Archive of Our Own ^beta

Spock was having difficulties regulating his breathing, his breaths went in and out in a stuttering fashion, faster than his body could keep up with. He just managed to stumble into his quarters, his knees slamming onto the floor as he overbalanced, a wave of dizziness overtaking him. He made the decision to remain near to the ground, though he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position not dissimilar to the one he takes for meditation. His vision was blurring, and his throat burned as he tried to return to his regular respiration rate.

Spock knew he was having a panic attack- he had seen the captain through one once, after a mission had brought up memories about his future death. It was different, experiencing one for himself, but he logic dictated that if he followed the same steps used to quell the captain's panic attack, then he could cure himself of his own. Only… Spock found it very difficult to think of the specifics, or much of anything at all other than his newly Vulcan friends.

Spock was highly familiar with discrimination, having faced it both on Vulcan, and during his time in the Starfleet Academy, from peers and superiors alike. It was different though, to face it from people who had only ever treated him kindly- to be reminded, in an instant, that he would always be considered less than by his own people. For Captain Pike, who Spock could admit he viewed as a kind of paternal figure, to provide such a reminder was… highly distressing.

There were dark spots appearing in his vision, and yet he continued to fail in his control, and wasn’t that all he was good for? To fail in controlling himself, to be not Vulcan enough, physically, mentally, or culturally?

A rather inhuman sound passed from his lips, and he pressed his palms into his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly and pushing on them until stars danced across his vision. He was scared, Spock realized, not simply upset and ruminating on past upsets. He was scared to work with the crew as they were now, to face the behaviour he had spent most of his life putting up with once again. He did not want to leave the Enterprise, but if it became necessary… He was scared to leave behind everything he had worked towards, the relationships he had formed. He didn’t want to go, but staying would be painful.

He tipped forward, letting his head rest on the ground. He was hysterical, he knew, but there was little he could do other than wait to pass out, or to calm down, whichever came first. More sounds involuntarily escaped him, and Spock illogically hoped that someone would hear them and come investigate. It was illogical because being seen in this state was far from ideal, but the hope was still present.

It was lucky that it was M’Benga who opened the door to his quarters- Spock had not even thought to lock it, nor had he been paying attention to the whistling of a comm- but it did catch Spock off guard. Spock scrambled back upwards, though his head spun with the motion, he could hardly make the doctor out, but the blue of his uniform was unmistakable. Spock tried to speak, but only the odd sounds he had been making previously came out, wheezy and choked.

The whizzing of the scanner was almost reassuring, a normalcy within the haze of irregularity of this experience. Spock flinched back when M’Benga pressed a hand against his chest, but relaxed slightly into the touch when nothing further happened. The warmth and pressure were grounding, and Spock found himself being able to focus on the words M’Benga was saying, where before they had simply been buzzing behind the streams of thought in his own mind.

“That’s it.” M’Benga murmured, “Breathe with me, Spock.” He took an exaggerated inhale, and Spock followed, though his was choppy and choked. “Good. Again.” He repeated, and Spock continued copying him, until he felt far less dizzy, and his vision was only blurred by his steadily slowing tears, instead of a lack of oxygen. M’Benga moved, taking his hand off of Spock’s chest, and he found the warmth of the touch remained burning into his skin.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spock managed to force out, grimacing slightly at the roughness in his voice. “Your help is appreciated.” However, it did not cure the underlying reason behind the panic attack, though there was little M’Benga could do about that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” M’Benga offered, and Spock shook his head. He would meditate on this later, for now he was content to let the moment pass. “Do you want to figure out the solution to our new Vulcan problem?” And that, Spock could definitely get on board with. M’Benga explained they were meeting in Pelia’s room later, to find a way to get the converted crew back on board with being human.

Spock nodded along, and when M’Benga made to leave commented, “Thank you again, Doctor. I…” He hesitated, but M’Benga seemed to understand.

“Tonight.” M’Benga replied simply, and Spock parroted the word back, and they parted.

His quarters were unnervingly quiet, so Spock elected to head back to work until the meeting. There was little else to do until the main problem could be solved.