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Spock’s hand was clamped so tightly against his forearm behind his back that he felt the fabric of his uniform tear beneath his nails, allowing them to dig into his arm. The stinging sensation, and the warm slickness of the blood, as his nails broke skin, provided a welcome distraction from the words of the captain. The apology from Nurse Chapel had not been nearly as overwhelming as from the captain, but perhaps that was because Spock had not expected the captain to act as he did.
Captain Pike was completely sincere in his apology, Spock knew, but the reminder of the many insulting comments he made towards Spock were an unfortunate inclusion. By this point, Pike had transitioned from what he had evidently planned to say into stressed out babbling, but Spock did not rescue him from his lack of social grace.
“And I really did- Spock you’re bleeding!”
“Ah.” Spock replied, slightly caught off guard, having been pulled from his thoughts. He unfolded his arms behind his back and held them in front of him, realizing that he had unintentionally caused quite a bit of damage. “Apologies, captain. I had not realized.”
Pike sighed, gently taking his bloodied arm in hand and examining the mess Spock had made. He used his own sleeve to gently brush away some of the blood, revealing the jagged gashes that Spock had dug into his arm from his tight grip. “Come on, M’Benga will patch you up.”
Spock fell into line a half step behind the captain, and though the walk to sickbay was brief, each step seemed to lengthen the silence between them. Spock was acutely aware of the damp warmth soaking into the cuff of his uniform sleeve as the blood dripped down his arm. He would rather not bother M’Benga, but it had become an unfortunate necessity the moment the captain noticed the injury.
When the sickbay doors parted, M’Benga looked up from a tray of instruments, his eyes taking in the captain, and then Spock, and focusing on blood coating Spock’s arm. “What happened?”
An awkward beat of silence answered him, and just as Spock opened his mouth to reply, the captain gave him a serious look. “Spock happened.”
Spock’s brow furrowed, but there was no lie to the statement. “The injury was unintentional.” He added, though it did not seem to help the tension in the room.
“Unintentional or not, it still needs treatment,” M’Benga said, gesturing toward a biobed. “Sit.”
Spock hesitated, but there was little else to do than obey with the captain standing right there. Reluctantly, he complied, settling on the edge of the bed. M’Benga retrieved a dermal regenerator, and held it up, “You’ve done more than surface damage. They would have scarred without this.”
Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his eyes remained on the far wall. Sickbay was far from his favorite place to be, and the less time spent here the lower the chance of him encountering Nurse Chapel were. “Scarring is irrelevant, as long as I retain full use of the limb.” He replied, letting his gaze drift towards the captain near the door.
“That’s not the point,” Pike said quietly, “You hurt yourself without even realizing it.” And Spock faltered for a moment, his lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. Instead, he allowed M’Benga to begin his work, the soft hum of the regenerator filling the silence that followed Pike’s words.
The jagged lines of torn flesh closed under M’Benga’s steady hand, each pass of the regenerator erasing the physical evidence of his lapse in control. He could feel the captain’s eyes on him in a way that suggested Pike was repressing the urge to make another comment. The silence in the room was stifling.
It was an uneasy equilibrium, and Spock found himself regretting the unintentional reaction that had led them here. That the captain had intervened with concern had left Spock in a state of mild disarray, he was far more accustomed to managing physical injury without remark than to be treated in such a fragile manner.
“You may not value the presence of scars, Spock, but I have seen enough men and women allow small injuries to fester into larger consequences. Dismissing harm because it seems insignificant is a habit that can carry a cost.” He set the regenerator aside, taking a moment to examine the now-healed skin. Though the irritation remained, the tissue itself was knitted smooth, the threat of permanent marking gone. “There. You’ll have some tenderness, but no lingering damage.”
“My gratitude, Doctor. Your efficiency is, as always, commendable.” Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement, and though his voice was calm, it had a layer of discomfort.
The silence resumed, but it was Captain Pike who broke it this time, “You shouldn’t have to harm yourself just to keep steady while I talk to you.” His voice cracked, and Spock felt a rush of guilt, but the captain continued before he could speak. “I came here to make things better, not worse. And I sure as hell didn’t expect you’d walk away bleeding.”
Spock weighed his words, this was a situation he had not navigated before, and he did not want to make the captain more upset than he presently was. After several long moments, Spock replied, “It was not your fault, captain.” And though he opened his mouth to continue, he found himself unable to, and shut his mouth with an audible click.
“You make it sound like you just tripped over your own feet.” He shook his head, and glanced at M’Benga, who gave him a look that communicated that this was not his conversation to mediate. Pike turned back to Spock, his expression softening. “You don’t have to make this easier for me, Spock. I’m the one who screwed up. I’ve been trying to patch it over with words, but all I’ve done is keep reminding you of every dumb thing I’ve said.”
“Your opinion is… noted,” he replied, unsettled by Pike’s sincerity. He had felt off center since the whole Vulcan situation had begun, and now it has continued far past its resolution.
M’Benga stepped back, placing the regenerator on its tray as he spoke, “The treatment is finished. Spock, you should keep the arm relaxed for the remainder of the day. No strenuous movement if you can avoid it. The tissue is healed, but it will be tender for a while.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock replied, thankful for the distraction, and sliding from the bed. He adjusted his sleeve, grimacing at the dried blood coating it. He would dispose of this uniform and change as soon as possible.
The walk back to the corridor was quieter still than their journey in. Pike kept his hands clasped behind his back, his stride slower than usual, as though mindful of the distance between them. Spock mirrored the pace. At the threshold of the turbolift, Pike paused, turning slightly toward him. “Spock… I know I can’t undo what I said before. I know I can’t erase how it landed. But I meant it when I said I was sorry. And if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, to make it up to you, you only have to say it.”
“Your acknowledgment is sufficient, Captain.” Spock replied, feeling slightly petty as the captain's face fell. “It is forgiven.” He added, mostly to keep that look off of the captain's face.
Pike studied him for a long beat, then gave a small, weary smile, relieved and resigned at once. “All right. If you say so.” He stepped into the turbolift, and when Spock joined him, the doors closed on the silence once more, but one slightly less tense than before.