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#quote taken yet again from the reform siddur
paopuofhearts · 4 years
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I’m dealing with a lot of emotional junk and this is just an absolute projection of all of that. It’s a wild fucking mess, my pals. But cathartic for me, so.
Still Star Trek, still Chekov, still very much on my Scotty/Chekov/Jaylah pairing - but this time with a bit of Spock thrown in.
JewishJanuary [ @jewishjanuary ​], Day 3: Shabbat.
Where has this week vanished? Is it lost forever? Will I ever recover anything from it? The joy of life, the unexpected victory, the realized hope, the task accomplished? Will I ever be able to banish the memory of pain, the sting of defeat, the heaviness of boredom? On this day, let me keep for a while what must drift away. On this day, let me be free of the burdens that must return. On this day, Shabbat, abide. Let me learn to pause, if only for this day. Let me find peace on this day. Let me enter into a quiet world this day. On this day, Shabbat, abide.
Out of all 432 personnel on board, 34 cycled in and out of the designated Friday after-shift celebrations. It was the responsibility of the Alpha shift was to set up in Lieutenant Cohen’s small private room - one of the few to have their own room, for the sole reason of also being a designated rabbi for the ship - and they would light their own set of candles, sing their own set of songs, and feast until Beta shift. Beta shift would support the transition, resetting the room for their own after-shift celebration. Partway through the transition, Cohen would be tapped to take rest and bunk down in another’s room, a volunteered rotation schedule of its own. It was the responsibility of the Gamma shift to clean his room after their own designated celebration, ensuring whatever challah crumbs and wine stains were left spotless for the next day. 
It was a challenge, given that very few of them shared the same backgrounds - not only differences among the Terran branches of Judaism, but the cultural changes that evolved in other species that encountered the religion, whether through marriage with Terran family members of their own or conversion after being introduced to it. It was a challenge, given that some kept kosher and some did not, and some had had to develop their own versions of kosher based on their own planetary and biological systems that were so very different from Earth. It was a challenge, but together, they somehow made it work.
He was supposed to be heading toward Cohen’s quarters, but instead found his feet wandering of their own accord down the other hallway, only a handful of steps behind his superior officer.
He had been working on and off with Spock for several weeks, picking up the ropes of science officer duties out of curiosity more than anything else. Working under Scotty two years prior had been quite an experience - and taking over for him had been a hell he wasn’t willing to go through again. And while Jaylah had gladly taken up the position of Scotty’s understudy, he wasn’t about to entice the possibility of being placed in such a role again. So instead, he shadowed Spock, watching and learning how to apply his knowledge in the sciences to the unknown - though usually, this just meant he was squared away with cataloguing and notetaking new findings, simple and tedious archival duties.
Yet it had been soothing, doing something so relatively mindless, after the larger fallout he had stepped into earlier in the week.
It was hard, feeling like a third wheel in his triumvirate. Jaylah, being Scotty’s understudy, spent almost all of her time at his side. Yet as navigator, he was holed up on the bridge, only seeing them on the off hours of their shifts. It had caused a streak of jealousy to grow, insidious and twisting as it rooted deeply into his heart. It squeezed around his ribcage, thudding relentlessly in his chest, and burst into the world as it poisoned his lungs and wormed its way through his tongue.
It had been the first time in a long time that he had had to retire to his own quarters and laid alone in a bed with nothing but his thoughts plaguing his mind.
“Is there a reason you are following me, Mr. Chekov?” Spock’s voice broke through his thoughts, nearly causing him to stumble into the man. They had stopped at the door of his room, and the Vulcan raised an eyebrow in wait for him to answer.
“Ah - yes, sir. If you - if it’s - I have a question.” It was a deeply personal question, and one he wondered if he should even ask. He looked at the wall across from them, hoping the shame he felt wasn’t visibly burning across his cheeks.
“And what is your question?”
A beat, a moment of silence, as he fidgeted and rocked on his heels.
“Could you - ah - would you - “ He paused again, frustration welling up at his nervousness. “I need help meditating.”
If Spock were more human, more emotional, Pavel was sure the stone faced expression would resemble something akin to shock. It was quickly overshadowed by a tilt of his chin, perhaps the most he would show of inquisitiveness.
“Come.” Spock opened the door to his quarters - dimmed and warm - and Pavel followed close behind.
Everyone’s quarters were relatively minimalistic, but he was admittedly a bit surprised by some of the more intimate touches in the room. A copy of Alice In Wonderland upon the nightstand, a picture of his family, most likely, perfectly aligned next to the computer terminal, with a 3 Dimensional chess set on the other side. A Vulcan lyre and bell set hung on the wall on either side of the bed, and something akin to a lirpa was set above it. A strange collection, to be sure.
“Sit.” Spock gestured to the two flat pillows he had pulled out from a drawer, placed on the empty floor space. Pavel did as told, picking the one furthest from Spock. He watched, entranced, as the Vulcan pulled out two candles from the same drawer, placing them on the small table at the foot of the bed.
“I believe you are more used to partaking in this with the others,” Spock stated, joining Pavel on the floor. “I prefer to do this before meditation, alone. But I will make an exception for tonight.”
He handed Pavel a match, nodding toward one of the candles. Together, they lit them, and once more Pavel was surprised, this time by Spock’s perfunctory use of Hebrew.
“I do not drink wine, or eat before meditation.” Pavel shrugged, still remaining quiet. Spock was not one to ignore such a thing, especially from one usually so energetic and animated. “I presume there is a reason you have asked for help in meditating, even going so far as to seek me during shabbat instead of joining the others.”
“Have you ever been jealous?” Pavel asked.
“Yes.” While Pavel knew Spock carried emotions, he did not expect him to be so upfront with them. “Perhaps not in the same way you understand it, but yes.”
“It is interfering with - everything,” he admitted, frustration seeping through his voice.
“It is easy to let emotions control you. It is harder to let them go.” Spock shifted. “Straighten your spine.”
Pavel did as told, and closed his eyes.
“Breathe deeply.” He did so, feeling his shoulders rise and relax.
“Think of an object.” He imagined the candles before him. They were plain white candles, nothing too particularly special. But he could see their flames in his mind: the thing bound wick, braided and twisted upwards, caught with the brilliant blue surplus of oxygen blending up into the dark crackling of yellow-orange carbon, reaching to the stars in a thin line of bright white molded by the convection of the flame.
“Begin to clear your mind of the details of the object. Shape the object into another object.” He tried to shift the flame, but only pictured it wavering. He squeezed his eyes, trying but unable.
“Now, think of your mind as a dilithium crystal. Concentration must be an intensive focus. Gather your energy, and direct it there. Gather your intelligence, and direct it there. Gather your emotions, and direct them there.” He wiped the candle from his mind, instead picturing dilithium. He could picture the pulsating light, surrounding the clear shard - transparent, like glass, glowing brightly. He imagined wrapping his energy into a tight ball of light, beaming it into the crystal as a transporter. He imagined compressing the books he had read into a line of data, beam it into the crystal as a transporter. And he imagined his hands, unwinding and unraveling that weed of jealousy entwined in his heart. He tried to trace his steps backwards, noting every moment of mistreatment, of coldhearted action, of glacial bitterness, sharp knives that cut a rift between himself and his partners, widening the divide into a gaping abyss as the roots creeped deeper, crushing as it became more rigid -
“Do not hold your thoughts - do not suppress them, or try to control them. Do not center yourself on these thoughts. Do not indulge in these thoughts. Do not suppress them. Observe them, watch them. Walk past them, and let them flow through you.” He imagined his hands dropping the vines, and the vines began to snake around him, choking him.
He opened his eyes, anger pulsing through his body.
“I cannot - “
“You can. Close your eyes and try again.” Spock sat silently beside him, simply waiting. Though his eyes were closed, it was as if he could sense what Pavel was doing. He was unmoving, like a statue - firm, solid, unwavering. Yet it was softer than his rigid jealousy - grounding, patient, safe. And so he tried again, imagining himself in the midst of the vines, lost and untied to anything but for the crystal in his hand.
“Label your thoughts gently.” He imagined thin strings dangling from the vines, small tags attached to their ends. It was reminiscent of the old antique stores of his hometown, small and dusty, with treasures stuffed away on the unreachable shelves of tucked away corners. 
“Cut them off and return to yourself. Breathe.” He stood among the vines, holding a crystal as a knife, and slowly began razing the vines to the ground. Yet no matter how many he cut away, there were always more ready to take their place. It was never ending.
“Breathe.” He took in a deep breath, feeling his hands shake. “Listen. Heed what is in your heart. Accept what lies there.”
He stayed in that place, watching as the vines swayed. He breathed - in and out, listening to his heartbeat. He began to count each vine as a heartbeat - one, breathe in, two, breathe out - slowly walking among them.
“Listen. Heed what is in your heart. Accept what lies there.” He imagined himself holding the crystal - his focus, his center, all that he was gathered into a tiny shard - and imagined a spark of light, reconnecting to where it was meant to be. Down in the depths of the Enterprise, settled into the heart of the ship; the core of their world. It was not meant to be entrapped in this jungle of jealousy, but placed reverently into its holding, where it could use its energy instead of lying listlessly in the middle of nowhere. The thin spark of light pulsated through the vines, guiding him away.
“Walk past your thoughts, and let them flow through you.” He felt the vines fall away as he walked, the ground becoming solid steel as rafters and ladders and walkways sprung up: the engineering room rising before him. Jaylah and Scotty, waiting for him.
“Breathe, and open your eyes.”
His cheeks were damp, and he sniffed, not realizing that he had started to cry. Spock nodded in acknowledgement, the gazed back at the candles.
“Maintaining balance is difficult. In our line of work, we walk upon a narrow tightrope. But that is why we have shabbat: this is our moment of rest, to recenter ourselves on what matters most.” He stood up, and Pavel followed, unsure of what to do. “I would advise you to talk about your emotions with those who you feel such ways toward. As I have learned, open communication is key to maintaining relationships.”
“Thank you.” Pavel wavered, his body thrumming, wired to run back to Scotty’s quarters, to throw himself at Jaylah’s feet, to beg for forgiveness and understanding. But he did not wish to seem ungrateful. “I am - thank you.”
“What is, is. And in accepting that which is inevitable, one may find peace.” Spock placed his hands behind his back, stepping aside to leave room for Pavel to leave. “If you need future assistance in meditating, you know where to find me.”
Pavel nodded and took his leave.
As soon as the door zipped behind him, he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He did not feel very changed, and yet - and yet he did not feel as burdened as before.
He did not run, as he had imagined, the buzzing feeling beneath his skin fading into a deep seated exhaustion. But he walked, determined, humbled, breathing deeply as he found his way to Scotty’s room, down towards the depths of the Enterprise herself. He carefully coded the entry panel, his hand steadier than his nerves. His mind felt detached; he knew his mistakes, and knew his atonement, and knew that he must press forward and try.
The door slid open, and he saw them, lounging as they compared notes on their pad systems. A tumultuous wave pressed deep within him, but it was no longer the icy spike stabbing through his very being. A promising sign.
They glanced up, Jaylah jumping to her feet to welcome him as Scotty scooted off the bed, hovering in uncertainty. It felt wrong and broken, as if he were stuck in an eternal maze of shattered mirrors and could only see distortions of himself, unable to reach back out to them. Tears began to well in his eyes, dripping despite his attempts to rein them in. His vision blurred, but he could feel their arms around him, and heard their soft murmurs as they led him to the bed.
It was okay to be wrong, for perfection was not an inevitability. It was okay to be broke, for broken things could be fixed and repurposed. He could pick up those shattered pieces of his life and find a way to put them back together - not as it had once been, perhaps, but still made whole once more. He was here, and he was still loved. And in that love, that quiet space between them -
In that love, he found peace.
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