kathierif_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathierif_fic) wrote2011-12-31 09:58 pm
kathierif_fic) wrote2011-12-31 09:58 pm
Fic: Seeking Peace (STXI, gen-ish, FRT-13)
Title: Seeking Peace
Author: Kathie
Fandom: STXI
Word Count: 1054 words
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: gen (or pre-slash Spock/Bones)
Warnings: none
Summary: He was just trying to deal with the destruction of his home planet.
A/Ns: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo, prompt "planet destruction". For some reason, I can only just focus on either the h or the c part, but not both, wtf, self?
Vulcan was gone.
The proud planet he'd called home had simply disappeared from the grids and charts of the galaxy, gone with barely a reminder that it once had been there and that it had been, despite its unwelcoming first impression, the home of billions of sentient beings.
The few Vulcans that had survived were suddenly faced with the almost impossible task of keeping their culture alive, their language and customs, everything, and they had almost nothing to start from.
So many things were already lost for forever.
Spock swallowed and breathed deep. He was meditating, and he attempted to find the quiet and cool logical center within the emotional chaos and turmoil in his mind.
There had been no time for meditating on the destruction of Vulcan before, no time to process the implications of what had appened. Spock had, like the rest of the crew of the Enterprise, been swept up in the whirlwind of events surrounding Vulcan's destruction and Nero's disappearance and likely demise.
Too much had happened in too little time, and although he doubted his fellow officers and the rest of the crew had noticed any change in his behavior, which, he had made sure of, was as efficient and reliable as always, he could feel himself crack under the weight of realization as to what had happened.
He didn't have a home planet anymore.
Of course, he'd told Kirk Earth was his home planet now, since his mother had originally been from there, but the blue planet had never felt as much of a home as Vulcan with its dry and hot atmosphere had. Earth had been the logical choice for his selection of home planet for the paperwork Starfleet required, but it didn't feel right, and he didn't have the opportunity yet to visit the new Vulcan colony.
The loss of his planet weighted heavily on him, and no meditation technique he tried to apply managed to bring him closure, or peace, or the soothing calm of logic.
For all intents and purposes, he was homeless now, a half-orphan and a stranger even among his peers.
Vulcans felt deeply. They guided and channeled their emotions with logic and didn't allow feelings to control them. They rather controlled their emotions, and as a result, many species thought they were incapable of feeling anything at all.
No love.
No loss.
They were no computers, Spock thought as he stared at his fingers. They were living beings and they felt the loss of their home planet as intensively as any other species would, or even more.
The soft chime of the door interrupted his circling thoughts and forced him to hide his bleeding heart behind the blue armor of his uniform again.
"Come," he said, his voice calm as always. No matter how furious his inner turmoil, it was his, and he would deal with it on his own, without well-meaning but useless advice from strangers that didn't know the first thing about him; Strangers that expected him to express his emotions instead of using them to fuel his logical mind.
It was what had come between Uhura and himself. She had an intricate grasp on Vulcan culture, but she still expected him to show a reaction to what had happened, and although she'd never said anything and had given her best trying to be supportive of him, every time their fingers brushed together, a wave of her expectation and frustration had threatened to overwhelm him.
It had been too much, for both of them.
The end of their relationship had been amicable enough, and he was glad to register her continued interest in his friendship and in various aspects of Vulcan culture.
Aspects that now were almost lost, with only a few small threads anchoring them to reality and keeping them from getting forgotten.
The door whooshed open to reveal that his visitor was Doctor McCoy, a frown etched deeply into his forehead.
McCoy hesitated a split moment before stepping into the room and allowing the door to close behind him.
Spock did not rise from his meditation mat, and he didn't offer a greeting beyond the eyebrow raised in curiosity.
McCoy fidgeted slightly.
"There's an official ceremony honoring the dead," he said. "Uhura said you're not interested in attending."
Spock inclined his head. "The lieutenant is quite correct," he replied. He struggled to keep his voice even, but it still sounded strained to his ears. "However, since not attending this particular ceremony equals a lack of respect for the many people who have lost their lives in the destruction of Vulcan, I will overcome my desinterest and make an appearance."
McCoy frowned as he tried to figure out a part of Spock's thought process. "And you're not interested in the ceremony...for the same reasons you won't roam the ship moaning and weeping?" he asked and sat down on the edge of Spock's bed.
Spock glared at him slightly, but McCoy didn't even notice, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.
"What do Vulcans do when they grieve?" he asked and leaned his elbows on his knees. Spock caught a frisson of honest curiosity from him, but no expectations or disappointments.
"We meditate, Doctor," he replied stiffly. "We retreat to our homes with our families and quietly wait for our grief to be overcome by logic again."
"How?"
"By reminding ourselves of the teachings of Surak," Spock replied.
McCoy was silent for a long moment. He didn't try to start an argument about the lack of empathy and emotions in both computers and Vulcans, the way Spock had almost expected him. Instead he asked, "Tell me about Vulcan."
At first, Spock didn't react, sure that the good doctor was attempting to make fun of him or mock him, but he detected nothing from McCoy. They weren't touching, but they were close enough that he was certain McCoy, who wore his emotions on his sleeve, visible for everyone, was not hiding anything from him.
The good doctor was simply curious.
"I want to understand you better," McCoy said, as if he'd been able to read Spock's thoughts.
It was an unexpected move, but, Spock had to admit, it was not an unwelcome one.
Slowly, almost haltingly, he started to talk, and hearing the words out loud, painting a picture so vivid it made his heart ache with loss, managed to do what meditation hadn't accomplished. Logic returned to his thoughts and soothed him with its clear structure.
He started to feel better.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: STXI
Word Count: 1054 words
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: gen (or pre-slash Spock/Bones)
Warnings: none
Summary: He was just trying to deal with the destruction of his home planet.
A/Ns: Written for
hc_bingo, prompt "planet destruction". For some reason, I can only just focus on either the h or the c part, but not both, wtf, self?Vulcan was gone.
The proud planet he'd called home had simply disappeared from the grids and charts of the galaxy, gone with barely a reminder that it once had been there and that it had been, despite its unwelcoming first impression, the home of billions of sentient beings.
The few Vulcans that had survived were suddenly faced with the almost impossible task of keeping their culture alive, their language and customs, everything, and they had almost nothing to start from.
So many things were already lost for forever.
Spock swallowed and breathed deep. He was meditating, and he attempted to find the quiet and cool logical center within the emotional chaos and turmoil in his mind.
There had been no time for meditating on the destruction of Vulcan before, no time to process the implications of what had appened. Spock had, like the rest of the crew of the Enterprise, been swept up in the whirlwind of events surrounding Vulcan's destruction and Nero's disappearance and likely demise.
Too much had happened in too little time, and although he doubted his fellow officers and the rest of the crew had noticed any change in his behavior, which, he had made sure of, was as efficient and reliable as always, he could feel himself crack under the weight of realization as to what had happened.
He didn't have a home planet anymore.
Of course, he'd told Kirk Earth was his home planet now, since his mother had originally been from there, but the blue planet had never felt as much of a home as Vulcan with its dry and hot atmosphere had. Earth had been the logical choice for his selection of home planet for the paperwork Starfleet required, but it didn't feel right, and he didn't have the opportunity yet to visit the new Vulcan colony.
The loss of his planet weighted heavily on him, and no meditation technique he tried to apply managed to bring him closure, or peace, or the soothing calm of logic.
For all intents and purposes, he was homeless now, a half-orphan and a stranger even among his peers.
Vulcans felt deeply. They guided and channeled their emotions with logic and didn't allow feelings to control them. They rather controlled their emotions, and as a result, many species thought they were incapable of feeling anything at all.
No love.
No loss.
They were no computers, Spock thought as he stared at his fingers. They were living beings and they felt the loss of their home planet as intensively as any other species would, or even more.
The soft chime of the door interrupted his circling thoughts and forced him to hide his bleeding heart behind the blue armor of his uniform again.
"Come," he said, his voice calm as always. No matter how furious his inner turmoil, it was his, and he would deal with it on his own, without well-meaning but useless advice from strangers that didn't know the first thing about him; Strangers that expected him to express his emotions instead of using them to fuel his logical mind.
It was what had come between Uhura and himself. She had an intricate grasp on Vulcan culture, but she still expected him to show a reaction to what had happened, and although she'd never said anything and had given her best trying to be supportive of him, every time their fingers brushed together, a wave of her expectation and frustration had threatened to overwhelm him.
It had been too much, for both of them.
The end of their relationship had been amicable enough, and he was glad to register her continued interest in his friendship and in various aspects of Vulcan culture.
Aspects that now were almost lost, with only a few small threads anchoring them to reality and keeping them from getting forgotten.
The door whooshed open to reveal that his visitor was Doctor McCoy, a frown etched deeply into his forehead.
McCoy hesitated a split moment before stepping into the room and allowing the door to close behind him.
Spock did not rise from his meditation mat, and he didn't offer a greeting beyond the eyebrow raised in curiosity.
McCoy fidgeted slightly.
"There's an official ceremony honoring the dead," he said. "Uhura said you're not interested in attending."
Spock inclined his head. "The lieutenant is quite correct," he replied. He struggled to keep his voice even, but it still sounded strained to his ears. "However, since not attending this particular ceremony equals a lack of respect for the many people who have lost their lives in the destruction of Vulcan, I will overcome my desinterest and make an appearance."
McCoy frowned as he tried to figure out a part of Spock's thought process. "And you're not interested in the ceremony...for the same reasons you won't roam the ship moaning and weeping?" he asked and sat down on the edge of Spock's bed.
Spock glared at him slightly, but McCoy didn't even notice, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.
"What do Vulcans do when they grieve?" he asked and leaned his elbows on his knees. Spock caught a frisson of honest curiosity from him, but no expectations or disappointments.
"We meditate, Doctor," he replied stiffly. "We retreat to our homes with our families and quietly wait for our grief to be overcome by logic again."
"How?"
"By reminding ourselves of the teachings of Surak," Spock replied.
McCoy was silent for a long moment. He didn't try to start an argument about the lack of empathy and emotions in both computers and Vulcans, the way Spock had almost expected him. Instead he asked, "Tell me about Vulcan."
At first, Spock didn't react, sure that the good doctor was attempting to make fun of him or mock him, but he detected nothing from McCoy. They weren't touching, but they were close enough that he was certain McCoy, who wore his emotions on his sleeve, visible for everyone, was not hiding anything from him.
The good doctor was simply curious.
"I want to understand you better," McCoy said, as if he'd been able to read Spock's thoughts.
It was an unexpected move, but, Spock had to admit, it was not an unwelcome one.
Slowly, almost haltingly, he started to talk, and hearing the words out loud, painting a picture so vivid it made his heart ache with loss, managed to do what meditation hadn't accomplished. Logic returned to his thoughts and soothed him with its clear structure.
He started to feel better.