Chapter Text
It is evening, and Spock and Hemmer are alone in this area of the engineering deck. Neither of them are on shift duty, but the engineer, at the end of a meeting, mentioned a modification he was hoping to test out of ‘personal curiosity’, and had been given permission by the Captain to do so when he was not otherwise engaged. Spock offered his assistance, mentioning the equations he thought would work best for his proposed outcome. To his surprise, Hemmer accepted. They worked mostly in silence, asking each other for tools or calculations when necessary.
But Spock was interested in spending time with Hemmer for reasons other than just his curiosity about the outcome of this experiment. After approximately thirty-five minutes of working, he has gathered the courage necessary to begin his inquiry.
“Lieutenant, may I ask you a personal question?” Spock feels the tips of his ears burn, but this was the most logical course of action in pursuing the necessary resources. Hemmer appears surprised and perhaps somewhat puzzled, but he smiles briefly before returning his focus to the circuitry in his hands.
“If you must.”
“ I… have heard conversations that seemed to imply you are uninterested in women. Are you attracted, romantically, or… sexually, to males?”
“Oh boy,” he mutters under his breath. He faces toward his work as he answers. “Well, as a telepath there are other factors involved, but I suppose I could be classified as homosexual, though it’s hardly any of your business. It’s not some big secret, it just hasn’t come up when we’ve talked. Why should it? Is this information relevant to you in some way?”
“It is only that I… I believe this may be true for myself as well.” Now Hemmer’s white eyes are facing Spock, and though Spock knows he does not see him, he feels his scrutiny, his curiosity.
“I see. Aren’t you engaged to a woman?”
“We are betrothed. It is a logical arrangement.”
“Well, forgive my ignorance, but your relationship seemed to be a bit more than simple logic. Do you not… feel anything for her?”
“She is a talented and intelligent woman. We have agreed to honour the bond our families arranged for us to have. We are Vulcan. Feelings are not in our nature.”
“If you say so,” he says with a tired note in his voice, but he does not shut down the conversation. “How about this: what do you think of her, when you aren’t together?”
Spock pauses. “When we are not together I do not often think of her,” he answers quietly.
Hemmer nods, and exhales through his nostrils. “So, when you are together, what’s that like for you?”
“We have conversations that are intellectually rewarding. We have many shared values. I sense that she finds me attractive. But she also feels I am different from other Vulcans in a way that can be negative. She does not always believe I am deserving of her respect.”
Before there is a response, Spock notices something change in Hemmer’s facial expression. He is not always adept at reading the expressions of others correctly, but he believes he recognises this one. It is pity. Hemmer sighs. “The Academy didn’t prepare me for this,” he says in a single breath out. “Okay, Lieutenant—” he pauses, perhaps deciding this is a conversation that need not involve ranked titles— “Spock. I can’t figure this out for you. You’ll have to riddle it out yourself. So why don’t you tell me what you hoped to gain in initiating this conversation, which I gather is equally uncomfortable for the both of us.” His voice is businesslike, as usual, but not unkind.
Hemmer’s telepathy is powerful, and different from his own; it is what allows him to easily move about the world without sight, to sense the shape and presence of other people around him. And though they are both polite and controlled enough that they would never enter another being’s mind without consent, it is sometimes impossible for Spock to completely block out the emotions of non-Vulcans— humans especially project theirs very strongly. He has never sensed Hemmer’s emotions in his mind, but he now wonders if Hemmer can sense his embarrassment, his uncertainty. Spock briefly considers the idea that this whole conversation is inappropriate and should not be happening, but he is too desperate for assistance to abandon it now. With difficulty, he voices his query.
“I had hoped that you might assist me in testing my hypothesis. About myself.” His entire face is hot now, not just his ears.
Hemmer laughs. “Good lord, Spock, I don’t know if that’s the worst proposition I’ve ever heard, but it’s certainly the most scientific. You know I’m probably old enough to be your— well, your much older brother, at least? And in any case, this is not the sort of hypothesis you necessarily need empirical evidence to support.”
“We both hold the same rank. I do not think Starfleet would consider it inappropriate for you to kiss me. However, I understand if you do not wish to.”
“Kiss you—? I thought you meant—” he laughs again, a short sound of surprise— “Never mind. I’ll help you. In the name of science.” He faces Spock, and holds up two fingers. “Am I correct in remembering that Vulcans kiss with their hands?”
Spock pauses in surprise. In his discomfort in asking the question, he had not considered what might occur were Hemmer to agree to his proposal. He looks at Hemmer’s fingers, and back to his face. “Yes. But we do also sometimes kiss the human way, which I would like to try as well. If that is agreeable to you.”
There is a slight change in Hemmer’s facial expression, a tiny movement in his jaw. “If you really think this will be beneficial for you.”
In truth, Spock is not certain if it will be helpful in self-discovery or not. He knows what it feels like, physically, to kiss in both the human and Vulcan ways; thus, he is simply curious if it will be different— physically or mentally— were he to do so with someone male. He's unsure that he understands exactly how attraction works, so he does not know if he is particularly attracted to Hemmer, though he feels fairly confident there is nothing unattractive about him, and he does admire his shrewd intelligence and the kindness only partially concealed beneath his surly façade.
“I believe it will.”
“Okay,” Hemmer says, still sounding a little disbelieving. Spock holds up his fingers and reaches out. They touch, and there’s a noticeable spark of psi-energy that passes between them, a small exchange of their mental presence, nothing specific. Hemmer makes a surprised noise. “Interesting. I assume this has to do with how Vulcan telepathy works.”
“Yes. Though I believe we would both need to lower our respective shielding before we would begin to sense one another’s emotions or any particular thoughts.” Spock thinks that he would not actually mind feeling another person’s telepathic presence, but he is already asking more than enough, and in any case, it is unrelated to the matter at hand. He moves his fingers a little, down the side of his index finger, then back up to the pads, around and over his knuckles. The sensation is pleasant, not arousing in this context, removed from any other sexual contact; only different from what he has experienced with his betrothed because of the difference in mental energy, the shape of their fingers, their body temperature— his skin is hot compared to a Vulcan’s, as a native of a much colder planet. Hemmer mimics the movement.
“Is this correct?”
“There is no ‘correct’ way, we simply do what is instinctual and pleasing.”
“I suppose a better question would be: are you getting anything out of this?”
“Perhaps we should attempt the human way at the same time.”
Hemmer huffs out a laugh. “Smooth, Spock.” But he obligingly places his free hand behind Spock’s head, drawing him a little closer, slowly. Spock feels a slight sense of nervousness, not of an emotional variety, but it is the way he feels when he cannot use logic to determine a situation’s outcome. He is thus touched by the gentleness of Hemmer’s approach, knowing this to be unfamiliar for Spock. Their mouths meet with another small spark of energy. The kiss is dry and chaste, but soft, and the movement of their fingers continues. They part briefly, and when their lips touch again, it is somewhat less chaste, his mouth slightly open, more pressure against his bottom lip. Interesting. He continues to move his mouth in the ways he is accustomed to, and at a small touch of their tongues he feels a sensation low in his abdomen, a desire to pull him closer, feel the hard warmth of his body against his own. When he had kissed Nurse Chapel it had been merely a means to an end, what humans would describe as “acting”. He had moved in the ways necessary for his plot to be believed by the pirates, and when it was over, he had felt nothing but relief.
He does not pull him closer. Instead, he breaks away. “Thank you. I believe that will be sufficient.”
“All right then.” Hemmer lets go of him, stepping away. “Any revelations?”
Spock, returning to his gaze to his work but not actually focusing on it yet, considers the variety of sensations, mental and physical, that he has just experienced. “I found the experience to be enjoyable; however, I feel it may have little to do with you specifically.” Realising that this may sound unkind, he makes an addendum. “Though I do not believe you are unattractive.”
Hemmer is shaking his head in the way some of the humans have done when Spock has said something they find to be unnecessary or strange, though he has not yet determined a pattern as to which things are likely to make them react this way. “You don’t need to soften the blow, Spock. You yourself have plenty to offer, but I’m not particularly interested in you in that respect, either. We can just continue being friends.”
“So you would consider yourself to be my friend?” The idea makes him feel strangely light.
Hemmer sighs, but he’s smiling. “Well, you don’t make it particularly easy, but yes. We are friends. Now if the remainder of your soul-searching can be done without my assistance, would you mind if we got back to the task at hand?”
“I do not mind, but I do have some other queries.”
“Of course you do,” Hemmer mutters. His hands return to his equipment. “Okay, Spock, hit me.”
Spock understands that he does not mean this literally, and takes it as a sign that he may ask his next question. “How do you determine when you are attracted to someone?”
“If you keep giving me such easy questions, how will I know you’re serious?” Spock is used to his sarcasm, and he waits as Hemmer is quiet for a moment before responding. “As I am blind, I imagine it’s different for me than it is for you, and different for you still than, say, the Captain or Lieutenant Ortegas or anyone else. There are many factors that can contribute depending on the individual— personality traits, looks, habits— so only you will really know when you feel it and what those factors may be. Sometimes you can easily sense it, and why it exists. Perhaps like witnessing a chemical reaction. You see or feel what is different. Sometimes it’s more elusive: something indefinable, but present, creating an effect nonetheless. Like… antimatter.”
Spock takes in his words, but they feel like an equation with too many variables to solve. As a Vulcan, he’d always assumed that a compatible mind would be enough to stimulate him, but interactions with T’Pring have proven that, while mental compatibility is important, there are other factors involved. T’Pring had even studied human sexuality in order to try to accommodate him better, but he suspects her attempts were not terribly successful for reasons other than her own inexperience with them. It is part of why he has initiated this conversation.
He has sometimes found himself feeling strangely when the Captain has smiled at him. And there have been times when his eyes have been drawn to the shapes of male bodies, many of them human, people he knows by sight and rank only, in the ship’s gym; noticing the ways their back and arm and thigh muscles ripple and change as they move. He does not allow his gaze to linger, as this would be impolite, but on rare occasions, he feels unable to stop himself from imagining the feeling of their warm and sweating skin beneath his hands and mouth. He tries to recall if there have been times when he has felt as compelled by the bodies of other genders. There is no logic in such thoughts. The kiss had been helpful in organising some of them, but further exploration may be necessary. “That does not seem very helpful,” he says.
“No,” Hemmer agrees, “it isn’t. But that is the way of things.”
Spock nods, wondering if his approach has only served to bring about more confusion. But he continues. “My next question is somewhat more personal so you needn’t answer if you don’t wish me to know.”
“That is the case with any question, but go ahead.”
“You are the only Aenar aboard. Do you find that you… regret having few opportunities to communicate telepathically with others?” Spock asks this quietly, looking down at his work. It is an embarrassing question, at least for himself. He is loath to admit how much he wishes to have another mind touch his own. It is not considered proper for a Vulcan to desire the sensation of shared emotions so strongly, other than within a marriage bond, wherein Vulcan minds are naturally drawn to one another, always touching. But it is one of the things he enjoys about his time with T’Pring: when they are intimate, and she opens her usually closed-off consciousness to him. Rarely does she allow more than a shallow connection, only what can be gained through touch and not a meld, but she does seem to understand it as something they both require, in order to strengthen their betrothal link. He has assumed the deeper levels of their minds to be something they would share after their bonding. If they are to bond. He is growing concerned that his own questions about himself and their relationship might make such a thing inadvisable, if not impossible.
Hemmer takes a little more time to answer. “I try not to rely on other people too much in that way,” he says. “I knew when I joined Starfleet my life would perhaps be lonelier than some. The relationships I have built with others here are valuable to me. And above all I have my work, which gives me purpose.” He pauses, focused on the work he is doing, or at least he is pretending to be. “But somehow I don’t think you’re really asking about me.” Spock wonders for a moment if Hemmer is in fact using telepathy to sense these thoughts, but he realises the nature of their conversation has likely given much of himself away. His face flushes, and he does not reply.
Humans are usually kind to him, but many of his natural tendencies sometimes seem mysterious or frustrating to them. And for Vulcans it is the opposite: he follows a path of logic and yet his humanity follows him everywhere, makes him conspicuous among them. He suspects that even Hemmer could not know the loneliness Spock feels. He cannot be any way other than the way he is, and yet that is never enough, or always too much.
Putting down his tools again, Hemmer turns to him. “Why don’t we work some more on this tomorrow, if you have some free time? It’s late. Go back to your quarters and get some rest.” Spock understands the dismissal to be for his own benefit, not because Hemmer does not want to be around him.
“Yes.” He gives him a nod and turns to leave.
“Spock,” Hemmer says, stopping him. He turns back and sees himself being studied. Holding out a hand, Hemmer seems to be asking him something. Without quite knowing what he is agreeing to, he nods, and holds his own hand out. He understands, as Hemmer places his hand on his, that Aenar do not need touch to see into others’ minds; he is doing this so that the connection is not one-way.
There is a rush of energy, his mind accepting another, shallowly, considerately. He feels Hemmer’s innate sense of self: his own confidence mixed with humour and a particular kind of patience, his deep love of knowledge, his respect for life. It’s going to be all right. It is not like in a mind meld; Spock feels the meaning of Hemmer’s thoughts more than he ‘hears’ them inside his mind. Whatever else you are, you will always be Spock. That remains something to be proud of. Spock feels slightly removed from his body, but he knows that he has gasped out loud. Gathering himself, continuing to shield his friend from the worst of the mess his own mind is currently, he projects back a sense of gratitude. Hemmer closes his mind off again, but not so sharply as to leave him reeling, and slowly removes his hand. Spock stands there for a moment, wondering if he should say something, something more than what he has said in his mind, but Hemmer turns and begins putting the tools away. “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”
Spock’s response is slightly delayed as he recovers from the mental contact, but it is delivered in his normal tone. “Goodnight.”
It is 2306 when he enters his quarters. Changing out of his uniform, he completes his evening routine, but does not immediately go to sleep. What he would like to do is cry. What he actually does is light his lamp and sit in meditation until deep into gamma shift, when the usually busy movement of life about the ship is at its quietest. When he emerges, his knees are aching, his mouth dry. After a drink of water he finally goes to bed, and when he sleeps, he does not dream.