Chapter Text
“What are you attempting to achieve out of therapy?”
The Vulcan already had a strong sense of disdain for this entire ordeal he had managed to get himself into. He didn’t need something like this. He didn’t. While he didn’t judge the humans aboard the Enterprise for their own psychological appointments, he was a Vulcan. Everything he may need to be solved could be done with some meditation. Previously, she was solely going over the rules and expectations, something he was comfortable with. Now, they were getting to the part that Spock had been dreading.
He blinked up at the screen in front of him, showing a human woman, Dr. Adams, with gentle smile lines around her eyes. “I’m not here of my own volition.” He would not offer her more information. Eventually, she would bore of his stubbornness and pure normalcy, declaring him fit to continue with his daily routine.
She nods before responding with barely anything more than a blink, “Yes, I believe I was informed by a Captain James T. Kirk of this need to assess you. Was there something specific that sparked this worry?" At the mention of his partner’s name, Spock allowed himself a slight narrowing of his eyes to express the strength of his discontent with this knowledge. He knew that Kirk had deemed him in need of help psychologically, but that didn't make him any happier about it.
Spock let out at a small exhale through his nostrils. There were indeed instances that filled Jim with his human concern. The first was a couple of weeks prior.
Approaching Gamma shift, late at night, Spock had been struck with an unfathomable feeling that someone had snuck onto the ship. He attempted to dismiss the thought at first, insisting to himself that the security on board would have been able to catch the intruder, the illogicality of it all. But the man continued to linger on it, at the possibility that there was indeed someone, or perhaps an entire group that were hiding out on the ship. His own superior hearing would be better at investigating the situation, and perhaps this is the “feeling” Jim referred to when he acted impulsively.
So, he set out on the mission to find whomever this may be. He didn’t dare consult the Captain, as he had just finished up with a strenuous duty. Jim found it difficult to rest, always seeking to assist and find any kind of action, so it was vital that Spock did not bother the other man when he had been able to sleep. After all, he was the one to assume command while Jim was unable.
At the thought of Jim, fear struck Spock as he imagined the invader had already found his way to the Captain. The image of Jim’s limp body spurred alarm in him that had been reminiscent during his pon farr, when he had believed that the Captain had died at his own hands.
With a brisk pace, Spock headed towards the Captain’s quarters, only getting faster as more thoughts of harm done to his ashayam attached to his mind.
Once he had entered the room, the sight of Jim sound asleep allowed his instincts to calm. He set a knee upon the small bed to allow himself to set two fingers upon the Captain’s neck, just to verify. At the feeling of this, however, Jim stirred awake, and the hand resting on his pulse jerked back. The previously slumbering man initially seemed happy to see Spock, but then his eyes began to furrow from confusion. Irises darted around the room to detect what he was missing.
“Wh’t’re you doin’, Spock? Is ev’rything okay? Did I sleep through a red alert?” Jim half-slurred while sitting up, already prepared to fight off whatever had dared to attack his ship. His voice quickly crescendoed from mumbling to something panicked and loud.
The Vulcan shook his head in response, “No, Captain, it simply occurred to me that an inspection of your wellbeing was in order,” he cupped his hands around the other man’s face in an effort to console him.
When the thick eyebrows furrowed further, it was clear that the usual comforting motion had not worked. “What? Did Bones tell you to do that? I told both of you that I’d be going on shore leave more often.”
Spock found himself beginning to respond, but then realized that he would sound completely irrational. What would he say? I believed that there was someone on board seeking to cause harm . There were alerts, and constant security on board for a reason. And even if that were true, to let his personal relationships impede protocol on the crew's rescue would be entirely unprofessional, although definitely not uncommon.
“I- No, Dr. McCoy did not ask this from me.” He knew that his partner could sense some kind of unusual hesitance from him, but did not want to be confronted to elaborate more, so he ended the topic before the other could speak, “It is the end of my shift, I must prepare for the night and return to you shortly.”
Quickly, escaping, Spock hurried away to his quarters and refused to turn around to where the Captain remained tense and sitting up. The panic of an intruder struck again, and he rushed through his nightly routine to get back to the other man as fast as possible. When he returned, Jim was back underneath the covers with his eyes closed, appearing to be asleep with rhythmic breaths. The Vulcan was satisfied with not having to further approach this newfound worry, although it faded quickly when he made contact with the resting body.
Kirk’s mind was whirring, at a speed that Spock had only seen the crew in active danger emulate, conjuring up theories on what was going on in the Vulcan’s mind. Guilt wracked through the First Officer, first at initially having woken Jim up, and now for keeping him up due to worries he had been unwilling to share. Uncomfortable and defeated, Spock scooted further away from the man and cut off the touch telepathy. It was going to be a restless night for the both of them.
~
Captain’s Personal Log: Stardate 4397
I was woken up by Spock feeling for my pulse. Although this would not be unusual in Medbay, I was still in my quarters where I had fallen asleep. After questioning him, he seemed to be in an internal conflict with himself, but it was unclear as to why. Perhaps our last mission left him with new insight and questions on humans at best, or a personality-altering disease at worst.
Monitor for continual deviating behaviors.
~
“No, nothing that isn’t consistent with the expectations of serving on the Enterprise. Perhaps the Captain decided he should begin routine psychological checks on his bridge command.” Spock was painfully aware this was not the case, and he knew that Dr. Adams knew the same.
The rest of the appointment continued in a similar manner, with Spock asserting the minimal attention possible in order to be polite and avoiding probing while mentally planning the next rendezvous mission with the USS Lincoln. In between, he looked over the visible features of the Doctor.
She was an older woman, with grey streaks beginning at her temples. The rest was a mid-tone brown, curly, highlighted by sunlight through her window. A strand was dyed purple, matching the color on her eyelids laid on lightly over taut skin and wrinkles. Perhaps Spock should try out a bluer indigo for his upcoming leave rather than the true indigo he opted for. It was enjoyable to the Vulcan to try out new shades, but there was nary a suitable occasion.
His thoughts on what robe to wear with the new look was interrupted by Dr. Adams concluding the session. Spock braced for her clearance to continue without any psychologists in his near future, only for him to hold back a sigh as she continued, “When would you like to schedule your next appointment?”
Rattling off a date and time that was far into his already known schedule, wondering if the Klingons would do the only kind thing they’d ever done and conveniently attack during their appointment time, Spock reached over and shut off the holoscreen with a simple goodbye.
~
The incident with an overwhelming fear of a breach was not the last.
In the days afterwards, Spock's need for assurance on Kirk's safety seemed to grow. As a first officer, he had already been willing to throw himself in harm's way to protect his Captain. But now, it was as though something strung the Vulcan to Kirk, and he could not bear to be more than a certain distance apart from him. Not only that, his eyes were constantly set on him. Assessing, checking, searching, double checking. For what? To Kirk, it was unclear.
He wanted to attribute it to honeymoon-phase clinginess, but it was not as though they had a relatively new found relationship. Their expectations of one another had already been established, and this sudden change in personality sent the Captain into a whirlwind of confusion. Was it another Vulcan custom that was kept under wraps, embarrassment overruling severity? He'd have to ask Uhura about it.
But when he did, she seemed confused too. The Starfleet databases followed in being unhelpful, although it was unsurprising with how tight-lipped Vulcans were about themselves. The only option left, it appeared, was to ask Spock directly about his behavior. Kirk knew that communication was the foundation to all healthy relationships, but it never hurt to go into the conversation with some background on what his partner was going through.
So, instead of gathering information from other sources, he decided to investigate Spock himself. On a piece of old-fashioned paper, which Jim vehemently believed organized his thoughts better and kept information safe from the eyes of prying superiors, he took notes on what he was observing, when, and the occasion.
The pen hesitated over the paper as he considered what exactly was happening around them during these instances. There were always the moments in dangerous situations that Spock jumped to his defense, but that was something a Commander was trained for. Other times, it appeared to be random. Random check-ins on exploratory missions, random check-ins on diplomatic missions, random check-ins on the ship, where Spock would previously find something more pressing to do.
And not check-ins due to his rank, where Spock would assess the rankings of his ship nor to receive a new assignment. A report just because, and it was always the same.
Eyes, examining, from the baby hairs on his head down to the soles of his shoes. It became even more thorough in private, when Spock could tolerate intimacy better without feeling the shame of presenting human in the pit of his stomach. He would run his hands over Jim’s skin, lingering over the pulse points and stroking over scars new and old.
It was all seeming to become habit. And Kirk just couldn’t put his finger on why. It didn't help that Spock had decades of practice of shielding his thoughts and emotions.
Then, it became a problem.
The occasional, heart-warming moments despite the confusion that followed with it, was turning into constant.
Constant checking, and one look over didn’t seem to be enough. Now it ventured over weeks, from once to thrice, and then hit its plateau at 7 times.
Seven times. Seven times for Spock to glance over him, be comfortable enough to leave, only to come back soon enough to repeat the habit.
The rest of the crew followed in their apprehension, with a particularly brave but well-meaning ensign reaching out to the Vulcan. Pulling him to the side and voicing his concern, Spock marched back in afterwards with a particularly discontented look in his hooded eyes, and Kirk was able to tell Spock's anger and offense even though his voice had not raised a decibel in the conversation. The ensign reappeared soon after appearing as though they had seen the face of the Devil who had presented them with riddles. Kirk understood how that felt.
The next time Spock was due for a check, he appeared to be holding himself back. Glancing over, only to glance back to whatever he wanted to be the object of his attention. It didn't last long. Soon enough, he returned to what became his normalcy. His gaze lingering on his Captain with a pull like magnets just within reach of each other.
That night, Kirk returned to his quarters and sat at his study for the sake of work, but could not keep his mind off what had been happening with Spock. He was reminded of the little note he had written himself weeks prior, and pulled it out from the drawer it was promised secrecy in.
Laying it out, he looked it over and grabbed a pen. Thinking for a moment, he moved to add to it. The occasion.. there was no satisfying, clear answer. No occurrence had seemed to like up. With frustration, he jotted down sporadic and inconsistent.
Reading back over what he had written, Kirk jotted down extra things he had noticed: the anxiety that appeared to veil Spock when he was unable to complete his ritual, how many times it took to satisfy the man, the way it disrupted his work. Kirk sighed, rubbing his hands over his face with frustration.
He pulled up his first officer's file, something he had already read a dozen times. Kirk hoped something would jump out at him, something that would give a reasonable explanation to what was going on with his partner, in both work and life. As it was, Spock's record was spotless, the perfect logical worker with no particularly disruptive disorders, ailments, nor character traits. Always in tip-top shape, perfect to an extreme until now, as though he was unraveling.
Anxiety.. rituals.. uncertainty.. compulsive upkeep. Kirk startled with the realization, he was no expert in psychology, but these were the makings of a neurotic disorder. In the academy they had a brief class on the subject, especially on recognition of symptoms, but not necessarily what to do as a personal companion.
Kirk decided with a furrow in his brows that for now, he would put in an order for a consultation with a Starfleet-contracted psychologist. He briefly took notes that weren't particularly invasive, and considered what to do next. Putting the crew's lives at stake due to Spock's unstable state of mind was an absolute no-go, but the truth remained that sooner or later, Spock needed to hear the reality of the situation. The discussion could happen now, or under worse pretenses. With a heavy sigh and a familiar whistle to greet him, Kirk smacked the button to open the ship intercom, “Kirk to Spock, report to my quarters.”
Not long after, the doors swished open for Spock's entry, “I believe you wished to see me, sir.” His breaths were hastened, as though he ran here, and his eyes followed instinct with their scan of the Captain.
Kirk gestured to the seat across his desk. This would be a long conversation. “Get comfortable, dear. And on that note, this is a personal conversation, there is no need to refer to me with authority,” he continued, knowing the other had no patience for filler words, “I called you down to discuss some.. behaviors .. that I've noticed.”
“Since we are discussing a crewmate, sir, would it not be more appropriate to use professional language?”
“This is not about a crewmate, this is about you.” Spock just noticeably shuffled in his seat.
“And what specific behavior,” Spock spoke the word with disdain, “has alerted you?”
“Spock, not that it isn't heart-warming, but your..” How should he put it without offending his delicate Vulcan sensibilities? “apparent hypervigilance for my well-being has impeded on being able to complete your assignments.”
This was too rigid, there was more to this than the professional aspects. For God's sake, Spock knew he was with a human, so Kirk should behave like one. “I'm worried. About you. You interrupt your life to check on me.”
Spock raised his chin in defiance, “I don't appear to see an issue with this, Jim. It is customary that one is concerned with their beloved.”
“But there is an issue! The amount you're doing this is not normal! The way you're doing it is not normal! You hunt me down to check if I'm okay, and when you can't get to me, you're scared!” Jim paused, immediately recognizing his mistake.
“Scared? I do believe you are mistaken. I do not feel fear in the same way hu—”
“Spock, truly, can you be honest with yourself!? You're afraid, and dare I say it's illogical, to carry this much concern for things that are customary for a Starfleet captain to be involved in. It is not ordinary to be this.. this obsessed with my health when there is no active danger! You have your own duties! As Chief Science Officer and First Officer, I must rely on you to complete your work for the good of the ship. But now, these thoughts have clouded your judgment, and it is becoming difficult to trust your capabilities when you are either distracted or anxious.” He huffed out the last of it, out of breath.
And by the look of it, Spock did not seem happy by what was suggested. Kirk only saw a glimpse of it, before the other man became stone-faced. “Captain, permission to return to work?”
“What? I— Spock, did I say something wrong?” Kirk flailed to stand, a contrast to Spock's cool, still height and perfect posture.
“Captain. I have work to return to, am I dismissed?” The tone was tinged with an eerie aloofness that Kirk suffocated in.
“Spock..” He received narrowed eyes and panicked into agreement, “yes! Yes, you can go.”
Before he could blink, he was staring at his quarter's doors sliding open and letting out the Vulcan.
~
Captain’s Personal Log: Stardate 4494
Spock's anxieties have appeared to have gotten worse. But I believe I have found the cause for the man's new and unusual tendencies. Obsessive-compulsive disorder, as it is called. I have filed a report on the matter and called for a professional to examine the situation themself. If it were to get worse, I may have to force Spock on leave. I am already pushing it as is, and if any mistake were to occur as a result, Starfleet will have my head. I've already messed up with Spock.
~
He sinks into a shallow meditation, being threatened to pull out every time there is a rush of anxiety through his entire nervous system. How adequately named.
Do not concentrate on any one thought, dedicate your focus to breathing.
The Vulcan breathes, in and out with perfect consistency, but no peace finds him. Not like before, where he felt lighter and as though he was floating through the air the further he sunk into meditation. Not how Surak’s teachings promised, with emotional mastery and logic being brought on as an achievement of the ritual. Instead, his thoughts jump from what Jim told him to frustration with himself for his inability to find peace. So, he distracts himself instead, trying to completely clear his mind and focus on other issues. But the conscious effort in not thinking of the thing is present, and he keeps unintentionally returning to it.
He must confront the problem head on. Every time, he is met with a jumbled mass that reminds him of the cords in engineering. Every prod brings out another spark of confusion on the tangled mess, and Spock is unsure how to begin regardless. Why had Jim become convinced of Spock's failure to regulate himself? Why had Spock become convinced of Jim's failure to care for his own well-being?
Was Jim correct? And if his assumption was correct, what did that mean for Spock? Had he become irrational, a failure of a Vulcan? Was it an inherent mistake to attempt the copulation between Human, rash and destructive, and Vulcan, logical and collected? With human tendencies, Spock could perhaps revert to the way of Vulcans before Surak. When terror and atrocities reigned over Vulcan. He could not be trusted as a part of Starfleet, then, he would be charged; his rank and objects of pride stripped from him.
What did it mean for their relationship? Was Spock dangerous? And that wasn't even acknowledging the fact of pon farr, where Spock had tried to kill his beloved, only being satiated with his supposed death. Next time, what would Spock do? Would he.. force himself onto his beloved? Hurt him beyond repair, and beyond the trust they'd worked to establish with their respective issues. Did it mean something that he was even thinking about it? His heart quickened even faster.
Is there a chance he wanted to do something so unspeakable? There couldn't be, he would never hurt his partner. But he was already proven wrong by his past pon farr, where perhaps that was just revealing his deep, animalistic desires. He already knew what he himself was capable of, and to think that he could unleash it on his beloved. Jim.. lovely Jim. Spock made a decision, he would need to slowly extract himself from the relationship, not enough to alert the other. It would.. hurt, but meditation could help with the suppression, and he would immerse himself into his work to deliver on the way he'd been ignoring it since this obsession forced its way into his life.
He comes out of the already thin thread of meditation unsatisfied, and with an ache in his right side.
~
Kirk enters McCoy's office, ready with a bottle of whiskey in his hand as a peace offering. “There's something troubling me.”
“Is this a work matter, or is there another reason you are interrupting my working hours where I am meant to be doing work?” Bones defies, although he is already setting down his padd to attend to whatever Jim is inquiring about. He reaches for glasses, knowing it's only going to make this talk easier.
“It's about Spock,” Jim continues. McCoy sits up a little higher, ready to take the bait and insult his frenemy — Uhura made them matching bracelets.
“My, as much of a friend you are to me, I am not sure if I want to hear the relationship troubles between you and that h—”
“It's related to his psychological profile, Bones,” he interrupts. The other man immediately picked his padd back up, sensing the urgency of the situation. Although Bones didn't necessarily agree with how Spock chose to cope with life on a starship being constantly met with danger, he knew it was what worked and that it was the way Vulcans chose. Now, to know that those methods weren't working for him anymore? Only God knows what that meant for himself and the others around him.
“What's … happened?”
“I know you aren't often on the bridge with us, but you must've noticed how Spock has been conducting himself recently?”
“Of course I've seen it! And even if I hadn't, the ship's nosiest are finding great pleasure in it all!”
“Right, so, there's all… that. Which I suspect is some form of an anxiety disorder. But recently he's been, I don't know, distant.” Kirk was looking in the corner of the room, suddenly finding the poor paint job rather interesting.
“Distant, how?” Bones scribbled down notes, occasionally flipping back to Spock's profile. He noticed that Kirk wasn't stopping him.
“Well, he stopped with all the checking, for one. But he's extra absorbed in his work, maybe what I told him scared him, for lack of a better word. He just did a complete 180. Leaves the room when I enter, makes up excuses not to spend time together, that sort of thing.” There's a certain pain in his eyes when he says it.
Bones let out a heavy sigh through his nose, rubbing his hand over his face as concern filled him. “You told him something? What'd you tell him?”
“That I was concerned, I tried to remind him of his duties to the ship.. I told him he was scared.
“You said he was scared?! Jim, you know exactly how he reacts to accusations like that!”
“I know, I know! I got ahead of myself, I wanted to help the way I thought would work rather than what he actually needed.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and continued, “Duty calls. This was intended to be a personal conversation but, y'know, if there's anything that could be done on the professional side of things.”
“I'll see what I can do, Jim. I am not qualified in any capacity to diagnose nor treat the man, and it would be inappropriate regardless, seeing our…” he clears his throat, “dynamic.”
“Thank you, Bones. Just, uh, if there's any way you can get through to him, or if he comes to talk to you about it, let me know. Confidentiality included, of course.” Jim cracks his knuckles, an old nervous habit he couldn't quite shake, and stands to make way for the door. Painfully, Bones notices the whiskey bottle remains unopened and the glasses untouched.
Once the other man leaves, Bones navigates over to the requests tab of the database. There's already a request for a psychological appointment, but Bones puts in another one. Hopefully they'll fast track it with his status as the Chief Medical Officer.
~
The incidents with overwhelming fear as it were, were also not the first.
The earliest Amanda could remember was when Spock was barely old enough to enter his first year of school.
That first day, Amanda couldn't help but try to soothe her worries of going out into the Vulcan world without his parents, his protectors. She would run his hands over his cheeks, chubby and flushed in a human way he couldn't escape, but stern in the crease of his eyebrows that he had picked up from other Vulcan children. Her maternal instincts would kick in, and she would fuss with his appearance until it was perfect: a straight collar, a perfectly tucked in shirt, his socks at even lengths. But, as a child, it was inevitable that all of Spock's clothes would end up wonky by the time he made his way back home.
It had only been a few days in when Spock came home with scrapes on his face, tears brimming in his eyes but not allowing himself to show weakness. Not until it was only him and his mother, where she would cradle his little head and hug him close to her chest, as if she could keep him safe there from the world.
Just like human children, young Vulcans picked associations up easily from their parents, but did not have as easy of a time with control. The result was outright aggressiveness towards the mixed Spock, rather than the quiet disapproval from the adults that surrounded the family. Spock's own teachers were unresponsive to the acts, unwilling to step forth for someone who everyone seemed to feel the same about — strange, other, not quite right.
At Amanda's insistence, everyday Spock would recount the torment he endured, only to plead with his mother to not involve herself. The taunting, with old Terran sayings — “step on a crack, break your mother's break” being a common one — which only saw the young boy's frustration grow while the other kids found pleasure in it. Paranoia seeping into his mind, making him only unable to focus on where he set foot; panic causing a meltdown when, at the right timing, a shove would make him step foot on the split. Immediately, images filtered through his mind of his mother, bent over in agony. Perhaps alone, with no one to assist her to the hospital, or operating a vehicle in which an accident would occur, immediately assuring that there was no possibility for survival. Then, there would be no mother left to read him stories.
Spock would describe the sorrow as inconsolable in those days, where he was unable to reach his mother to prove his mind wrong. Where logic was no match for the feverish doubt that would veil itself over his prescriptions. All he could do was last until the day had finished, when he would allow his eyes to see for themselves that his mother was alright, and he had not brought harm unto her. Until then, the possibilities would loop through his head, the consequences he would suffer as a result of being so careless. Once Spock had turned to sleep for the night, Amanda would curl into herself, weeping for the boy who would know the atrocities of sentience before he could tell his letters apart.
As a schoolteacher herself, she unfortunately knew the truth that a parent's well-intentioned wishes of being involved usually led to a worsened situation if not executed correctly. Alas, these feelings of ostracization would follow Spock regardless of where he went, so there was no possibility of relocation. Her only possibility of her baby finding peace in what was essentially a therapist's office, known on Vulcan as professionals in regulation, where she could hope that one of many could help with a case like Spock's.
Off they went, an hour in an office with a professional where he and Amanda could spare an hour without Sarek finding out.
Progress was soon halted, with two reasonings. One, because the Vulcan boy had become too self-conscious of his behaviors, believing himself to be the one that was incorrect, that he would have to fix himself to fit in. No matter how much Amanda would try to convince him otherwise, he would shut her down with the same words his bullies would use on him. That she was human, she wouldn't understand, she was too sensitive, and this was the way of the Vulcans. Thus, to go along with his rebellion, he refused to attend the appointments anymore.
Second, Sarek found out. Boy, did he not let her hear the end of it. Although he was half of Spock's creation, he seemed to be completely unaware of how to handle the child's troubles. Any emotional method that didn't consist of meditation was simply too human, and completely unfeasible for the son of the diplomat to be caught doing anywhere near the planet. To Amanda's rage, the man seemed to accept Spock's torment, and refused to believe that his reactions were a sign of something deeper.
And that was that with Amanda's efforts to find her son a possibility of joy from his mixed heritage. To give her son the coping skills he needed to handle the cards he was dealt in this life. She packed away her heart with the possibility, resolving to show her strength so that Spock could find a pillar in his life.
As she's gotten older, as Amanda's watched Spock warm back up upon the Enterprise with a calmer look on his face every time they video called, she feels young again. Vulnerable, and her heart ready to shatter. Almost as though the time it's spent protected has left it weaker, softer without the shield.
Which is why it's so painful when Spock has a particularly sour look on his face one day when they call on the video communicators. At first she believes an ensign has messed up something in the lab, or that Spock had just come from talking to the Doctor he was secretly fond of. But then she notes the accentuated bags under his eyes, the extra paleness of his skin that gives way to the green blood underneath. It reminds Amanda of his childhood.
She prods, but he refuses an answer. She breaks, no longer a pillar for her son.