Work Text:
I’ll overcome
Silent songs I’ll be
humming on
‘Til you sing along
Come as you are, ignited
Some lights are a different kind
Never burning out
-Overcome [Skott]
It started in sickbay. As far as these things go, it isn’t an unusual spot to find strife and discomfort. Christopher Pike generally tries to keep out of it as much as possible, as far as necessary visits go. Checking in after an away mission counted as one of those, so despite his own feelings on the matter he, and the other crew members who had accompanied him to Selsham G’lorain were ordered to do a return inoculation and exam with Doctor M’benga and his team.
Routine. Run of the mill, as the old 20th century saying went.
Looking back on it, Chris feels like he should have known. As they had queued up for the medical team, one of the away team members hung back, waiting until everyone else had gone. Chris hadn’t thought about it too much- this was something of a regular occurrence with this particular crew member. Most wrote it off as vulcan privacy. Spock was the type to keep things close to his chest. Chris had gone just before, making a brief but tense eye contact with Spock as he sat for the inoculation while Chris passed him towards the corridor.
Chris had waited for him, yet when Spock emerged, there was a stiffness to his form that superseded the norm for his behavior. Chris started to ask what was going on, but he was shut down with a polite but firm request to be excused to finish running some tests. Chris barely got the words for approval out before Spock’s retreating back placed him in the direction of the labs.
Only problem was, they’d been away from the ship for more than three days. The chances of Spock actually having anything already running were slim, which meant that whatever was on his mind made it more appealing to go back to work instead of leaving it for Spock’s next shift.
As Chris slowly traverses the corridor towards the turbolift to his quarters, he mulls over the interaction and the mission before it. Generally, if it is a rough mission or if they had an eventful time, Spock would find him in his quarters to decompress and discuss it. Almost always, he asked to do so. This time there was no inquiry. Chris could simply let it go, head back to his quarters, and see. It’s the sensible thing to do.
Most likely, Spock was in his own quarters, meditating or working on music. Chris is overthinking this.
Chris gets all the way to the entrance of his quarters before he stalls, two paces outside of where the sensor would pick up his presence and automatically open the doors. Glancing down the left end of the corridor, there’s a couple of people spread throughout, either headed towards the training rooms or another spot, perhaps to their own quarters for the rest of what was generally considered the ‘evening shift’. None of them were Spock, and were unlikely to be. Now that he thinks of it, to even attend to the lab that Spock had mentioned would have required use of the turbolift, which Chris had taken alone. Spock went in the opposite direction.
It’s clear that he wanted some time to himself. Interfering is tasteless, and it might only make whatever is bothering Spock worse. Chris should just go to his quarters.
The doors hiss as Chris enters. A benign glow from the video screen against the far wall is the only light in the room initially until he asks the computer to raise perimeter lighting to 30%.
It’s no use.
There you are.
Atop the shaped hold on the edge of the gangway, up and away from most any possible attentive passerby, sat Spock with his back against the back of the container. His feet dangled off of the edge, and unlike his usual affect display, Spock wore something of a melancholy contemplation. Chris stares for a minute while he’s still out of sight, at the loose way Spock’s interlaced hands rest in his lap and his posture, normally impeccably straight, shed some of his usual rigidity.
This isn’t a first for them. At least, this isn’t the first time that Chris has found Spock in a place of distance, mind far out of reach. It’s not entirely unlike Skon’s world, for just a moment. Chris’ gaze falls, staring at the nebula’s reflection in the floor panels. Then, just as now, Chris can’t just let it be. Not without trying. Not without letting Spock know that should he choose, he does not have to be alone. His shoe scrapes on the paneling, stepping out from the shadow of the dividing wall. Spock’s attention towards him is slight, and Chris wouldn’t have known for sure if it weren’t for the fleeting glance they share. Chris breathes in once, exhales, then twice.
Spock says nothing. Chris doesn’t expect that he will.
The impact of his Starfleet-issued boot marks a slow tempo until he reaches the other side of the hold, bracing one shoulder against the bulkhead and looking up once more. Spock’s attention has turned back to the expanse of space before them, a truly beautiful sight witnessed no better than on this extension of the observation deck.
For a time, Chris also turns his rumination to the brilliantly fleeting wisps of peony, amber, and violet twisting around each other. He tries to come up with something to say, anything to ease whatever it is that is consuming Spock’s thoughts. Nothing appears to come anywhere near adequate, and it leaves Chris at a loss.
There’s nothing he can do, aside from this. Not until Spock is ready to speak his mind- if he ever will. Chris sighs, staring out the transparent aluminum viewscreen that makes up the large screen “windows” of the deck.
Nothing but silence greets them. At this time in Enterprise’s cycle, few are traveling her corridors, all either on shift or getting some much needed sleep. As Chris watches, a flare of red and deep verdant green spread out like spiderwebs, caught up in the majesty of the core of the nebula, becoming a part of it.
“She’s gorgeous, wouldn’t you say?”
Chris doesn’t look up, then. Doesn’t trust himself. He hadn’t even consciously decided to speak, it had slipped out while he watched. Nothing follows, and Chris quashes any expectation thereof. He can’t presume to know what Spock is thinking about, up there.
Chris stays until his left foot begins to get pins and needles in it, a side effect from an accident long ago.
“Indeed, Captain.”
Spock’s low murmur of assent is just barely distinguishable, despite the hum of the warp core being quieter here, and the lack of footfall and other electrical processes. Chris might have missed it, if not for chance. He freezes, fingers curling against his triceps. He knows when a topic is being shut down by Spock, his science officer has never struggled or minced his words when he’s been done talking to someone, up to and including Chris (he truly wouldn’t have it any other way). However… that isn’t what this is.
Taking the cue he sees it as, Chris grabs hold of the single guardrail aligned to the side of the layered frame of the observation deck’s storage hold, easily finding the nondescript foothold situated near it. He swings up and around, falling into a rhythm he could do with his eyes closed. Enterprise may have gone through some transitions over the years, but Chris knows her frame like his own body. Though his boots ring out slightly against the metal steps on the way up, Spock offers no glance or acknowledgement while he settles atop the structure a meter away from him.
Chris looks at him in silence for a moment. For all that Spock can be impassive, if one knows where to look, it’s possible to at least find some cues. His hands come to rest palms down while Chris leans back, eyes returning to the veritable painting before them. An indeterminate amount of time passes, both lost to their own thoughts.
“What happened earlier?” Chris finally asks, deciding to just jump into the thick of it. He keeps his tone down, quiet enough so that only the two of them can hear in an overabundance of caution. It’s extremely unlikely anyone would overhear. Spock’s hands twitch, but otherwise no answer is forthcoming. Out of the corner of his vision, Chris thinks he can see Spock’s brow furrow.
“Nothing of any consequence,” Is what Spock settles on. It hangs in the air between them, and Spock must know how pale of an explanation it is, yet Chris is given nothing more by way of answer.
“You were in quite a hurry. Was it really only because of the lab work?”
“No.” That much is straightforward.
After an extended silence, Chris determines that is as far as he’s going to be able to get. He leans over to the opposite side then, retrieving a couple of items out of a bag that might have held an earlier version of a tricorder at some point. The clink of glass draws Spock’s attention, and he glances down to see Chris setting two small, somewhat curved glasses with a square frame in the space between them. Chris doesn’t look up until he retrieves an old silver flask out from the bag, a splutter of laughter escaping him before he can stop it.
If looks could bend physics, Spock’s single arched eyebrow could put a perm in tritanium.
“What?”
“The human tendency to imbibe as a means of bypassing difficulty is illogical.”
“Hey, it’s a palliative.”
“There are no known medicinal properties for Saurian brandy.” A testament to how well Spock knows him at this point, as Chris hadn’t even begun pouring by the time he says this.
“Direct from Starfleet Medical.” Kind of.
Spock calls Chris’ bluff. “I would not call this particular method of Doctor Boyce’s restorative nor an endorsement from Starfleet Medical.”
Chris smirks as he pours both to half-full. After he puts the cap back on, Chris returns the flask to the bag at his side, gesturing between them. Spock’s only reaction is a second look, different only in the number of degrees of snark added to it, if vulcans commit to such a thing.
“Come on.”
“There is nothing to remedy as such, I am not ailing.”
Chris’ hand falls back to his side for a moment before he picks up the glass nearest to him. He raises it to a middle distance.
“Then, to old routines and new discoveries,” Chris amends, tipping the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Spock’s glass remains on the surface of the hold. Even nursing it, Chris is halfway through his glass when Spock speaks again.
“The cometary knots number in the range of thirty-five thousand. It is said that all of them were in existence when MNI-23 became a planetary nebula.” Chris could be imagining the slight change in Spock’s tone. He keeps his eyes forward, noticing that Spock is more likely to speak when not under direct scrutiny. It doesn’t work, insomuch as Spock offers nothing further on the matter.
“Wouldn’t that change its composition?”
“In theory, but there are not any conclusive sources of research on MNI-23 as of yet.”
Chris hums, not having anything useful to add to that. The silence between them feels companionable enough, but then, Chris has found a measure of peace in the simple coexistence they fall into. Spock may feel otherwise. It sits on the edge of Chris’ consciousness while he drains the last of the amber liquid. Was tonight an exercise in futility?
“Spock, you know if you ever needed to get something off your chest that I’m here to listen.”
The only response Chris gets is a silent, considering look. They stay up on the edge of the hold for practically two hours. When Chris finally pushes himself to his feet, all but Spock’s still full glass of brandy put away, he gives the nebula one last, lingering glance. Chris then meets Spock’s gaze as he stretches.
“Listen, don’t stay out here all night. I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmurs.
“Good night, Chris.”
It only occurs to Chris as he steps into the turbolift that this is the second time Spock has used his given name.
In the morning when Chris steps outside his quarters, the little glass is sitting on the ground, out of the way of immediate foot traffic, empty of brandy and washed spotless.