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Finals week at Starfleet Academy means there were usually odd sights witnessed by fellow classmen, but out of solidarity nobody said a thing. Or took incriminating holopics of the evidence…usually. Though something about Jim seemed to be ‘fair game’ to most of his classmates. The last semester he had found a holopic of himself on the academy’s community photo board, snoozing in an unflattering position on the table in a cafeteria with PADD for A History of Andorian Middle Ages Philosophy propped under his chin. Since then, he made sure to steer clear of the public commons, and resorted to the private study nooks provided at the academy’s SciTech library.
The academy offered four libraries with distinct areas of study on campus: Science & Technology, Physics & Mathematics, Language & Arts, and History & Philosophy. Arguably the nicest library was Language & Arts, except that particular library was frequented with too many students who hated Jim’s very impressively handsome guts, and they would definitely take blackmail photos if they found him half asleep in the stacks.
Jim knew if someone were looking for him they’d check the History or Language library, the libraries dedicated to command track students. Jim loved being contrary, according to McCoy, and instead chose the SciTech library as his usual hangout. He understood those brainiac research nerds better than he understood his fellow command track cadets. Those students who hacked satellites for fun because they were bored? Those were Jim Kirk’s kind of people. The other command track students just didn’t get him like the nerds at the SciTech library.
Unfortunately, the SciTech library closed earlier on campus than the other libraries for some ungodly reason, and the library staff started kicking students out around 21:00. They were mean about it too. If students tried to sneak around and stay late they would get chased down by the library’s automated security bot. Those bastards were annoyingly persistent. Everyone got the boot at exactly 21:00 unless someone had a specific request for time sensitive research.
Jim was abusing the "time sensitive research permitted after hours" policy to continue his studying. Technically, his research was very important and time sensitive. If he didn't finish studying he would fail his Theory of Metaphysical Space and Flux exam, ergo, his excuse for staying fit a loose interpretation of the rules. With a forged note from his professor and some made up research put in the library’s research queue system, Jim had successfully gamed the system. It had to be working as he hadn’t been kicked out yet.
(Alternatively, he might’ve been so well hidden that the library security bots couldn’t actually find him. Jim was going to stay in place until the library reopened at 6:00, as he had no desire to test that theory.)
Not well hidden enough it seemed, as the door to the upper research library opened sometime after three. Jim picked his head up at the sound but the library wasn’t ever technically closed. It was probably another student up late doing research, or a professor with a bout of insomnia seeking to cure it with mind numbing calculations.
Whoever it was dawdled a bit by the door to the research lab, pacing back and forth. Jim perked up in his nest of PADDs as the footsteps approached and peered around the corner of his study pod. The lights in the research room were off and the only light was offered by the small study lamp above his head and the glow of his stacked PADDs.
The footsteps stopped outside his pod, but it was too dark to see whoever approached. Jim opened his mouth to call out but a shadow crossed over him before the words crossed his lips. Someone grabbed his arm and Jim threw a wild swing, struggling out of their grip, but there was a hard pinch at his shoulder.
...
...
Cadet James T. Kirk.
Jim startled awake, blinking at the dark haze he had fallen into. Though even as his mind cleared there remained a muddy fog over his thoughts, like dragging himself through tar. Everything was still dark. The familiar hum of distant computers from the library was gone. He put a hand out and felt around hesitantly for his PADDs or the switch to his pod light, but he found nothing. It was dark. And he was alone.
I apologize for the intrusion. Or not so alone. Jim jumped again. The voice was deep and remarkably familiar, though Jim had no memory of who or where he had heard it. I sense your confusion, and that is understandable and to be expected given your circumstances. I will explain momentarily. I am Spock. I am a professor at Starfleet Academy, Lieutenant-grade, Sciences division.
Hi, Jim said and frowned. The thought rippled slowly like dripping molasses. There was something else in his head, a dull pressure against the trickling glacial stream of his awareness. I feel weird. Uh, where am I?
That is also to be expected. Jim wasn’t oblivious at the way his question was sidestepped. Okay. Well. He’d lived through worse things. As far as he could tell he was just…in a dark room.
Can somebody turn on the lights?
There are no ‘lights’ to turn on. At the moment your awareness is deep in your subconscious.
Subconscious. This was all in his head? Jim sighed. Am I dreaming?
The voice that called itself Spock answered: No, Cadet. You are not.
If it was a dream, that’s just what a dream would say.
He sensed the presence balked for a moment. Jim settled back down and tried to close his eyes, but it made no difference. The darkness didn’t change. If he was in his head, then he supposed he didn’t have eyes to begin with.
The voice started up again; Cadet, I fail to understand—
Nevermind. Call me Jim. If this isn’t a dream, professor, then what is it?
The pressure shifted slightly. You are currently in a comatose state at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. I am using a Vulcan mind meld to communicate with you.
Right, Jim thought sleepily. Very weird dream.
Cadet Kirk, I require your attention for important matters attaining to your health. Do not—
The voice and pressure subsided. Jim sunk deeper into the dark.
He awoke again some time later with the pressure once more and that deep voice calling out for him. When he attempted to roll over and ignore it, the voice grew louder. Jim nudged back at it. Go away.
The pressure let up, but the voice spoke up: Cadet, please do not resist. It is difficult enough as is maintaining this connection.
What do you want?
I must speak with you, the voice answered. It is imperative for your continued well-being and survival.
I’m sleeping.
You are not sleeping. Captain Pike has requested on your behalf I communicate with you. We require your aid.
Hm. Pike sent this guy? Apparently he hadn’t warned Spock about his stubborn streak. Instead he replied, Mn. Doesn’t seem like a guy in a coma would be much help.
It is difficult to explain. The voice hesitated. I will require your permission to deepen the meld. It will facilitate easier communication, but it may be…discomforting to initiate intimate mental contact with a stranger.
And then you’ll let me go back to sleep?
As you wish, Cadet, Spock rumbled.
Fine. Go ahead. Just don’t judge me, I’ve heard my head is a scary place.
He hadn’t realized how long he’d been drifting in the dark until he was standing in a world of white.
“Woah.”
He wasn’t alone. The stranger standing before him, the origin of the voice in his head, was a Vulcan in black academy uniform. The Vulcan part wasn’t too surprising. Spock had said something about a Vulcan mind meld. Figured he’d be a Vulcan.
“Your mind is not so disorganized as other Humans,” Spock said. Jim stared at him until he recalled the last remark he made. “And your thoughts are not…unpleasant.”
Uh. Okay. Jim glanced down at himself in his cadet reds. “I don’t remember eating any weird looking mushrooms or drinking anything glowing or blue, so I’m probably not tripping. Which means you’re actually here.”
Spock’s eyebrow raised, but the weirdest part was Jim could feel a sense of confusion and humor that wasn’t his own. “You are experiencing in the best manner your mind can translate, the bridging of two minds. I have chosen this environment as it would not be overstimulating.”
“You sure use a lot of words.” There it was again—that light, fluttering brush of distant emotion that didn’t feel like his own. “Is that you?”
“It is difficult to maintain mental shielding. You will likely experience my emotions, as I will experience yours. As I said, this process is—”
“—intimate,” Jim finished. “I’m starting to get that.”
“Transference is regrettable, but also inevitable. If I may.” Spock held out his hand. “We do not have much time, and it would be easier to explain directly. Speech is difficult to maintain…with someone in your state.”
“Vegetables don’t really feel like talking.” Jim took the offered hand anyway. He’d always been a leap first and look later kind of guy. He wasn’t about to go changing that, even with weird Vulcans in his head.
The first thing he felt, though it was hard to separate what was feeling and thought, was Spock wondering about what Jim referred to as ‘vegetables.’ Jim would have laughed out loud, but the feeling of humor scattered across their connected hands.
It’s just an expression, Spock. He sensed Spock was not satisfied with that answer, but also not willing to be distracted from the purpose of sharing thoughts so directly.
The relevant memories were pushed towards him, settling slowly like sinking under water in a tub. Captain Pike’s face, weary and hopeful. A man lying on a biobed. Jim belatedly recognized himself. And there was McCoy, as ever, dutifully hovering around his bedside.
Spock didn’t pick apart any of his reactions, nor did he comment. Though Jim felt a burst of confusion as Jim’s mind continually pulled back to the doctor. Bones, you’re always so worried about me…it must be driving you crazy right now.
Spock asked: Why do you refer to Doctor McCoy by that name? Jim just laughed at him.
Pike again. Jim’s humor faded as Spock flipped through a month’s worth of time and teaching. A whole month!? And he’d been stuck on a stupid hospital bed, basically brain dead. “...still haven’t found the person responsible.” Pike paced before his desk, while Spock sat stiff-backed and straight in the chair.
“It is troubling, but Starfleet has ensured they will continue pursuing the matter until the culprit is found.”
“Jim doesn’t have that long. Whatever they poisoned him with will kill him first.” Pike sat on his desk and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. In a quiet voice he asked, “Could you do the Vulcan mind meld?”
Spock—the Spock in the memory—was perturbed by the request. Melding with a Human? Without their express permission? It was not done. Moreso, he was troubled that Pike would request him to do so.
Spock answered without any inflection, “Vulcan tradition would—”
“I don’t care about that.” There were too many emotions he gleaned from Spock’s side in that: disappointment, frustration, shame. “The kid’s going to die unless you do this. I know Jim Kirk; he wouldn’t want to give up without a fight. Whoever did this is still out there. They could hurt somebody else.” He felt Spock’s cautious surprise, then confusion at Pike’s clear admiration for some cadet with a reckless behavioral problem.
Wow, gee, Spock, Jim thought. Way to kill a guy’s ego. Spock said nothing in return, but Jim felt a second wave of shame. The succeeding emotions and thoughts were too tangled for him to get a proper read on, but he felt something like…surprise, and fierce regret.
Regret. Such a strong, pervasive emotion. Flashes of other memories seeped in, he suspected, without Spock’s intentions to do so. A young Vulcan kneeling on the sand. A long thread of loneliness. A young Human boy crouched on the roof of an old farmhouse, staring up at the sky.
I apologize, Spock told him. But do not attempt to stray.
Jim ignored him. He grabbed the thread and let it pull him. More flashes of memories: the taste of coppery blood on his teeth. The tall figure of his father—no, Spock’s father—and a red Vulcan sky. Spock was with him through it all.
Jim wasn’t so cruel as to take all of that in without reciprocating, even unintentionally. His mind opened like a blossoming flower and he pushed his memories right back at Spock. Sitting alone on the floor of his kitchen, holding a PADD with a message wishing him happy birthday from an absent mother. His brother’s back as he boarded a shuttle to take him off Earth. Lonely. Always so lonely.
I know you, Jim thought. Maybe it was the meld, but he’d never felt anything or anyone resonate with him like a matching chord.
He wasn’t alone. Your mind is extraordinary, Spock thought in return, and just as quickly that errant impression was brushed aside.
Jim smirked. Don’t make me blush.
Spock gently guided them back to where they started, before Jim took a detour. In the memory, Spock’s expression was carved from stone. Jim felt all of his unease and trepidation as heavy on his shoulders as though it were his own. “I have never melded with a Human before.”
“All I’m asking is that you try.”
The memory faded away, with Spock looking over his pale, sleeping form in the medical bay. The white walls and floors faded away into black; then the hum of a thousand computers. Cold air. The library.
This is where I was attacked. Jim marched across the darkened room, stopping before the dozing cadet in the study pod. Hey, this shitty memory thing’s got a flaw. I don’t drool in my sleep.
Evidently you do.
Hey—but before Jim could argue, the door opened. In his memory, Jim was not quite as asleep as he appeared. His eyes cracked open and he was alert as the intruder approached. Spock followed their footsteps while Jim stopped in front of the bastard, but they strode right through him. He was nothing more than a hologram.
In the memory, Jim floundered and struggled as the hooded assailant raised a hypo. Spock’s hand shot out and grabbed the wrist, but unlike Jim he actually brought the hand to a stop. “How come you’re allowed to do that?” Jim whined. Spock ignored him and crouched down to inspect the hypo, and the exposed skin of Jim’s attacker.
In a heartbeat, he was back in the white room. “I believe I may have an answer,” Spock said. “Your assistance is appreciated.”
And then he was gone, and Jim was alone again in the dark. Though as the pressure receded, whatever Spock’s place was in his mind, he felt Spock retreat with a passing thought: You are not alone. I will return.
Jim was used to open ended empty promises. He’d grown up living a life full of those. It said a lot about how deeply he connected with Spock that he knew Spock meant it.
He was entirely unsurprised when he awoke next, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed an entire desert, and looked up at Spock’s brown eyes.
“Cadet,” Spock greeted. “It is gratifying that you are awake.”
“Hey, Spock,” Jim croaked. He didn’t have a chance to ask any questions as McCoy barreled in with the force of a bull in a china shop and immediately started jabbing him with hypos. “Ouch, Bones!”
“Welcome back,” McCoy growled. “Now shuddup and let me run some scans.” He seemed to belatedly register Spock’s presence. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on Cadet Kirk,” Spock answered smoothly. “The formula appears to have been successful.”
“Yeah, thanks,” McCoy said absently, already engrossed in whatever his tricorder was spitting out as he scanned Jim.
Jim rolled his eyes and refocused on Spock. “How long’s it been?”
“Sixteen point five hours,” Spock answered. “We were able to determine the cause of the unknown substance in your bloodstream and how to properly remove it with an adjusted filtration scanner.”
“Did you find who jabbed me?”
“That information is regarded as classified, while the investigation is ongoing.” Jim wasn’t imagining it, but even Spock, for a Vulcan, sounded a bit frustrated by that.
If anyone else had given him such a crap answer, Jim would have fought him on it. But it was Spock. This stranger who he had only met once in his mind, and yet probably knew him as closely and deeply as an old friend. Instead he said, “But I’ve been out a whole month. I’m sure I missed a lot.”
“Your exams will be rescheduled, and accommodations will be provided given the…unusual circumstances.”
“Even the Kobayashi Maru?”
Spock’s mouth twitched. “I will be there to administer the exam myself.” Jim grinned. “To ensure you complete the exam as intended, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
“No talking about school,” McCoy ordered gruffly. “He’s still recovering.”
His arms were practically jelly as he tried to pull himself upright. “Thanks,” he said, hesitating, but he couldn’t find any other words. Not after the connection they had shared, which had transcended any known words in any language he knew. Strangely, he felt like he had looked into Spock’s very soul, and Spock had looked into his, and they had…an understanding.
McCoy warmed up quickly after Spock returned to less strenuous topics, but then chilled just as quickly. “Vulcan mind meld!?” McCoy hollered as Spock attempted to explain what brought him to a burst of inspiration regarding Jim’s miraculous cure. “You let this damn Vulcan stick his head in—!?”
“Bones,” Jim pleaded. Spock, that evil traitor, made a swift exit as Pike arrived. McCoy’s blustering went quiet for the exact time it took for Pike to greet him and inquire on his status that his grouchy doctor exploded.
“You did this!” McCoy accused, looking harassed, as if he were the one who had been jabbed with an unknown toxin that sent him on a month-long extended visit on death’s door.
“Bones, calm down. And don’t yell at him, he’s a captain—”
“I don’t care if he’s the damned Fleet Admiral! Next time you want to do something stupid against medical advice, I’ll write you up on—”
Jim shot Spock a look through the glass., which Spock ignored, and Jim could tell even from the twitch of his shoulders that he didn’t feel bad about leaving Jim to the wolves in the slightest.
Maybe a little bad. But not bad enough to break Jim out of the hospital and free him from McCoy’s obsessive mother henning. Figured that even with a soul-deep connection as the one they had, that didn’t keep Spock from leaving him to the mercy of an irate McCoy.
“I’m fine,” Jim promised, as McCoy’s ranting died down to incoherent sputtering. The blood vessel on McCoy’s forehead twitched. “Really. Spock helped me out. I owe him one.”
McCoy groaned. “Oh, sure, let him take all the credit. Not me, who found your stupid fool body in that library, or me who labored over your ailing half-corpse and massaged your heart while it wasn’t beating, and refused to let them take you off life support—”
Jim winced. He pleaded, “Bones—”
“Don’t ‘Bones’ me!” McCoy gestured to his head. “Do you see all the gray hair you’ve given me these last few weeks? I’m THIRTY-ONE!”
Mildly, Jim pointed out, “I feel like most of that was there prior to knowing me.”
“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL IT WASN’T!”
Pike ducked out as McCoy geared up for a longer rant. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.” Coward, Jim thought in his direction. Much like Spock, Pike seemed too amused and entirely guiltless about leaving Jim to his fate.
That was fine, though. Jim could handle the normal stress of McCoy barking up his tree about his health, and Jim could return to the very normal anxiety of all the exam catch ups and homework he had to look forward to.