Chapter Text
It was the fourth day in a row that Jim had skipped breakfast in the mess, and Spock remarked on this to Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel as he ate a bowl of seasoned lentils and egg substitute.
“The fourth day, hmm?” Uhura blew gently on her cup of tea.
Spock had once told Uhura that she could easily program the synthesizer to make her tea at a more comfortable temperature. Uhura responded that she intentionally ordered the tea too hot, and that she enjoyed the ritual of blowing gently on the beverage’s surface, waiting for it to cool. This was one of those human behaviors that was not especially significant, yet curious. An idiosyncrasy. He had questioned it internally an inordinate amount, particularly because Uhura was so efficient and logical in her approach to linguistics and communication. That she partook in such a minor “ritual” for no discernible reason vexed him when he first knew her. Then, much later, he realized he attached a mild affection to that behavior of Uhura’s. It had taken him a while to pinpoint, and then Jim had said something about Spock in front of everyone on the bridge that clarified it.
Kirk had said to Scotty in reference to Spock’s tendency to correct him on minute details of no consequence: “Is Mr. Spock the most pedantic officer in the history of Starfleet? Certainly. But we’ve all decided to find it endearing.” Then he flashed Spock one of his sparkling smiles, the kind that sometimes made Sulu and Chekov smile knowingly at each other.
“Yes,” Spock said to Uhura, though it certainly did not necessitate repeating. “The fourth time this week. He has also missed six out of the last eight of our twice weekly chess matches. While I don’t require such leisure activities as a necessity myself, I do believe they contribute to a higher efficiency and overall improved mental and emotional state for the captain. If he were participating in an equivalent leisure activity in lieu of chess with me, I would not find it a concern-”
“Wouldn’t you though?” Uhura murmured.
“Careful.” Nurse Chapel spoke out of the side of her mouth.
“Spock, let me ask you this…” Uhura’s eyes were bright over the teacup held in her hands. Spock cocked his head, awaiting her inquiry. “If the captain were to regularly play chess against another opponent instead of you, would you be at all concerned, then?”
Spock’s right eye twitched, and he wondered if there had been caffeine in his herbal tea. The synthesizer was known for the occasional glitch. He sat up a little straighter. “Perhaps. The captain has stated that I am his preferred opponent and that our games together aid in clearing his head, which is the closest activity to meditation he will agree to. To play against a different opponent beyond an occasional social interaction would be out of character and therefore potentially concerning.”
“Hmm.” Uhura smiled widely. “Feeling territorial, are we?”
Spock, who knew exactly what she meant, said, “I am not familiar with the concept of territoriality as an emotion, nor do I see its relevance here.”
“Nyota, I swear,” Chapel whispered.
“Well, anyway...” Uhura patted Chapel’s hand, but kept her gaze on Spock. “I’m sure you’ll get your captain time back soon.”
“It is unlikely,” Spock said, “if no behavior is corrected and his agenda remains as it has been. The captain has taken it upon himself to complete much of the weekly and monthly paperwork that I usually complete on his behalf, and Starfleet has been taking up his time for discussions on Romulan troop movements and the condition of the fleet.”
“Well, the captain’s a victim of his own competence.” Uhura finally took a sip of her tea. “They’d have him filling six different roles for them if they could. Meanwhile, we’re the flagship. Of course, we have more of that kind of work than almost any other ship. The number of comms I get asking for special favors alone is ridiculous.”
“I agree,” Spock stated, and pursed his lips, having finished his breakfast. “However, I do not know why he has taken up the minor duties I previously completed in his stead. He has not spoken to me about any errors. If my work has been subpar-”
“Ah, wait!” Christine slapped the table. “Didn’t he tell you? Of course, he didn’t. I heard him talking to McCoy about it.”
Spock said, “I do not wish to break a confidence-”
“No, no, it’s not that serious,” Christine insisted. “He noticed you were doing so much of his busy work for him that you were losing a lot of time in the labs and he knows you value your lab time.”
Spock contemplated this and said, “I do not understand how my time could be more valuable than the captain’s.”
“Oh my God,” Uhura muttered. “Brainiacs, but they can’t delegate for anything. Train a yeoman. If they can get through the Academy, surely they can write up a schedule and just have you approve it or check basic summations of reports and scan messages from the fleet for alerts. All that busy work stuff.”
Had Spock not completed a productive session of meditation and been properly shielded…he might have experienced a minor sensation of embarrassment at the obvious nature of Uhura’s solution.
“That is an excellent idea,” Spock said. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Uhura softly said, “Good. Now you can have breakfast and chess time back with your boyf- ow. Geez, Christine.”
Christine then performed an admirable feat of speaking through clenched teeth, though for what purpose Spock could not decipher. “I’ve told you, he’s not ready.”
“Don’t have to kick my leg about it,” Uhura said, rolling her eyes.
Spock opened his mouth to ask them what they were talking about, thought better of it, and finished his own cup of tea. Baffling humans, he thought. He would choose to find it endearing.
Captain Kirk did not participate in the Enterprise’s away mission to Mithras II, an ordinary survey of an uninhabited M-Class planet. Because Spock had taken the morning to prepare botanical survey materials with the attending science officers in the botany lab, and headed straight to the transporter after, he did not see Captain Kirk that morning at all. Additionally, Spock had not seen Jim the evening previous following the end of Alpha shift, and even Jim’s Alpha shift on the bridge had been disrupted by several lengthy comms from Starfleet which he’d taken in his ready room. As Spock hiked down a narrow mountain trail, leading the away team, taking sensor readings and looking out for anything of note, he calculated that he had not seen or even spoken to Jim in twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes beyond three very brief comm exchanges.
Spock noted this insofar as it was an aberration and a concerning break with routine. Coupled with the lack of their twice weekly chess matches and meal times taken together, Spock had spent 37.6% less time with the captain in the last three weeks than the average for a comparable period. Though the average was more of an estimation of time spent in Jim’s company in the last year, and not as accurate as he would have preferred.
Spock was certain that disrupting his dynamic with the captain to this degree would negatively impact the performance and efficiency of them both as individuals and of the ship itself, and this was his primary concern.
The “dynamic” was Spock’s current term for his working relationship with the captain. He disliked how vague it was, but nothing else fit the definition, and the definition itself was troublingly broad. Sometimes it referred to how they solved problems together and sometimes it referred to moments in the field when they’d carried on an entire conversation silently via micro-expressions, tiny flicks of their eyes rolling out a plan no one else even knew was happening.
Sometimes they knew exactly what the other was thinking while apart, and it wasn’t as if they were using telepathy to do so.
Other crew members had also used different words and phrases in reference to the dynamic.
McCoy called it “that whole thing” or even “the ship’s other dilithium.”
Sulu once called it “the Captain’s symbiotic deal with Mr. Spock.”
Captain Kirk himself had called it many things, even referring to it with a click of his tongue, as in: “Mr. Spock and I’ll be fine. We’ll use the ole tsk tsk.”
The first time Kirk clicked his tongue to refer to whatever it was he had with Spock, Spock opened his mouth to question or dispute it, only to realize he knew exactly what it meant.
Suffice to say, “the ole tsk tsk” required a certain amount of maintenance (in Spock’s opinion) that it was currently lacking.
Spock hoped training a yeoman as per Uhura’s suggestion would partly remedy the situation, assuming the captain was going to insist on leaving Spock to his labs more often. But it wouldn’t stop the admiralty from calling over subspace every five minutes whenever they wanted to ask for Jim’s thoughts.
Spock’s ruminations were interrupted by atypical data on his tricorder as he scanned a leafy green plant growing near a rock formation. The tricorder was displaying a bio readout similar to brain waves and a moderate level of psionic activity.
Spock squatted in front of the planet and lowered his tricorder, following the first prescription for a scientific survey on any planet: ordinary observation. The specimen was approximately a meter tall, with a central root system and broad thick green leaves. It had no strongly discernable scent. It looked very much like a Terran Philodendron, with rounder leaves of a deeper green color. It reminded Spock of the potted plants in the lobbies of certain buildings back in San Francisco. The front foyer in the Academy displayed plants like this. The lobby of the Terran embassy on Vulcan. In terms of looks, at least. He was certain that the ordinary potted Philodendrons in Federation waiting rooms did not possess psionic activity.
Spock turned his head, spotting one of the ensigns from the science division, and called him over for a specimen container and clippers. The ensign dutifully brought Spock the materials and Spock turned back to the plant, noticing that a particular leafy branch was–he did not know how else to think of it–reaching out in his direction, stopping right in front of his face where he crouched.
Spock blinked at the plant. Nothing, according to his data, suggested toxicity or hazard. The animation of the branch did not appear threatening.
Spock raised his clippers, ready to snip the branch off for further study on the ship.
Yet, glancing up at the bunch of dark leaves in front of his face, he paused.
It did not…feel right. Illogical. Discomfiting. A slightly disorienting sensation came over him, and it seemed suddenly like he had been about to amputate the legs of a helpless animal. He lowered the clippers and pursed his lips, watching the leaves closely as if they might do something. They had moved toward him after all, and he was not in the direction of the sun’s light either.
Spock set the clippers on the ground and instead reached up to touch the leaves.
The connection was instant. It was very similar to touching an ordinary humanoid’s hand with lowered mental shields. Sentience was obvious. Spock felt the presence of a sensitive mind, though it was not as complex as a humanoid’s. The emotions were strong.
Curiosity, friendliness, fascination.
Working on a rough hypothesis, Spock projected his intentions.
I am visiting your world from far away. I do not wish to harm you. My mission is to bring specimens like yourself to my ship for further study. But if this would cause you distress, I will not.
It took several minutes before he was certain he had gotten his idea across. He was forced to lower his own shields to project emotions as equivalent to his intentions as he could make them, as he was not sure the plant would understand the language or images he projected.
Spock had not deliberately lowered his shields to release emotions in a long time. It took all his concentration to only pull out what was useful, and only a little of it, and to keep everything else where it was. Even then, it was overwhelming. He would certainly need to process the experience in depth in meditation before bed.
He waited, now trying to figure out how to bring the specimen to the ship, assuming it agreed. The idea of the clippers was increasingly abhorrent. He would have to carefully dig the whole thing up, but-
“Oh,” Spock said. “You are answering my question for me, it would seem.”
The plant seemed to be growing out of the ground quickly. Then Spock realized its roots were digging themselves out, like a humanoid slowly picking their feet out of some mud in order to take a walk. The plant did not take a walk. It lifted out its roots, swayed, and fell over in Spock’s direction.
The plant had explicitly thrown itself at him.
“Fascinating,” Spock said.
He touched the leaves again and felt acceptance, curiosity again, and trust.
The plant believed he would not harm it. He would need to be extra careful with this particular specimen. There was more than that, too. The notion seemed fanciful to Spock, yet he was certain the plant felt that this experience would be a great adventure, and it wanted to participate.
“I must put you in this container for now,” Spock said aloud, even as he simultaneously projected his intentions again. He gently picked up the plant, roots and all, and laid it in the large specimen container. “But I will put you in some excellent soil as soon as I return to my ship.”
The plant cannot understand your words, Spock thought. It is illogical to speak to it.
If the plant’s psionic ability extended beyond its own, speaking aloud was still unnecessary. It was a completely illogical impulse. Perhaps it was due to his lowering of shields.
Spock carried his container around as they continued their survey of one of the richest climes on Mithras II in terms of both vegetation and animal species. The next day, they would beam down to a different clime and survey there.
Spock found himself continually lifting the lid of the container to check in on the plant. The third time he did so, he reached in and gently touched the leaves. The plant exuded the same emotions it had previously, along with a sense of anticipation.
The plant was excited to see the ship.
At 1600 ship’s time, the away team regrouped and Spock called up transport for beam out. He clutched the specimen container tightly to his chest and, as he dematerialized, he thought of the Talosian windsingers, those bright blue large petalled flowers with their enigmatic chorus. Spock had been toying with released emotions at the time. He had allowed himself to openly experience the joy and excitement of discovery, grinning up at Captain Pike as the plants sang to them. He could not imagine functioning that way now. Not around Captain Kirk.
Spock and the rest of the team materialized on the transporter pad and he stepped down to greet Scotty, who was manning the console.
“What have ye got there, Mr. Spock?” Scotty nodded at his container.
“A very interesting botanical specimen,” Spock said. “It appears to have telepathic abilities. I must take it up to botany immediately.”
“Ah! Well, good luck with the mind readin’ plant then!” Scotty tossed him a little salute as he made his way out.
While on his way to the botany lab, Spock had enough quiet in his mind to concentrate on firming up his shielding. By the time he reached the botany lab’s greenhouse annex, where a large soil filled planter in the middle of the room sat waiting for his new discovery, Spock felt much more stable and no longer inclined to talk to the plant.
He still believed he required some dedicated meditation. He could not stop thinking about how long it had been since he had seen the captain. The thought kept cycling around in the back of his otherwise well ordered mind. This was irrational too, since after he got the plant situated, he would return to the bridge for the remainder of Alpha shift and–barring emergency calls from Starfleet–the captain would be there and Spock would see him for the first time in, at this point, thirty hours and six minutes.
Anticipation, Spock noted. A sliver of it had slipped past the freshly reinforced shields. What was the point of anticipation? He wondered this as he set the container down on a table near the planter and went to fetch a trowel and a lab tricorder for measuring the chemical content of the soil in comparison to the plant’s needs. He could not make the moment of seeing the captain again come sooner, barring an abandonment of his current duties. Nor could he prevent another disruption, an unknown.
Yet the sensation of it was not exactly unpleasant either.
“I can’t wait” was something humans so often said. In Spock’s experience, this statement was untrue almost 100% of the time. The humans could physically wait for whatever it was they anticipated, unless they were speaking this way in a life-threatening emergency. There was often no alternative to waiting. Yet Spock was certain that were he unstable enough to allow himself the use of hyperbolic language, he would be thinking in this moment: I can’t wait to see Captain Kirk.
Spock lifted the lid of his container and stared silently at the collected specimen, registering surprise.
Two bright blue blooms of a Talosian windsinger had grown out of one of the plant’s stalks. Now it looked like an offshoot of a Philodendron…with two Talosian singing flowers growing out of it.
The flowers began to sing and Spock grabbed the trowel and went about digging out a hole in the planter for its new guest.
Alright. This plant was yet more fascinating than he had even suspected. Certainly, it was not actually a Talosian windsinger, as those only grew on Talos IV, and anyway it would not explain their abrupt growth and bloom, nor why the remainder of the specimen was obviously not a windsinger.
Most likely, then, the plant possessed a morphogenic matrix as well as its psionic properties. Further, it could be no accident that it had partially shapeshifted into the flower that Spock had just been thinking about.
Spock gently planted his specimen, checked the chemical levels, and adjusted them with chemical additives accordingly. He watered the soil with an amount estimated according to the climate of the plant’s home back on Mithras II. When he was finished, he touched the specimen’s leaves again.
The plant was giddy.
Spock’s frame of reference was the first time he had seen an entire group of human children in a casual setting. This was while traveling with his parents to a Federation function in Paris, France. They had gone sightseeing and Spock had noted children in public places jumping up and down, shrieking, holding tightly to their parent’s hands and swinging between them in the middle of the Louvre Museum. Spock had not envied them in any way, yet their exuberance had been as fascinating as it was alarming.
The plant was an excited child. Spock let go of the leaf, reeling slightly from its emotional outburst, but satisfied that it was content in its new home.
Perhaps it was due to the plant’s emotionalism that before he left the lab, Spock said to his specimen, “I will return when I am able. I must go see Jim now.”