Title: First Officer's Log-Personal #1
Author: Istannor 
Series: TOS 
Part: 1/1 
Rating: PG 13 
Codes: Can't think of anything to mention. It's Spock
speaking and he doesn't even curse.

Summary: This is Spock's response to McCoy's intrusive
questioning in Doctor's Logs 4. McCoy feels Spock should
work out his issues, out loud.

Disclaimer: These are the characters of Paramount and
Viacom, they own them I only check 'em out from the library. I
promise to bring 'em back.

Spock's Logs-Personal

[Stardate: 1640.3]

It is not my custom to keep a personal log. A Vulcan should
not require one. However, the Doctor approached me after
my inexcusable display five days ago, and suggested this as
a tool which may benefit me. He says it has been very
therapeutic for him to work out some of his issues in this
manner. I do not wish to seem recalcitrant, therefore, I will
attempt to utilize this method, at least this once.

I have agreed  I must talk this issue through, to come to some
point of resolution. I have attempted to meditate, and the
deeper levels have been unattainable. I have not found any
surcease of the constant questions which assail my mind. It is
distracting me from my duty. I can not have it interfere with my
function, or lessen my performance in any way. I have asked
myself repeatedly, why did I leave Dr. McCoy so abruptly?
What in particular did he say to result in such an inexcusable
display of emotion? I find myself at a loss. He was not being
any more difficult and intrusive, than is his norm. Yet, I felt an
overwhelming need to exit. I must admit, I practically ran from
the recreation room. That is completely unacceptable. I am
Vulcan. I control; I am not controlled by my emotions.

He asked me what did it mean to me that my Captain
believed in happiness ,and I did not. Even now, the question
makes me uncomfortable. I am in need of further thought on
this issue. I told him, I do not believe in happiness. It is
illogical to wish for a fleeting and unreliable emotion. It is
illogical to allow the pursuit of something so ephemeral, to
control your life. My Captain pursues happiness, therefore he
is illogical. I choose to satisfy the needs and requests of my
Captain, which he has stated make him happy. Therefore I, in
performing my duty, am fulfilling an illogical and ephemeral
goal. This reasoning is circular and resolves nothing.

Why is it important to me to make my Captain happy? I admit
I pursue this goal, as illogical as it is. I admit,  it gratifies me
to see James Kirk smile at me in approval. I do not require it
and he does not feel obligated to do so, yet he does, and it
gives me...satisfaction. I have come to look forward to his
smiles, his open shows of affection, his touch on my arm,
light though it is. I have come to rely on the fact that he
understands my silences and my reticence. He seeks to
include me and explain what I have not comprehended. I am
never made to feel different, only accepted. His pursuit of my
friendship is a completely new sensation for me. At first, I did
not know what to do with his open acceptance. I have recently
learned to accept it. What a novel concept. At the beginning
of gamma shift when he comes to my cabin, or I go to his to
meet him for our late night ship inspection; I feel  a sense of
correctness, as if I have been waiting for this experience all
of my life. I breathe easier for it. Such an emotional reaction
should be discouraged, I know, but I must first acknowledge
truth. Without truth there can be no resolution.

I can remember when my Mother still hugged me and stroked
my hair. I was four. We would sit in the garden in the late
afternoon, and she would tell me fanciful stories of dragons
and knights in armor. I , of course, knew even then they were
illogical and lacking in any historical accuracy. Yet, I enjoyed
those times. We would laugh. To be more exact, my Mother
would laugh, and I would smile. Occasionally, I would even
giggle like a little human boy. The shadow of Sarek fell too
heavily on me, as young as four years of age, for me to
actually laugh. My mother would hold me against her cool
human flesh , she would stroke my hair and tell me stories. I
believe  those times may have been described as periods of
happiness  in my life, as I certainly was content.

I can remember listening to the slow, methodical heartbeat of
my Mother, as I lay against her. When my head rested
against her, I could feel the laughter which rippled through her
thoughts and her pleasure in holding me. I always
conceptualized of her thoughts as being a gentle flame that
warmed me. It all was so different from my own Vulcan
rhythm, or my Father's shielded thoughts. She would laugh
and hug me to her breast. Often, she would speak of her
desire for me to be happy. It was an issue which concerned
her then, and continues to concern her now, my happiness.
What does that mean? I still have no concept.

 I am content when one of the crew accomplishes a difficult
 task. I am content when we succeed in yet another difficult
 mission. I am content when I have taught a member of my
 science team a new concept. I am content when I am in the
 company of my Captain, doing any activity. This admission
 means  my contentment regarding my Captain's company is
 not goal oriented, as is appropriate, but experiential. This is
 not logical, but it is truth. I find contentment in another's
 company. I have often wondered if I will find contentment in
 the company of my intended, T'Pring. I think not. I have
 already decided to not stay on Vulcan after our bonding
 ceremony. I will return to my duties here, on board this ship.

The Captain and I exercise routinely together. We have done
this since 1.4 months after Commander Mitchell's death. I
was reluctant to do so at first, fearing his reaction to my
greater strength and speed. I did not expect him to laugh. He
does, quite frequently. Even after I have pinned him to the
ground, or thrown him to the mat, he laughs and rises from
the floor to begin again. I asked him why his ego is not
damaged by the unequal contest. He laughed at the question,
also. His reply was: "You doing it, bypasses my ego." It was
the spirit in which he was beaten that counted, it seemed.
The fact  I took no satisfaction from winning the contests,
made it a non-issue to him. My attitude does not stimulate his
drive to win. To him, our contests only serve as a learning
exercise on how to battle a stronger opponent. I trust it has
been very educational for him, because he has continually
been the loser. I admit,  it is a source of contentment to me,
that I can wrestle with him at full Vulcan, or partial strength,
and whatever the outcome, I am not ostracized.

When we wrestle, I am often reminded of how uninhibited a
man he is. He wrestles, barechested, in loose pants or
shorts. Often, he is barefoot. He states it is the farmboy in
him that despises clothes. I am not sure what that means, but
he frequently eschews appropriate dress, or protective
equipment. I know this, because once one of my blows went
astray, and I  hit him in his genitalia. After he was able to
breathe again, seeing the chagrin on my face, he told me if I
kissed them, it would make them all better, and he wouldn't
court-martial me. I realized immediately, of course,  the
remark was nonsensical. Then, he began to roll on the floor in
obvious enjoyment of his own humor. I am not sure how
kissing his genitalia would make either of us better.
Especially, since the Captain has women clamoring to kiss
his genitalia, or so it seems when we are on shore leave.

Sometimes, when we are grappling, I can hear his heart
beat. He is in excellent physical condition, so his heart beats
slowly, regularly, and his skin is cool to the touch. His skin,
like my Mother's, is unbelievably soft. Yet, unlike my Mother's,
it overlays corded bands of muscle that are as hard as any
Vulcan's. When I touch him, my personal shields must be at
full strength, because he broadcasts his thoughts far more
loudly than I am used to from a human. His thoughts, unlike
my Mother's, are not a gentle flame. They are a roaring
inferno of concepts and emotions which flash through his
mind non-stop. His thoughts never rest. Yet, underlying all,  I
sense his gentle laughter which warms me, because it is not
directed at me. It is in enjoyment of me. This I know. I find
myself drawn towards his chest, wanting to lay my head
against it and rest. At those times, I feel phantom fingers
running through my hair. I require intense meditation after that
occurs to release those thoughts. My mother's hands are
ghostly fingers, reminding me of a time when I could still
smile, before Vulcan consumed all that was human about me.

When I was 4 years, 7months and 22 days old, my Mother
and I were in the solarium, playing with a toy she had pulled
from her chest of things she had brought with her from Earth.
It was a toy ship that sailed the seas. The concept of a place
where there was enough water that one could actually sail
across it for days caused me to laugh out loud. I thought it
was the most fantastic thing I had ever heard. I laughed, and
my Mother hugged me in joy, at hearing my laughter. Sarek
picked that inopportune moment to enter the room. I felt the
sudden chill that descended on both my Mother and I. He
bade me leave and I did so, quickly. I know my parents
argued. I heard their voices raised in anger, at least my
Mother's was. They shut the parental link so I could not pry.
That act succeeded in leaving me to experience a profound
sense of isolation, because they had never done either of
those things before, argued loudly, or shut down the link.

There initially was no resolution. My parents stalked around
each other like two great Le Matyas circling after the same
prey. Unfortunately, five days later, two of the children at
school took it upon themselves to beat me after classes had
been dismissed. My offense was being part human. They
kicked me, slapped me, and chased me home, all the while
yelling at me: stupid human, stupid bestial human. Sarek was
home when I arrived, quite disheveled, at the front door, with
the young boys still in hot pursuit. One look from my father as
he opened the door to find his son, dirty and bloody at his
feet, was sufficient to cause the boys to scatter, and the issue
to come to a head. He called Amanda to the door. I can still
see her expression of dismay and pain. I can still hear her
gasp. Sarek only said: " They chased him home calling him a
stupid human. They beat our son. Is this what you would have
happen to him for the rest of his days? Is this how you would
have a son of the clan of Surak treated?" I could see the
defeat etched in her face. She sent me away with the
housekeeper to clean myself, and stayed to speak with my
Father.

Later, I was called back into the room. Sarek informed me I
would, as of the next day, have a Vulcan tutor. He also
informed me: indiscriminate displays of emotionalism were
to cease. I was to conduct myself as a Vulcan, with the
control and decorum suited to the son of Sarek, and the
Grandson of T'Pau. My Mother was forbidden to hug me, or
stroke my hair, or tell me any stories that were illogical, or
irrational. I could still see the redness in her eyes from her
tears. He attempted to soften the decision, in his own way, by
telling me it was for my own good, as I would be forced to
cope with Vulcan expectations and mores. He warned me,  if
I did not learn the Vulcan way; my peers would ostracize me,
and I would shame the family and the clan. So, at Four years,
7 months, and 28 days, I began a new life, out of the
encircling coolness of my Mother's arms.

My Father was in error. No amount of rigid application to
Vulcan behavioral expectations, or principles, could
compensate for one simple  fact: I was and am, half Human,
and a Pariah on my home world.

Amanda did not give up without a continued show of
defiance, however. For 3 years, 6 months and 15days, or
until the completion of my Kahswan, my Mother and I had a
secret ritual. Every night, after she thought me asleep, she
would enter my room silently and bend over me. She would
hug me ever so gently to her breast, and stroke my hair,
lightly, softly. I would feign sleep. Her thoughts would bathe
me in love, and gentle sorrow at our widening distance.
Those nocturnal visits, and later my Sehlat, were my only
solace during those years. After she would leave, I can
remember almost smiling, and slipping easily into sleep.
After the Kahswan, my adulthood ritual, I was denied even
that.

Now, away from Eridani, away from red sands, and my
Father's disapproval, I walk the halls of a starship late at
night, with a cool skinned human, whose heartbeat is slow
and deep, who laughs easily, and touches me lightly, ever so
lightly. This time, no-one will make him stop, no one will force
him away. His will is incredibly strong, stronger even than
Sarek's. He has told me  I do not need to conform to
anything, except my own standards, and he will accept that. I
have no way to tell him how much this means to me. There is
no logical construct to express it. It belongs in the realm of
illogic. I must fight the feeling of shame  I experience
whenever thoughts of my Captain make me want to smile. I
must fight the feeling of lightness that has threatened my
composure at times when his thoughts brush mine and I feel
his joy at my  simple presence. I am Vulcan; that is all I know.
To wander from that path, at this time, would be folly.

Yet, at times, late at night after we have retired to our own
cabins, I find myself wishing, most illogically,  he would enter
into my room while I slept. I desire him to hold my head to his
cool, smooth, chest, and stroke my hair, lightly, and allow me
to share his thoughts freely. I think that would define
happiness for me. I know, if I asked him to do so, he would,
because I asked it. Therefore, I can never ask it of him. How
would he think of me then, if he knew his touch meant that
much to me? I predict even he, would see me as lessened by
that need. Now, I know why I left the Doctor in such unseemly
haste. The scenario I desire most is impossible, therefore
happiness is impossible. I will reach acceptance of this and
go on.

This has been very useful. I have reached a new level of
understanding. Comprehension  must always be the goal of
intellect.

END LOG