Chapter 15 - Need, Part 4

"What happened to my cadet?" Overlander asked.

M'Benga looked up from the desk monitor, turned to the diagnostic bed where Spock lay. "He had a serious contusion. He's in a healing trance. It's a meditative method Vulcans use to speed heal."

Overlander approached. Spock lay on his back, fingers gently curled as if fully relaxed, head canted to the side.

"He's beautiful. Isn't he?"

M'Benga's head snapped up. He stood and approached the other side of the bed. "Commander, he is aware of everything going on around him. He's not asleep or unconscious."

Overlander hadn't interacted with the Apollo's CMO besides introducing herself when the Apollo arrived for the refit. "I don't mind if he hears me say that."

M'Benga put his chest out as he took a deep breath. "Perhaps a bit more restraint, Commander. We need to, overall, encourage more Vulcans in Starfleet."

"You'd be surprised what lengths I'm going to toward that end, Doctor. But I appreciate you looking out for him. I actually came for an update on Hully."

"I believe she is in her quarters. I have not yet seen a status report from the personnel you called over from the station so they may still be with her."

"Hopefully things go well. I'd like to talk to her myself, so call me when you hear from them." Overlander tipped her chin in Spock's direction. "You can handle this one?"

"I interned on Vulcan, sir."

"Did you? So did my CMO on the Ranger, Chapel. You know her?"

He crossed his arms and solemnly shook his head. "I do not."

"She's probably ten years younger than you, maybe why you didn't cross paths. She's still floating around waiting for an assignment she likes enough to take. You ought to look her up."

He stared.

She smiled again. "I just meant for coffee and to swap stories. Or, that's what I mean now that I see you dislike things getting personal."

He crossed his arms. "You apparently have a tendency to get too personal, Madame Commander. I do feel compelled to point that out now given you are widely expected to be given the first officer's position when we head out."

She suppressed the smile from imagining him and Chapel on a date given how tailor made they seemed for each other. "Duly noted, Doctor."

They both looked at Spock, who hadn't moved a hair.

"How long will he be like that?" she asked.

"Another hour or so." He took out a scanner, used it, put it away again. "About that."

"The install is going to restart in half an hour." She started to leave. "Tell him I said good job today."

"He heard you."

"Tell him again anyway. He deserves to hear it twice."

Spock stepped into the Propulsion class seventy five minutes and twelve seconds late. He felt the instructor's focused attention on his back as he mounted the steps up the side of the auditorium. He also felt an unexpectedly sharp complaint from the seventy percent healed contusion in the deep tissue of his right leg. Logically, once he had been forced to remain in sickbay, he should have healed himself more completely. He had instead risen early for reasons he'd determined were logical at the time, but were likely emotional, or worse than that, egotistical.

P'Losiwst's eager gaze led him to the seat she had reserved for him. Without a sound, Spock took out his padd and settled in. The corner of his padd screen still showed the initial readings from the sensors. He'd managed to collect more data while in sickbay. He had days of readings for some, hours for the last set. His small task on the Apollo was finished. He had very little interesting data for his report, which would now be reduced to a simple notation that he had performed a basic hardware installation. And his padd's case halves no longer seemed to interlock properly, as if it had suffered structural damage.

Spock switched screens to the day's lectures, turned his attention to the topic of field force mechanics.

Absom noticed Spock's attention, seemed to be waiting for it. He stopped mid-sentence, raised his white tufted head to speak upward. "Bold of you, Cadet, bothering to come this late. Very bold. After class. See me."

"Yes, sir."

Beside Spock, P'Losiwst hunched over her notetaking as if to avoid attention.

Absom called on Spock every other question, asking him four in total. Spock did well on the first two, but the last two were from the readings he'd only skimmed that morning before heading to the Apollo and he had been forced to admit his answers were partial. The other students seemed relieved Spock was taking all the instructor's attention. No others glanced back at him at any point, as they did when a student badly botched an answer.

At the end of the class time Spock made his way down to the front. P'Losiwst came beside him, angled a pained expression up at him. He gestured that she should go on. Five students were already around the instructor requesting help on the big assignment due next class. Absom had made it clear that mistakes due to misunderstanding instructions were the most worthy of wild derision, which had indeed changed student behavior to avoid making them.

P'Losiwst remained beside Spock. He worried that she would be late. He expected to be dealt with last, perhaps dragged to an office to be cited in some way. Missing core class sessions or more than three non-core sessions was, by the rules, a serious offense, but one that was handled casually by most instructors unless egregious.

Absom ignored the group around him, cut a line through the surrounding students with his arm and pointed at Spock. The students parted, turned.

"If you are going to be that late. Do not come at all. It's disruptive. As well as disrespectful."

Spock bowed. "I apologize, sir. I deeply appreciate this class and did not want to miss the entire period."

Absom dropped his arm and narrowed his eyes. "Do you have an excuse of any sort?"

The students still remaining all fixed their eyes on Spock. Spock's annoyance at having been ordered to remain on the Apollo for treatment returned fully along with potential embarrassment for the weakness it implied.

"I was ordered to remain elsewhere, sir. I explained to the officer in question that I must attend class but was denied and informed it would be officially logged that I was held away."

"You have one job, Cadet. Class. It's quite simple Who, may I ask, ordered you to be elsewhere?"

Spock rendered himself calmer. It wouldn't do to reveal additional weakness while admitting weakness. "The CMO of the Apollo, sir. He insisted that he had authority over anyone else, although his rank of lieutenant is lower than yours."

"The Apollo." Absom's gaze drifted away. "She's in dock being readied for the first H9 Impulse engine install. Some variation of the Re-Tourno."

"Yes sir. The H9 Re-Tourno 4.3 Field. It was put into place today. Or the process was started today. I do not know if it completed."

"Should only take eleven or so hours."

"There was an atmospheric breech in the engine bay that halted the installation."

"Not surprising. Why they don't just install into an evacuated bay, I don't know. Something about full EV suits being too cumbersome to work in. So, an atmospheric breech is why you were late? Is that what you are telling me? Or just hoping I'll assume that even if it's not true?"

"Not precisely, sir. I was given an override to the stoppage and completed my tasks well inside a time sufficient to unsuit and checkout and return." Spock felt his shoulders hunching, put his hands behind his back, forced himself to relax. "But I was not allowed to depart. Even after I informed the CMO that I could forego treatment—"

Absom waved airily. "We're past that part, Cadet. A medical lieutenant can indeed override me. Everyone knows that except you. I want to know what task you had in the Apollo's impulse engine bay."

"I was installing sensors for a more detailed modeling of the new engine's resonances, sir, than would otherwise be available. Seventy three sensors on the engine mounting frame."

Absom's face softened. "Really? That much data." He looked around the messy front table beside him. "Who's the lead on the Apollo refit?"

"Chief Ping, sir."

Absom searched on the table. He picked up a palm sized padd, began sketching on it with his finger. "What accuracy of position sensor?"

"Ten to the minus fourteen, sir." Spock watched him madly sketch for a time, seeming to have lost track of everything else. Spock bit his lips. When Absom slowed, Spock said, "Sir, my portion of the project has completed. If you were to obtain the test run data, would you be so generous as to pass a copy on to me?"

"What?" Absom looked up, looked surprised they were all there. "Oh. Yes. Ask me again. Though."

Spock said, "The idle test is scheduled for this week, as is a five hundred kilometer straightline run at very low velocity." Spock very much wanted this data now that he could see a chance of obtaining it. His report could contain a draft model for multiple baselines, something actually meaningful.

Absom tapped on his padd. "Yes, of course it is. That's standard shakedown."

The other students were looking at Spock, studying him as they did in the first days, as if he were a new and interesting thing. Spock hadn't considered how these minor, mostly tedious tasks on the Apollo could be viewed by others. It seemed it was less the actual task than exposure to the place and process that was significant. But he wondered if this was helping him earn a place here, or simply setting him more apart.

P'Losiwst tugged on a corner of Spock's sleeve. They were imminently going to be late for the next class.

"Can I be dismissed, sir?" Spock asked the instructor.

"Yes. But for the record." Absom looked up. "Sucked into or nearly sucked into open space is the only excuse I'll accept for being late. Everyone understand that?"

Kirk beamed down from the Hampton, checked into a dorm room in the building uphill from the previous one he'd been assigned to. He had a view only of the adjoining dorm and the reflections of the evening sky on its upper windows. He estimated a range of time for Spock completing Academy tasks, felt both dread and anticipation at seeing him.

The desk monitor chimed. Kirk reached behind him and bent it upward it to view it from where he sat on the table with his feet on the window seat. Just a notification of the change in status on his reports from the Tantalus mission. Accepted. Filed.

Kirk had been accompanying Graham on an inspection round when the patients were offloaded at Earth Station Three. The Hampton's CMO thought Noel had regained some low level function and was cautiously optimistic that some of her personality would be retained in full treatment. It had been painful to watch her gurney drift out. It was reasonable to honor her. She'd done her best to steer Dr. Adams to see the error of his ways and had been nearly destroyed in doing so. Kirk didn't want his feelings to encompass anything more than that.

He twisted the monitor upward farther, checked whether there were transport arrangements on file for him. There weren't.

Kirk rubbed his chin, stared out the window. The quiet oppressed him. He could go to a crowded and loud club. That would drown out the emptiness, the annoyance with himself, all thought. He had a little money again. He checked the time, slid down off the desk.

The music pulsed straight through Kirk's ribcage, thrumming his heart. The strobing, scattering lights made the multi-level floor seem unsubstantial. Kirk leaned back against the bar, caught a sliver of his reflection in a mirrored pillar. He'd worn the still highly fashionable outfit from his review panel and barely recognized himself. It had a high collar and subtle detailing at the edges and down the front and it spoke of casual wealth that he did not possess. And it was cut perfectly for his currently lean frame.

Beings from around the Federation crowded the bar or danced wearing almost nothing but metal, a little fabric, and sheer glowcloth, Kirk was almost too old to be here. That didn't stop women and a few men from slowing as they passed him on the way to get drinks, looking him up and down then fixing on his eyes in expectation of a signal, any signal. Kirk smiled at most and looked away. A few were persistent, returned, drinks in hand and stood close enough to be heard. He danced with the leggier ones. He imbibed heady exotic perfumes that were as potent as any Rigellian psychic wiles. He stared into perfect eyes set in perfect faces atop perfect bodies. He smiled, made light conversation, flirted, made others smile. He could take his pick home if he wanted, would have already done so, usually. But he didn't belong to himself that way any longer and felt uneasy, as if either everything were about to be lost, or nothing was as substantial as he had imagined.

Kirk returned to his dorm room at oh two hundred. He'd run into other Starfleet officers, strangers to him but gregariously home on leave, and had joined them for a second late dinner that made his fancy outfit snug around his middle.

Spock was at the desk in Kirk's dorm room, bulky supercomputer-capable padd propped up before him, displaying plain text. He lifted his head. "James."

Kirk nodded, drew in his lips, strode around the room before going to wash up. The basic Starfleet soap didn't diminish the scent of myriad perfumes clinging to him.

Spock watched Kirk with emotions apparently retracted, collecting data. Kirk sat on the corner of the bed near him. Spock took in Kirk's outfit with a glance, incredible mind working. He breathed in slightly deeper, likely catching the scent of the club, but his expression didn't shift. This left Kirk feeling less certain and maybe annoyed.

Spock stood up and sat on the bunk beside Kirk, hands clasped. Kirk looked at the floor under the desk. He wanted that calm to wash over him, but it didn't. He wondered if it was his fault it wasn't, somehow. He hadn't realize how much he was counting on it to soothe him. Spock seemed content to wait indefinitely for him to speak.

Kirk rubbed his forehead. "I think I just want to go to bed. To sleep." He stood up.

"Of course." Spock remained as he was. "I sense you wish me to depart, but I wish to remain."

"Don't get used to me being here."

Spock didn't react. "I will not do so. Do you have transport arrangements at this time?"

"Not that I know of." Kirk could hear his own clipped voice. "You'll be the first to know when I do." Kirk looked Spock over. He looked young in the muted light from the lamp on the wall over the desk. "You should go. Get some real rest so you do well."

"I'd prefer to remain."

Kirk stepped closer to better look him over. Spock raised his chin, looked younger, guileless looking up at him. Kirk said, "You're doing that nonemotional thing still. Like you don't feel anything."

"I am practicing a pairing of advanced disciplines. The result does indeed shunt emotion out of the immediate mind."

Kirk looked over the intricate seams on the shoulders of Spock's academy uniform. "You're probably better off that way. Emotions can be a lie."

Spock stood up, held his hands at his sides. "It is essential, as I am attempting to make a purely logical decision. Which is not easy regarding you."

"Don't put out the effort. Go on back to the Academy for the night. Act like an real cadet for once."

Spock stood with the darkened dorm window behind him, looking and sounding absurdly formal for where he stood. "That is possible decision one: doing as you request."

Kirk straightened himself, found some anger. "Go to the Academy where you belong, Spock. You've got fifteen months probably without me ahead of you. Start getting used to not having me around."

"Possible decision two is fetching Healer Zienn."

"And then what. Remake me again? Am I never the way I'm supposed to be?"

Spock set his mouth. "I sense you are injured, which is supported by your earlier statement about encountering difficulty on the mission. I can only assume that you were injured in the same fashion the Militants were, although you cannot discuss the mechanism of that injury. My father mentioned at least one of the Militants was nearly driven to full disfunction, so I am yet more concerned about damage you may have sustained."

Kirk snorted, wanted to be mocking. "Listen to you." He shook his head and stepped away, to mindlessly look over his few personal belongings. They would still all fit in a single duffle. "Spock. Go. I'm afraid I'm going to say something to you that I'll regret if you keep pushing."

Spock shifted. "If you need to speak, it would be logical to do so."

"Spock." Kirk dropped the bag, squared himself to face Spock. "No." Everything felt fragile. He wanted to say, I don't know what we have. What this is between us. It's an illusion. He said, "Stay if you want. But I need to sleep."

Spock considered this, spoke without inflection. "If I fetch Zienn will you allow a meld?"

Kirk stalked away again, tossed his hand. "You always think it's that easy. That's a mistake and I don't want you making those kinds of mistakes. Being stubborn like this like you always are. That is always costly, that mistake." Kirk leaned on the back of a chair. "Spock, melding with Zienn will change nothing." Kirk felt his heart speeding up. "It won't change anything." He swallowed hard, still longing for things he couldn't have and would hate himself to ask for.

Spock reacted, then the reaction was gone. "You are not yourself, James."

"It's after two in the morning."

"Nevertheless."

Kirk turned away, paced to the bed, pulled off his outfit top and held it out in preparation for folding it for packing. "Why don't you wait until tomorrow. At a reasonable time."

"Because you are injured and I do not want you to remain so any longer than necessary."

Kirk looked sidelong at him. "It's not going to make a difference. And then where will you be, Spock? You've got to learn to take care of yourself first."

Spock faintly shook his head. "I do not agree, nor am I able to follow your logic." He took out his communicator, requested a transporter service. "I will return, James."

Kirk tossed his fancy outfit top so it draped over the duffle bag. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he said before Spock disappeared.

Commander Overlander snapped fully awake at the sound of a communicator chirp. She flipped open the unit, lifted the bedcovers to get it in range of her face.

"Overlander."

"Cadet Spock, Commander. I deeply apologize for the interruption but I require Zienn's attention to a problem. Can you relay a message to him?"

"He's right here. But I will relay since I have to anyway."

There was a lengthy pause of likely embarrassment on Spock's end. Zienn pushed up on his elbows. He looked adorable with the covers draped over his mussed hair.

Spock's voice came over the communicator. "If it is acceptable, I would come and fetch him."

Overlander repeated all this, even though Zienn was perfectly capable of hearing it directly.

Zienn nodded, pushed to sit up, letting blissfully cool air rush in under the covers.

"He nodded," Overlander said. "What's your ETA, Cadet?"

"Oh two hundred thirty five."

Overlander tried not to smile at Spock's budding use of military standards because it would come across in her voice. "See you then. Overlander out."

She set the communicator aside and sat up. She was badly overheated. "This is what I get for sleeping with a desert dweller." She rubbed her hair back, contemplated things before swinging out of bed. "Is he calling you instead of his father now?"

Zienn tucked the layers of his robe over each other then pulled them taut and neat below the cinching point. He folded his hands. "I suspect not. But if he is it is no matter."

"You don't mind?" She pulled on a thin t-shirt even though the texture of her artificial body showed through it. She was too hot to put on a bathrobe or a workout shirt.

"If he would consider me as appropriate to such function, I would be honored."

"Huh." She nodded, smiled.