Chapter Text
In summer the heat of San Francisco can almost approach the light warmth of a Vulcan spring day. The humidity is different, though – the air itself sinks and presses down into Spock's skin, leaving him sticky and vaguely uncomfortable by the time he walks to the edge of Starfleet Academy's campus.
The campus rests at the edge of the bay, just beyond the equally impressive offices of Starfleet's Earth-headquarters. Spock has an office there too, right next to Jim; they're both members of half a dozen committees, and Spock's research keeps him as well-occupied as the more clandestine and classified endeavors of his friend.
But the days of starships and exploration is, for the moment, behind them. Most work at Headquarters is administrative these days. His research in the Academy labs – and his lectures – hold more interest.
Usually.
“Commander Spock!” a voice cries. Spock does not halt, but obligingly slows his pace until a gasping Caitian cadet reaches his side.
Spock eyes the cadet as he walks. “You would be wise to spend more time at the gym, Mr. Zeless. I estimate you would only barely pass your required physical exams.”
Caitians do not blush, but Zeless's ears sink against her head. “Yes, Sir. Commander, have you decided who will be joining you for the training cruise in, uh – you know, six months from now?”
“On Earth, that cruise would occur in December.”
“Yes, Sir. Have you decided?”
“I have not.”
In truth, he hasn't even started to think about it.
Some of Spock's less-important work has been piling up lately. Odd, considering he has no urgent research. Maybe he should skip lunch to finish some paperwork.
“Oh! Yes, Sir – I didn't mean to imply – I was just curious.”
“Of course,” says Spock. And nothing more.
Cadet Zeless's ears flatten further. “Um. Thank you, Sir.” She darts away just as rapidly as she came.
Spock watches her go. He finds himself acutely aware of her youth, her energy. And he's surprised to find that he envies it. By Vulcan standards Spock is still young. In sixty years he will only just be considered 'middle-aged.' But the fatigue dragging at his limbs could make it easy to forget this.
Maybe he just needs to sleep more.
Spock keeps walking. The prospect of study is tedious right now, but Spock prides himself on keeping up-to-date on the more serious research journals. As usual, he enters Starfleet's huge, looming library at the center of campus – nodding to the desk clerk – and situates himself at an empty table at the entrance to the sprawling astrophysics section. It is important, Spock has always thought, to make himself publicly approachable.
Though this, too, he has been reconsidering of late. It's hard to read when every passing cadet tries to greet him. Spock has always been famous – he was born famous – but at least the respect of fellow Starfleet officers, accorded due to his own deeds rather than an incidence of genetics, usually doesn't bother him.
Today, it does. Spock knows what some of the cadets say about him. People say his work is flawless, inspired. As a Vulcan, they envision him like some distant machine of academia – confident, efficient, and without mistake.
The articles Spock reads seem to blur in front of his eyes. After the 16th greeting Spock gathers his things and finds a quieter section of the library. He increases the screen size and adjusts the lighting to relieve his straining eyes.
It's a surprise when a familiar form sits across from him.
The Vulcan lieutenant has no books. Outside his frequent visits to Spock's office, Mr. Rekal seems to spend most of his free time off-campus. He's actually one year older than Spock, and already a respected marine biologist slated to join the USS Inspiration on a two-year rotation soon. But Rekal's privately confided that he finds alien communities taxing – the telepathic stress of being surrounded by human emotions, the rigors of daily communication with illogical beings. Rekal is a relatively recent graduate, and that's something he'll need to learn to overcome in Starfleet. But for now he spends a good deal of his time in less populous parts of San Francisco, though he always seems to be around for Spock's office hours. Still, it's odd to see him here.
“Lieutenant,” Spock says. “Can I help you?”
“No,” says Rekal. He does not elaborate. The lieutenant carries an actual, dust-covered book in English titled Middlemarch.
They both read a minute.
“I was unaware you spoke English,” Spock mentions.
“...I do not.”
Rekal leaves rapidly, book abandoned. Maybe he just needed to sit down awhile.
“Ah, Commander Spock,” greets a jovial voice. “Burning the midnight oil?”
“It is noon,” Spock points out, watching resignedly as Commodore Stoker takes the seat across from him. It seems he won't be completing much work today.
His reluctance to socialize doesn't stem from any dislike of the Commodore. On the contrary, Spock respects Stoker's experience a great deal, and would have no qualms talking to him about physics, or academy curricula, or – anything, really.
But it seems that Stoker is only ever interested in approaching Spock for a single reason.
“I was wondering, do you have some spare time this week?” the Commodore asks predictably.
Spock states that he does; he never likes to lie.
“Then you could cover my lecture for Exobiology? An introductory class, of course...”
Stoker describes their recent topics. Being rushed into a lecture on a subject he's only peripherally familiar with will mean hours of preparation, but Spock finds himself agreeing anyway. As he always does. He has a sense of obligation toward his respected superior.
And, also, he supposes he wouldn't be doing anything else with the time.
Stoker leaves. After a few more minutes Spock does, too; as has been happening more and more, the journals aren't keeping his attention.
He stops by Captain Kirk's temporary office, where the young clerk at the front lets him inside without a second glance. But the office is disappointingly empty. Spock spends a moment inspecting it – files organized in a perplexing array that would have infuriated Yeoman Rand, knickknacks and old diplomatic gifts lining the wall, a crammed bookshelf full of obscure 19th-century literature. Spock turns to go and nearly bumps into Kirk, just entering.
“Oh, Spock, good morning,” Kirk smiles; he always smiles to see Spock, who finds his shoulders relaxing at the sight. “Did you need something?”
“Only to ask if you are available to join me for a meal,” Spock prevaricates on the spot.
Kirk doesn't seem to notice this hesitance. He sweeps past Spock, rapidly shifting papers and padds on his desk, rifling through the drawers for a moment before locating a pair of slender reading glasses. All these items he packs away in a small shoulder-bag. “I'd love to, but I actually just came by to grab a few things... Komack's been hounding me and I need these done by tonight... and I'm afraid I'm actually meant to meet Antonia later.”
Kirk flashes another smile, but this time, it isn't so pleasant. Because it feels like it's aimed at that distant Antonia, instead. “Another time?” Kirk prompts.
It feels like a dismissal; it is. “Of course,” says Spock. And before he might say anything else – suggest another day, perhaps – Kirk has already walked out the door.
So Spock actually ends up skipping lunch in favor of meditating in his office. He's interrupted twice – once by an anxious student seeking advice, and later from a geophysicist who practically demands his opinion on a recent article.
Both topics should be interesting. But Spock wishes people would leave him in peace today. Maybe that's unfair, though; Spock hasn't cared for company since coming to Earth. Hasn't cared for much of anything.
On a few occasions in the months since the Enterprise's five-year mission ended Spock has managed to meet with Kirk – very briefly, for a few minutes – to talk. He's tried arranging more occasions to meet, like they did on the ship – chess-games, or meals together, or just occasions to visit some local attraction. Inevitably Kirk finds an excuse to refuse.
Spock has also – on nine separate occasions – tried to admit his recent feelings of unease, restlessness, listlessness. Tried to confide that a yawning ache exists in him, growing every day, and he doesn't know why.
And inevitably Kirk says, “Yes, I miss the Enterprise too,” and turns the topic to the latest news about the refit, his speculation over whether Kirk will be given command again in a few months, before inevitably cutting their talk short.
Spock does want Kirk to be given command. And he wants to serve as Kirk's first officer, as much as he wants anything. But sometimes he just thinks that he wants things to return to what they were, and he's increasingly concerned that this isn't possible.
Sometimes it feels like his mind his broken, that there is something innately wrong with him.
He's visited the emergency room twice since returning to Earth, both times on imagined pretenses. Due to his unique physiology he was able to merit deep scans without any significant prevarication. each time he half-expected a doctor to say that he had strange hormonal irregularities, or a bleed in his brain, or... something. Something to explain this feeling.
He's perfectly healthy, of course. Which adds 'falsifying medical emergencies' to his recent list of imbalances.
Despite his fatigue Spock's weekly 'Advanced Probability Mechanics' lecture goes well. Afterward Rekal joins Spock in his office for discussion, as has become normal. Rekal often seems to be around campus after this course, and is always present before Spock's daily 'Klingon Politics' course at 10am, though Spock remains unsure what business brings him to the Academy each morning. His presence is more tolerable than any of Spock's other company over the course of the day, but Rekal seems very stiff in his seat and fiddles with his notes 9 times during their talk, betraying discomfort.
Just as Spock considers hinting at the hour, Rekal surprises him with a comment not relating to scholarly pursuits at all.
“Have you chosen a crew for the upcoming training-cruise in December?” Rekal asks.
Spock turns, thinking of the Caitian from earlier. “No,” he says, and this time prompts, “Why do you ask?”
As a graduate, Rekal would not be eligible for a such a cruise. Spock is meant to take out a few cadets on a simple tour between major Federation worlds – Vulcan, Andor, Tellar, Rigel, and a few others – before cycling back to Earth. They'll be borrowing a relatively new ship, the USS Excelsior, to give cadets an up-to-date experience. It shouldn't take more than a month, and Spock should be back well before the Enterprise's refit is scheduled for completion.
None of this should be relevant to Rekal.
The lieutenant seems to choose his words carefully, sitting rigid and formal as he offers, “There has been some speculation about your career-plans after the training ends. I admit to – curiosity.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. Rekal must be picking up some bad human habits, like a tendency toward gossip. “I have no plans,” he says simply.
He expects that to be the end of it; but Rekal leans forward, dark eyes intent. “None at all?” He questions, quiet. “Do you intend to return to Vulcan, accept a ship or research posting - “
“I have not considered my future after this academic year, which is already scheduled.”
“That seems – uncharacteristically ill-considered.” A beat. At Spock's silence, the lieutenant adds, “I do not mean this as a criticism; you simply surprise me, Sir.”
Spock's response is not as thoughtless as Rekal implies; he simply possesses information Rekal lacks.
Namely, that there is little logic in mapping out his future plans when he might not -
“It is impossible to know what opportunities might be available in a year's time,” says Spock, forcibly diverting his thoughts.
Rekal agrees, glancing at him briefly. “Yes. I suppose that is true.”
Rekal meets him again the next morning, which has become usual, and Spock almost manages to feel animated as they discuss Rekal's study of Earth's oceanic life. Spock's morning class at Mayweather Hall lasts approximately two hours, seven minutes. He always finds it difficult to factor questions into his schedule, and today every inquiry seems wasteful, no matter how much he reminds himself that questions should be encouraged. Afterward, he deflects a few cadets who try to exchange idle chatter and escapes the Academy.
He's meant to visit his parents later for a late dinner. He has four hours until then, so he returns to his apartment with vague intentions of completing some grading. He only manages to complete a rubric and grade two papers. Fatigue drags him down, and long years of catching too-little sleep on the Enterprise has drilled into Spock the need to rest when tired, as the occasion arises. So despite it being midday he sleeps for three hours.
Or, he tries to sleep. He feels so tired he doesn't want to move, but his eyes won't close. A dull ache starts to seep through his skull.
Finally Spock can procrastinate no longer. He leaves for the Vulcan embassy – where he will meet, for the third time, his betrothed.
Years ago, after Spock's first pon farr triggered an attempt at suicide, he admitted to Sarek that he'd prefer a male bondmate. A suitable candidate was found. Six years later, his fever did not reoccur. After eight years came and went, Spock's new fiance changed his mind and retracted the offer. Spock still doesn't know why.
But he's proven that he is subject to Vulcan's ancient imperative, so he will probably fall victim to it again. As the second seven-year anniversary approaches that goal has assumed a new urgency.
Six weeks ago, his clan formally betrothed him to one of Sarek's colleagues – a quiet, thoughtful man twenty years Spock's senior. He's the fourth child of a lesser noble line, but his clan is one of those closely tied to Spock's, and certainly some politics motivated the arrangement.
Spock doesn't much care about that. During the few occasions they met Spock genuinely appreciated Vidan's company, which is all that matters.
In acordance with his parent's requests, Spock visits the Embassy at noon, where his father – as Vulcan's primary ambassador to Earth – enjoys a private suite. His mother's decorative touch extends everywhere, and Spock enters to find an elaborate dinner display waiting. Even for the family, and even for the occasion of entertaining Spock's betrothed, it's certainly excessive.
Amanda immediately insists on accosting him with a huge, squeezing hug. Sarek settles for an awkward shoulder-pat, which is uncomfortable in an entirely different way.
Standing at the end of the room, Spock's fiance – Vidan – watches this very un-Vulcan greeting with an indecipherable expression. But he raises his hands blithely in the ta'al, greeting Spock with every bit of the proper, formal dignity expected of one promised but not yet bonded.
Vidan's presence on Earth is itself a rarity. He is – technically – a colleague of Sarek's, though they do not meet often. Vidan's focus is refugee work – he often acts as an advocate for displaced species or cultures, as one of Vulcan's many charitable outreaches. It's a task that sends him all over the Federation; although his family reached an agreement with Spock's nearly two years ago, they've met only several times.
Not that this is unusual. Prior to his disastrous pon farr, Spock had only spoken with T'Pring nine times in their three decades of engagement. Relative to that, Spock actually knows Vidan much better.
But the air remains formal. Apparently the three were debating recent relations with the Romulans prior to Spock's arrivals, a conversation they resume as Spock – being the youngest, and technically a guest – serves drinks.
“A Vulcan delegation would have a better chance of relating with them,” Amanda is saying. “I mean, if nothing else, wouldn't you like to know what happened? How your species split? The historical significance alone - “
“A fascination with history,” Sarek interjects, “is not sufficient reason to motivate politics.”
“All I'm saying is you'll already have a common ground. And, for that matter, a better chance of understanding Romulan culture.”
Spock joins them at this juncture. Vidan accepts his drink with a nod, brushing the smallest of their fingers together as he takes the glass. “Do you have an opinion?” Vidan offers.
“I do not believe common blood is sufficient cause to assume we will reach a real understanding,” Spock replies.
Amanda declares the talk 'boring' and insists it's time to eat.
Vidan is in every way a pleasant, conscientious conversationalist. Even if Spock does not know him so well, he can always rely on formalities.
Their minds were highly compatible, so everything else will come in time.
Sarek is – as usual – solemn and quiet, listening with his unsettling focus as Spock and Vidan trade polite questions about work. Vidan talks a committee he's joined to present legislative suggestions to the Vulcan High Council. Spock discusses his unwilling knowledge of Starfleet politics, and speculates how a Starfleet contact he's working with may influence relations with the Tholians. On, and on, and on. All work.
Soon enough Amanda intervenes, sighing over their choice of topics.
“And I think you've both flattered each other enough,” she adds, with a touch of amusement. Spock really does want to hear more about Vidan's past efforts negotiating with Klingon colony-worlds, but they switch topics anyway.
He asks Vidan how long he'll be on Earth.
“A month – perhaps two,” he replies. “Of course, my work can be unpredictable.”
“Oh, well, you'll just have to stop by and see Spock again,” Amanda encourages.
“If he desires it,” says Vidan.
Sarek is – quiet, throughout the dinner.
Relations with Spock's father have improved over the years. They are not always – comfortable – with one another, but things are not as tense as they were a decade ago. Furthermore, Vidan is his colleague; and Sarek must think well of him to have arranged this match. So his silence is unusual.
Amanda doesn't seem to notice, though. If Vidan does, he is too polite to mention it.
The rest of the meeting is fine – which is to say, mostly pleasant, but also awkward. Spock is accustomed to this with his parents. He hopes talking with Vidan will become easier.
Spock leaves after a socially-appropriate length of time, using excuses of work when Amanda encourages him to stay. Sarek insists on walking him down the hall, obviously with some purpose; he stops Spock at the lift.
“Your mother and I have tried to meet with you several time during the past year,” Sarek says. “It is good you managed to come today. Have you been busy?”
“There is always work to complete.”
“Of course. If I may ask – does your recent distraction indicate health issues?”
“I am healthy,” says Spock, automatic. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
Sarek assesses him a moment. “No,” he says at last. “It is nothing.”
Puzzled, Spock watches his father walk away. Sarek must have wanted to discuss something; what changed his mind?
But then, he's never understood his father.
As Spock leaves the embassy, he catches a glimpse of a notice-board near the entrance. It mentions a vacancy due to an aide's sudden death.
And suddenly Spock thinks: would his parents care if he died?
He thinks: Probably not for long. There would be a notice in the paper, too. A Starfleet funeral. But people would forget him fast. People are good at moving on, and even now, he has far more acquaintances than friends.
He steps outside, and thinks: it would be easy. He could step in front of that bus – drop off the side of this bridge – it would only take a minute, a second -
Spock forces himself to contemplate his upcoming lesson plans instead. He carefully carves away and ignores his emotional responses. It doesn't matter; by the time he arrives at his apartment the stilted dinner seems like a faraway dream, and he wonders how a future can seem so positive in one moment, then incomprehensible in the next.
Illogical.
After he returns home, Spock tries to place a call to Vulcan.
Sessions with his mind-healer T'Les have waxed and waned over the years. In the immediate months following his suicide attempt during the first five-year mission he'd called her at least once a week – often more frequently. After eight months, she suggested relaxing the sessions to twice a month. Soon that was reduced even further – although at her recommendation the sessions never ceased completely. Spock realized the wisdom of this only two years after their meeting, when a particularly unfortunate mission ended with six of Spock's subordinates dead. Spock doesn't know if he'd have reached out, willingly, had their regular meetings already ended – but T'Les recognized his dangerous mood and quickly resurrected their weekly schedule until he was more stable.
Even now, when Spock can admit privately that he benefits from the sessions, it feels vaguely ridiculous to seek regular 'therapy' when Vulcans are meant to control all emotional responses. It's certainly not something he would discuss in public; only Kirk and McCoy know about the meetings, and aside from a vague question every year or two where McCoy checks that they haven't ended, both his friends respect Spock's reticence on the subject.
His last meeting, however, was a disappointment – mainly because it never happened. Spock is currently on a monthly schedule again, but he's resolved that he needs to talk to T'Les about several recent changes: excessive sleep patterns, decreased eating, and – always most difficult to discuss – a slight, very slight, inclination toward suicidal thoughts.
The last is not as concerning as it sounds. Suicidal thoughts hit him in waves, now and again, but he's learned to handle them better than by the outright denial that once characterized his early years on the Enterprise. He's never made a suicide attempt since that first incident – but that is, in part, due to these preventative sessions.
Last month he was unable to reach T'Les for their usual telecom call. She never reached out to reschedule, either, which is extremely unusual. So Spock's tension as he sits before his computer screen is not – only – due to the upcoming conversation.
After a minute, a Vulcan face appears on the screen.
It is not T'Les.
“Apologies,” says Spock. “I believe I entered the wrong identification number.”
Spock, of course, did not. But it is still a disappointment for the unknown Vulcan to confirm this. “If you are attempting to reach mind-healer T'Les, you should be aware that I have currently assumed a number of her clients,” the Vulcan says. “I am Sekor. Please relate the reason for your call.”
“What happened to T'Les?”
“That is private information, and not relevant to you.” A beat. “Please relate the reason for your call.”
Spock explains that he has a scheduled therapeutic session.
“And you have chosen not to visit in-person?” Sekor questions. “Healing of the mind is much more efficient when conducted through telepathy.”
“I currently live on Earth.”
“Very well; I suppose it cannot be helped. I will assume T'Les' role, then, and we can continue.”
Spock's cat Specimen chooses this moment to make an appearance. She always takes interest in video calls, and now she effortlessly jumps in front of the screen, sniffing. Spock pulls her back into his lap and buries a hand in her soft fur. The cat's warmth, as always, is a pleasant weight against him; even the repetitive act of stroking helps quell a bit of his restless energy.
“Please leave the animal outside for all sessions from this point forward,” Sekor disapproves. “Pets are a distraction, and your focus should remain on our conversation.”
So Spock locks Specimen in the bedroom; he ignores her plaintive meowing and sits back before the screen.
Sekor asks a few basic questions, which Spock answers. He has been attending sessions with T'Les for approximately 10 years (nine years, eight months, and six days, he says when prompted); they have only met in-person on several occasions, and melded nine times (Sekor comments that this seems 'unusual and inefficient'); and Spock previously intended to increase their current meeting-frequency, as he's been feeling particularly in need of an outside perspective.
Sekor nods. “Was there a particular subject you wished to discuss?”
Spock hesitates.
He meant to bring up his recent suicidal inclinations during last month; his fantasies have worsened and show no signs of abating. It would be illogical to avoid the most serious of his current issues – yet, he doesn't much care to reveal those shameful desires to a man he does not know.
Illogical. He does not need to trust Sekor to benefit from the man's perspective – and there is no rational reason to hide his thoughts from someone who is, after all, meant to fulfill T'Les' professional obligations.
So he says, “I have recently found myself preoccupied with thoughts of suicide.”
“I see,” says Sekor. Predictably, his expression reveals no visible opinion of this. His voice remains even and monotone. “Have you attempted to commit suicide recently?”
“No.”
“How long have you experienced these thoughts?”
“Nearly ten years, to various degrees,” Spock provides for context. There was a period where he strongly denied that he was suicidal, which makes it regrettably impossible to provide a more precise date. “But they have become more frequent recently.”
Sekor arches one eyebrow – the first sign of a reaction. “Ten years,” he echoes. “I presume this is why you first sought T'Les' assistance. And you still continue to attend these sessions? You have not been able to control your impulses?”
“...It is recurring problem.”
“How unusual.”
The healer's tone remains flat. Spock tells himself it is illogical to read judgment there; one of the first things his sessions with T'Les revealed is that Spock has an unfortunate tendency to perceive non-existent judgment from other Vulcans. It is natural that he would – feel – vulnerable in front of a new healer. A new person to hear his most private secrets.
“Did you ever succumb to this desire to kill yourself?”
“Once. My attempt was unsuccessful.”
“Obviously,” says Sekor. Spock straightens. He reminds himself: he should not imagine that the healer is judging him. This is a professional meeting. “I am uncertain how seriously you dedicate yourself to your health if you have truly made no improvements in ten years. However, we can certainly try to address any recent stressors. Please transmit your schedule; it will be necessary to greatly increase the frequency of your sessions in order to simultaneously address your concerns and accommodate my lack of experience with your situation.”
“Logical,” says Spock before he can help himself.
Sekor flicks him a silent glance that repeats, obviously.
It's not unusual to be afflicted with increased stress in the immediate aftermath of a therapy session. T'Les has informed him that this is the natural result of confronting distressing memories and thoughts. Despite his current tension, Spock knows that his attempts to meditate and sleep are usually much more successful long-term after speaking with T'Les, so he tells himself that his increased disquiet will not last long.
Then, heading to the Academy library in an effort to distract himself, Spock sees Kirk scrolling through a datapadd at one of the tables and changes direction. Socializing with strangers sounds repugnant right now; speaking with a friend, however, would be a welcome distraction.
But Kirk doesn't have time to talk. When Spock approaches him, he explains that he's meeting with his girlfriend, Antonia, in half an hour.
Over the years Spock has become well-accustomed to his friend's habitual pursuits with women. Despite common gossip, Kirk is almost always serious in his romantic endeavors; it is only that circumstances always seem to separate him from romance (sometimes, Spock suspects, by deliberate but unconscious design on Kirk's part). So those entanglements never last long.
Antonia is a recent, unpleasant exception. Spock tries not to let his own... inclinations toward the captain... flavor his opinion. He liked her tolerably at the start of Kirk's relationship; now, eleven months in, it seems increasingly likely that his friend may finally 'settle down.'
It's not a prospect Spock cares to dwell on – however inevitable it might be. Still, the notion would be easier to accept if Kirk were more present. For the first three months of their assignments on Earth Kirk and Spock met at least once a week. Now it seems that longer and longer stretches of time separate them, even though Kirk's academy-issued apartment is barely a twenty-minute walk away.
Spock understands that Kirk has a previous engagement. He asks if Kirk would care to join him next Saturday, instead, as there's an interesting event on campus -
“No, no, I think I'll be busy.”
Raising an eyebrow, Spock prompts, “Perhaps another time, then.”
“Of course,” says Kirk vaguely. “We'll talk later.”
Spock hesitates. He's well aware of the human tendency to make vague promises and then never follow through. Kirk doesn't usually utilize this sort of brush-off – but the way he's glancing around, like he already wants to escape this brief conversation, isn't promising.
But it seems petty to demand a more formalized meeting. “Of course,” he says instead, and watches Kirk go.
Maybe he should just return to his apartment and try sleeping again.
Spock feels very tired, suddenly.