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When the Doctor pulled the Captain to one side, Spock did not turn to observe them. Such behaviour would have been… conspicuous. Instead, he remained at his station; his gaze fixed upon the glowing console, and his hands clasped loosely around its vibrating switches.
“Jim, I’m serious.” The Doctor lowered his voice. It was an ineffective strategy. Perhaps, they were out of earshot for humans, but certainly not for a Vulcan. “He’s not a machine. You keep expecting him to just handle it, but one day—“
“Because he can.” The Captain interrupted with a tired sigh. “He can handle it. That’s the point.”
Suddenly, the readings on Spock’s console did not require his full attention. His back straightened, his shoulders tensed, and he clenched his jaw.
In recent days, the Captain had extended his shifts on both the bridge and in the science labs. For three consecutive rotations, he had worked the alpha shift at the science station and the following beta shift in the command chair. The interval between had proven insufficient for adequate meditation or rest.
Spock had not raised an objection. The enterprise was operating with reduced personnel, and it was his duty as 1st Officer to ensure continued efficiency. If this necessitated the allocation of his limited off-duty hours to experiments, analysis, and administrative tasks, it was a sacrifice deemed acceptable. However, this assessment, while logical, was not without physiological consequences.
“But what if he can’t?” The Doctor pushed, hushed, beneath the humming of machinery. “You act like you can push him to no end, like he doesn’t have a limit, but he does, and you will break him.”
“Spock doesn’t break.” The Captain hissed. “He’s not like us. He— he doesn’t experience things like us. He doesn’t… feel. He’s Vulcan. You know that.”
“Half Vulcan.”
“Same thing.” The Captain brushed it off. “He’s programmed to prioritise logic. Like a computer.”
Spock flinched. He had assumed the Captain was different, that he did not think that way; he was… wrong.
“He’s exhausted, Jim!” The Doctor stressed.
“Well, I’m exhausted, too!” The Captain snapped. “What about me, huh? None of us on the bridge has been sleeping properly. Don’t make it out like I’m torturing Spock because I’m not. I’m not, okay? We’re all tired and overworked. Maybe I rely on Spock a bit too much, but he never complains, and he can take it better than us. Vulcans can go days, even weeks, without sleep. Of course, I’m going to prioritise the rest of humans on deck.”
The Doctor sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from, but as a Doctor and a friend, I’m telling you that he needs sleep, he needs a break; he needs to rest.” He begged him to listen. “Even Vulcans have a breaking point. You’re testing him. It’s cruel.”
“…Fine.” The Captain sighed. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”
The Doctor did not seem convinced by his words. “You better.” He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I need to get back to medbay. Just— go easy on him, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, no promises, but I’ll try.” The Captain shooed him out of the bridge, and returned to his station.
Spock did not turn to address him.
“Report, Mr Spock?” The Captain ordered as if nothing had happened.
Spock’s hands briefly stilled against the console, before resuming their prior movement. “All systems are functioning within expected parameters, Captain.” He held his voice at a calm, stable frequency.
“Good.” The Captain nodded. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Spock’s mind strayed from his tasks without his permission, remembering Omicron, and how the Captain had called him ‘computerised’ and ‘subhuman’ in order to provoke him into a fight. He had forgiven the Captain almost immediately after the effects of the spores wore off, believing he had only said what was necessary to break the spell. However, perhaps there was some truth to his words when he had claimed Spock was a ‘carcass full of memory banks’, perhaps that was how he truly felt; perhaps that was all Spock was to him — an efficient, emotionless machine.
“Spock?” The Captain’s voice carried a note of hesitation. “Is there an issue?”
“No, Captain.” A pause. “Everything is functioning as expected.”
Spock redirected his attention to the console. The data stabilised beneath his gaze; his thoughts did not. He compensated accordingly. The adjustment was effective; though not without cost. If the Captain believed he was merely a computer, then Spock would become one.