Chapter Text
”You’re not Vulcan. Not fully. You’re a hybrid. A half breed.”
”Mutinous, disloyal, computerized half breed!”
”You don’t have to be so Vulcan all the time.”
”A carcass full of memory banks who should be squatting on a mushroom instead of passing himself off as a man!”
”Spock doesn’t break. He’s not like us. He doesn’t experience things like us. He doesn’t feel. He’s Vulcan.“
”Rotten like the rest of your subhuman race!”
“He’s programmed to prioritise logic. Like a computer.”
”Your father was a computer, like his son!”
Spock exhaled. Hard.
He had been attempting meditation for approximately 34 minutes. The key word was ‘attempting’. After Doctor McCoy had discharged him from medbay, and sentenced him to “bed rest” back at his quarters, Spock immediately sort meditation to calm the chaos of thoughts and emotions the Captain had stirred by their earlier conversation. It took 7 minutes to return to his quarters, and a further 5 minutes to light his candles, prepare his mat and pillow, and to change into his robe. At first, it appeared to work, and stabilised his mind. Then…
"What can you expect from a simpering, devil-eared freak, whose father was a computer and his mother an encyclopedia?"
Spock made a slight wince. Regardless of what he tried, his limited sleep in the previous 11 days had severely disrupted his ability to meditate effectively. The Captain’s cruel words held his mind hostage, refusing to allow Spock to forget how he truly felt about him.
Computerised. Subhuman. Freak.
Spock was accustomed to his appearance being mocked. He had been bullied and shamed on Vulcan for being ‘too human’, and yet, was now ‘not human enough’. He had never been truly accepted, even at Starfleet, but the Captain… He was supposed to be the exception, not the cause of his heartbreak, and that was what pained Spock’s human side the most.
How could he have ever been so illogical to have trusted him? To have let his guard down over private discussions and games of chess? The Captain had acted like every other human Spock had met. He had pitied him. He had used him. He had treated him as if he was a machine; as if he was an algorithm that couldn’t understand anything that wasn’t in its code. Its. Was that how the Captain referred to him in his mind? As an ‘it’? After all, he did think of him as ‘subhuman’…
”I didn’t mean anything I said when you were under the effects of the spores.”
Spock did not trust his word. It was illogical to.
Not after the previous week. Not anymore.