Typical
Captain Kirk roamed the corridors of his ship, aimlessly avoiding contact with the on-shift crew - and the First Officer he suspected was awake and working somewhere about – and reflecting uneasily on the day just past. Part of his brain tried to suggest that being uneasy was ridiculous, but his stomach thought otherwise. It had its own firmly-held opinions, thanks.
This had been a typical day filled with the usual routine. Or, at least, Jim thought, it was supposed to be: It was supposed to be all about watching his people at work, really seeing them, celebrating what he knew of them. (The side-activities that made a day of routine tolerable, really…) It was supposed to be about doing what needed to be done – and looking forward.
It sure would be helpful if things stayed the way he thought they were supposed to be. Being the Captain of the Enterprise, then, would be easy. Probably.
But apparently things didn't stay the way they were supposed to be… and being the Captain pretty much sucked.
Well, kinda.
It kinda sucked, anyway.
Not like being Vulcan, obviously. Being Vulcan really sucked.
Take Spock. One thing, right there, that wasn't proving to be the way he thought it – he – should. Right?
I mean 'Vulcan.' Hello: Cold. Logical. Unemotional.
Okay, so maybe Spock really was still all of those things. C'mon – He was still Spock. He was still freaking brilliant, yeah. And terrifying. He was still clinical and rational and detached, with tremendous power harnessed just below the surface. Yeah. All that.
But that uncanny serenity? It was deliberate, hard-earned. 'Illusion,' Jim thought.
And the Zen-Spockness? The calm balanced cornerstone of all of their away missions? More illusion , probably… Right?
Spock wasn't invulnerable. He wasn't utterly distant, unfeeling. He wasn't… perfect.
('Perfect'? Where the hell had that come from?)
It was obvious Spock wasn't perfect. There were lots of things he was, and lots of things he claimed to be (and those were generally inconveniently factually accurate: True, in fact, dammit all), but 'perfect' was never one of them.
No. Spock was not perfect. And the inhuman calm confidence that Jim envied, and desired, was a product of a life-time of effort - not a birth-right, a gift.
Not perfect. No. Indeed not: One thing Spock was – that he wasn't supposed to be, and certainly hadn't claimed to be - was…
…with Uhura.
(Jesus, Jim. You gonna hold that against the guy? Who wouldn't want to be with Uhura?)
Not Spock. It wasn't supposed to be Spock.
(Spock was… was… Spock wasn't supposed to want anyone.)
No, not Spock.
Yeah, in the midst of… Nero… it had been obvious, but since then? Not.
Not really, at all. (Not that he'd been looking for it, particularly…)
He had somehow allowed himself to believe that perhaps theirs was a one-time thing – or a once-upon-a-time thing maybe - a reaction to stress, to loss…
Oh, he'd still known.
Well, he'd still kinda known – kinda – but…
Uhura was supposed to be… Uhura: Strong, beautiful, fierce – independent. She was supposed to be fun, too, sexy and smart – with a cool, sly, almost Vulcan wit. (Well, she was.) She was not supposed to be tired, tormented, tentative - taken. She was not supposed to be in love. Uhura wasn't supposed to need anybody. Nobody (though that was the challenge, of course). Still… Nobody – and, least of all? Spock.
'Accept,' she'd said, 'Be accepting.'
How was he supposed to do that?
Bailey was bad. Bad enough – worse: A kid way too young, killed in a needless accident at the start of a mission that should have been filled with wonder. He had been included in the landing party against the First Officer's recommendation - since Captain Kirk thought it good to get everybody out, once, toward the beginning of their time, to see what the job was really going to be like. Jim had picked something easy, he thought, for a boy that reminded him uncomfortably of himself. Not as he was supposed to be, mind – all cocky and brash – but the way he suspected he really was, underneath…
It was supposed to be an easy assignment. Typical. Routine.
Bailey had been fine at first: Eager to prove himself – not too independent - kinda uncertain, actually - but fine.
The Ensign had trailed after his Captain - watching, listening - deferential and admiring – until Kirk had wanted to stretch his legs and explore a bit, and had assigned Bailey to duty with the ship's Science Officer - investigating a reading that was out-of-the-ordinary. And it still seemed like it was going to be fine. Spock had been effortlessly keeping tabs on half-a-dozen men doing various tasks, and on the security detail close at hand; then he had called for the Captain, to report on-the-spot. When Kirk arrived, the other was issuing orders, coolly and keenly aware of the actions - the experience and abilities - of each of the men under his command. (Captain Kirk found himself, once again, impressed.)
Spock had said Bailey's name, given a simple order. And Bailey had hesitated.
No.
Bailey had disobeyed.
He had looked instead to the Captain - wanting confirmation, maybe. Spock had calmly repeated the order; and when he had, an instant later, seen danger, and given warning – Bailey ignored that, too.
And he'd died.
Bailey had ignored an order. He'd ignored that quick, insistent warning. He'd looked to Kirk for a counter-order… Why?
Did he see something of himself in the Captain? In Jim?
Or was it something more insidious… A lack of trust, maybe… A need for understanding? A desire to know that the order made sense?
Was it because Spock was Vulcan? Alien?
Kirk didn't like that idea. He didn't like it one bit - but he suspected it was true nonetheless.
And he suspected that that attitude was more prevalent than he'd care to know about.
When he had received command of this ship, he had been cocky – proud - just as they'd known he would be. He had known that he deserved it: James T. Kirk had saved Planet Earth, and there was no reason they shouldn't give him a ship for his trouble. Even the Enterprise, crown-jewel of the fleet.
But he hadn't really believed it, when he'd heard. Oh, yeah – He'd wanted to believe; but, somehow, he didn't.
(And he knew he hadn't done it alone.)
He'd gone in, as ordered, to receive official notification - and he'd been positive, then, there was some hideous mistake.
Surely… not the Enterprise.
They must have seen something of his shock. They were quick to tell him there was no mistake. She was his, no doubt there: Christopher Pike was not going to be able to return to active duty for some time. But Kirk wasn't to worry - There were plans for Pike; he wouldn't be taking back his ship.
No. No! That wasn't it; and there was no way he could explain to these grim-faced, determined desk-bound Admirals… He had seen Pike onboard the Romulan vessel; and from that moment he'd known that Captain Pike would never regain command of a Federation ship. Pike hadn't had a choice – but still, he knew he had broken: Chris would never trust himself, again.
Kirk wasn't worried about Pike. Well, he was – but not about that.
No: The Enterprise belonged to Spock. She was his, absolutely, body and soul. Not just because he knew every system inside and out - had recommended and trained her personnel - had personally overseen her fitting-up. Nor even because he had been given command of her, directly, by Captain Pike himself. No - It was something more, something intimate. Jim had seen how she responded to him; and frankly, he hadn't liked it.
(At the time, it just hadn't seemed right…)
In sheer surprise, he must have said the name out loud. "Can't promise anything," they'd said.
"Excuse me?" Not the most cogent reply, maybe; but he really was confused.
"We have not yet decided upon the most appropriate assignment for Commander Spock." The response was cool. Instantly, it became blatantly obvious that this group of men - suddenly older, with fresh worry-lines and cold wary eyes - hadn't even considered giving this ship (any ship really) to the man who'd held her the majority of the time, who had risked his life clearly knowing he would lose it (and considering that a worthy trade).
Sitting in a Starfleet conference room, Kirk had had a sudden vision of a vast chess board - with Spock as a waiting pawn. He could only imagine what sorts of things they had in mind for the Federation's most famous - most photogenic - Vulcan survivor… for Starfleet's alien prize.
Fuck that.
"He's mine." The impulsive words snapped out with all of the patented Kirk arrogance he'd ever managed to exhibit. (If the game was chess, then his opening gambit had been bold, and unmistakable.)
"I beg your pardon, sir?" It was a question and a warning, rolled into one.
"I need him. He's mine - On the Enterprise: My Chief Science Officer."
The answer he received was non-committal - but not hostile, either – and he supposed he had just confirmed every opinion that they had formed of him.
But he still got his way.
And he still got Spock's ship.
At the ceremony, he was relieved to note that Commander Spock wasn't there to see Kirk wrest her from him. Relieved – and disappointed: The ceremony made it official.
Official: An impersonal Starfleet decision.
(Impersonal. Right.) Out of his hands.
He had looked very carefully. No, Spock had not been there.
They had never talked about it. He supposed… He supposed Spock just didn't care.
Uhura was right, naturally: He did wonder what Spock had been like Before.
In the moment he had first seen the Vulcan's thin black angular form slicing sharply, smoothly, imposingly down through a sea of anticipatory scarlet, he had heard the admiration in Admiral Barnett's voice – and the clear unspoken assumption that Cadet Kirk, in his ignorant conceit, would have no idea who the other was (although he was one of the Academy's 'most distinguished graduates').
He learned later, of course, that at twenty-five Earth-years-of-age the celebrated Commander held the equivalent of some seventeen doctorates – all quietly acquired while teaching a full slate at the Academy , running the Kobayashi Maru simulations, continuing his Starfleet duties (including serving as Pike's second), and guest lecturing at various institutions of higher learning. Oh – and conducting his own research: The man was a scientist, first - Mustn't forget that…
The Vulcan's rise through the ranks had been meteoric, unprecedented. (Now? Second only to Kirk's own.)
But well-deserved: Spock had certainly earned Pike's trust, his friendship – and his ship.
The written records, in fact, were universally fulsome in his praise. However much the authors had admired his accomplishments and dedication, there was more than cold assessment of Spock's achievements evident in their words: It seemed that the majority of those senior members of the Academy Board and the Admiralty had actually liked the dignified young Commander.
But all of that was before Nero.
After Nero, Spock was a commodity.
They never talked about that, either.
The Vulcan had calmly claimed his station on the Enterprise, and that had been that.
Now, Jim supposed that Spock hated it, the whole Machiavellian Starfleet publicity-machine rigmarole. (That would be hard for anyone, really - Much less for someone… let's face it… obsessed with personal privacy and integrity.) But they would never need to talk about that. They could go into Deep Space, and stay there – doing the jobs they had trained to do out of a desire to make a difference - while memories back home faded, and their own faces aged enough that they wouldn't be instantly recognizable when they returned and walked Earth's crowded city streets. (Though, now that he thought about it, Spock's, of course, wouldn't – and even if it did, his sheer Vulcanness would make him noteworthy anywhere… Fuck.)
But still.
The guy wasn't perfect.
He couldn't be perfect: He had a weakness.
No. Not because he was Vulcan. (Come on. Seriously?)
No - his weakness was one he had chosen: One Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.
Well. Maybe that just made him human.
Not 'Human' (or even 'half-'), but 'human' – like any other human being: Living, breathing, doing his best to get by.
Actually, that was kind of a nice idea, all things considered.
Hey: Vulcans were kind of intimidating. Human beings? Not so much.