The Lines Between: Chapter 14

By Delmantheevil

As much as Vulcans would love to deny it, there was no ignoring the fact that they did, indeed, feel emotion. In a way, they felt it even more strongly than humans. Long ago, this was their downfall. Raw, powerful emotions ran rampant amongst them, controlling them, compelling them, ruining them, until the day when a solution to their problem was discovered. Control. Discipline. Detachment. The controlling of emotion became the centermost concern of their culture as the decades progressed. For them, it was salvation from the thing that was destroying them, for they could see from their history the horrors loss of control and emotional attachment could cause. This practice of suppression, however, did not dim the flare of what a Vulcan could feel emotionally.

They never allowed it to show, for they were masters of control, neither did they let it effect their choices. But they did feel. From childhood they trained their minds to master the ability of keeping their emotions completely detached; to make their choices without a single interference. When a Vulcan assesses a situation, they do not let their emotion affect their decision, and so the answer comes speedily and logically before them without interference or distraction.

Indecision, therefore, was one feeling amongst Vulcans that was virtually unheard of.

Vulcans never experience indecision; cold logic is used to produce an answer. It's right or it's wrong. No in between. They find such a solution and carry it out without questions. Emotions play no part.

This applied to Spock as well. Not unlike any other Vulcan child, Spock was brought up under the same rules and the same teachings. And yet, once again, he is feeling that dreaded unfamiliarity of a foreign emotion that he has felt so many times before in his interactions with humans. This time it is for the conflict he's feeling. In a way he has felt the same many times before, as if he's being ripped to pieces by the two conflicting natures he possesses; his human convulsive nature, and his logical Vulcan instinct. Both unable to cooperate with one another, never able to find unity in their complete opposites, yet trapped in one place together for eternity, raging a never-ending war, constantly fighting to tear him in two with their equally demanding and yet sensible differences.

And yet, the feeling of conflict is so unfamiliar. He is always able to find a right answer. This situation has none. Indeed, it seemed to have no answer answer at all, and yet it demanded one. Again the two instincts rear up like enormous waves ready to push and shove each other until one wins his compliance, or like so many times before, swallows him up and smothers him in havoc of the battle.

Both answers led to destruction. Both answers hurt him. Logic or emotion? Obey the orders and let your Captain and friend die a gruesome death or disobey, let your emotions take over and show how much Jim Kirk's friendship has meant to you by sparing him the agony.

The first is purely logic. Kirk is the Captain, he is the First Officer. He follows his superior's orders no matter what the reason or cause. It makes perfect sense, it gives Trian no pleasure, it ensures the safety of the ship.

The latter: Disobey. Kill your own Captain and friend, gamble the safety of the ship by risking both getting killed, and, if all goes well, die a sticky, painful death at the hands of the man whose sister you shamed and guilted into suicide. There is no appeal, no sense in the idea. The most logical decision lies before him.

So why can't he just do it? He can't brush the feeling away, the moment Jim's thoughts had entered his mind, he can't bring himself to make the choice he knows he should.

Stand down, Mr. Spock. That's an order.

The words echo and resound through his brain. The words themselves have no emotion in them. But they spark a thought in him. He has only seen his Captain become this cold, emotionless machine when he is forced to make the hardest, most heartbreaking of decisions. Is it the same case now? Or is the decision easy for him? Just another duty to be performed honorably as a Starship Captain should? Is he misreading what his eyes are seeing? Is he imagining things? Or is he just that incapable of understanding human emotion?

He knows what transpired the last time he let his emotions guide him. He had failed; he doesn't know what emotion is, he doesn't know how to control it, he had been like a cripple man trying to tight-rope walk.

And yet he still cannot suppress the draw that is telling him he needs to do the right thing, not the logical thing. But is it really the right thing?

His mind is in a fog. He hardly notices as rough hands grabbed his shoulders, forcing him forward, then swiveling him around to face his opponent. His mind is chanting at him.

You're going to die any ways, put away the logic for once, follow your indistinct, show how much this friendship has meant to you, show your loyalty in more than just following orders, he may not like it, but he would, he is, doing the same thing for you.

He vaguely notices the twisted sword in his hand.

You'll be dead soon any ways.

Kirk's eyes are fixing him in a paralyzing and forbidding glare, like he knows what Spock is thinking.

Put away logic for once.

Someone shouts what he guesses is the signal to the start of the fight.

Show your true loyalty.

Kirk is circling, looking for the best and easiest approach to kill him. He just stands there, sword dangling at his side, posture perfect as always, war waging behind his blank face.

He may not like it…..

Kirk is charging, determination to end it quickly etched on his face.

….but he would do the same thing for you.

He ducks.

It's unexpected. The power of the blow that would have struck is so great that Kirk goes flying.

He somehow manages to stay on his feet, but he skids forward, unable to stop, and stumbles, falling against the armored chestplate of one of the Romulan soldiers surrounding them. The guard pushes Kirk back and snarls.

The opponents' eyes meet. There's no shock or surprise in Jim's eyes from Spock's disobedience, just anger and determination.

Spock stands there for the second time, only feet from where he was before, unsure of how or why he moved. He hasn't made his decision yet. He needs more time. But he's out.

Kirk tries again. This time it's a less obvious attack, going for a tackle, but Spock sees it coming and steps easily out of the way again.

He's is not fighting back. He doesn't know why he can't bring his body to obey, but Kirk's anger grows with every blow Spock blocks.

Kirk's attacks are extremely aggressive, it makes them easy to read but hard to avoid.

He smashes down on Spock's sword with such an incredible amount of force that Spock's arm and hand go weak from the vibrations, Kirk senses the opening and grabs the same wrist, then jams his foot straight into Spock's ankle. Bending Spock's weak the arm back, he attempts to upset the First Officer's balance.

But Spock was raised in the Vulcan way, much of his time had been spent learning the different martial arts and self-defense techniques of their people. They all involved the importance of balance. If you control your opponent's balance, you don't have to fight. No exertion is needed when a simple twist does as much damage as a blow.

His body reacts naturally.

Kirk has made himself vulnerable while trying to topple him. He has put his own balance into jeopardy by placing his foot at that angle.

Spock turns the hold around to his own advantage easily, and with a simple twist Kirk is on the floor face-up, one arm locked behind his back, his shoulder pressed hard hard into the ground by his First Officer's foot. Spock's hand holds his other arm captive by the wrist, Kirk's sword still grasped uselessly in his hand. Jim's face is red with effort and fury, and words that are not his own are forced into Spock's mind through their physical contact.

Let go.

Spock's head jerks up at the foreign words.

We've gone through this before, we both know what happened the last time you questioned my command. I gave you an order, Commander, now obey it. I am your Captain. Let. Go.

Spock is reminded, suddenly, of a similar scene. Of him, of his orders, and disregarding them just for a moment, of him reacting emotionally without even realizing it. Of almost blowing their covering. Of almost blowing their entire mission because he decided to trust his emotions for a second. Because he decided to follow his emotional instincts.

He hadn't even realized his emotional side was taking control.

His grip loosens.

It's all Kirk needs.

He ferociously tears his arm free of Spock's hold, and the sword comes up and around, headed straight for the Vulcan's gut. If Spock had been fully human, he would have been dead. But pure indistinct and faster reflexes save him as his body to reacts before his mind even registers what's happening. His upper-body shifts and the blade grazes off his side, shredding the bottom of his shirt open and sprinkling it with minuscule drops of green.

The injury is not vital; hardly note-worthy in fact, but it distracts the First Officer just long enough for Kirk to jerk free the arm trapped behind him and grab the foot that is pinning his upper body to the ground with both his hands, shoving it off. Using this leverage he hooks his other leg around Spock's ankle, rolls, and this time successfully brings Spock crashing down next to him. Spock responds before he even hits the floor. He turns midair, and Kirk, who still has a vice-like grip on his ankle, determined to keep a hold on the commander, is jerked forward and flipped onto his back. While his legs were left free, his hands are trapped under Spock's boot, arms stretched uncomfortably high and at an odd angle above his head.

The captain doesn't even grimace from the pain, he tears one hand out from under its restraint, scraping the flesh off the back of his hand as he does so. He flips back around onto his stomach, grabs the ankle that continued to ensnare his other hand, and forces it off. With both hands gripping the hilt of his weapon, he lunged forward, going for the kill, but Spock is ready for him.

Metal clangs against metal as, both on their knees, their swords collide between them. Their is a moment of silent struggle between them as they each fight to over-power the other. The world is lost to them both in that one moment; they forget where they are and who is watching them; it is a struggle of raw power between two friends turned enemies. Spock is decidedly stronger than his captain, but Kirk is able to hold his ground against Spock's lingering indecision. He's certainly not afraid to die. He knows what the most logical path is, but somehow he cannot allow himself to stop. Somehow it can't end this way. Somehow there is something that needs to be done, and if he is to die afterwards, he knows that whatever it is must be accomplished before he does or there would be no peace. The two swords quiver between them from the incredible force being exerted from both sides. A bead of sweat drips off Jim's forehead and hits the ground.

Eventually Spock's advantage begins to win out. Kirk is pushed farther and farther backward until finally he is grappling to stay upright. The struggle seems to last forever until, in a sudden flash, Spock twists his sword. Jim's blade flies upwards instead of forwards, out of control. In one last blow of precision, Spock side-swipes his opponent's weapon. Jim's sword is knocked out of his hands and flies 20 feet across the makeshift arena before it clatters to the ground. The swiftness of the motion throws the last bit of Jim's balance off, and he crashes onto his back. He struggles to roll to the side to avoid another attack, but Spock is much too fast. He has him immobilized, knees pinning down his shoulders, hand clasped down on his throat, sword pointed straight at his opponent's heart before Jim can even twitch. His palm presses hard against Jim's chin and throat, forcing his head back and leaving his neck exposed and vulnerable. He could kill him easily in any way and at any time he chooses.

But he falters.

He still does not know what to do. He has bought himself time by being nimble and avoiding all of Jim's attacks, but this is it. The sword stays fixed in midair and does not move. His hand grips Kirk's throat but not enough to choke him. A pause. He meets his captain's accusing eyes. Kirk has sensed the hesitation and jumps on the opening.

So suddenly you're going to kill me, huh? What a coward. And what caused this sudden change of heart? Suddenly now at the end you decide our friendship is that important? No. No, that's not it. You don't even know what you're doing. You are a coward Mr. Spock. You run. That's what you do. You can't decide where you stand, and instead of making a decision and sticking to it you choose to jump back and forth. The first moment you're the duty driven Vulcan unwilling to step a toe out of line, the next you surprise everyone by playing the hero. One day you're the logical First Officer, and the second you try to act like a friend. You don't even know the meaning of the word! You pretend to know how to feel.

It's a blow. Spock's grip loosens. The sword wavers ever so slightly. He is paralyzed by Kirk's words, paralyzed at their truth.

The captain's thoughts transfix him. He cannot move.

Of course no one would ever predict the seemingly logical, dutiful First Officer of the Enterprise would disobey his Captain's orders at the very end. Gonna throw it all way, are you? Why? Feeling extra honorable today?

The words drip with sarcasm.

Willing to throw away your reputation to protect your captain? Thought that'd be just the ultimate act of chivalry? Well don't bother! I don't need it, I don't want it! I don't need your sympathy or your false kindness! Don't you dare take away my last orders, my last request so that you can go with a clear conscience or because you feel sorry for me! Now. Let. Go.

But somehow, in a moment so fleeting he nearly misses it, he catches another string of thought. He senses the humorless, chagrined smile of irony slip through first. Then a thought that is hardly there, buried, smothered, as if it is trying to be retained, trying not to be heard but had slipped out despite the effort, darts across the back Jim's mind, tired and despairing.

Why can't you just trust me? After all this time, why…?

And then he understands. He had not been wrong about their friendship. What happened on the Bridge, his captain's anger and frustration…it had not stemmed from annoyance, but instead from a feeling of lost trust. He had been mistaken. So it is true, he does misinterpret emotions. But he knows beyond a doubt he isn't and hasn't been misreading this. In an existence full of uncertainties, his friendship with James Kirk has been the most certain thing in his life. He realizes now that he is absolutely sure of it. He cannot look back on their time together and find even an inkling of doubt. He understands why Kirk has said the things that he has said. He's touched that Kirk would do what he's doing for him. And apologetic that he won't ever get a chance to.

Taking a deep breath and letting everything else slip away, he let's his honest, unfiltered thoughts drift through the contact to his captain.

Jim, the fact that I will have robbed you of your last orders is unforgivable. However, sir, my duty to you as a friend will always outreach any orders I receive, any ranks that may proceed me, or any vows I have made to this service. My duty to you as a friend far overshadows my duty to you as my captain.

Jim freezes under him. He's caught completely of guard by Spock's words. He stares dumbfounded, his angry mask forgotten, at his First Officer. Spock can feel the reeling of his captain's mind, no coherent thoughts are detectable, only an array of jumbled emotions: stunned disbelief, happiness, relief, extreme anger, and resignation.

Spock finally knows what he has to do. He hopes Jim understands, but he will not stop if he doesn't. He lifts his sword. It will be fast. He feels Kirk's eyes on him, waiting for the blow to come, but doesn't try to read the emotion there.

An enormous explosion fills silence of the chamber, deafening them. With a great straining, creaking sound the room tilts. They're falling, knocked away from each other, tumbling across the floor along with the confused and outraged Romulans around them. Yells of fury, panic and the sound of collapsing metal fills the air just as they feel the familiar tingle of the transporter beam pulling them away from the pandemonium.

Oooookay, first of all, I hope you liked it, and I hope you review, and second of all I'm sooo sorry for taking so long to update! Writers block combined with school, combined with work, combined with a couple of weddings, combined with a malfunctioning computer have kept me occupied. Anyways, thanks all of you that have been reviewing so faithfully, I really appreciate it!