Chapter 6: The dark side of empathy

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The doctor keeps it together until the door of his office closes behind them. Then he grabs the terminal screen from the desk and throws it at the wall.

Traditional plastiglass-fronted photograph frames fall and shatter, and a small part of Spock's mind takes note of where the shards fall. The majority of his attention is fully directed at the human, however.

Bones leans heavily against the desk, and for a moment the small room is filled with his labored breathing. When it doesn't seem to let up, Spock takes a step forward and hesitantly places a hand on the human's shoulder.

Bones throws it off, but at least he whirls around while doing so and Spock can see his face. He is crying, and his fists are clenched tight. They look at each other for twenty seven seconds, while Spock considers and discards multiple strategies for assisting his friend. He wonders if the doctor will project his anger and helplessness, and attack him, Spock, shouting about the Vulcan's lack of emotional reaction to what has just transpired. While never pleasant to endure, such a scene usually leads to the doctor being able to get rid of some bottled up anger. It is not a Vulcan way of emotional control, but it has on occasion been very effective for this human, and for that reason Spock would welcome it.

But instead Bones sinks down on the desk, half sitting, his gaze locked with Spock's. He takes a trembling breath.

"Spock… I wanted to…" He doesn't finish the sentence, and he doesn't have to.

"Yes. You did."

"You don't understand. I would have…"

"No. You would not have."

Spock takes a step closer and projects his absolute faith in the truth of these words towards the other. There is no telepathy involved, but even so there is something… a connection. Trust me. Believe in my faith in you, even if you do not believe in yourself.

Finally the doctor takes a deep breath and drops his head. He is still fighting what are clearly overwhelming negative emotions. Anger and grief, Spock thinks. And… fear? He does not understand the fear. The smugglers are caught, they are out in sickbay under heavy guard, where they are joking with each other, presenting a brave face at the prospect of decades in a Federation rehabilitation colony. So far they have shown absolutely no remorse. Instead they have been boasting.

Spock takes up a neuromedical tricorder and points it at the doctor. He receives a glare in return.

"Don't play doctor, Spock."

"In fact I have two doctorates, Doctor."

"Not the kind that counts."

"They are the kind that let me interpret a graph, however. Your empathetic response to the encounter with the smugglers are causing you neurophysiological distress of a high order."

"That empathetic response has saved a lot of life, you damn un-feeling…"

"Yes, Doctor. I am aware. It often motivates you to a high level of efficiency and skill. You have saved the captain's life, and my own, in situations where a physician with less commitment might have been given up. I do not entirely understand it, but I value this capability in you. When," he glances at the tricorder, "applied in moderation."

The discussion has caused a slight drop in the doctor's amygdala activation level, but it is still far higher than recommended.

"Yeah… moderation…" Bones takes a deep breath, glances at his liquor cabinet, but manages to override the need for a hard drink.

"God. For a while there, I really wanted to kill them… When that smuggler was joking on the biobed out there. What they did to the people on that moon, Spock. Jesus… There were body parts… A part of me is saying that a trial is too good for them."

The human takes a shuddering breath. Then another. Finally he regains enough control to snatch the tricorder out of Spock's hand and walk around the desk and collapse in his chair. He squeezes his eyes shut, tight.

"Ever since we first started hunting them, Spock, I've been seeing those poor dead people on that moon in my mind. They must have been so frightened, the last hours. Maybe they were hoping right until the end that someone would come and save them… But we were too late."

"Doctor, there was nothing we could have done to arrive there earlier."

Spock approaches, hesitantly. This is not his area of expertise, but he will try. Because he has to. Because it is his obligation, for the honor of calling this vexing and admirable human a friend…

"This part of your empathy… I submit that it is not, in fact, helping you. Not in this instance. You are not just recalling, you are in fact reliving the hypothetical memories of the dead victims. Your body and mind are in distress as you recreate mental echoes of what you believe that they must have gone through. This will not help them, or yourself."

He has seen his mother go through this, and the captain. Spock lauds their dedication to their fellow sentients – but he… feels… helpless when it goes this far, when it does not bolster their convictions or gives them energy, but merely causes them emotional trauma. This particular human gift – or curse – to be so emotionally invested in the lives of others, even to the point that it evokes phantom pain, is one that he is gratified to not have to carry himself.

"I can't help it, Spock." The doctor says. He is tired, tired beyond reason. "You can't have… well, maybe you can. I know you felt for those people, don't try to deny it. But you seem to be able to stop there. I can't. I can't stop the images. I can't stop imagining what it must have been like… I can't have one part of empathy without the other. I'm not wired that way."

Bones drags himself up to a more sitting position, puts his head in his hands and massages his forehead. "I'm going to have to operate to reattach those fingers on that smiling bastard out there… Which probably means that I should take something to calm me down so I don't accidentally cut off his hand… or some other body part." He takes a deep breath. "But I can't operate with those kinds of drugs in my system, so no…"

He clenches his hands into fists. "I just need a few minutes, Spock."

When the half-Vulcan neither speaks nor stirs, the doctor eventually looks up. Spock is standing by the desk, studying him. When their gazes meet, Spock's eye first darts away, but then returns. It takes a few seconds before the half-Vulcan speaks in soft tones.

"Doctor… Will you let me help?"

There's another minute of silence before Bones breathes, "Please."

He drops back in his chair, head cradled by the head rest. He turns his face to the right, away from Spock and shortly after he feels cold fingers on his face and then tendrils of soft serenity that gently waft into his mind.

"Forget."

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Author's note: And that's the end. This fic grew a bit darker and more serious than I expected, but I hope you liked it. There's a heavy forshadowing at the end, you get geek points if you recognize to which episode.

I hope you enjoyed the story – I'm always very curious about which chapter is your favorite.