Chapter Text
Spock felt himself a creature trapped by his own demons; a prisoner of intrusive thoughts.
He found himself in an infinite loop of coming apart at the seams, fighting in futility to put himself back together so he could return to his friends. He was well past feeling compromised at this point, and the alcohol had far from helped him in this situation.
His thoughts had become cyclical, his pacing had given way to gripping the edge of the counter, and he had steeled himself to cease this foolishness.
You have gone well past what is a socially acceptable length of time. Return to that table at once. Cease these dramatics.
And yet he found that he could not.
He was hiding in this restroom, staring at himself in the mirror, willing this ridiculous slurry of baseless emotion away.
Why would it not end? Why would it not be silenced?
It seemed so much easier a task to accomplish before Jim.
Those thoughts had to cease. So why did they go on bleating?
He had no grievance, no reason to be resentful or jealous.
Jim was not his.
How many times would he have to force-feed himself this narrative before it would sink into his being?
Some facet of him obdurately refused to let it permeate, no matter how many times his brain repeated it.
You are not even close to romantically involved, you are friends. You would chance to ruin even that?
Friends who would soon spend the Thanksgiving holidays together, and Spock could not afford to make this situation any more awkward than he already had.
This has to stop.
Spock knew full well he had no right to feel this way, that it was indeed problematic. And yet his chest burned with a spite that paralleled that of an indignant lover who had suffered some cruel injustice from their partner.
But Jim was not his partner.
He had no claim or grounds to base these volatile emotions on, so why did they persist?
Illogical.
Completely illogical.
"You OK, Spock? You look a little green, even for you." McCoy's Southern accent suddenly cut across the bathroom, momentarily jolting Spock from his mental war.
He succeeded in preventing any outward reaction of surprise from bubbling to the surface, suddenly renewed in his vigor to suppress his humanity with an almost violent determination.
He could not give McCoy the smug satisfaction of knowing he was compromised. His own stubborn pride would surely see to that.
His only reply in response to the doctor's drawl was a single raised brow of derision.
McCoy was smiling at Spock across the room in a way that hinted at commiseration as he stuck his head in through the door, one foot in the room and one foot still out of it in case the Vulcan went full unhinged: "So now you know what it's like, huh?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Jim Kirk is a helluva drug, Mr. Spock.” Leonard invited himself in, as he tended to do, walking toward his stoic friend. He was trying to keep the fact that he still had a drink on him hidden behind his back – one for courage to steel himself for what this encounter might shake down into. He knew how much stronger Vulcans were than humans, and also how drunk they likely had to get in order to show this much outward emotional expression. Yet some strange part of him trusted Spock more than he would most humans, which allowed him to take gambles that perhaps he shouldn't with the alien: “Look . . . I don't blame you. I've seen some folks go all sorts of crazy over him – ”
“Watch yourself, doctor.” Spock said starkly, dark eyes slitted in warning. McCoy was not particularly known for taking a hint. He merely blinked his steely-blue eyes through his intense state of inebriation and persisted:
“Seriously. It's OK to be weird about things sometimes. It's human.”
“And I shall remind you doctor that I am a Vulcan.”
“Sure. Let’s do this.” Mccoy decided to simply put his drink down on the counter, realizing that Spock was in no state of mind to even notice or care that it was there.
The Vulcan was too busy being consumed by self-loathing in front of the mirror.
Well it was there for safe keeping, at any length, should he need it for this. He took a deep breath in, hoping this would go in his favour instead of terribly awry.
“Now Spock, if you weren't a Vulcan, I might say I saw a hint of jealousy in your eyes at that table out there. What say you to that?" The doctor was close beside him now, piercing eyes watching him in the mirror with an air of playfulness. Spock leered back dully.
"I would remind you of the original point: I am a Vulcan."
"And, half human." McCoy recalled, bouncing on his toes: "As a human myself, I like to think I know human jealousy when I see it."
Spock continued his frosty glare in the mirror, to which McCoy seemed gleefully unphased.
"Is there some purpose to these musings on your part?"
"Not really, other than to welcome you to the club. To be honest it's uh . . . Refreshing, to see some human qualities in you. Ones we have in common.”
“Really, Doctor – ”
“Really, Spock. I mean it. And I get that sometimes it's hard to have to share people. Especially when they – and you – are gettin’ pulled every which way. Do you know how many times I’ve wished I could just tell my job to shove it whenever it gets in the way of myself and Jo?” Dark eyes met the intensity of McCoy’s stare, the raw honesty of the sentiment resonating deeply with Spock.
It was exactly what Amanda would say when Sarek would be gone for long swaths of time due to his work commitments. As a child he only ever understood that his father was gone, but as he grew older his understanding of this shifted . . .
“. . . And yet if I gave in every time I wished that somebody else could do my job, some people might not be alive here today if I had chosen to do that. Is that the right thing to do? Well, if I’m going to live with myself, I’m going to have to accept that somehow it is. I made an oath as a doctor knowing I was going to have to make those sacrifices, and yet that is a choice I have to live with. It’s something we all have to learn to make peace with. The thing that sucks about emotion, Spock, is having to separate an impulse or intrusive thought from reality – even when it’s inconvenient.”
Spock felt that clenching, iced-over part of himself starting to have a bit of leeway. Maybe humans were more adept at finding common ground with other species than he gave them credit for.
After all, it was his human mother, not his Vulcan father, who had taught him so much on how to interact with others. Now McCoy reminded him of Amanda painfully . . .
What might she say to him now, in one of these hard moments? Now that she was a planet away instead of just down the hallway, he thought with a melancholic pang, lonelier than ever . . . “It's hard, Spock. Believe me, I know a thing or two about it. As someone now exclusively wed to their job thanks to what it did to my marriage, well, consider me an expert."
Spock could only stare at the floor in the mirror, resigning himself to this conversation.
McCoy was right.
Spock had no patent on suffering, be it human or Vulcan – and Leonard's words were reaching him in spite of his fast-guarded instincts. Perhaps he could trust the doctor as Jim had suggested, and Jim never steered him wrong . . .
The thought of him now made Spock ache in a way that he could not seem to make peace with. His deep, rumbling voice was barely audible as he tentatively inquired:
"You seem . . . Familiar with Ruth. Is she a friend of yours?"
"I met her through Jim," Bones confessed, leaning against the wall. He too had sensed that change in Spock, subtle though it was. Well, hot damn. Maybe Jim had been right after all. However muted, therein lay some humanity that one could steal glimpses of and manage to tap into if one looked carefully enough to discern it.
He felt a muted pride in finally being permitted a rare opportunity to have a candid conversation with Spock that didn't feel like banter. That is, despite comprehending that the Vulcan was blatantly prolonging going back out there by hiding in this bathroom conversing with him:
"She's from Iowa, too. She told him she wasn't interested in dating a Starfleet officer, then came running to join him a couple months after he left. They were crazy about each other, but she had the misfortune of dating Jim alongside Gary, and we all know how much Gary loves sharing . . ."
Spock was just listening to this unsettling lore unfold wide eyed, his mind tossing around each new parcel of information eagerly.
They had history, too? Well, obviously. But how much of it could exist? How long had they had an opportunity if Jim and Gary had dated as teenagers? What did Bones mean, "sharing"? Surely he didn't mean –
"Yeah, I can tell by the look on your face what you're thinking right now. If you're thinking that Jim dated them at the same time, you'd be correct."
Spock looked positively aghast by Vulcan standards, his eyes huge and lips pressed into a tight, grim line.
"What? We humans are a lot more liberated in how we date and mate, you get what I'm saying? For the record, Ruth had no problem with the set up – she, too, was open to dating more than one person at a time. Gary, however, wasn't having that. In fact he kind of ruined things for them, as he tends to do."
"Do you mean to imply that the only reason they are not still currently romantically engaged is likely due to Gary Mitchell's influence?"
"That's correct."
"Now Gary Mitchell is serving a commission in space, and Ruth Cartwright is on Shore Leave. There are currently no obstacles to their courtship."
"I mean, they only went out for a few months before they ended up calling it off."
"Because of Gary?"
"Mostly. That and they’re insanely obsessed with their careers. I don't think they have time for a courtship, if you catch my drift. No room for it in between their huge ambitions. Married to the job, as it were."
Spock could only raise a brow in silence, perplexed.
"Uh, Spock – you ever uh, hear of what humans like to call a hook up?"
A tense moment of awkward silence between them, Spock only blinking mildly through the deafening roar of humiliation that threatened to overtake him before responding: "In what way does "a hook up" differ from a traditional human courtship?"
"Oh God. Spock, I – Wow. Let’s just say you've got a lot to learn about humans. So uh . . . a hook up is, well, it’s basically just the physical aspect of a human courtship."
Both of Spock's brows disappeared into his brow line, a distinct sinking feeling taking over him.
"I don't think she's lookin' to marry him so much as she just wants to – "
"That will suffice, doctor, I am capable of parsing your meaning. Then it is only customary for humans to partake in these "hook ups", outside of formal courtships?"
"Oh yeah, all the time for some of us. Some even agree to this during courtships, but we don’t need to get into that." Bones shrugged, to which Spock hoped the horror he felt was not somehow bleeding through his Vulcan mask. He knew he must be showing some physiological responses of stress.
"That . . . Bothers you." Bones ventured gently, to which Spock shot a venomous glance that said plenty – most prominently back off.
"I do not believe I voiced such an opinion."
"Look, I can see it on your face already. You think he won’t?"
Spock swallowed down that flail of human panic that crept out like a skein of light through a keyhole before he closed it up again, battling his emotions down and compartmentalizing each one that reared to accost him.
He could not believe the doctor was confronting him so boldly like this; airing how he could perceive the Vulcan growing compromised while others were surely outside the door in earshot.
This conversation had evolved into more than he had bargained for, and Spock was mortified. In a rare instance in his life, he felt speechless on a matter.
"What would you have me do, doctor?" The Vulcan said quietly, almost somber. "Jim appears to be extremely happy to be reacquainted with Ruth, and the feeling is obviously mutual. I will not interfere with Jim's happiness."
Bones felt a momentary wave of both sympathy and affection for the Vulcan. He knew all too well what it was to be a pitiable fuck who felt hopeless.
"Well that's just precious, honestly. But on the other hand . . . human relationships are messy, and often confusing. There’s a lot of risk involved. And beyond that – Wow you really are dense, aren't you?" McCoy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration at the Vulcan's puzzled expression.
“Excuse me?” Spock internally bristled at the abruptness of this seemingly random insult upon his intellect. McCoy could only laugh.
"God, this isn’t going to be easy. Give me the fucking strength . . .”
“ – will you be making sense at any near future interval? – ”
“Just listen, you pointed-eared toadstool-squatter, before I lose my train of thought. I shouldn’t even be saying any of this, but – ” Bones began gesticulating in frustration madly at this point, to which Spock briefly felt a pulse of concern for his own safety: “ – God, the two of you are so stupid, how am I neck deep in your shit?” Spock then witnessed the brutal assault of a bathroom trash-porter. The doctor walked back toward him with alarming casualness, as though the outburst had never transpired. “Look. I know James T. Kirk. He's the best friend I've ever had. And I've been saying this to him for weeks now: the guy is clearly trash for you.”
Spock immediately attempted to launch into a vehement debate on that statement while also touching upon the irony of it in relation to the attack on the trash-porter, to which McCoy promptly snapped:
“Shut up. Shut up, Spock, don't even.” A few beats of silence, then: “Spare us both that dead end conversation! If you can't see that Jim is attracted to you by now, then you have more problems than he does. You’ve got eyes and ears that work, don’t you?”
“Yes, but – ”
“Great. Wonderful. We have established you have a pulse and functioning senses. So hear me when I say, I know the guy we're dealing with. I know he likes you, Spock, whether he's willing to admit it or not."
"The fact remains, your anecdotes and feelings are not sufficient enough evidence for me to interfere in a perfectly suitable courtship for Jim."
"Hook up."
"What have you. Call it what you may, but Ruth is a human. It is a logical pairing, and pre-established. Courtship rituals with Vulcans are . . . Complicated."
"Perfect. I don't know anyone who loves drama or a challenge more than James T. Kirk." McCoy's eyes were unusually kind, the alcohol working away at the fortress the doctor usually maintained. Spock felt he could get himself out of this cyclical mental rut with McCoy’s help, but he did not know if he could ask this of him – was scared to even suggest it.
“Doctor, you must know that while I am half human, there are aspects of my physiology which are uniquely Vulcan – ”
“ – Uh yeah, I kind of gathered that. How could I not notice those ears? – ”
“ – Doctor please. A facet of me believes what you say to be true – ”
“ – your humanity – ”
“ – and yet the Vulcan component of my person is dissatisfied with anecdotes in lieu of tangible evidence.”
Moments ago they were both fighting for the mic, and now they stared one another down in awkward silence, at an impasse.
An Andorian suddenly slipped into the room, took one look at their tense standoff, and leered suspiciously at them while heading back out of the bathroom. He decided his need to use the facilities was not worth getting in the middle of whatever that was. Spock sighed loudly at length, breaking the tension:
“If you will permit me – ” his hand reached out towards McCoy’s face, who promptly recoiled with the mania of one who was about to be smacked upside the head.
“ – Woah, woah woah woah there horsie back it the fuck up, the hell are we doing right now?!” His hands were up defensively, swatting away the one Spock had slowly extended to him with more brusque force than needed.
“ – really, doctor, that is quite unnecessary. I am trying to – that is, if you would permit me, I would be able to . . .”
“ . . . You best spit it out boay because there is a very slim chance that I'll be giving you permission to touch me tonight.” An uncomfortable pause with a reddening face, then: “Wait, I think that came out wrong – ”
“. . . It is of no consequence. If you would permit us brief mental contact, I might perceive the memories from which you have divulged said information provided. Through this manner I could confirm your word as fact – ”
“ – Oh you are just as insane and unhinged about him as he is you, that much is confirmed as fact!” McCoy yelled as he dodged Spock’s tentatively outreached hand once more. “ - Stop it!” The doctor barked, wild eyed and beet-faced as the Vulcan anticlimactically dropped both hands to his sides in an act of peaceful surrender.
“Now you just – ” McCoy started scrambling backwards in a bit of a panic, bringing up solid on a human patron that was rushing in through the door to use the facilities. Both individuals were further revolted to learn who the other was as McCoy found himself staring way too closely at Finnegan’s dour face.
They promptly tussled awkwardly in a mesh of cuss words and shoving for an uncomfortable moment before the larger man barked “The fuck is wrong with you people? Can’t a guy take a shite?” He bellowed loud enough to startle everyone in the radius of the restroom. A few pulses of glaring, mortifying silence punctuated the entire bawdy affair while a bewildered Finnegan straightened his clothes furiously: “Don’t, follow me. I fuckin’ mean it, Doc. If I have to see you, Jim Kirk, or your pointy eared bodyguard again – ”
“ – I am sorry Mister Finnegan, do you presume you are in a position to threaten either of us, considering we are your superior officers?” Spock took a few mild strides toward the explosive gentleman in the doorway, who promptly changed his tune as his expression boiled down to abject horror – he certainly had not forgotten the last time he tested Spock.
“ – No sir, indeed not. I have had a few too many to drink, sir. Consider me gone.”
“ – Indeed. You are already forgotten, sir,” the Vulcan spat with an edge of wry sarcasm as the disgruntled face of Finnegan disappeared back from whence it came.
Both Spock and Bones heaved out a long, heated sigh of frustration as they realized they now had to return to their stand off.
Bones promptly hoofed it to the other side of the bathroom, positively panting and borderline manic.
“You stay the hell over there, Spock. Don't pull any of that mind bendy take-y mumbo jumbo with me tonight. Not tonight, not ever. Back the fuck up!”
“Yoh have made your feelings abundantly clear, Leonard – ”
“ – oh I can make them a hell of a lot clearer Mister Spock if you get one step closer to me!”
“I would not intentionally go out of my way to enter your mind without your consent. I would also remind you that your human strength is no rival to that of a Vulcan, even half of one. I would therefore advise you against any feeble attempts at threatening me.”
They stood like two rodents ready to strike for a few charged beats, then McCoy abruptly deflated.
“What are we doing? Seriously. What are we actually doing right now, Spock?”
“I believe we are quite inebriated, the repercussions of which we are now unfortunately discovering at an unbridled pace.”
“Yeah that just about sums it up. Stay over there!” Bones barked in a wide-eyed, knee jerk response to Spock beginning the barest of movements. The Vulcan huffed loudly.
“Doctor, logic dictates that we have to get out of this men’s room at some juncture. Preferably sooner than later.”
“At least that’s one thing we can agree on. But you think the way to do that is to let you waltz into my fuckin’ head unchecked, just to confirm if I’m lying to you or not about Jim Kirk’s crush on you? Because if you think that's happening tonight, consider yourself living here as of right fuckin’ now.”
A few awkward beats of silence, then:
“ – I meant no offence, doctor – ” Spock had raised his arm in a gesture of dismissal; he found himself alarmed when Leonard lashed out and grasped his arm fearfully. It was as though he thought the Vulcan might try to pull a fast one, storming uninvited into his human head.
“ – Perfect, then let me give you a little crash course in interacting with non-telepathic species: don’t you ever do drop-ins on our heads unless we invite you to come in, you got it?” McCoy’s hand was actually trembling on Spock’s forearm, and the Vulcan now realized the gravity of the situation through his alcohol-inhibited state of mind.
The doctor was absolutely right.
Was he insane? Of course the human was frightened. Telepathy was not in their regular wheelhouse. What had he even suggested here in this public restroom? That a mind meld would take place? With McCoy?
Most illogical. Beyond, so far beyond logic.
Had he lost all sensibilities somewhere in this public bathroom?
What was he thinking? Had he thought at all?
Spock promptly removed himself from Leonard’s quaking grasp, a tidal wave of shame and selfabhorration all but consuming him. His face came to his hands, and Bones immediately felt a stab of guilt in spite of knowing he had been right. He also understood that Spock did not have his faculties, nor the benefit of being raised with human etiquette or customs. This was a massive learning curve for both of them.
“I am sorry, doctor. I admit I am struggling with my level of inebriation – it is evidently having an affect on my judgement. A very poor one, I might add."
“You are apologizing to the wrong person for making a fool out of yourself while under the influence of alcohol, Spock. You’ll find no judgement here. But you also have to recognize, us humans do not have the luxury of reading one another's thoughts. Had I been blessed with such a gift, perhaps I would have seen the end of my marriage coming from a mile away, but I digress . . .” tentatively, the human came toward the sheepish looking Vulcan. His hand reached out and gently clasped a shoulder, signaling a renewed effort to demonstrate trust.
The transmission of sincerity poured through into the touch-telepath from the gentle contact.
“Suffice it to say, Spock, but my word is going to have to do in this instance. If you recall our precious conversation earlier about humans learning to work among other species, well, you’re going to have to work on how you’re going to exist in a workplace with those of us who do not share your abilities.”
“That is a fair assessment.”
“I'm glad you finally see it that way. Now my kind are bound by our word and trust in one another simply because what else can we do? Just as I have had to learn your customs, Spock, so shall you learn ours. You have asked me to respect your lineage on a number of occasions, now here is your opportunity to demonstrate it in kind.”
“Indeed, doctor. I must, as Jim would say, ‘practice what I preach’. Forgive me for my momentary bias.”
“Oh we will all have our share of humiliation before the night is out, Spock. Save your apologies for tomorrow.” McCoy took stock of the Vulcan all but leaning against the counter next to him, briefly worrying whether or not Spock was supposed to look that green. Was that – did he always look that green? “Spock, are you OK? You look like you might get ill, so if you’re going to hurl at least let me – ”
“ – the alcohol has many unintended consequences on my person, I admit. Please, forgive me my transgressions, doctor. I am not . . .” the Vulcan closed his eyes, willing away a wave of momentary nausea before continuing: “To answer your question, No. I am not ‘OK’. I am learning how to live on this alien planet amongst other species, but I am a far cry from an expert on how to achieve said goal.”
The Vulcan was swimming where he stood, hands clasped behind himself not in the usual neat fold, but discreetly gripping the edge of the sink with now trembling fingers. He had to hold on to something to keep the lid on all that roiled beneath his impassive front as he prompted: “I wish to leave this bathroom – ”
“ – you and me both – ”
“And in order to do that, I will take you at your word and trust that it is sound. Now please . . .” Spock felt more than witnessed the human’s growing expression of concern, a keen sear of embarrassment setting in as the curious human part of him could not help but ask: “Tell me.”
“. . . Tell you . . .”
“Tell me why you felt compelled to say this to me tonight. Tell me what you know that I do not, which leads you to believe that Jim feels as you suggest he does – ”
“ – Oh he does, it isn’t a suggestion – ”
“ – then please explain to me how you know this. If you will not show me, help me understand.”
"Do you not see it?” McCoy laughed, to which the Vulcan responded only in silence. “Do you not see how far he goes out of his way to try to spend every waking ounce of free time he has with you?”
“ – He cares deeply for both of us, doctor – ”
“ – and yet you know it isn’t the same thing, don’t you?”
Again, silence.
“Great. So let me make this perfectly clear to you so that it sinks into that walking think-tank of yours: I have never seen Jim as happy as he is with you. Not with me, not with Gary, not with Ruth, not with anyone else but you. And he talks about you. A lot. An annoying amount. As in I spend a great deal of my free time yelling at him to stop levels of talking about you. Take it or leave it, it is what it is. I know Jim Kirk, so do with it what you will."
Spock replayed it again and again in his mind, turning over each word like a stone, absorbing the information and processing through his drunken haze of consciousness.
All of Spock’s typically ordered thoughts were swirling like autumn leaves in a hurricane, littered with Jim.
I have never seen Jim as happy as he is with you. Not with me, not with Gary, not with Ruth, not with anyone else but you . . .
. . . do with it what you will.