Jim needs to talk it out sometimes, needs to air the darkness inside of him, maybe reduce it.
"It turned into hell. The famine started and all the shit came down. We were all starving ... Kodos was ordering executions by lottery 'for the good of the masses.' Hell, you know all this."
"Hell, I've boreassed you plenty of times talkin' about my divorce. Same ol' same ol' but sometimes it helps to talk about it."
Jim gulps and a tear spills. Bones is his best friend, and as a doctor he's seen plenty of grown men cry. Still Kirk turns his head away and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat.
It was horrible on Tarsus. Thousands of people died – he can't minimize that, ever, can't forget the terror of the lotteries, the cries of the children and heartbroken moans of their parents ….
"Thousands aren't … aren't the population of a whole planet. Tarsus wasn't …." You can't compare. You can't. It's not right, it's not possible.
"And Kodos was stopped," McCoy says, after a minute.
"We were lucky to stop Nero – lucky! … but he'd already killed six billion people." Kirk slams the bottle down on the bar suddenly. "Damn it!" His voice breaks. "I hate this for Spock and I don't know what to do."
McCoy closes his eyes and sighs, then looks at Kirk for a long minute. "For one thing, lead by example. Quit taking so many chances yourself. For another, keep him from volunteering for or leading any away teams. And when you can't do that last thing, order him to be careful. And I mean order him, don't just toss off the words. Be as specific with him as you would with the computer."
Kirk glares at his friend. "Knock it off, Bones! Spock is a pain in the ass, but he doesn't deserve to be called—"
With a rueful face, McCoy holds up a hand. "I'm not disparaging him, Jim. What I mean is, be plain and don't say anything he can reinterpret. Spock is damned cagey with Standard, y'know; he taught Xenolinguistics for chrissakes, so he knows how to parse words and make what you've said into whatever he wants you to have said. Just like a lawyer."
"Okay. I see your point. I admire Spock, but he is one … stubborn … man." Kirk sighs, and finishes his ale. "Well – tell him I'm ordering him to counseling. If he wants to dispute it, he can make an appointment to meet me in my Ready Room."
He looks over to meet McCoy's eyes. He and Bones shake their heads and finish their drinks, and call it a night. Kirk broods for long hours after.
To be Continued
A/N: I know - another short one ... Part 7 will follow soon!
Your opinion is very valuable to me, dear reader. Please comment on what you liked … or didn't. Blessings on those of you who've reviewed. One reader gave me a valuable idea for Part 5, thanks!
More angsty stories (e.g. Loss, The Way Back) at my FanFic site SpockLikesCats; you'll find humor (Put Your Junk in the Box, Sketches of Sparrow) and romance (my Hot Tubs stories) there as well!
/\ Glossary /\
Asenoi: fire-bowl [used for incense]
FAS: Fleet Admiral [chief] of Starfleet
Hir: 'him or her'
Loshirak: lotus position
Masa: mother [ki-Swahili]
Ozh'esta: the touch of the first two fingers of each partner's hand, a "Vulcan kiss"
Pakuv vil-yai: "odor flame," incense coil [author's construction from Vulcan words]
Plebe: an Academy midshipman/cadet just reported for the summer before the first academic year; one who hears constant swearing at and condemnation of, hirself, the better to get hir to conform to all the new rules; one who engages in constant swearing with hir fellows in private moments; one who is obedient to all above hir; the lowest life form at the Academy.
Zero hundred hours: midnight