Chapter Text
Spock did not know what to expect when he followed Jim and the yeoman to Pike’s room. It would be the first time he saw his former commanding officer since the Narada, and the only people interested in talking to him were his father and Jim, and perhaps Nyota and Dr. McCoy as well. Spock wondered if Pike had been told of everything that happened or not. If he had, then why would Pike even want to see him? There was no other explanation than that Jim had talked to him.
Spock felt a rush of something he could only define as guilt and then he tamped it down. He felt too much of that guilt, and the part of him that had his father’s voice scolded him for it over and over again. He took a deep breath and had to physically restrain himself from picking at the scabs on his arm and reopening the wound.
“Jim. Spock. Come in,” Pike rasped. “Good to see you both. The doctors have been keeping me here without news. Come on, tell me what’s happening.”
Spock swallowed. He was a Vulcan. Half-Vulcan, but he was Vulcan enough. He should have been able to school his emotions, organize his thoughts. He should have been able to talk, to inform his former Captain about the happenings on the starbase.
He was so useless.
So, so useless.
Why could he not be better?
Why could he not do this?
What was wrong with him?
The sewn-up wound on his arm pounded as if in answer.
Spock did not risk looking at his arm for fear he would see his bandage peeling off and his stitches peeling off to reveal his wound. He could easily imagine his viridian blood oozing out of the wound like a gelatin smoothie.He could get the grit under his fingernails into the wound, deepen the gash. He could make it hurt again, and did not everyone think he deserved exactly that?
And then Spock realized that both Jim and Pike were staring at him, expecting him to reply to something one of them had said. Spock did his best to recall whatever was said, but he had not processed anything either of them had said. Spock looked down at his feet, a green blush tinting his ears in his shame. He did not think he could possibly voice the words he needed to ask for them to repeat. He did not know what he should do. How could he possibly ask for more from Jim than what Jim had already offered him? What could be more than Jim’s offer of amnesty and absolution? He could not ask for more than he had already. He could not possibly ask for anything more when what was already extended to him freely was far more than he could possibly hope for, far more than he could ever hope to deserve.
Spock could feel himself on the cusp of a knife, ready to fall into oblivion. Spock’s breath caught, and he still could not form his words. He swallowed and forced himself to look up at the two people in the room.
Jim’s hand hovered for a second above Spock’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s not mad. He’s just asking how you are doing with everything that’s happening.”
Spock nodded and looked back down. How could he form words? His tongue was lead, and his arms stayed glued to his sides.
Jim grimaced. “It’s been hard for him. People haven’t been kind. You remember how I was, back in the day. He’s about the same.” Spock looked to Jim, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Scuttlebutt aside, we have business we need to attend to.”
Spock heard Pike sigh disappointedly. “Indulge an old man, would you?”
“Perhaps if you were old,” Jim shot back. Spock wondered how someone could be so blase about talking back to his superiors.
“We are all old now, whether it be in our years or our hearts,” Pike quipped, sounding far more cheerful than Spock thought the situation could possibly warrant.
“Fine, you can be old,” Jim teased, “but I sure as hell am not.” He flashed Pike that smile of his, the one everyone thought could convince the hardest warlords to surrender.
“So what has been happening around here since I’ve been trapped in this hellhole?” Pike asked, gesturing grumpily to the MedBay. Jim set about to explain everything that he knew about what was happening. Spock remained silent. Spock realized exactly how much everyone had been keeping from him. He felt that it should bother him far more than it did, but he knew he was a superfluous part and no one had need to keep him informed. Still, it would have been nice, especially with what Jim had offered him. A bond could not be built without trust no matter how much the union was only meant as a thing of convenience as this one has to be. And he would not allow it anyway, even to exonerate himself, because although Jim understood, he could never tie Jim to himself in such an irreversible way.
When Jim finished, Pike was silent for a moment. The older man groaned and rubbed his forehead as though exhausted. A nurse came over and fussed over Pike, making a motion to shoo Jim and Spock out. Then she appeared to realize who exactly Spock was. “Get out,” she snarled at him. “We don’t need you here bothering him.”
Jim stood up, looking for the world like he was ready to fight this random nurse for Spock’s honor. Spock struggled to care about that. After all, did he not deserve the nurse’s hatred? She was human. He had let her planet be destroyed. It was only fair. He motioned for Jim to stop, and even his arm felt heavy.
For a second, it felt almost as though the bandages had fallen from his arm and that his wounds were suddenly exposed for all the world to see. He supposed he ought to have felt shame. Shame that his former captain saw him and shame that some nurse that he did not know the name of had seen him. But that took too much effort, and he just stared at the bandages. He felt a sudden urge to rip them off for real and to shove his wounds in her face to show her that he had suffered too, but he could not do that. Something held him back from it. Told him that it did not matter anyway. He let his arm fall limply to his side.
“It’s alright, Cheryl. I asked him to be here. He’s a friend,” Pike soothed.
The nurse — Cheryl — harrumphed and turned away. “Hey, wait,” Jim called after her. “Come talk with us for a second. Tell me why you blame him when there were plenty of admirals who ordered what he did. He was doing the best he could with what knowledge he had. Would you have known to do differently, or would you have obeyed orders even if you didn’t agree with them? Now see, the admirals wanted to pin it all on him for following their orders, and I don’t think that’s very fair. And he’s got me to speak to him, or are you going to tell the person who saved your life, you think he’s cracked in the head. You know, maybe if I’d been better or faster they’d all still be alive. Have you thought of that?”
Cheryl froze like a deer in headlights, as the saying went. She blanched as though she suddenly lost all blood in her body. Her posture was incredibly rigid. Spock could tell the woman was petrified at the tongue-lashing she had just received from someone who was undoubtedly one of her heroes.
Spock felt blood rush to his cheeks and ears. And perhaps, maybe just a little, rushed to places south as well. None of his blood rushed to his wrists, but he felt that it should have. He should have felt pain, not whatever this sensation was — relief? Contentment? He had done naught to deserve it. He steadfastly did not look at Jim’s face.
“Jim,” Pike reprimanded. “I agree with what you’ve said except this: It isn’t your fault, just as it isn’t Spock’s fault or mine. It’s Nero’s fault.” He looked over at Cheryl. “I think you may have traumat —” Pike appeared to reconsider his wording in light of recent events, “I think you may have scared my nurse.”
Jim laughed, surprisingly. “This is all Nero’s fault. This whole damn thing?” Spock looked up at him. There was something about the look in Jim’s eyes that struck Spock as perhaps being a bit off. “All of it! I shouldn’t even have these! He’d gotten me suspended for academic dishonesty, which is true, because I cheated! And everyone here sees me as a hero!” Jim doubled over. Spock watched, completely at a loss as to what he could do.
Spock looked to Pike for answers, and Pike just pointed for Spock to sit next to Jim and calm him. Spock did not know how to do that, and he did not want to accidentally activate his touch telepathy. “Jim,” Spock whispered, kneeling down next to him. “Jim. Look at me.”
The next thing Spock knew, Jim threw his arms around him and held on for dear life. He waited for Jim to calm down and let go. Spock had to wait five minutes, twelve seconds by his own count before Jim let go.
When Jim let go, he wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand and then wiped that on his pant legs. Jim looked up at Pike. “I have a request. And I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
Pike sighed as though used to this from Jim. “What is it?”
“I want you to take back control of the station. And I want you to give me a ship to use for diplomatic purposes in reestablishing Star Fleet, the Federation, and humans and Vulcans. And I want you to make sure Spock is on that ship.”
Spock stared at Jim, eyes wide, and nearly gaped. What?