Chapter Text
Jim screws up his face as he thinks, every eye in the room on him. His spectacular black eye looks even worse under the fluorescents, his face a little too pale. The combination of Jim’s poor coloring and the medbay bed are slightly too reminiscent of Jim’s recent brush with death for Spock’s comfort.
“Jim?” McCoy prompts, and Jim shakes his head, blows out a breath.
“There’s nothing,” he says. “I can see it, I can picture it, I just can’t make sense of the numbers.”
“Well, that’d be the severe concussion,” McCoy says testily. “I told you, Jim, I told you it was too risky, told you it wasn’t worth it, but you just had to-”
Uhura, clearly sensing that this lecture is not going to end anytime soon, hastily interrupts. “So what do we do? They’ll catch anyone that we send back in and unless Jim magically remembers the bomb’s code, we have no plan to stop it.”
Jim’s mouth falls into a tight, unhappy line as he considers this. “Maybe I could-”
“No,” McCoy says immediately, and Jim turns to him, annoyed.
“Bones, you don’t even know what I was going to-”
“Your ideas are dumb enough when you’re not concussed and I-”
“Okay, now that’s unwarranted, I’m a decorated Starfleet captain-”
“Ha!”
“ And I’m your captain, I’m pretty sure I could court martial you for insubordination-”
“You don’t even know?”
“I don’t appreciate-”
Spock steps forward before Jim can finish his sentence, raising his voice to a sufficient volume to be heard over their bickering. “I believe I may have a solution.”
Jim sighs, waves his hand. “Go ahead, Spock.”
Beside him, McCoy scoffs. “He’s acting captain, Jim, he doesn’t need your permission.”
Without breaking his glare at McCoy, Jim repeats, “ Go ahead, Spock. ”
“Very well,” Spock says. “Have either of you heard of a mind meld?” McCoy shakes his head, and Jim looks thoughtful. “No? Perhaps Uhura should explain.”
“It’s a telepathic link between two individuals,” Uhura says. “It’s a Vulcan thing, although I believe it would be possible between a Vulcan and a non-Vulcan… oh.”
“Exactly,” Spock says, nodding at her.
“So, a telepathic link with me,” Jim says. “To find the code.”
“Is it dangerous?” McCoy says, and Jim, who is facing away from him, rolls his eyes.
Spock ignores him, addressing McCoy. “There is some chance with any meld, but it is highly unlikely that Jim or I would suffer any permanent damage. At worst, we might have headaches, or perhaps feel momentarily uncertain of which memories belonged to us. The concussion may make it a little more difficult than it would be otherwise. But this should be relatively non-invasive, and Jim does not have the telepathic abilities necessary to injure me. No offense meant, Jim.”
“None taken,” Jim says.
“I would, of course, not even consider this without your authorization. It is rather…” Spock almost says intimate , then imagines the face Jim would make and corrects to: “… personal.” He also does not say that he barely feels comfortable melding with Jim, and if it had been another of the crew, he might not have even brought up the possibility. The only other person would possibly be Uhura, although their romantic relationship ended years ago, and it has been (not unbearably, but) sufficiently awkward since.
“You have my consent,” Jim says easily. “Some captain I’d be if I wasn’t willing to get a little chummy with my first officer to save the crew. Bones, thoughts?”
“I’m not crazy about it,” McCoy admits. “But I’m also not crazy about all of us being blown to bits.”
“Me neither,” Jim agrees. “Uhura, can you think of any objections?”
“None of substance, Captain.”
“Thank you. Spock, proceed.”
“So how…” McCoy trails off as Spock steps up to the bed Jim is sitting on, Jim’s knees bracketing his legs. Jim tilts his head up, smiling slightly. Trying to conceal his hesitation, Spock places his hands on Jim’s face, attempting to avoid touching the black eye. He doesn’t quite succeed, because Jim does wince a little, but his smile doesn’t fade completely.
“Why, hello, Mr. Spock,” Jim says. “Anything I should be doing?”
“Just close your eyes and relax,” Spock says. Jim doesn’t quite conceal a snort.
“That’s what she…” His voice tapers off, and as everything fades away McCoy’s corresponding sigh lingers in Spock’s ears.
-there’s a man yelling-
-the taste of blood-
-what may or may not be a woman reaching sexual climax-
-food after too long-
-cold cold shower too cold it’s cold -
-something Spock recognizes: the smell of the blankets at the Academy; they used a very specific brand of soap and for years after Jim would pass that aisle at stores and take a deep breath and remember what it felt like to not be alone-
-a newly lost tooth, sharp and precious in Jim’s small hand-
-frustration-
-at his mother-
-his father-
-the world-
-Bones laughing, blurry-drunk and dizzy-
Images are beginning to resolve. Spock feels off-balance. He feels like he’s evaporating. He has never melded with a non-Vulcan before, especially not with one with a concussion, especially not with… well, Jim . Spock feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, punch-drunk; he did not think it would hit him this hard. It takes him a moment to organize his thoughts, reassess his plan; after a moment of breathless uncertainty he returns to his task. With more control, he begins to sift through memories with more care.
-Jim is six when he gets in his first real fight-
-Jim is eight when he first tries to run away-
-he makes it twenty miles on a bus before they find him-
-Jim is twelve and angry -
-fifteen and angry-
-nineteen and angry-
-twenty-five and trying -
Spock is almost there when something stops him dead. He can see his own face blurring behind the glass, can feel the excruciating numbness rippling through Jim’s body, and yes, he remembers it, remembers it a little too well, but it’s not unexpected; what is, what’s inexplicable is the image superimposed next it to it: Jim’s own face behind a glass panel, different but the same. Spock feels the grief again, like it was yesterday, except it doesn’t feel like his own.
Jim couldn’t have seen himself. Jim especially couldn’t have seen this image of himself, someone Spock can barely recognize as his captain. It’s impossible, yet for some reason Jim- and therefore Spock- knows it to be true.
There’s more there, once Spock is paying attention: memories upon hazy memories of Jim’s own face, much older, different, but still Jim. Years of affection and respect, pain and loyalty. Those emotions don’t feel like Jim’s; they’re echoed in an unfamiliar way, but they’re unmistakably foreign.
With Spock’s lack of concentration, the meld is beginning to fall apart, and Spock, realizing this, releases the memories. They fade away beneath the other, clearer ones, barely visible. Spock pushes them away, devotes his attention fully to finding the code.
It isn’t hard, once he’s paying attention. The memory is colored with pain from Jim’s head injury, and seems to almost glow among the others. Spock glances over the code, resists the urge to return and examine Jim’s mysterious extra memories, and rises up.
The world is tilting as Spock opens his eyes. It’s only Uhura grabbing his arm and steadying him that stops him from toppling over completely. Jim looks even more disoriented, blinking slowly at the room. McCoy is at Jim’s side. He’s holding onto Jim’s shoulder and scowling at the world at large.
“Spock,” he barks. “What’s happening?”
“All expected, Doctor,” Spock manages, although he had not realized the extent to which Jim’s concussion would affect him; the borrowed nausea is… substantial. “We should both recover shortly. I have the code, if one of you-”
Uhura grabs a clipboard off of a bed, ignoring McCoy’s protests, and scribbles down the numbers that Spock recites. “Get that down to engineering, Lieutenant,” Spock says, and she nods and turns on her heel.
After a moment, McCoy says gruffly, “Alright, Spock, I think that’s enough,” and Spock belatedly realizes that he’s listing to the side again as McCoy manhandles him into the bed beside Jim’s.
“Quite unnecessary,” Spock begins to say, when Jim waves a tired hand.
“It’s better to just submit to it,” Jim says. “Indulge him, you know.”
“If you weren’t injured, Jim, I’d hit you,” McCoy says, and Jim chuckles, leans back on his elbows. He’s clearly exhausted, and McCoy, who is somewhat aggressively throwing a blanket over him, says as much: “Go to sleep, Jim.”
Maybe it speaks to the reach of his injuries that Jim doesn’t argue, just pretends to scoff and then, with obvious relief, lets his head fall back and turns over.
“You too,” McCoy says, pointing accusingly at Spock.
Spock shakes his head. “As acting captain, it’s my responsibility to remain-” Just then, Scotty’s voice comes over the speakers, triumphant.
“Bomb successfully defused, people!” he says, mouth slightly too close to the microphone and completely disregarding announcement guidelines, and half of a whoop comes through in the background before he shuts the connection off.
“There y’are.” McCoy looks as though he’d quite like to smother Spock with the pillow he’s holding; instead, he shoves it behind Spock’s ramrod straight back and says, “No responsibilities. Sleep. Or meditate, or whatever you people do.”
“Bones, I assure you, I am quite alright,” Spock says, even as McCoy begins to semi-successfully prod him into lying down. “There’s no need to-”
McCoy clicks the light off. “Yes, there is,” he says. “You look like you’re about to drop.” He pauses, then: “Bones? Mr. Spock, you’ve never called me that before.”
Distantly, Spock recognizes the oddity in his address of the doctor, but finds himself suddenly too weary to even contemplate forming a response. He briefly considers trying to meditate, but before he reaches a decision, he falls asleep.
Waking is unpleasant. Spock squints at the room, pushing himself up slowly. Jim, who is putting on his shoes, looks up. “You awake? Damn, I was being so quiet.”
“No need, Captain,” Spock says. He’s already gotten over twice as much sleep as he does on any other night, and he can only blame the aftereffects of the meld for his sloth. Jim, however, is looking notably better for the rest, and Spock can only be grateful- for the sake of the ship and the crew, of course- that Jim was provided such an opportunity.
“You alright?” Jim asks. “You look funny.”
“Excuse me?” Spock says.
“I mean, you look a little odd. Last night too. Hope the old melon didn’t fuck you up too bad.” He taps his forehead. Spock tries to hide his moderate mystification.
“By melon, I assume you’re referring to your head,” Spock says. “No, Jim, you are blameless. Although…”
“Although what?”
“I do have a few questions.” Jim looks apprehensive, so Spock adds, “Nothing too personal. A logistical query, if you will.”
“Shoot,” Jim says, shrugging.
“During the meld,” Spock says, folding his hands together. “I saw some memories of yours that were, well… quite inexplicable, logically. It was as though you were looking at yourself, only-”
“Older?” Jim finishes. “Hey, yeah, I wondered if you would see those. They aren’t mine, they’re Spock Prime’s. He kinda left them hanging around when he was explaining what he was doing here. He did a mind meld too, I guess. I think it was an accident, maybe.”
“He… left them?” Spock is mildly horrified. The meld last night had been somewhat hasty, to be sure, but he had, at the very least, been careful not to tamper with Jim’s memories. Ethically, it was unimaginable. For a version of himself, albeit a very different one, to have abided by other rules, well. Spock was not especially fond of the concept.
“Sure,” Jim says. “They’re not really there . I can’t exactly remember them. I just get deja vu a lot. Like with memories from when you’re a little kid, you know?”
Spock does not know. Spock has an impeccable memory. He’s still caught on the idea of Jim living with some of Spock Prime’s memories. “How many are there? Could you estimate?”
“Memories? Uh… hundreds? A lot. Through years, I think. We spent a lot of time together in the alternate world.”
“I see.” Spock is feeling an emotion, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s having trouble identifying just what emotion it is. However, he knows he does not like it.
“Hey,” Jim leans back against one of the counters. “Don’t make that face.”
“I am not making a face,” Spock says unconvincingly.
“Yes, you are,” Jim says. “Look, I know what you’re thinking-” Spock highly doubts this, as he himself is not entirely certain. “-and it wasn’t like I just let any old Vulcan go adventuring through my brain. I would have told you I had done a meld before if I had known that’s what it was.”
“You will excuse me, Captain.” Spock isn’t certain why he needs to leave, but he finds that removing himself is, if not the most logical thing to do, the best thing to do for the sake of maintaining sanity.
“Very well, Commander,” Jim says, seeming bemused. “Although Bones may attempt to disembowel you for leaving without his permission.”
“I find myself more than capable of withstanding Bones’s- that is, the doctor’s wrath.” Heat is rising in Spock’s cheeks. There is no reason behind it; Jim would not have known how to shield, or even been capable of it, and so temporary accidental adoption of a nickname is a perfectly logical, and therefore, not embarrassing side effect. That does not stop Spock from speeding up very slightly as he exits the room. He needs to meditate.
Jim seems to exhibit no such side effects, at least not as far as Spock can tell. It’s illogical to be annoyed by this imbalance, and so he distracts himself from it, and from Jim. He would love to blame his decreased attention span on the captain too, but unfortunately he suspects that it’s all him; he has found himself distracted multiple times, a few of them while on duty , thinking about Jim’s possession of Spock Prime’s memories. There’s no reason for him to be as fixated on it as he is, except.
Except that the memory transfer occurred before he and Jim could be peacefully in the same room together, let alone friends. The memories were shared, yes, but as far as Spock could tell, so were the emotions behind them.
Which means that it’s quite likely any affection Jim has for him is due to the sway of Spock Prime’s memories, rather than by any merit of Spock’s.
He finds this thought singularly distressing for causes he is not quite certain of. The distress leads to a great amount of attempted mediation and a small amount of successful meditation, which leaves Spock with very little free time. Normally Spock would not care; he prefers solitude as a general rule, except it means that the nearly year-long streak he and Jim had had of chess games at least three times a week has been quite abruptly broken.
Jim corners him the next week after Spock’s shift ends. Spock does not especially enjoy being cornered. “Captain,” he says, “Is there a problem?”
“You tell me,” Jim says. “I don’t want to pry, but it really seems like you’ve been staying away. Avoiding everyone. I don’t like to think of myself as a clingy guy, so just tell me that you’re alright.”
“I am alright,” Spock says stiltedly.
Jim makes a face. “C’mon, Spock,” he says. “Don’t give me that.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Captain,” Spock says. “I am perfectly well.”
Jim’s eyebrows are raised, but he nods. “Okay,” he says, a little cautiously. “Want to play chess? We left it in the middle of a game, and I had to fight Sulu off to keep him from stealing the board.”
Normally, Spock would make some comment about the weakened state Sulu would have had to be in for Jim to be able to beat him. Jim would laugh, and they would proceed on to the game. For reasons Spock cannot explain, this is not normally. “I have other matters to attend to,” he says, and turns. He cannot see Jim as he walks down the corridor, but he can feel his eyes upon him.
The effort he puts into avoiding conversation with Jim is nonsensical. The second week, it could have been written off to a busy schedule, but by the third week Spock is certain Jim has noticed. Jim seems concerned, but doesn’t approach him again. Things are awkward on the bridge; Jim is quiet where he’s normally jovial, and without his general good mood, the whole room seems stuffy and silent.
Spock has been trying to meditate more, with little success. He finds himself looking forward to the time he spends alone in the lab, although even that seems more tedious than usual. However, it’s the only was he has of occupying himself productively without working with Jim, and he prefers boredom to his irrational distress. He wishes he could articulate the difference between the disappointment he might have had at his realizations when he first became friends with Jim and the moderate despondency he feels now. Jim's manner with him has changed very little since the beginning of their friendship, and Spock suspects, with suitable shame, that the disparity lies in the evolution of his own feelings towards Jim over the years. He has not considered it in such plain terms before; previously they manifested simply in willingness to trust, in deliberate lack of attention whenever Jim took an interest in someone. Now, it's considerably harder to ignore, and Spock finds that any inclination he might have had to explain himself to Jim has been quite buried under the instinct to isolate himself.
It’s at the beginning of the fourth week since the mind meld that McCoy finds him there. Just for the sake of it, Spock lets him hover at the door for nearly thirty seconds before he says, “Doctor, do come in, I can hear you breathing from all the way over here.”
“Knew those ears had to be good for something,” McCoy retorts and Spock sighs.
“Please make your point or exit.”
“Right,” McCoy says. He makes his way over to where Spock is standing, arms crossed over his chest. “What’ve you done to Jim?”
“Done?” Spock asks. “You must be mistaken. I have had little time to do anything to anyone in the past few weeks.” This is not quite a lie, since he is allowed to use his leisure time however he wishes, and if he chooses to spend it alone, he is perfectly entitled to it.
“That’s just it,” McCoy says. “Just what work could you possibly be doing that’s taking up so much time?”
“I don’t believe that’s your concern.”
“No need to get snippy,” McCoy says. “Look, I ask out of concern. It’s just that no one on this ship has had anything to do these past few weeks, except you.” He hesitates. “I know you said the meld went smoothly, and Jim certainly doesn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects, but it’s the only thing I can think of that may have caused all…” He gestures at Spock. Spock lifts his chin. “… this.”
“Contrary to your seeming beliefs,” Spock says, unnecessarily irritated by McCoy’s correct assumption. “You are not aware of every event that takes place in my life. Please vacate the lab, B-” He catches himself, but it’s a close thing, and he is unsure if McCoy notices. “Doctor,” he finishes.
In the following silence, Spock goes back to his work, ignoring McCoy’s gaze upon him. Eventually, McCoy does leave. Spock feels nothing at the victory, because it would be illogical.