Chapter Text
“The Kerkhovian serum will change your genetics, but there is more to being a Vulcan than that.” Spock clasps his hands behind his back as he stands at the head of the ready room’s conference table. From the other end, Captain Pike gives him a nod to talk on. The others regard him with curiosity – Doctor M’Benga and Christine, who just presented details on the serum, Noonien-Singh with her usual stoic expression, Pelia and Uhura with a particular amount of enthusiasm. Chin-Riley, sitting at the captain’s side, is also watching him attentively, even though she will be coordinating the landing party from the ship. Spock continues. “I would like to brief you on some basic concepts of mental control so that you are better prepared. The experience may be overwhelming.”
“What, all the sudden logic?” Pike chuckles.
“The experience shall be fascinating”, Noonien-Singh says in a mock serious tone as and straightens her back. “I shall look forward to not having emotions.”
Uhura grins.
“Quite the contrary, actually.” The line of Spock’s shoulders is tense. Around the table, eyebrows rise, and a sense of discomfort rises in him at the prospect of revealing some of the more intimate details of Vulcan culture. He wavers for a moment, the faces of perpetually disapproving Vulcan elders warring with recollections of the times he himself has been overwhelmed by emotion. It is an unpleasant experience, one he would prefer to spare his friends.
“Despite popular belief, Vulcans do have emotions. A lot deeper than humans. It is because we feel emotions so deeply that we must control them. Vulcans learn to do so from a young age. I would therefore like to introduce you to the basic tenets of emotional regulation.”
“Vulcan 101, I like it.” Uhura gives him a warm smile.
The landing party members listen as Spock outlines a beginner’s level approach of registering and acknowledging feelings before filing them away for later reflection. It has been a challenge to balance the standard introductory material designed for Vulcan children with the crewmembers’ capabilities as adult humans – and Lanthanite in Pelia’s case. He has also had to find his own equivalents for Vulcan terms that had not been translated into Standard before, but he hopes to have adapted the material adequately. He also hopes that they take this seriously. But their attentiveness as he explains, one of interest rather than indulgence, bodes well.
“Such a brief introduction can of course not replace years of training”, he says in closing. “I have prepared further briefings for you to read once you have transformed.”
Pike smiles. “Thank you, Spock. I know how… secretive Vulcans tend to be about certain things, so I appreciate you talking us through this. I don’t know about the rest, but…” He looks around the table, his eyes lit up with mirth. “I gotta say, I’m even more curious now.”
“Most definitely!” Pelia’s slightly raspy voice is pitched high. Uhura and the others nod as well. Spock inclines his head, gratified by the positive response. As the others stand up, he picks up the stack of padds he has prepared and follows them to sickbay.
Pike, Uhura, Noonien-Singh and Pelia line up in a row, sending occasional glances toward the serum Christine is preparing.
“The sensory change is brief”, Spock says as Christine begins injecting them one by one, herself last. “The feeling is instantaneous. Physical adjustments follow soon after. I would suggest a deep breath.”
Pike is the first to react. He falls to his knees, his joints cracking and twitching. “Oh”, he utters as his face hits the floor. Noonien-Singh, Uhura and Christine follow a heartbeat later.
“My emotions feel overwhelming”, the captain grits out between clenched teeth.
Uhura holds her head. “I cannot handle this!”
Pelia holds out her arms to look at them, unchanged, as the four others groan on the floor.
“You don’t feel anything?”, M’Benga asks her, eyebrows furrowed.
“No, and to be honest, I’m a little jealous.” The chief engineer puts her hands on her hips. “That looks like fun.”
The four continue to writhe on the ground in pain. Spock and M’Benga exchange a glance. The doctor runs a hand across his chin. “I wonder if the serum did not work on you because you’re Lanthanite.”
“Honestly, I had the same problem with LSD in the 1960s and the 1990s and last July.” Pelia looks deeply sad.
“It’s so cold!”, Pike exclaims, now shivering slightly as he lies on the floor. Pelia gasps at the sight of the captain, his eyebrows now slanted and his ears pointy.
“Ah yes. Vulcans are acclimated to higher temperatures than humans”, Spock says. “We experience this temperature as chilly.” Albeit not as chilly enough to warrant shivering. Perhaps this is part of their transformation process.
Pike looks up at him. “You feel like this all the time? Why didn’t you say anything?” His teeth are just barely not chattering.
“As the crew is mostly human, it is illogical to expect the temperature to be changed solely for my comfort at the cost of others. Additionally, Vulcans can control their bodies’ metabolic processes to a great degree, including shivering. Perhaps given time, you will also be able to suppress it.”
Noonien-Singh throws him a look of desperation as she wraps her arms around herself. It is startling to see such open emotion on a Vulcan face.
“In the meantime, we can raise the temperature in here.” M’Benga chuckles and taps the temperature setting on the wall medpanel. The change is immediate. Hot air blasts from above, and Spock cannot deny that it is a pleasant change of pace. A memory of the warm desert winds of Vulcan flashes through his mind as he angles his face ever so slightly toward the hot air.
Slowly, the four stop shivering. As they get to their feet, still looking somewhat dazed, Spock notices an aberration in his breathing at the sight of his friends with slanted eyebrows and pointed ears. It takes him a moment to realize why. His friends are Vulcan. He has Vulcan friends. The thought fills him with more warmth than the temperature adjustment. He will have to meditate on this later.
“I am still experiencing significant discomfort”, Uhura notes. Spock’s eyebrow quirks up.
“Well, I’m sweating”, Pelia complains, arms crossed. Spock hands the four freshly Vulcanized humans the padds he has prepared for them. While he has endeavored to include all relevant information, it is possible that the four will have educational needs he has not anticipated. To account for this possibility, he has included access to Vulcan databases in the briefings. The four will be best equipped themselves to seek out the knowledge they require.
Pelia eyes the fifth padd with a sour look.
“You are of course still welcome to acquaint yourself with the material, Commander”, Spock says, oddly touched that the engineer is this upset over not being able to experience his culture.
“Thank you, but I would just get more jealous.” Pelia sighs. “I guess I’ll get back to Engineering.”
Spock nods. “I too must check on an experiment before we beam down.”
“I’ll keep an eye on our new Vulcan friends.” M’Benga eyes the four, who are already deeply immersed in their padds. “But so far, they seem to be adjusting quite well.”
Spock nods again. “Indeed, surprisingly so.”
“I’m sure your briefing is helping a great deal.” The doctor’s voice is kind.
“I am pleased to be of assistance.” The warmth within Spock swirls in conjunction with the familiar sense of satisfaction at a job well done as he observes the four, calmly studying their padds, the best response he could have hoped for. He approaches all of his work with the same amount of diligence and care, but the stakes in this case had been high. It is good his friends did not have to suffer the full brunt of uncontrolled Vulcan emotion for long.
He gives M’Benga a last nod and turns to leave.
*
Two hours later, Spock is one of five Vulcans walking to the transporter room. Vulcanized humans, he reminds himself, only temporarily transformed. But the temptation to think of them as Vulcans is strong and he gives in to it. His heartbeat rises slightly. What will it be like to complete a mission with an all-Vulcan landing party? Perhaps they will all express themselves efficiently, saying precisely what they mean. No need to try and decipher implied human meanings, only logic and science.
The traditional Vulcan clothes that the quartermaster has synthesized for them are a bit gaudy for Spock’s taste, but the others seem to take great pleasure in wearing them. Captain Pike uses his new-found Vulcan strength to swing the lirpa onto his shoulder as if it were weightless. Its intricate, aerated design identifies it as a ceremonial weapon rather than one meant for actual use, but Spock does not expect that they will need it during their mission.
“Wow…” Lieutenant Scott’s eyes widen as they enter the transporter room. “Your ears are so pointy!”
The five of them take their places on the transporter platform, a textbook image of Vulcan stoicism.
Scott grins. “Five Vulcans to beam down.”
“Four and one-half Vulcan”, Pike says. His tone is cold. Spock’s thoughts ground to a halt. There is no way Pike could actually mean… Perhaps the captain is merely trying to be factual, still new to the Vulcan way of logic, and Spock should give him the ‘benefit of the doubt’, as humans would –
“Spock is only half-Vulcan, whereas the four of us are fully Vulcan”, Uhura says.
A chilling sensation takes hold in Spock’s stomach. At the transporter console, Scott falters, his hand stilling at the controls.
Noonien-Singh raises an eyebrow at Spock. “Is that not logical, Spock?”
The cold sensation spreads through his body.
“Indeed, it is”, he says, straining to keep his voice even. The words do not come easily, but they are the only acceptable response. At the transporter console, Scott’s expression grows disconcerted. The look burns itself into Spock’s mind as he disintegrates into pale beams of gold.
By the end of the mission, no ‘doubt’ of the others’ intentionality remains. Spock’s hope of experiencing smooth, seamlessly flowing Vulcan cooperation is quashed definitively as the four accomplish their tasks in record time and completely independently of him, including Spock only to the extent of dumping all of their equipment on him.
Of all the possibilities he had considered, this had not been one of them. He had been so concerned that the humans would crumble under the sudden intensity of their emotions, had been so focused on helping them to control their feelings as well as possible. He had never considered that they would acclimate so fully that they would look down on humans. On him.
Soon enough, Pike flips open his communicator. “We have completed the mission. Four and one-half Vulcans to beam up.”
Spock’s expression turns to stone. The transporter room materializes around them again, emerging from a golden haze. Next to the transporter console, M’Benga is already waiting for them.
“They haven’t even broken into a sweat”, Scott murmurs in wonder.
“Welcome back”, the doctor greets them.
“I believe we will still be able to reach Purmante III within expected travel parameters”, Pike says without preamble. The lirpa is resting on his shoulder again, a ridiculous pose that no actual Vulcan would seriously entertain. Spock steps off of the pad and toward the far wall as the other four line up to receive the counteracting serum.
“I’m almost disappointed not to be able to take further advantage of my temporary Vulcan abilities”, Noonien-Singh says.
“Agreed.” Uhura inclines her head. “My communication style has never been so efficient.”
Spock fights back the urge to roll his eyes as he begins to untangle the straps of the equipment hanging around his neck. As Christine prepares the counteracting serum, M’Benga steps into the personal space by Spock’s side.
“How was the mission for you, Mr. Spock?”, he asks, his tone low and compassionate.
It takes effort to keep his jaw from clenching. “I had not worked with Vulcans for a long time”, he says, a bland response that buries the depth of the hurt he feels. M’Benga gives him a look that is a bit too knowing for his taste. At least this will be over soon. The thought that this all-Vulcan mission is ending with him wanting nothing more than to retreat to his laboratories is a bitter one. Spock suppresses it as he watches Christine inject herself and the others with the reversal serum, waiting for their transformation back to human with an unsettling mixture of relief, sadness and grief that he files away for later meditation. The four stand at parade rest as they wait for their transformation, hands clasped behind their backs except for Pike. Spock briefly considers that he would not mind if the weight of the lirpa proved unfortunately heavy for the captain once he reverted back to human, but he locks that thought away. It is unbecoming.
Nothing happens. Spock exchanges a glance with M’Benga. The doctor frowns. Christine takes out her medscanner and starts taking readings of the landing party members. The small cylindrical gadget whirs quietly.
“Hmm.”
Pike turns his head toward her. “Nurse Chapel, what was that sub-vocalization?”
Christine studies her medscanner. “For reasons unknown, the Kherkovian serum does not seem to be working. It appears that we will remain Vulcans indefinitely.”
Next to Spock, Scott’s jaw drops. M’Benga stiffens for a split-second before rushing toward Christine, already calling up files on his padd.
Spock remains frozen in place. The unsettling mixture of emotions within him begins to churn. They are going to stay like this. How can the serum not work? It must work. They cannot – he cannot –
The four Vulcanized humans seem non-distressed at this news.
“This is… perhaps not entirely undesirable”, Pike says.
Spock’s body remains still. He stares at the others, at the subtle cues in their expressions that hint at how pleased they are. Like cracking a layer of ice covering him, he breaks the hold that the shock has over his body. He leaves with his own singular equipment tube before he can be asked to carry the rest.
*
Over the next few days, the behavior of his Vulcanized colleagues does not improve. If anything, it seems to get worse. Pike in particular seems to embody the worst of Vulcan stances on Spock’s half-human nature. Spock decides to spend more time working in his laboratories instead of the bridge, but that strategy only works for so long.
“I have noticed you are working more in the laboratories now, Mr. Spock”, Pike calls him out from his chair as Spock returns from supervising an ensign’s experiment on phytosynthesis and takes his station on the bridge.
Spock turns and squares his shoulders. “I am a science officer. It is logical that I should spend time in the science laboratories.”
“Yet your tendency to do so has increased significantly since our transformation. Are you perhaps intimidated by the presence of true Vulcans?”
Spock keeps his cheeks from flushing green as shame at the open insult rises hotly against hurt. A memory flashes through his mind.
You’re a Terran, Spock. You could never be a true Vulcan!
He had not expected to hear this sentiment again after so many years. Not in Starfleet. Not from Pike. He keeps his face even, resisting the urge to clench his jaw.
“No, sir.” He turns back to his station and begins to call up the most recent sensor readings for analysis.
“Is something the matter, Lieutenant Ortegas?”, Spock hears Pike ask behind him. He turns his head slightly.
Ortegas is sitting turned away from the helm as she faces Pike, her eyes darting back and forth between him and Chin-Riley. “Sir…”
Chin-Riley steps forward. Her voice is low as she leans into the captain’s side. “Sir, there are rules against harassment.”
“What harassment?”
“You’re insulting Spock non-stop!”, Ortegas exclaims.
Spock stands up and turns to face them. “No offense can be taken where none is given”, he says, noticing a surprising taste of bile rise at the injustice of having to defend Pike in order to keep his insult from being successful.
Ortegas whips around toward him, mouth open in disbelief. “Spock, they’re bullying you!”
“The captain is merely stating facts.” Spock desperately wishes she would stop talking before she can articulate what she has so far only been implying. That they are hurting him. That he is having an emotional response, even if he hides it. He wants to scream at her that jumping to his rescue is only proving them right, is only showing them that they are succeeding in provoking him. But her expression remains a battle of confusion and fury.
He looks to Chin-Riley, hoping at least she will see what Ortegas will not. Her eyebrows furrow as she holds his gaze, then gives a minute nod. She walks to Ortegas’ station, giving the lieutenant’s shoulder a short squeeze.
“Thank you, lieutenant”, she says in a tone of finality.
“You’re okay with this?”, Ortegas asks in disbelief.
“Please.” Chin-Riley gives her a long look, switching to the silent form of communication that humans seem to excel in. Ortegas sets her jaw. After a moment, she seems to accept whatever the commander is telling her, but the look she gives Spock as she turns back toward the helm console tells him that this is not over yet. He does not want to deal with the implication of that, does not want to feel the pain of Pike turning on him like that. It should not hurt so much. Turning back to his station, Spock realizes that it does so in part because it is so unexpected. He had not been prepared for this pain, had not anticipated it because he had not anticipated friendship. In a slow, creeping process, he had let his guard down. Had allowed himself to feel regard for his human colleagues and feel regarded in turn. All the times he had spent cooking with Pike and the others in preparation of dinner nights, chopping herbs with Uhura as the captain hung an apron around Spock’s neck, grinning. Washing and drying plates together afterwards in what he had thought was amicable companionship with his fellow crewmembers. Their thoughtful consideration, providing vegetarian options of everything they prepared, offering him utensils even for what they considered finger food. Making him feel welcome. Making him feel safe. An accepted, undisputed part of the group, for once. He had not considered that they could take their regard away again so completely. Or that it would leave such a hole when they did.
Spock files the interaction away for later meditation before he can dwell on it any longer. He has work to do.
As he leaves his station at the end of his shift and heads to the turbolift, Ortegas gets up to leave as well.
“Why the hell are you defending him?” Her dark eyes turn to him with a blaze as soon as the turbolift doors close. “You can’t let him talk to you like that! Starfleet has rules, report him!”
“And say what?”, Spock asks flatly. “Captain Pike is factual in referring to my half-Vulcan status.”
“But he– he’s–” Ortegas splutters in disbelief. “He’s not being factual! He’s provoking you all the time!”
“And if I reported it, I would be admitting that it bothers me.”
“Of course it bothers you!”
Spock stares straight ahead, wishing the turbolift would arrive at its destination faster. “Lieutenant Ortegas, such a reaction on my part is precisely what he seeks to provoke. If I let him know that he is affecting me emotionally, he will never let it go. Reporting is not successful in ending such behavior, it only makes it worse. If you want to help me, do not give him additional ammunition.”
Ortegas clenches her jaw. “We can’t just let them get away with this! What if it gets worse?”
“I am confident that Doctor M’Benga’s attempt to fix the reversal serum will eventually prove successful. Until then, it will require increased meditation on my part to sustain sufficient emotional control. As long as they leave my mother out of it, I foresee no issues.” Spock exits as the doors swoosh open. Ortegas follows him.
“Your mother? You’re joking, right?” The lieutenant half laughs, until Spock continues to stare straight ahead and her face falls. Disparaging his mother had been the one way his classmates had consistently succeeded in provoking emotional reactions from him before he had managed to achieve higher levels of control. He is not sure where he stands on that front at the moment, and he does not want to find out.
“Vulcans do not joke.” His voice, so perfectly even that it should be a source of pride, sounds dead to his ears.
Ortegas’ expression freezes. “Spock, even if they’re gonna be assholes about it, you know you can be yourself around the rest of us, right? You can turn off whatever you turn on for them.”
Spock feels numb. Numb is preferable to the pain he can sense building up beyond his emotional controls, carefully filed away. “I wish it were that simple.”
*
The temperature on the bridge is now sweltering by human standards. Pike has argued that since three and a half of the eight bridge crewmembers are now Vulcan, it is only logical to renegotiate the atmospheric conditions. The room now sits at a weighted average of Earth and Vulcan temperatures, with that comfortable for humans weighted at 56.25 percent and a very generous estimate of that comfortable to Vulcans weighted at 43.75 percent. Spock had found himself again suppressing the distinct urge to vomit at hearing the percentages. Not even when it would directly benefit Pike did he consider Spock a full Vulcan.
He tries to take some comfort in the fact that Christine has apparently opted to keep sickbay at its standard temperature and wear an additional thermal layer instead, arguing that her patients take precedence over herself. It is a small comfort.
You could never be a true Vulcan!
Before this mission, he had finally been arriving at a point where he had felt somewhat comfortable with his half-Vulcan, half-human heritage. Reconciling the dichotomy within him, at some degree of ease as a child of two worlds, something that had seemed impossible for so much of his life. Now, he has never felt more disparate.
Both on shift and off, unwelcome memories begin to intrude.
The moment he had turned down entry to the Vulcan Science Academy. His father’s stony disappointment, his mother’s tears. His own body shaking with doubt and worry in the privacy of his room. Leaving Vulcan behind and joining Starfleet had been the most terrifying thing he had ever done. And the most rewarding. Until now.
The trial kahs-wan he had undertaken when his classmates’ teasing had gotten to him, had made him so scared of not being a true Vulcan, so scared of failing the kahs-wan that he had set out on a practice run. The trip into the desert had cost him I-Chaya.
I-Chaya, his pet sehlat, the one being that Spock did not have to be afraid of loving and that loved him back unconditionally, who did not care about halves or heritage, jumping in front of the snarling le-matya. Whining in pain as the deadly venom spread through its own body instead of young Spock’s.
The healer he had run to for help and who had not believed him at first, thinking Spock may have been pulling a human prank on him. By the time they had gotten back, it had been too late. His classmates’ cruelty had cost Spock his one confidant and source of comfort.
He feels heat rising in his cheeks, prickling in his eyes. His inability to suppress it just makes him angrier. He recognizes the anger. It is deep, and destructive. He tries to meditate more deeply, to reach a state that will allow him to dispense of it.
It is 0240 hours, his internal chronometer tells him as he opens his eyes, anger still simmering under his skin, threatening to spill over. In the dark of ship’s night, he leaves his room.
The punching bag is new, he notes as he arrives in the empty gym. By the time he is done letting his anger out, it needs to be replaced. When he unwraps the boxing bandages around his hands, he does not feel better. He feels empty, and shameful, fleeing the gym before anyone can see him. He should not have reverted to such a measure. A true Vulcan would not have needed to.
*
The situation only deteriorates from there. Every comment Pike and the others make seems to re-awaken five more memories from his childhood.
“Earther! Barbarian! Emotional Earther!”
His feeble protests, trying to argue that–
“Your father brought shame to Vulcan.”
The rage he had felt when he had charged his classmate, and the humiliation when his attempt at a Vulcan neck pinch had proven ineffective and he was thrown to the ground.
Sarek’s voice as he said to a passerby:
“My apologies, visitor. I regret you were witness to that unfortunate display of emotion on the part of my son.”
Names he had not thought about in a long time. Sepek. Sofek. Stark. Now, he is once again being tormented, by people with the same pointed ears as him, who still see him as so far beneath themselves. He almost scoffs as he thinks back to that first walk to the transporter room with the landing party, thinking he had found his people. How foolish he had been. He was the only one of his kind. He always would be. A species of one.
“You constantly display your emotions. The time draws near when you will have to decide whether you will follow Vulcan or human philosophy.”
“Yes, father.”
“To fail once is not a disgrace… for others. If you fail, there will be those who will call you a coward all your life. I do not expect you to fail.”
“What if I do, father?”
“There is no need to ask that question. You will not disappoint me.”
“–tenant Spock!”
Spock’s mind is just far enough ahead of his body that he can stop himself from startling at Pike’s raised voice. He turns in his chair with an even expression. “Yes, captain?”
“That was the second time I had to call your name.” Pike’s gaze is piercing. “Are you distracted?”
It takes a considerable amount of effort to keep his cheeks from turning green. Uhura and Noonien-Singh turn toward him with the same intense gaze and a synchronicity he would call eerie if he were currently acknowledging his emotions.
“No, sir. Do you have a query?”
“Yes, the scan results of the nebula we are approaching.”
That was not a question, Spock wants to point out, but the fact that Pike did not bother to formulate it as one is just a further insult, which Spock would only draw attention to if he were to mention it.
“NGC 7009 is an ionized planetary nebula with a high radial velocity”, he says instead, voice even as he meets the captain’s gaze and feels that of Uhura and Noonien-Singh on him with an intensity that would catch the slightest slip. “It consists of 74.10 percent hydrogen, 20.49 percent helium, 2.23 percent carbon, 1.98 percent nitrogen, 0.71 percent sulfur, 0.46 percent chlorine, 0.03 percent neon.”
The captain dismisses him with a curt jerk of his head. Spock again clamps down on the green rising in his cheeks at this lack of acknowledgement that is nothing short of a slap in the face by Vulcan standards. He turns back to face his station. He has come dangerously close to showing an emotional reaction twice just now, one that Pike and the others would undoubtedly have harassed him over relentlessly. With sudden dread, he realizes he is far off from the level of emotional control he once possessed. Instead, he has let himself be lulled into complacency during his time on the Enterprise, surrounded by humans who seemed delighted whenever he gave a hint of an emotional reaction. Achieving a sufficiently high level again will require increased meditation. He notices grief rise at the thought of this shuttered phase of his life returning. He files it away. He had come to enjoy his present state on the Enterprise, but he will not be humiliated.
That evening, he embarks on a meditation regime more severe than he has in a long time. When he opens his eyes again, he feels numb. The sense of evenness is so complete that it is almost unsettling, his mindscape reminding him of old pictures of Earth oceans so still that the horizon line becomes imperceptible, ocean and sky merging into one. There is a sense of loss and vertigo in his own mind, but it is necessary. Equipped as he is now, he will be able to withstand his Vulcanized captain and colleagues.
He senses distress among his human colleagues during breakfast the next morning. Their emotions and reactions are muted, not fully piercing the numbness he has shrouded himself in. He files away the dim sense of sadness that arises for later meditation. This level of emotional control may be extreme, but it is necessary. It will protect him.
He underestimates the new-found cruelty of the captain. Pike continues with his comments, and they fall into a pattern that Spock recognizes from his youth. They will not stop on their own.
“If you are attempting to elicit an emotional response from me, you will not succeed”, Spock says as Pike makes another thinly veiled dig at his heritage. He faces the captain, shoulders straight and his voice even. “I am accustomed to such behavior, as I experienced it in abundance from peers in my youth.”
Pike meets his gaze evenly. “You are not our peer.”
Through the numbness, a sensation as if he has been stabbed pierces Spock. He clamps down on it, locking every muscle in his face and body into place as he isolates the part of himself that is radiating pain and that oddly feels like his seven-year-old self crying. Spock buries it under walls until he is certain that it will not show itself physically.
“Is your lack of a response a sign of emotional distress?” Pike raises an eyebrow at him. Eight point one seven seconds have passed while he processed the captain’s statement, Spock’s internal chronometer informs him belatedly.
“No question was asked, therefore no response is required.” Spock’s voice is flat. His face betrays no hurt. “I will return to my duties now.” He turns to his station, grateful to reach his chair before his legs give out. He has been among humans long enough to be able to tell that the despite the sweltering heat, the atmosphere on the bridge has turned to ice.
Pike does not seem to notice. “Estimated time to arrival, helmsman?”, Spock hears him address Ortegas. A moment passes before the lieutenant’s reply.
“Five hours and thirty-two minutes, sir.” Her voice vibrates with barely restrained anger.
“Increase to warp 3.”
“Aye, sir.” Her teeth sound clenched to a painful degree, but her tone seems to fly right over Pike’s head.
“Thank you, lieutenant”, Pike says. It is impressive, really, how three simple words to someone else can hurt so much.
*
“May I have a moment of your time?” Christine approaches Spock as he walks to his quarters after his shift.
“What is it?” His tone is short.
She pauses. “If you are concerned that I want to address your heritage, there is no need. I do not share the others’ opinions. It is a central Vulcan motto that infinite diversity exists in infinite combinations.”
“That is most kind.” Spock raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”
“Gratitude is unnecessary. One does not thank logic.” Christine clasps her hands behind her back. Spock stares at her, his briefly elevated mood turning sour as he wishes she would say what she wants to say and let him continue on his way.
“Do you still have the padds that you gave us to study emotional control?”, she asks.
“They are in my office in the science laboratories. Why do you ask?”
“I would like to take a closer look at them.”
“You are free to do so.” Spock considers asking what she hopes to discover but finds that he does not care. “You will find them on the second desk to the left, next to the spectrometer. I will go to my quarters now.”
At least he does not have to bother with human politeness with Christine.
*
Spock stares at the scanner without registering its output. A certain percentage of his attention is dedicated to the conversations going on around him while the rest of his thoughts drift. He will not be caught distracted again. He is so tired. His efficiency has sunken eleven point nine percent as he continues to oscillate between numbness and stabs of emotional unpleasantness that keep breaking through. He does not have the energy for anger anymore. His nightly meditation time has been consumed by the need to build back the shields that the others chip away at over the course of the day. His fingers turn the sensor array dial several degrees. It is a pointless adjustment, but should a Vulcanized gaze brush over him, it will look like he is working. He refuses to call them Vulcans.
“M’Benga to Captain Pike.”
Somewhere deep down, Spock numbly registers hope at the doctor’s cheerful tone. He keeps it muted. Behind him, he hears the captain flip the channel open.
“Pike here.”
“Nurse Chapel and I have managed to fix the issue with the serum. We’ve synthesized a new version that should successfully turn you human again. We’re ready for you in sickbay.”
Against Spock’s will, his sense of hope grows brighter. This is it. The news he has been waiting for. Finally. He suppresses a sigh of relief as a twisted sense of joy rises in him, marred in shame and guilt and trying to suppress itself out of instinct.
Behind him, Pike does not respond. Spock turns slightly in his chair, enough to be able to see the captain out of the corner of his eye. Pike’s face has taken on a pensive expression that Spock does not like at all.
“That will not be necessary, Doctor M’Benga”, Pike finally says.
“Sir?”
“I find these Vulcan abilities to be quite preferable to the human state. I shall prefer to remain like this.”
“What?” M’Benga’s shock rings through the bridge. Spock turns around abruptly, as does everyone else. The human bridge crewmembers exchange shocked looks.
“As would I, sir.” Noonien-Singh stands up, hands clasped behind her back.
“And I”, Uhura nods.
Chin-Riley takes a step toward Pike. “Captain, you can’t be serious!”
Pike turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “It would be illogical to give up superior cognitive abilities and strength.”
The commander’s voice turns low but urgent as she steps closer to the captain’s chair. “Have you thought this through?”
Pike’s expression settles into one of derision. “I can assure you, I have thought this through quite thoroughly.”
“Well, there is no need to decide now”, M’Benga’s voice comes through the open channel, still clearly taken aback but attempting a diplomatic tone. “The serum is not going anywhere.”
“It might as well. Thank you, doctor.” Pike flips the channel shut.
Spock’s heart is pounding in his side. He wills his metabolism to return to its base levels. Vulcan hearing is not so exceptional that the others could actually hear his pulse, but he cannot risk it. They will use any mistake against him.
They are going to stay like this. Spock takes a desperately calm breath. He had comforted himself with the fact that the situation was temporary, but this…
He brings every muscle and tendon in his body in alignment with his mind, checking and double-checking the strength of their obedience. Once he is sure he has complete control, he stands and faces Pike, hands clasped behind his back. It takes more effort than it should to straighten his shoulders.
“Captain, I would like to inform you that if you remain Vulcan, I will be putting in a transfer request.” He ignores the way Chin-Riley’s head snaps toward him, the gasp from Ortegas’ station.
Pike turns to him, the corners of his mouth curled in distaste. “Is this an attempt to emotionally manipulate us into reverting to human form, Spock?”
Spock wants to point out the hypocrisy of Pike accusing him of acting on emotion when Pike’s own voice so clearly betrays disdain.
He wants to say If you ever revert to your human counterpart, he will understand. But that would only be an admission of emotionality in his decision-making, one that Pike would undoubtedly pick up on.
“I merely wish to provide you with sufficient time to find a new science officer. There is no logic in delay.” His face betrays no emotion, his voice is even.
Pike nods. “That is acceptable. Your request will be granted.”
Acceptable. Not logical. Spock suppresses the urge to grit his teeth. Not even this Pike will grant him.
“Acceptable?!” Ortegas whirls around toward the captain.
“Given the increase in efficiency due to our Vulcan nature, the effect on the Enterprise will still be positive.”
Spock wants to scream You are not Vulcan! I AM!
From the look on her face, Ortegas wants to scream as well. Her mouth hangs open as she gapes at Pike. At least this expression Pike seems to be able to read.
“Let me remind you, Lieutenant Ortegas, that you are addressing the captain of this ship and will do so with the appropriate decorum.” His tone is chilled.
Ortegas’ jaw snaps shut, but her expression still radiates anger.
Spock turns his gaze back to Pike. “Captain, such changes in personnel are customarily announced ship-wide, giving the officer’s full name.” He sees Pike’s eyebrow start to furrow. “I expect you will make no exception in my case.”
Go ahead, say it. Say my name. S’Chn T’Gai Spock. Pronounce my unpronounceable name.
He can see that he has Pike trapped, and he can see that Pike knows that Spock knows it. The captain’s mouth thins ever so slightly.
“A custom is not the law, Mr. Spock”, Pike says after a moment that takes just too long to not be the result of a furious search for a way out. A bitter sense of victory fills Spock as he keeps the corners of his mouth even. It is a weak answer, and they both know it. Pike may not show it, but Spock won that round. He suppresses the thought that all he needs to deal with now is the fact that he just lost his home.
“I have experiments to attend to in my laboratories. Live long and prosper.” Spock raises his hand in the ta’al. He observes with satisfaction as Pike’s own hand jerks and freezes at his side, the captain’s eyes widening minutely. At Pike’s failure to return the traditional greeting, an inexcusable blunder for any Vulcan in possession of a hand, Spock allows the corner of his mouth to lift ever so slightly into a smirk. He revels in the way Pike’s mouth thins further, drinking in the sight as he walks to the turbolift.
Pike may have read up on the theory of being a Vulcan, but he has not spent one day actually living as one.