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Jim Kirk is of the opinion, an opinion he believes and hopes is shared by all of his fellow officers, that it is incredibly important to work against developing preconceived notions about people he’s never met. He works hard to hold himself to this ideal. He likes to believe that, more often than not, he is successful in upholding it, at the very least in being aware of himself enough to notice when prejudiced ideas might be forming.
But when he learns that the new Head Counselor assigned to his ship is a Vulcan, it’s hard not to have some expectations.
He doesn’t think his expectations for their new counselor are rooted in bias, necessarily. Maybe cultural awareness-Vulcan is no more a monolith than any other planet, but their cultural ideals and norms are strong and well known, at least in the broad strokes, even if they tend to be very insular about the details.
And his expectations are far from negative-there are some concerns among the staff (ok-among Bones, mostly, but Jim is pretty sure it’s because he’s a workaholic looking for an excuse not to hand over any of his reigns despite his constant complaints of overwork) regarding the effectiveness of a Vulcan counselor in treating more emotionally open species, but it’s just as easy to argue that as long as he acts in a culturally informed manner, a less emotional, more objective perspective could be exactly what some patients need.
There had been no complaints from his previous ships. Their new crewman comes to them highly recommended, in fact. His degrees and service record speak for themselves-which is good, because that’s about all Jim has actually been provided in anticipation of his boarding-qualifications and service record, and the most bare essentials of his medical record in case of an emergency. Not for the first time, he wonders if it would kill Starfleet to put in a little more detail when they send over crew dossiers. He’s positive that would go a long way in making these first meetings less awkward. But apparently it’s easier and more secure to just send him basic information over subspace, and have the new crewmen deliver their more complete records on a data tape when they board, so he doesn’t even have a picture of the man.
At least there’s always protocol to fall back on-it’s easy to know what to do when there’s a regulation about it. A new member of the senior staff is boarding, so it only makes sense for the Captain and the relevant department heads (science and medical, so at least he gets to spend the afternoon with his best friends) to be the ones to greet him.
Jim wouldn’t be a Starship Captain if he didn’t keep an open mind. He tries hard to nip bias in the bud, in himself and when he sees it in others. But when their Vulcan counselor beams aboard The Enterprise, he can’t help but have developed a few expectations of how this meeting would go, and the reality is almost the furthest thing from it.
The Starfleet uniform is expected, at least-science blue, clean, and regulation. The duffle bag slung over his shoulder is expected-no doubt filled with his personal belongings. And the salute is expected, more than anything else-the Vulcan raises his hand in traditional greeting, and diplomatic instinct overrides surprise enough for Jim to manage to return the gesture.
Because their new counselor is decidedly, visibly Vulcan. His ears and slitted, cat-like pupils prove as much.
His hair is long, swept back into a low ponytail and looped around itself loosely, as if it were put up as an afterthought, and just barely beginning to show gray at the temples. He has a full, slightly scruffy beard, trimmed within regulations but only just barely. Neither of these features are what Jim expected to see, but what gives him pause is instead the man’s broad, relaxed smile. Unarmed and unrestrained, showing sharp Vulcan canines and crinkling the edges of his warm, kind eyes.
It’s unexpected.
Not unwelcome, not at all.
But unexpected.
Jim tries to be a good, approachable Captain and welcome his new crewman aboard. But he can hardly get a word out before the man, unprompted, drops his bag to the floor, and practically runs off the transporter pad.
And the next thing Jim knows, he’s watching his First Officer literally being picked up off the floor in a hug. Spun around and everything.
Spock, to his credit, maintains his usual stoicism in the face of this assault. The other man is laughing, and Spock allows himself to be manhandled for a few more tense moments before being returned to the ground, resuming his usual parade rest. He seems strangely unbothered-of course, it’s hard to tell, but normally he would never allow his personal space to be invaded so thoroughly like that.
Bones, bless him, breaks the tension immediately.
“What the hell was that?”
He looks ready to start a fight. Jim isn’t feeling too far behind. Spock takes his personal space very seriously, and neither of them can imagine what just happened to be anything but a violation.
And then the strange man-Sybok, Jim finally recalls from his dossier, after the initial shock has worn off to be replaced with confusion, and concern, and no small amount of anger.
Sybok, family name unpronounceable to most humans. Recently made Lieutenant Commander. Specializes in grief and trauma counseling. Trained in psychology on Earth and telepathically informed counseling on Betazed before enrolling in Starfleet Medical. Unusually high psi rating, even for a Vulcan.
The only Vulcan Jim has ever seen with a scruffy beard and a manbun.
And, based on his recent display, he is apparently completely insane.
Sybok’s eyes flicker to Bones, then to Jim, then back to Spock. His hands are still resting on Spock’s shoulders. He gives Spock a brief, exasperated look, before smiling fondly.
“You didn’t tell them, did you?”
“It did not seem relevant.”
“They’re humans-they love information that isn’t relevant.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
Another hug-less exuberant this time but still crushing, and still met with a strange indifference that almost borders on fondness. It takes Jim a moment to identify the strange, rumbling noise permeating the room as a purr-because Vulcans can purr, Jim recalls, though they almost never do, and Sybok is definitely purring while he continues to invade Spock’s personal space.
“I missed you.”
“Your absence from my life was…notable, as well,” Spock answers reluctantly. Jim doesn’t even have to think about it to easily translate Spock’s meaning-‘I missed you too.’
Familiarity, then-somehow. Fondness, even. Spock never mentioned him before, though.
Spock, Jim recalls, has a bit of a habit of not mentioning “personal” things.
Sybok addresses Bones, now.
“I’d apologize for the shock, but I’m kind of glad to see that my baby brother has such good friends. You feel like you’re about ten seconds away from trying to kill me, and the Captain isn’t far behind,” he laughs. “You’ve been taking good care of him.”
“Spock…doesn’t like being touched.” Jim says dumbly. It’s a gross oversimplification-Spock doesn’t like unexpected touch, or prolonged touch, or overfamiliar strangers. Doesn’t like being touched when he’s already experiencing unpleasant sensory or psychic input. Spock is perfectly content with the way Jim touches him, friendly and mostly over clothing, with the way Bones touches him, in medical contexts with care and efficiency.
Anything more than was not off the table, but it required permission, warning. This was a clear boundary of his, and one Jim made sure to see respected, both as his Captain and his friend.
Though, Spock himself was usually more than capable of asserting his boundaries himself. Which makes this already confusing interaction even stranger.
Did he say ‘baby brother?’
“Oh trust me, I’m well aware. I promise I asked first,” Sybok placates, and taps a finger to his temple, reminding the humans in attendance that, right. Telepaths. “Sibling bond,” Sybok clarifies. “If he didn’t want a hug he’s more than capable of telling me to fuck off.”
Spock gives Sybok a Look.
“Telling me to not-fuck-off because I shouldn’t swear in front of our Captain,” he corrects, amused. “And in a suitably logical manner, of course,” he teases-and it’s very evident that he is teasing, in his tone of voice and his body language and the way Spock arches his brow just that littlest bit more to indicate skeptical amusement.
Stars, they really are siblings.
Jim wants to groan. He wants to laugh. A small part of him wants to throttle Spock, just a little. But mostly he feels relief that apparently what he just witnessed was, in fact, entirely appropriate, if incredibly strange.
Brothers.
Spock had a brother. A brother who was close enough to him that he asked for hug consent telepathically. A brother he more or less admitted to missing, in that Vulcan way of his. A brother he let pick him up and spin him around in front of Jim-forget himself, in front of Bones . He’s never letting that go once the shock wears off.
His ships new Head Counselor was Spock’s brother, who until a few minutes ago, he did not know existed.
“I’m instituting a new ship wide policy,” Jim finally says. He can’t stop himself from laughing at the utter absurdity.
“Captain?”
“I am. I am, and I’m naming it after you. The Spock Rule: when I’m about to meet your immediate family, please tell me, because it is actually ridiculous that this has happened twice now.”
“Three times,” Bones interjects. He looks more than a little stunned.
“Bones?”
“This has happened three times.”
“Oh my god.” Of course. That disaster of a wedding. Secret fiancés absolutely count as immediate family. Spock is actually ridiculous. Jim loves him, but he is ridiculous. “This has happened three times.”