A House Divided
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door there is shut
Rabindranath Tagore
Waves of agony pressed him back, forcing his body to flatten painfully against the black leather chair. He struggled to push out of the neural field that held him captive. A voice insisted that it was useless, that he'd never escape. If he resisted he would lose his mind. He knew that voice. The dark baritone was both familiar and foreign. Anger and fear gripped him as it echoed in his mind. Anger at the terrible danger that he could not master, and fear that this time he might lose. He hated to lose. He fought back as he knew he must. As he always had. The effort was terrible. His body felt as though every nerve, every inch of skin was on fire. But he would not submit, and little by little he felt the field begin to give way. Just a little more, just a little harder. He had to defeat the thing that held him. But the voice mocked his effort, and the neural field increased. Drawing on the last of his strength he pushed out of the chair. His face contorted with strain, hand raised in defiance, he reached towards his tormentor. No use. The field increased beyond endurance. Daggers of pain lanced his mind. Blackness took him and he knew that he had lost.
"Shit." Captain James T. Kirk shivered as he sat up in his bed. Another nightmare. He struggled to hold onto the images that had so disturbed him, but once again they melted away in a fog that seemed to settle around his mind. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with his preference for sleeping in a cold room.
Kirk hadn't had an uninterrupted night's sleep in the week since the Enterprise left Tantalus V. The ship had visited Tantalus to deliver medication to the penal colony, and there they had encountered Dr. Tristan Adams. Kirk had discovered that Adams was engaged in some unscrupulous experiments with a neural neutralizer. The captain became one of his victims before the Enterprise crew was able to put Adams and his machine permanently out of business. McCoy had checked him out, and assured the captain that there were no lasting effects from Dr. Adams' neural neutralizer, but Kirk's nights seemed to suggest that wasn't entirely true. The captain had tried exercise, biofeedback, relaxation tapes, even Saurian brandy, but still found himself jolted out of sleep night after night.
Kirk was loath to discuss his sleeping difficulties with the doctor, since McCoy seemed so certain that the Tantalus incident had no physical effect on him. McCoy was the one person onboard the Enterprise who held the control over the captain's command. So soon after Psi 2000, he was reluctant to bring vague uneasiness and forgotten nightmares to the doctor. He would work this through himself, like he had worked through so many other problems. Kirk struggled to remember some image, some fragment of his night terrors. Sometimes he retained bits and pieces, but he couldn't hold onto them long enough to put together a picture of what was wrong. And, by the gods, he was tired. The nightmares that robbed him of sleep were exhausting him.
Kirk was finding it increasingly difficult to function during the day. Once, during a game of chess with his Vulcan first officer, he had a kind of waking nightmare, but when he tried to remember it, it too had fragmented into unreachable pieces. He had been able to cover up this episode by winning the game and passing off his fugue-like moment as a new chess strategy. Somehow, he didn't thing Spock had been fooled. Several times after that incident, Kirk caught his first officer watching him with a single-minded concentration that hinted at an awareness of the captain's difficulties.
Kirk found that thought to be disturbing as well. How could Spock know he was having problems? They did not have the kind of personal relationship that might explain the Vulcan's apparently intuitive comprehension of his captain's mental state. Kirk was not sure that they ever would. Kirk's first few months in command of the Enterprise had been a challenge. He had worked hard to forge an effective command team, but he did not feel that he had been entirely successful.
Captain Pike had been a very different commander, and Spock seemed to have trouble making the adjustment to his new, young captain's more aggressive style. Kirk had tried to forge a personal relationship. The two men had started to play chess and work out together, but every time the captain thought that he had begun to reach Spock, his first officer retreated behind a closed door of formality and control. Then, the Vulcan had revealed that he was ashamed of whatever friendship he had with his human captain. Some painful truths had been spoken on Psi 2000, and Kirk felt himself pull back in response to the Vulcan's rejection. He could not help but think that they might never meld into an effective command team.
The captain wondered if Spock's apparent awareness of his difficulties had anything to do with those Vulcan mental abilities his first officer had employed during their mission to Tantalus. For the first time in their service together, the captain felt uneasy about Spock's Vulcan heritage. Kirk was still not sure what to make of McCoy's revelations about Spock and Dr. VanGelder. Dr. McCoy had described the strange Vulcan mind link to him. He indicated that Spock was somehow able to read the disturbed scientist VanGelder's thoughts and take them into his own mind. It had looked painful to the doctor, though McCoy told the captain that Spock had denied any discomfort. McCoy had also assured the captain that Spock had not suffered any side effects from the mind link.
Kirk reflected that there was much that he did not know about his second in command. Starfleet knew almost nothing about Vulcan customs, and Mr. Spock was equally reticent about his culture. Vulcans guarded their privacy fiercely, and Kirk, also a most private man, respected that. Still, this Vulcan ability was certainly something that the captain felt he should have been told about before Spock used it in the course of his duty.
His first officer suddenly seemed alien to Kirk. He felt as if he did not know him at all. The captain honored and appreciated Spock's Vulcan heritage, but this mind meld was so invasive, so foreign. And, at this moment, Kirk felt rather vulnerable. He considered that he probably should talk to Spock about what was happening, but the thought of revealing his mental difficulties to someone who seemed so removed from such things made him feel uneasy. He found it impossible to imagine the stoic Vulcan having night terrors. The prospect that Spock was somehow already aware of his troubles made him even more uncomfortable.
The chronometer indicated that the captain's duty shift didn't begin for two hours. He had no desire to try to get back to sleep, so Kirk swung himself out of bed. It took more than a moment to shake off the feeling of unease that seemed to cling to him like a persistent fog. Paperwork seemed as unappealing as sleep. An exercise session felt like a good idea. Maybe it would help clear the cobwebs before he had to be on the bridge. He slipped into his workout clothes and headed for the gym.
When the captain arrived at the gym it was deserted. Kirk had hoped it would be, since it was either very early or very late, depending on one's duty shift. He selected a portion of the gym, engaged the wall units, and set a privacy lock. He felt the need to work out his troubles on his own.
Kirk began a series of warm-up exercises and decided that the Vulcan B'chthal discipline would be this morning's challenge. He had been working with Spock on those ancient exercises that combined weights, balance, gymnastic skill, and meditation. He had hoped he might gain some insight into his alien first officer, but learning the B'chthal had revealed only a little of Spock's heritage. When he questioned him about aspects of Vulcan philosophy or even physical attributes, Spock simply did not answer. This frustrated the captain, but he continued to exercise with his first officer because he found the mental and physical challenges of the B'chthal very much to his liking.
What Spock did explain to him was that the B'chthal developed from the Vulcan combat challenges of the distant past. The Vulcans had not abandoned all of their warrior practices when they adopted the non-violent principles of Surak's philosophy. Instead, some were transformed into meditative and physical exercises, which helped maintain that firm Vulcan control of emotions. This particular discipline consisted of the repetition of a series of precise movements involving hand weights, while balancing on a narrow wooden bar set at varying heights. The level of difficulty increased as the weights, height, and speed increased. Meditation was a central part of the exercise, since it was only with enormous focus that one could avoid toppling off the wooden bar.
Kirk had progressed well under the Vulcan's tutelage, though he had never tried the exercises without Spock's supervision. He felt that he was ready to attempt the simplest level on his own. He needed to challenge himself, to feel that he was still in control. Kirk knew that Spock would not approve of his solitary attempt at the B'chthal, but at this moment the possibility of the Vulcan's disapproval was less worrisome than his own need to feel in command of himself. Kirk set the exercise bar at two meters, well below the height that he and Spock has used for their training sessions, and began his preparations.
Selecting suitable hand weights occupied the captain's attention for some minutes. Then, weights in one hand, he stood at the exercise bar and began the meditations and stretching exercises that initiated the B'chthal. With a smooth motion, he reached up with his empty hand and swung onto the bar. He stood absolutely still, waiting, focusing inward, until the moment to move was revealed.
The rhythm of his heart established the rhythm of the B'chthal. Slowly raising his right leg, his knee bent, he felt rooted to the bar. The captain transferred his hand weights until they were evenly distributed. He lifted both arms straight above his shoulders and held them still for some minutes. As Spock had instructed, the fiery red image of desert sands, shifting and blowing, filled his mind. Permitting himself a small break in concentration, the captain reflected that for the first time in days he felt in control. When he felt his balance begin to waver Kirk pulled himself back and focused on the exercises. His body became like the desert, his mind like the wind that blew the sand into endless patterns. Lower the right leg; bend the left until the right leg is below the bar. Lower the right arm. Straighten and pivot. Repeat. The speed of the exercise increased with his heartbeat. Bend....
A voice pierced his concentration and he swayed on the bar. No one was there. He had made certain that he was alone before he began. The door was locked. The voice could not be real. Focus.
The captain steadied and brought his left arm down and then out. Again, he held that position. He was wind; he was sand. His concentration was rock solid. Straightening his left leg, the captain began to prepare for the conclusion of the B'chthal.
That dark voice invaded his mind again. Kirk strained to shut it out, but it just mocked his struggle. He fought to focus on his movements. A dagger of pain tore through his body and the captain lost concentration. The serenity of the desert shattered into as many pieces as there were grains of sand. He desperately strained to stay on the bar, but overcompensated and stumbled forward. He felt himself falling. He tried to tuck and roll, but that voice in his mind and the waves of pain that radiated from it, controlled him. His body tensed and he slammed hard into the exercise mats.
The fall was not from any great height, but the hand weights had slipped out of his grasp. As he landed, his head hit a sharp edge and a blood red haze engulfed him. He struggled not to surrender to the haze, but the voice grew louder until it shut out all his senses. Blackness took him and he knew that he had lost.
********
Captain Kirk pushed up through the grayness as he fought to regain consciousness. The captain felt strong hands holding him down, keeping him captive. He battled to break free, but his own weakness prevented him from sitting up. Then, a familiar odor, one that smelled clean and safe, assaulted his nose. Chirps and beeps reassured him with their familiar sound. Sickbay.
"Now don't try to move, Jim. You've got a nasty cut on the head and a concussion." The concern in Dr. McCoy's voice was evident.
The captain slowly realized that he was lying down on a biobed, with McCoy standing over him, and he relaxed a little.
"Why do you suppose that he has to try to jump up every time he wakes up from one of these things, Spock? Do you think his Momma bounced him on her knee too much?" growled the doctor, over the sounds of his scanner.
"I should hardly think that his mother's child rearing practices are a logical explanation for the captain's behavior, Doctor," replied Spock.
Of course, thought the captain. Spock is here, and McCoy. I must be all right, or the doctor wouldn't be making jokes. Captain Kirk opened his eyes to find his two officers looking down at him. He tried to push up on an elbow, but dizziness kept him from lifting his head off the bed.
"I meant that about not moving, Jim. You lost quite a bit of blood and you need to get your strength back. Do you remember what happened?"
Captain Kirk strained to recall. He remembered the gym, and trying the B'chthal. There was something else. Something elusive, just on the edge of his consciousness that seemed to threaten him. He could almost remember, but the pieces of memory fragmented as he struggled with them. He did know that he could not tell either of his officers that he felt some menace, some danger that he had to keep from them. The doctor would lock him up and throw away the key. And Spock, Spock would just retreat further behind the door that separated them. Kirk tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. Gratefully accepting a warm sipper of liquid, the captain drank. In a soft whisper he replied, "I probably shouldn't have tried the B'chthal alone. I just lost my balance." He managed to look sheepish as he struggled to sit up.
"I said don't move and I mean it, Jim. I'm keeping you here in Sickbay for a while 'til we make sure that there're no motor function problems." McCoy's irritated growl indicated that he meant what he said. "It's a good thing Spock looked for you when you didn't show up for your shift. You might have bled out with that head wound. Darn fool stunt, trying that blasted Vulcan exercise by yourself."
The captain started to protest but a wave of dizziness kept him from arguing too strenuously. He closed his eyes and waited until the room stopped whirling. "All right, Bones," he acquiesced. "But, I need to be back on the bridge as soon as possible. I want to monitor the results of the science team's sensor scans. The makeup of this nebula we are charting is fascinating."
"Now you're starting to sound like your first officer. Maybe I should examine your head again," grumbled the doctor. McCoy had his back to the captain and did not notice as a shadow passed over Kirk's face.
"I can see no reason to stay here and be insulted," inserted Mr. Spock, willing to play what was rapidly becoming a familiar game with the doctor, one more time. "I am relieved to see that you are all right, Captain. Perhaps in the future, you will call me if you wish to practice the B'chthal. Now, if you will excuse me, I must resume my duties. The nebula is indeed as you asserted, a fascinating phenomenon." The Vulcan turned and left the room.
It wasn't until Mr. Spock left the room that Kirk realized how tense he had felt in the Vulcan's presence. The captain considered whether to confide his concerns about his first officer to McCoy, but dismissed the thought as a bad idea. He really didn't want to open up about his own problems. McCoy held the power of command over him, and he just couldn't take the risk. Kirk thought, not for the first time since assuming command of the Enterprise, that a captain was truly alone, divided by duty from the rest of his crew. Kirk felt a surge of irritation as the hiss of a hypospray indicated that the doctor had decided to sedate him without permission. Again. He started to protest, but his eyes begin to close, and for the first time in days, as he dropped off to sleep, Kirk heard no echo of that fiendish voice in his mind.
********
Eighteen hours later Dr. McCoy declared himself unable to withstand his captain's complaints a minute longer and certified Kirk fit to assume his duties. Some of the old sparkle had returned. Kirk felt rested and ready to return to the bridge. He had slept soundly and well. He felt certain that whatever his sleeping difficulties had been, they finally seemed to be behind him. He now needed to resolve his questions about Spock.
Kirk had had time to reflect. He had decided to talk to Spock about his concerns over the mind link. Vulcan privacy not withstanding, secrets between a captain and his first officer could be dangerous. He had to be able to trust Spock, and he needed to understand Spock's mental abilities in order to know how best to use them. Perhaps they would never be friends, but the captain needed to have a second in command he could trust. If the Vulcan couldn't or wouldn't talk to him, then perhaps they couldn't serve together. Kirk hoped it wouldn't reach that point. Spock was certainly a great asset to the ship. And, he found the constant sparring between Spock and McCoy to be vastly entertaining. He truly hoped that some understanding could be reached with his first officer.
Captain Kirk entered the bridge to the welcoming smiles of his bridge officers. Mr. Spock rose from the command chair.
"Captain," he inquired, "are you returning to duty?"
"I am," the captain answered with a wry smile. "The doctor finally got tired of me and certified me fit. I'd like a report, and Mr. Spock, please see me in my quarters after this shift. There's something I'd like to discuss with you. About VanGelder."
"Indeed, Captain."
If the captain didn't know better, he might have thought that Mr. Spock seemed relieved at the idea of talking to him. Maybe, he reflected, Spock was just looking for an opportunity to confide in him. It was possible that this veil of Vulcan secrecy was simply due to Spock's ignorance of his captain's need to know about such things. Perhaps he simply needed to ask.
The captain felt it necessary to add something. He lowered his voice so that only his first officer could hear. "Until we have a chance to talk, Mr. Spock, I don't want you to use any mind links or Vulcan psychic abilities. That is an order." Kirk turned away and so he did not see his first officer's eyebrow rise at this rather odd request. For a moment Spock was puzzled, but as he reflected on the captain's order he had a better idea of what the captain wanted to discuss. Spock felt rather relieved at the idea of being able to finally bring these issues into the open. Being the first Vulcan in Starfleet was not without its problems.
The captain sat down in his chair, his attention drawn to the magnificent sight on the view screen in front of him. He drank in the majesty of the nebula; the swirls of color and light that seemed to pulse an invitation to enter, to explore. Kirk thought that this was why he was out here. This was what made it all worthwhile. His thoughts were interrupted by his first officer's report.
"Captain, the final scans are nearly completed, and as we suspected, there appear to be several Class M planets in the nebula. From our long-range scans it seems that at least two might be capable of sustaining humanoid life. We will have to proceed with a more detailed close range examination in order to be certain.
However, there are two problems that must be addressed before we can scan the planets. At this time the Enterprise cannot enter the nebula because the Steinmetz radiation from several of its suns would be hazardous to the health of the crew. We can recalibrate the shields to block out substantial radiation. Mr. Scott is working on the problem at this time. He expects to be done shortly."
Kirk looked up at his first officer. "You mentioned two problems, Mr. Spock"
"Yes, sir," replied the Vulcan. "The second problem is that we must name the nebula if we are to explore it more thoroughly. It is difficult to quantify the data of an object that has no name." Spock's eyebrow seemed to lift as he looked solemnly at his captain. "We have waited until you recovered from your dismount, since the naming of such phenomena traditionally falls to the captain."
Kirk smiled in surprise. Had his Vulcan first officer made a pun? "Please, Mr. Spock, I would rather have you name it. Perhaps something from Vulcan?"
"If you have no objections, Captain, I would like to name it Iowa. From your description of your home, it would seem a fitting name for so lovely an object."
There was stunned silence on the bridge. The first officer's honor to the captain bythe use of his birthplace was totally unexpected.
Kirk sat absolutely still for a moment, then he swiveled in his chair to face Spock. The warmth of the gesture seemed so completely out of character. He wondered for a moment whether he had misjudged the Vulcan. Captain Kirk bowed his head and when he raised it again his smile lit up the bridge. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. Iowa it is." Anything more seemed ungracious. He was moved by the generous gesture and resolved to speak of it in private when he and Mr. Spock met after their duty shift.
The bridge crew resumed their work. They prepared to enter the nebula as soon as engineering completed work on the shields. The captain occupied himself with catching up on his paperwork. He had only spent one day in Sickbay, but it seemed somehow that he was a week behind. The tedium of fuel reports was interrupted by the cheerful brogue of his chief engineer.
"Ah, Captain Kirk, it's good to have you back where you belong, sir. I just wanted to report that we were able to reconfigure the shields to screen out 99.876 percent of the Steinmetz radiation. I'm sorry about that .134 percent, but Dr. McCoy assures me that it will na do harm to man nor beast."
"Good work, Scottie, as usual." The Captain couldn't help but smile at the thought of his chief engineer worrying himself and his staff into a frenzy to try to whittle down that last tiny percentage of radiation leakage. If the doctor was comfortable, then the captain felt that they could proceed.
"Well, Mr. Spock, if you have no objections then I think we should give those planets a look." Kirk swiveled his chair to look at his science officer. Seeing no disagreement, he ordered Mr. DeSalle to plot a course into the nebula, directly to the closest of the Class M planets.
"Course plotted and laid in, sir," responded the navigator.
"Take us in, Mr. Sulu." The captain leaned forward as if that would get him where they were going faster.
"Iowa, here we come, sir," Sulu answered. A soft chuckle from his captain rewarded the helmsman.
"Captain," the steady voice of the Vulcan interrupted. "Radiation at predicted levels. Well within normal parameters. Mr. Scott's modifications are functioning well. We may experience some turbulence as we enter the nebula. I have advised all decks."
The ship swayed slightly, as if it was responding to Mr. Spock's warning. The inertial dampers came on line and their low, metallic hum increased as the swaying became more pronounced.
"Report, Mr. Spock."
The science officer did not lift his head from his station as he monitored the readings to present his findings. He did not see the captain as he rose from his chair to view the science monitor for himself.
"As expected we are encountering some turbulence caused by a confluence of gravity waves from the nebula's suns. We should be through this area in 15.7 minutes and the inertial dampers should be able to keep the gravitational disturbances to manageable levels. I do not anticipate any difficult..."
Before he could complete the word, the bottom fell out from under the ship. Artificial gravity ceased and inertia tried to fling the crew across the bridge. Long trained for this, the bridge crew grabbed hold of their stations, and all managed to stay in their seats. All except Captain Kirk. In mid stride he found himself with nothing to hold on to. He was thrown headfirst against the rail that separated the science station from the lower deck of the bridge. A voice invaded his mind as he slumped to the floor. He knew that voice. He fought to push it away, but it was too strong, too cruel. Daggers of pain lanced through his thoughts. Still he resisted. He pushed himself up, raising his hand to drive back the force that held him. Somewhere, he heard another voice, a warm, caring voice, call for medical attention. He tried to ask who was hurt, but he no longer had the strength. Blackness invaded the edges of his mind until he could not fight any longer and he surrendered to the darkness.
********
Captain Kirk pushed up through the fog as he fought to regain consciousness. Strong hands held him down, keeping him captive. He battled to break free, but his own weakness prevented him from sitting up. He struggled to remember what had happened, but the images were just out of reach. They seemed to shatter as he tried to hold on to them. Fear swept through him. He felt out of control. He had to keep command, but it kept slipping away. Then, a familiar odor, one that smelled clean and safe, assaulted his nose. Chirps and beeps reassured him with their familiar sound. Sickbay
Damn. Hadn't he just been through this?
"Now hold still, Jim. This makes two head injuries in two days. You should be fine in a few days, but you have to stay put for now. You need to give that brain of yours a chance to heal. There are some that say you have a swelled head, but this is ridiculous."
"The ship?" A soft whisper was all the captain could manage.
The doctor put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "We're fine. We came through the turbulence just fine. Only one casualty and I'm looking at him. That was a pretty cadet move, Captain. Next time, you just sit down and stay put like they trained us at the Academy." McCoy smiled to take the sting out of his words. "Spock has been waiting to see you. Do you feel up to it?"
Kirk tried to nod, but immediately regretted the action as his head throbbed in response. He closed his eyes, until he heard the voice of his first officer as he approached.
"Captain, you never mentioned that Iowa was such a dangerous place to visit."
McCoy responded with surprise. "A joke, Spock?"
"Hardly, Doctor. Simply a description of the facts. As you well know, Vulcans do not joke."
"Report, Spock." The captain was not in the mood for the customary sparring between his first officer and the doctor. He felt a sense of unease in the presence of the Vulcan, though he could give no reason for this feeling. The warmth he had felt on the bridge was gone, replaced by fear of his alien first officer. There was no rational explanation, but then the captain was not feeling particularly rational.
The Vulcan stood at attention as he made his report. He had little to add to McCoy's description of events. He did mention that the Enterprise should attain orbit around the Class M planet that was their destination in less than 12 hours. When the captain declared his intention to be on the bridge by then, he was soundly disabused by Dr. McCoy.
In spite of the doctor's orders, Kirk strained to raise himself to his elbow. As he forced himself up he heard a voice telling him that he should not struggle. He knew that voice. It was a cruel, cold voice. It told him not to fight. To give in. That he'd lose his mind if he continued to defy the voice. He pushed against the force that held him, but this time, he did not have the strength to resist. The pain knifed through him. He had no strength to endure it. He felt himself being pulled him down, down into the blackness.
Mr. Spock watched in dismay as the captain seemed to fade away in front of him. The life signs on the monitor above his head indicated high pain levels, and his pulse and blood pressure were dropping. Dr. McCoy moved to the captain's side and swiftly injected him with a hypospray, but it had no effect. His life signs seemed to slip lower as the doctor switched to another medication. Again, no effect. McCoy tried a third injection. Nothing.
Trying to control the concern in his voice, Mr. Spock asked, "What is happening to the captain?"
Fear seemed to radiate from the doctor as he fought to stabilize the captain's vital signs. "I don't know, damn it. He's not responding to anything. I don't understand what's causing this. It's as if his mind is shutting down and his body is breaking down with it."
Spock stiffened. He had suspected that the captain had been suffering from a psychic injury. Since Tantalus, Spock had seen signs of trouble, a fugue-like state, what appeared to be waking nightmares, signs of insomnia. He had been reluctant to communicate his observations to either the captain or the doctor, and now he deeply regretted that reluctance. He had not discussed the Vulcan mind rules with either of the men. He had been reticent to reveal too much of his Vulcan heritage. Both McCoy and Kirk had been accepting of him, each in their own way. He had been afraid that his alien abilities might drive his crewmates away. Now he was faced with the consequences of his fear. If only he had spoken sooner. He might have been able to prevent the captain's collapse. The physical injuries Captain Kirk had suffered had exacerbated his mental difficulties, and Spock feared that now he might be too late. Even a trained Vulcan healer might not be able to help, and Spock was not a healer. He wondered if he dared attempt to help his dying captain. Remorse threatened to overwhelm him.
What was he thinking? He could not even try to help. Captain Kirk had ordered him not to use his Vulcan ways. How ironic that the captain might have pronounced his own death sentence.
The doctor looked up at Mr. Spock. He looked angry and sad and frustrated all at the same time. "I don't know what to do. We're losing him, Spock."
Images of warm smiles over a chess board, of meals shared, of an eager student who honored the Vulcan B'chthal disciplines, of a brilliant young captain who had out-thought, out-maneuvered, out-bluffed their enemies, flooded Spock's mind. He did not want to stand by and watch all of that die without at least trying to help. He had seen the captain disregard orders when the cause was sufficient.
Spock reached down and gently put his hands on the captain's face. His skin was cold and damp to the touch. Spock sensed that he did not have much time.
"No, Spock." The doctor tried to pull his hands away.
"Do not interfere with what you do not understand, Doctor. I must try to help the captain. Please stand aside."
A buzz sounded from the life monitor above the captain's bed and the indicators drifted slowly downward. The doctor dropped his hands. He looking up at the monitor, then down at the motionless body of their captain. "I guess you can't do any harm. He's dying. And, I'll be damned if I know what's killing him."
Gripped by the fear that he might be too late, Spock thrust his fingers on the meld points. He felt himself entering the captain's mind. It was dark. There was no spark of life, no warmth. He pushed himself deeper, straining to find some trace of the man who had been so vital, so full of life.
A voice. It was a cruel voice. Spock could hear it taunting Captain Kirk. It threatened him. It told him that he could not resist. Spock could feel the daggers of pain that radiated from the voice. And, somewhere, far off, he heard the mind of the captain as he struggled to hold on to his sanity, his life.
"Captain. Captain Kirk. Jim. That voice is not real. Do not listen to it. It can not hurt you if you do not listen. You have had an injury. There is a tear in your psyche. That is what is causing the voice. You must let me heal the tear and the voice will cease."
The spark that was Captain Kirk recoiled.
"Get away, Spock. You can't help me. How can you be in my mind? This is some kind of strange Vulcan mind touch. I don't want it. I ordered you not to do this. I can fight on my own. I can control this."
"Captain," the first officer fought to keep control. "You must not fight me. You can not control this. This is not a weakness in you, it is a wound. You have been injured. I suspect by Dr. Adam's machine."
At the mention of Adams a torrent of rage, of fear, of anger, of pain welled up from the captain's mind. It threatened to overwhelm the Vulcan, but he held on. He now knew the source of the captain's trouble. Adams' neural neutralizer had caused this. The voice that the captain heard was an echo of the voice that injured him. Spock thought he might be able to heal him. If the captain would let him. If he could get the captain to trust him. If he didn't loose his own way in the meld.
Spock took a breath and steadied himself. He must not loose control now, or the captain would certainly die. One by one, he dropped his shields and opened his mind. He showed the captain images of his time on the Enterprise with Captain Pike, images of his loneliness and isolation. He showed him the pleasure that he felt and could not show, when Jim Kirk had come onboard. The chess games, the meals shared, the captain's respect for his opinions, the recognition of his scientific abilities. The Vulcan's feeling that this ship and this crew might finally be the home that he had never really had. He needed to show Captain Kirk that he was not an alien to be feared. He wanted to show him that he could be a friend. Then the captain might let him close enough to heal his mind.
Resistance, the mental image of a closed door that he did not know that a human could form, blocked him. It formed at the mention of friendship. Memories of Psi 2000 flooded Spock; they were so strong that he did not know if they were his own memories or the captain's. He deeply regretted telling the captain that he was ashamed of their friendship. It had not been true. He had been ashamed of his feelings about their friendship. Ashamed of the warmth and caring that the captain had offered him so freely. His childhood had been one of torment, as his half-human self had struggled to understand the cold, controlled relationships of his peers. He had succeeded in suppressing his longing for something different, and had been unprepared for how the captain's offer of friendship had made him feel. He tried to express some of that when he named the nebula after the captain's home. The captain had offered him a home on the Enterprise, and Spock wanted to try to return the favor.
The mind spark that was Captain Kirk listened. Spock could feel him start to wonder, perhaps even to understand a little and he could feel the door begin to open.
"Captain. I can heal the tear in your mind. Just let me touch you. You must come to me, and you must trust that I will not hurt you."
The Vulcan tried to keep the urgency from his thoughts. He felt he had very little time. A warm brush of light and warmth, a quicksilver touch swept near his mind. He could see the wound that Adam's neural neutralizer had caused. It looked like a raw, gaping sore. He focused his mind on healing, on restoring, and little by little the wound closed until all that was left was a small, jagged scar. That he could not heal. Captain Kirk would always carry the scar caused by this injury to his inner self, but his life was no longer threatened.
Spock began to withdraw his mind from his captain's. He no longer felt the fear, the alienation, the closed door that he had encountered in Kirk's mind. He briefly considered lowering all his shields, sharing all of his secrets with this man. But, finally, he could not. There were some things about his Vulcan life and family that were simply too great a burden.
Spock pulled his hands away from Captain Kirk's face. He raised his eyes to the life monitor above the captain's biobed. The steady rise of the indicators was reassuring. Dr. McCoy looked up from the captain, and Spock was surprised to see a film of moisture cloud his eyes. The doctor cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his face.
"Thank you, Spock. I don't know how you did it, but Jim seems to be out of danger. He'll still need to recover from that concussion but I really think he'll be fine. He should be coming around soon. He...we both owe you his life." He put his hands on the captain's shoulders to restrain his inevitable struggle to consciousness.
The Vulcan straightened and put his hands behind his back. It was a formal pose, so it did not reveal that his greatest desire was to touch the captain too. To reassure himself that he lived. That his life on the Enterprise would continue. Spock vowed to himself that he would never reject the offer of friendship from this man. He only hoped that the captain would make it again. He thought that they had much to talk about.
Captain Kirk pushed up through the fog as he fought to regain consciousness. Strong hands held him down, keeping him captive. He battled to break free, but his own weakness prevented him from sitting up. He struggled to remember what had happened, and this time he remembered. He remembered the offering of help, the images of friendship and caring. For the first time he truly understood his first officer's reluctance to sharing his Vulcan life with him, and felt grateful that Spock had trusted him enough to reveal that. He felt a door open, and the beginning of a true friendship seemed possible. Then, a familiar odor, one that smelled clean and safe, assaulted his nose. Chirps and beeps reassured him with their familiar sound. Sickbay. The Enterprise. Home.
The End