Chapter 16. Let Me Help.
McCoy, it turns out, is wrong. By the time the fevers become more frequent, Spock has a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that no amount of meditation is able to suppress.
It might not be as bad as he thinks - he is half human, after all. And he is late with having his first, as well. Very late. He had expected his when he was 18 or soon after, not in his mid-thirties.
He tries to rationalise it away, finds ways around the nausea, finds that with the fevers comes a burning desire to exercise that helps ease him back into the routine he had neglected after the mission on Earth. His emotions are becoming harder to control and so he meditates more frequently, pushing the fevers further back into his mind, using every Discipline that he knows to slow down his biology's inevitable progression.
He cannot face this. Not now, not while an outcast, with nothing to his name but his inappropriate Starfleet career. T'Pring…
He cannot even think of T'Pring, the cold disdain that he had often felt trickling through their betrothal bond before distance had stretched it too thin. Perhaps she has changed, perhaps… Perhaps his human physiology will for once prove to be an asset and not an encumbrance.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
It is illogical to think of 'perhaps'.
And yet the same thoughts run through his mind continuously, ruthlessly pushed aside in favour of duty, but more and more being brought to the fore the further his condition progresses.
Time passes in trickles and starts instead of its usual steady rhythm, and Spock finds himself on a planet named Deneva desperately clutching at the mystery of what happened to the colonists to keep him grounded.
What happened to Sam?
Something primal roars in him at Jim's pain at the sight of his brother, pushes him to clutch at the fraying threads of his sanity long enough to avenge the pain, to find what has caused such widespread misery and end it…
And then, almost as suddenly as it had gone, cool logic sweeps back, enveloping Spock in its blessedly calm embrace. These moments of clarity give him hope; what little he has heard whispered on Vulcan point towards an all-encompassing madness. Perhaps his human half is fighting it after all.
By the time Jim returns to the planet after speaking with his sister-in-law, Spock's own physical condition is forgotten.
Jim's face is grave, but Spock knows better than to ask. Not now. He, better than anyone, understands the need to focus on duty. Instead, he gives Jim his report, reluctantly sets his phaser to force three, and follows Jim as he leads the way to the buzzing noise they had identified earlier.
The courtyard is deathly quiet apart from the buzzing of the creatures, and Spock gazes around it, identifying the sound as being from above but not quite being able to pinpoint it past the sudden buzzing in his own ears.
Frowning, he shakes his head slightly to clear it, and is just honing in on the noise when Jim spots them.
Jim gives the order to fire, and Spock does so, though he finds it curiously difficult both to hold the position and to fire on a fellow living creature, no matter what they have done.
Fortunately, Jim's aim at least is accurate, and Spock moves over to analyse the creature without being asked while Jim moves forwards to guard the group.
"Incredible. Not only should it have been destroyed by our phasers, it does not even register on my tricorder."
He suggests taking it aboard, knowing the risks… and Jim pulls the plug.
Jim must subconsciously recognise Spock's reluctance, because he reaches out and brushes Spock's arm as he stands, silently encouraging him not to stay. It is an innocent gesture, but Spock's traitorous blood immediately starts to boil, and as he walks slowly up the stairs beside the human, he finds himself distracted, struggling for control again.
And then one fire is abruptly consumed by another, and he falls back with a sharp cry of pain, his already weakened legs immediately giving out underneath him.
Dimly, beyond the searing pain emanating from his back, he can hear Jim calling his name, and he reaches a trembling hand towards the sound, clutching at a lifeline, any lifeline. He makes contact but his blood boils again, combining with the creature's attack to nearly rob him of consciousness, and he rolls away desperately.
He cannot speak, cannot move, cannot even ask for help. His whole body is fire, his mind is under siege, he tries to fight but he cannot, he is already so weak…
"It's gone. Can you stand?"
There is a roaring in his ears, and he is vaguely aware of the creature's weight having been removed from his back, but the pain is if anything more intense, as if Jim ripping the creature off Spock's back caused it to burrow even deeper.
He sags to the ground, unable to help himself, a dark tide of unconsciousness roaring towards him, but Jim hauls him back up.
The world tilts alarmingly around him at the sudden shift in height, his blood pressure bottoming out, and all Spock can do is gasp for breath.
oOo
Spock slips against his will into a haze of pain where time loses all meaning, consciousness and his physical body lose all meaning - there is just him and the creature, locked in a battle of wills.
Its will and drive are formidable, and he struggles to rebuild his defences, which had been obliterated during the sheer shock of the initial attack. It is too late. His defences can only do so much now, can only protect him so much from the liquid fire coursing through him and paralysing him.
Its orders wear him down, and he is vaguely aware that even McCoy cannot keep him submerged in relatively safe unconsciousness.
He fights and fights, jerks his head to clear it, but finally something gives and he finds himself hurrying to the Bridge as if in a dream. He knows this is wrong but cannot seem to help himself; he feels like he is trying to outrun Hell itself.
Desperation fuels him, lending him a strength he does not know he has, and it takes several people to hold him down long enough for McCoy to arrive.
He welcomes the medication, for once, but it works more quickly than he expects - clearly, the doctor has overestimated his weight. Or perhaps it is intentional.
Spock no longer cares. He lets his head drop back to the floor with a dull thunk, feeling like his eyes are going round in circles as the fire chases him down into unconsciousness.
But the creature does not leave him in peace for long, and he soon finds himself haltingly dragged back into the physical world, unable to move. Dimly, he is aware of Jim and McCoy standing nearby, but his attention is focused inwards.
In desperation, instead of trying to fight the creature's will to stop the pain, he instead tries to fight the pain itself. He is rewarded then with a sharp jolt of pure, white-hot agony, an increase that has him briefly crying out before his lungs are robbed of breath.
He has found it. This is what he must do.
He finds Jim's eyes through the red-hot haze, sees the grief lurking there for what the human thinks will be his third bereavement in one day. He thinks of the feel of Jim's hand on his arm earlier, his acceptance of Spock, his easy friendship.
He wills Jim to understand that he cannot say all that he wants to, that there are certain emotions he simply is not equipped to express.
And says instead what little he can, what he knows Jim values almost above all else.
Let me help.