Fic: The Plebe, Chapter 6

[elliewood]

The Plebe, Chapter 6
Back from the Brink -- Finn's Stroke of Insight

The figurative ink of Dr. McCoy’s signature was still wet on Gary Mitchell’s discharge order from Medical when he bounded triumphantly into the astrophysics classroom the following Friday, only to pull up short at a most interesting tableau: Jim digging a small bundle of what looked like feminine clothing out of his shoulder bag and handing it to Gaila, who promptly squealed and threw her arms around his neck in an energetic hug while Nyota sat facing slightly away from them, her lips pressed together as she packed up her own bag.

Gaila shrieked again, and louder, when she caught sight of him. “Mitch!” She disengaged from Jim as he approached their table and reached out to pull him into her embrace, her fingers lightly exploring the back of his head as she pressed into him. “Still feels kind of lumpy. They let you go anyway?”

“They couldn't keep me in.” He kept one arm around Gaila as he swung his bag onto the table and grinned at Jim. “Had to see how my two besties made out without me.”

He snickered at the deliberate double entendre as Gaila slapped his chest with her palm in mock annoyance while Jim shook his hand warmly, apparently oblivious to the joke. Uhura shot him a look of pure poison that he chose to ignore.

“My man!” He slid his arm out from around Gaila’s waist as he pulled Jim toward him by the hand to bump his shoulder. “How did everything go on Wednesday?”

Stunned that Mitchell somehow knew about the meeting with Barnett, Jim hesitated uncertainly before recognizing, from Gaila’s answering giggle, that he was referring to that night’s adventure in their dorm room. He fumbled for words, suddenly conscious of the three pairs of eyes that had all swiveled in his direction in anticipation.

“It, uh…it went fine. It was good.”

“Better than good.” Gaila took his arm and leaned into his shoulder. “But Jim doesn't kiss and tell; he’s a gentleman. Even returned my clothes.” She raised the bundle with her free hand and waggled it at Mitchell, snuggling warmly into Jim’s biceps as he blushed to the roots of his hair.

Mitchell was delighted. “Excellent, kids, that’s fucking excellent. You’re welcome.” He picked up his bag and scanned the front of the room. “Give me a minute while I talk to Mr. Spock. Then I need to get some lunch, badly. They don’t feed you shit at Medical.”

Jim nodded and picked up his own bag, the awkwardness of Gaila’s persistent weight on his arm a perfect excuse not to look down to where Spock stood watching Mitchell’s approach. During class, it had been easy to avoid the disapproval he knew he would see in those black eyes, were he to look; Mitchell’s absence left enough empty space at their table that Jim could sit facing the back of the room, his eyes fixed on his own terminal as he worked the day’s problems, his back chafing under the censure he could feel radiating toward him from the lectern.

A tug on his arm made him look down at Gaila to find the playfulness in her blue eyes dimmed. “You didn't answer any of my comms,” she whispered. “I wanted to tell you I was sorry.”

He smiled down at her ruefully, reflecting with a little pang of self-reproach that he had not behaved as he would have liked to the day before; he had spent nearly the entire day holed up in his room, the door locked, busying himself with an Earth history paper that wasn't due until the following week while comm after comm from Gaila went unanswered. There had been one from Nyota as well, a gentle but probing inquiry, and that one he had answered to assure her that he was fine.

From Spock, there had been nothing. He wasn't sure if he expected, or even wanted, anything from him anyway.

Gaila pulled insistently on his arm until he lowered his ear to her lips. “Next time,” she whispered, “I’ll wait until you give me the code.”

She gave his arm one last squeeze before detaching and aiming a pointed look at Nyota, who appeared at least slightly mollified in return. He caught her eye as Gaila turned away to collect her own belongings.

“You’re coming with us to mess, right?”

“I don’t think you need me to,” she said, tilting her head toward Gaila, “but, yeah” she added as she hauled her bag up onto her shoulder. “Just in case.”

The late morning was sunny but crisp, the promise of cooler weather in the air, and from the mass of bodies either hurrying along or basking on the grounds, it seemed that the entire Academy population was taking full advantage of the weekend’s perfect fall weather. As he scanned the sheer volume of cadets and instructors crossing the green, Jim began to think that Pike was right; Barnett’s plan was hare-brained. The idea that anyone, least of all himself, could detect any kind of illicit communication among this giddy throng was, indeed, bullshit. He mentally shrugged off the disappointment he felt at the thought that he wouldn't be much use to the admiral after all.

At least Pike will be happy that I won’t get myself killed.

He slowed at the sound of pounding footfalls behind them, letting the women move ahead, and braced himself for the blow he knew was coming. Mitchell did not disappoint, the backhanded slap landing squarely on the lateral deltoid that Gaila had relinquished a few minutes earlier.

“Good to be back among the living!” he crowed as he draped his free arm around Jim’s shoulders. “I’m going to make up that astro test tonight, so you’ll have the room to yourself. Again. For a little while, anyway.”

Jim smiled, thankful to have an honest excuse to decline Mitchell’s generosity. “Thanks, but I won’t be there. I've got plans."

The grin on Jim’s face broadened at the look of open astonishment on Mitchell’s. “Wait, plans? You have plans? Dude!” The hand on Jim’s shoulder tightened, then shook him soundly as Mitchell laughed out loud. “I’m proud of you, man! Hey, wait…” His expression grew suspicious. “Do these ‘plans’ involve books, in any way, shape, or form?”

It was Jim’s turn to laugh; Mitch knew him too well already. “Yeah, kind of. I’m meeting with my astrophysics tutor.”

“A tutor. On a Friday night.” Mitchell’s hand left Jim’s shoulder to slap the back of his head so hard that Jim almost tripped on the walkway. “You’re going to fucking tutoring on a Friday night? Christ, for a minute there, I thought you were fucking bomb-ass, you loser.”

Jim silently cataloged “bomb-ass” alongside “rad-balls” in his lexicon of Mitchell’s anatomically inspired phrases as his friend sputtered on. “And who’s lame enough to study on a Friday night, anyway? Besides you, I mean. No offense,” he backtracked as Jim frowned. “But seriously, brah, think this over. You’re gonna be hooking up tonight with some perv with no life? That’s wack.”

“I’m not hooking up, and Finn’s not a perv.” Jim surprised himself by flushing with mild annoyance at his friend. “He’s really nice, and he’s helped me a lot already. He’s the reason I got any credit at all on that test.”

“Finn.” Mitchell slowed for a moment, musing. “Tall firstie, white hair?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Do you know him?”

“I know of him. BMOC, big-time. Guy’s on like a million committees, lifetime member of the honor roll, that kind of thing. Plays a mean game of ultimate, too. How’d you get him to be your tutor?”

“I met him when we were at Medical the other day. He works there, part-time. He asked me if he could help.”

“He asked you.” Mitchell sounded slightly baffled, his expression growing thoughtful as he shifted his gaze toward the mess hall ahead. “That’s cool.”

His annoyance deepened; Mitch only said things were “cool” when they weren't. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, man, nothing.” He picked up his pace as Gaila turned her head around to look at them enquiringly, the suddenly serious tone of the conversation behind her catching her attention.

“Everything all right, boys?”

“Everything’s good back here, baby girl. No worries.” Mitchell called, then lowered his voice. “Am I gonna meet this guy?”

“What are you, my mom? He’s just my tutor!”

“Yeah, right, and I’m the fucking queen of England. Just be sure you’re back by curfew.” The order was punctuated with a painful elbow to Jim’s kidney, his startled grunt muffled by a woman’s nearby cry.

“Hu-tegh!”

They all halted and looked over to where two black-clad instructors had been hurrying across the quad toward the mess hall, one of them now bent over in pain and rubbing her shin. Her companion exclaimed at the stark welt already darkening to purple just below her knee. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

She nodded with a grimace as a coatless cadet rushed up to retrieve the disc that had struck her leg. “Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized, but the fierce glare he received in return was not one of conciliation, and he hurriedly backed away without waiting for an answer.

“Nyota, who’s that woman?” Jim asked softly, hoping his voice didn't carry. “The one over there, that just got hit?”

She nodded at the pair. “That’s Tella Kottke. She’s the RA for our floor. Teaches history, I think, or maybe anthro, I don’t know. Something like that. The other one’s her roommate. Why?”

“Just curious.” He tried to sound nonchalant as they resumed their walk. “She said something just now, like a curse, but in some other language. Did you recognize it?”

Another nod, this one accompanied by an eye-roll. “First thing you learn in any language are the swear words. That one was Klingon.”

 

***

As he scanned the rows of glass-walled study rooms in the library annex later that evening, Jim had to admit that Mitchell had been largely correct: very few of them were occupied, and those that were hosted lone cadets who apparently preferred the sterile safety of the library study rooms to more social surroundings.

Right now, I do, too.

Finn, already seated in one of the study rooms, saw him first and waved him in, then held out his hand to shake Jim’s in greeting. They were both still in uniform, but where Jim felt rumpled and more than a little sweaty after the long day, Finn seemed as fresh as Monday morning, neatly combed and shaved, his dress crisp. Jim suddenly wished he’d taken the time to shower.

“You look worried.”

The concern in Finn’s voice startled Jim out of his thoughts. “No, just…uh, preoccupied,” he hedged, smiling in apology as he fished for his PADD and pulled it out of his shoulder bag. “It’s been an interesting week.”

Finn leaned back slightly on the library stool, his head to one side. “Tell me.”

The gentle encouragement brought a flush of gratitude to Jim’s face. “Thanks for asking, but I can’t.” He hated to be secretive; confiding in Finn would help him sort out the events of the past few days, but he could think of nothing he could share with him that wouldn't cause harm to someone else. “Not everything, anyway. There’s other people involved.”

“I respect that.” Far from being disappointed at his reticence, Finn seemed pleased. “Gossip’s pretty useless. Let me know when it’s all about you and I’ll be all ears.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table between them, palms down. “Now let’s take a look at that test.”

He scanned the PADD that Jim passed to him, one finger pressed against his lower lip, for a few moments before looking back up at Jim approvingly. “Huh. That’s really good. You crushed the first half. The second, not so much. Run out of time?”

Jim nodded.

“What did he give you?”

“Pretty much what he said he would. Full credit for the ones I showed my work on, zero for the ones I just answered, even if they were right. It’s a 55 in the gradebook.” Jim felt a childish resentment streak through him as he spoke and hoped it didn't show in his tone.

“The next test will be a lot better. When is it, do you know?”

“A week from Wednesday, then the final exam a week after that.”

Finn nodded and handed back the PADD. “That sounds about right. He only gives three tests plus the final.”

“And I already missed the first test, from starting late.” Confusion wrinkled Jim’s forehead. “I don’t get how his class can be over in two weeks; it’s not even midterm yet.”

“It’s not over, it’s just that Spock doesn't teach the whole semester. Astro’s a team-taught course, so he tags out at midterm. Someone else will take over for the theory portion of the class, probably Bailey. Or Sinha, if you’re lucky.”

“What does Mr. Spock do for the rest of the semester, if he’s not teaching?”

“Research,” Finn answered. “Instructors here are a dime a dozen, but there’s no one on campus with Spock’s programming skills. He really likes to tinker around in a lab, and the brass is happy to have him overseeing their tech jobs for them. Win-win.”

“He told me you’re working with him on a project.” Jim regretted the words the moment they left his mouth; it annoyed him that he felt unable to contain his curiosity where Spock was concerned, especially when Finn had just expressed his own opinion on gossip. And Finn might resent that his name came up for discussion. “I told him you were helping me,” he added hastily, flushing again at the memory of Spock’s earlier admonition.

But Finn nodded enthusiastically, seeming glad to answer Jim’s questions. “Yeah, we’ve been designing a capstone test for firsts, to judge their strategic capability in an enemy encounter. He has the technical aspects of the scenario covered but has no idea what to do with emotional responses — panic, anger, that sort of thing. That’s where I come in.”

“Because you’re a psych major?”

“That’s right. I’m designing the subroutines that kick in when the cadet responds in any number of ways that are predictable for Humans but too illogical for Vulcans to understand. It’s my own capstone project.”

“So…you’re graduating at the end of this semester?” Jim felt an odd sinking in his chest at the thought of losing his new friend so soon, and it worsened at Finn’s wordless nod. “So you’ll be leaving.”

“That was my plan. Up until now.”

“Until now?”

Pink flooded Finn’s pale cheeks, but he didn't look away, his gray eyes darkening as they met Jim’s questioning gaze. “Yeah. Now I’m thinking, maybe I’ll stick around.”

The sinking feeling lightened in what should have been an uncomfortable silence but wasn't. Jim felt his smile of relief dim a little with selfish disappointment when Finn finally reached across the table to retrieve his PADD.

“Let’s see what we can do together tonight,” he smiled back. “To speed up your writing, I mean.” He paged to the last question on the test that Jim had answered fully, his eyes now serious, darting back and forth from the left side of the page to the flipped mirror image on the right as he read over the question and its response. A few moments later, he looked up at Jim’s apprehensive face and nodded encouragingly.

“I think you can really compress what you've got here. Now that Spock knows how you compute, you might be able to leave out all the verbal descriptions of how you do that, like the words ‘push’ and ‘pull.’ Maybe you can just go for the numerals, as long as it’s still clear what you’re doing.” He passed the PADD back to Jim. “Try the problems after that, the one about the single visible and the invisible binaries. I’ll time you.”

Jim could feel his spirits droop again as his left hand cramped around the stylus to write out his answers. By the time he set it down, he felt as sullen as his hand looked. Finn checked the chronometer.

“All right, that took you about twelve minutes to write it out, and the problems were worth ten points. At that rate, you’d finish a 100-point test in two hours. We need to cut that down to one.”

Jim’s mood sank lower. “I don’t think I can write any faster than that. My hand’s already killing me.”

“Then taking a few of the words out won’t be enough.” Finn searched the PADD, struggling to read its contents upside-down and backwards. “Why don’t you try shortening the iteration, too. Like, don’t write down every number, just a few checkpoints so that he knows where your numerical answers are coming from. Try the next one.”

He could tell it wasn't much better, although it was an improvement; Finn verified his opinion after checking the chronometer. “Okay, that helped shave another minute off of it. But you still need to go faster for a passing grade.”

“I don’t see how I can.” Jim hated that his voice sounded sulky but felt helpless to correct it. “My hand is dead. Even my brain aches.”

“Here.” Finn held out his own hand, and after a moment, Jim laid his palm on the invitingly cool skin and gasped at the sudden pressure of Finn’s thumb on the webbing between his index and middle fingers. “You need to let your mind’s energy flow through your hand, not resist it. Let your hand do what your brain wants it to do, and they’ll both stop aching.”

Jim coughed out a startled laugh as the pressure switched to the space between his middle and ring fingers. “Hey, that hurts!”

“It hurts because you’re making it hurt. Let me do this without any resistance from you. Focus on releasing the block in your hand.”

“I can’t…”

“Shh.” Finn pressed harder, forcing Jim to look up in protest from his hand to Finn’s steady gaze. His breath stopped in his throat as he watched the pupils constrict, lightening them from stormy to calm as his own heartbeat slowed, the pain in his hand fading. He barely noticed when Finn moved to pinch the skin between his last two fingers.

“Good. This is what it feels like to release the strain.” Finn’s voice was low, a calm and soothing murmur. “Your hand isn't working against you, it’s trying to work for you, but you’re not freeing it up to do that. You’re trying too hard.”

He laughed again, softly, this time in disbelief. “I don’t know how to do all this without trying. It doesn't exactly come naturally.”

Finn opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out; he dropped his eyes and seemed to search for words as he turned Jim’s hand over in his, his thumb now stroking the callused pads beneath each finger in turn. “Listen,” he finally said, “I don’t want to get too personal too fast, but I want to tell you something about yourself. Something you may not know.” He kept his gaze on Jim’s hand as his thumb caressed the palm, his eyes veiled by the silver lashes.

“I know…look, I know your life hasn't been easy," he began hesitatingly. "I don’t know why that’s true, you know, specifically or anything. Maybe someday you’ll tell me. But I do know it’s true. I can see it. It’s written on you, in you, written in your body like the tension in your hand. It’s written on your face, too, in your eyes. It’s all over you.” His thumb returned to the calluses below each finger and lingered on the largest of them, the one beneath his ring finger. “I know you had to grow up fast, to learn how to take care of yourself before most people do. I knew it the moment I saw you, the other day in Medical. That’s why…” He paused, struggling for words again, then changed tack, his thumb warming on Jim’s palm.

“And I know you try, all the time, you’re always working, in some way. Even if you don’t think you are, you are. You’re not afraid of hard work, you actually welcome it, because it gives you a way to change things, to change where you’re at and get you to someplace else.”

A strange buzzing started at the base of Jim’s skull, a warm insistent trill, and he felt his lips part in astonishment. “How…how could you…”

Finn shook his head, the expression on his face as confused as Jim felt himself, before raising his eyes back up to meet Jim’s. His voice grew stronger, more confident. “For the kind of work you used to do, working harder gave you results. If you were up against something difficult, you’d just turn the crank until you overcame it. But this, this class, the whole Academy, it’s not like that. Here it’s like working outdoors in the summer heat. If you go all out all day long, you’ll pass out, maybe even die. You can’t just work harder and make it here. If anything, you have to work easier, you know, smarter, not harder. And you can do that because you have plenty of smarter in you, more than anyone I've ever met. And Jim,” he went on, gaining momentum, “I know something else. You’re used to working on your own, with nobody to help you, because you've been alone. You weren't supposed to be, none of us are, but you were. I want…” He paused, seeming to fumble for words again until they came out in a rush. “I want you to know that all that is over. You’re not alone here. Your roommate, your classmates, they’re here for you, they’ll help you. And I hope, I really hope, that you’ll include me in that mix. Whatever you’re up against, I’m asking you to promise me, whatever it is, that you’ll let me help.”

A pleasant rush of gratitude struck Jim all over again; he curled his hand around Finn’s thumb and held on.

“All right. I promise.”

Finn brought his other hand to Jim’s, to press it firmly between his own, just as the vibration in his head intensified, somehow a demand for his attention. He tore his eyes away from Finn to look toward the glass wall of the study room and into the hallway beyond, the hallway that a moment ago had been empty but that was now occupied by Spock and Admiral Barnett, the pair of them apparently just having left Spock’s office. Barnett looked amused to see them and gave them a jovial salute; Spock’s expression was indecipherable as he glanced at them briefly before looking away.

He has no right to judge me.

He couldn't say why that was his first thought, or who it was even directed against, but it kept his hand in place until Finn patted it and laid it down on the table.

“Guess we should get back to work. You ready to try again, then maybe get something to eat?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” He glanced back out toward the hallway in time to see Barnett place his hand on Spock’s shoulder to gently but firmly guide him down the hall and away.

 

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