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The Betrayal of Irritation: Part 1 of my thoughts on Star Trek TOS. The "Spirk divorce arc" in Star Trek TMP is not new, or unexpected, or a surprise. It starts in TOS, with Requiem for Methuselah. A theory. Long post again!

I just finished watching the Original Series, followed by The Motion Picture, and holy fuck the two are SO interconnected. But the timing makes it really confusing.

There was about a ten-year-gap in real life between the end of TOS and the start of TMP. And yet, the wounds of failed Spirk appear to still be completely unhealed at the start of the movie.

The movie itself denotes at least a two-and-a-half year gap since Kirk was last aboard the Enterprise. (Kirk tells Scotty, "two and a half years as Chief of Starfleet Operations may have made me stale, but I wouldn't exactly consider myself untried." Decker reiterates this time period by saying Kirk hasn't logged a single star hour in two and a half years.) It could have been more time since Kirk and Spock last saw each other, but it's unclear.

There is a lot of discussion akin to "Why are the characters acting so weird in Season 3?" as well as "What the hell happened between the series and the movie that made Spock run off to kolinahr like that?" I actually think that there is no missing information; rather, these two questions are connected. In fact, both questions have the same answer. Here is my theory:

In my opinion, Season One of TOS doesn't start at the very beginning of the five-year mission.

Season One does not start with everyone boarding the ship for the first time and meeting their roommates. The relationships between the characters are already far too well developed to be brand new. Think of the fact that by episode 2 (Charlie X) Kirk is already saying, "I need him" of Spock.

By episode 4 (The Naked Time) Spock is offering to Kirk a thinly veiled confession of love tainted by repression and internalized homophobia ("Jim, when I feel friendship for you, I'm ashamed"), during which they slap each other repeatedly (keeping in mind that physical fighting is a stand-in for sexual intimacy in this show. My personal theory is that their serious relationship starts around Amok Time, but there is definitely something already happening there).

By episode 7 (What Are Little Girls Made Of?), Spock trusts and knows Kirk intimately enough to identify a well-disguised Kirk imposter in just two key words ("half-breed interference"); two hurtful words that he not only understands as not Kirk, but actually somehow a secret message from the real Kirk.

These are not newly acquainted coworkers. I posit that the three years of TOS are not an exact one-to-one correlation to the first three years of the five year mission. My theory is that the two years that are missing are actually towards the beginning, not at the end.

(Disclaimer: I have not yet seen TAS, which, from what I understand, is meant to fill the gap of the last two years of the mission, but since it is considered "questionable canon" I will disregard it for now, for the sake of argument.)

I have written extensively about how, in season 3, Kirk and Spock suffer irreparable damage to their serious relationship in Requiem for Methuselah, and then continue to fight about it for several episodes. Then Spock lives an allegorical journey to hell and back in All Our Yesterdays, showing the extensive inner turmoil that he is still going through. By Turnabout Intruder, the last episode of the series, the two have broken up and it's affecting their interactions.

So my theory is this: the end of TOS is actually quite close to the end of the five-year mission, the Requiem for Methuselah wounds are still fresh in Spock's mind, the All Our Yesterdays turmoil is still very real, and Kirk and Spock have quite recently gone through a very painful breakup.

(Even if I'm wrong about this part. You can imagine two more years of that painful Turnabout-Intruder-level intimacy, where they undeniably know each other like the other half of themselves, and yet there is no joy in that connection and no way to bridge the rift between them. It would be enough to make anyone want to run away.)

Doesn't it just make sense that after the season 3 spirk fight arc, Spock would be ready to put some distance between himself and Kirk?

Can we also talk about what Spock was doing on the five-year mission in the first place? A half-Vulcan, raised on Vulcan, who feels he has something to prove as a Vulcan, and is trying desperately to repress his human side, elects to spend five full years in the unceasing and exclusive company of humans. Why?

What if Spock felt unfulfilled in that life as a Vulcan? What if he wanted to try out his human side? What if Spock meant for the five-year-mission to be a sort of rumspringa from Vulcan mores, during which he could try out this other world like a piece of clothing, to see how it fit?

But in the end, those five years of connection, of love, and then loss, only led to heartache and overwhelm. But, while Spock never confesses to heartache and overwhelm, what he does confess to? Irritation.

Think back to the start of the series. In Where No Man Has Gone Before, when Spock is trying so hard to repress his human half that he still refers to his mixed parentage as "one of my ancestors married a human female," Kirk tells him that he plays a very irritating game of chess. Spock coyly answers, "Irritating? Ah, yes. One of your Earth emotions."

And then, in Space Seed, we have this exchange, where Kirk is being so absolutely gentle and patient and loving with Spock that it makes me want to cry:

Both of these "Irritation? Never met her" exchanges are in Season 1.

But look how much things have changed by season 3: This is what he has learned in his time among humans.

From Day of the Dove:

Irritation is, actually, the perfect emotion for Spock to finally allow himself to express. It has almost a medical bent to it, as in the sort of irritant that causes a skin reaction. He's been expressing irritation all along with that telltale eyebrow, of course, but allowing himself to say the word out loud is a big step.

Then, upon being called "you pointed-eared Vulcan" by Bones in All Our Yesterdays:

His descent into the allegorical hell and the barbarism of his ancestors brings out this outburst of emotion against Bones, the only other bright spot (besides Jim) in this human world. It is a step beyond irritation, to "I don't like that. I don't think I ever did, and now I'm sure." But it shows that this particular irritation has been brewing for a long time, repressed under layers of Vulcan control.

And finally, this, from Plato's Stepchildren. Not irritation, but relevant:

Ouch.

Spock always felt out of place in his Vulcan world. And he feels even more out of place in the very human world of the Enterprise. But Kirk is the one thing that makes that life worthwhile. The one safe harbor, the only safe person in the whole world of both humans and Vulcans. Spock is never at home anywhere, but he is at home with Kirk. But then it turns out that the safe harbor is perhaps the most dangerous place of all. He risks everything to allow himself to love, but then he has his heart completely broken by Kirk. This human world was already perhaps not a great fit to begin with, but now it's painfully, excruciatingly obvious that he is not at home here either.

Remember, also, what one of the spectators said of Spock during his emotional torture in Plato's Stepchildren: "Cupid's arrow kills Vulcans." WHAT.

So of course Spock's response to this failed five-year experiment is to say, "Okay, this did not work out. I tried it on, but this living-with-humans garment did not fit me. Fuck this shit, this being-around-emotional-humans shit, this pain-from-other-people's-emotions shit, and FUCK THIS ONE MAN'S BULLSHIT IN PARTICULAR, I am now off to join the Vulcan priesthood. Not only must my life's answer be on Vulcan, it is the most Vulcan version of Vulcan I can think of. I will give up all of my connections, all of my emotions, everything that makes me me so that I can finally become the ultimate Vulcan. Maybe if I get rid of my emotions altogether, it will also get rid of this pain."

And that is how he ends up here at the start of the movie.

But of course. It doesn't work.

He is running away from life, away from love, away from Kirk, rather than running towards enlightenment.

It was never going to work.

And when he suddenly senses that Kirk needs him, his instinctual reaction is to refuse to complete the kolinahr. He is not rejected from it (at least that's not how it starts), as so many people say. He rejects it himself by raising his hand to stop the priestess. She simply agrees with him that he has work to do elsewhere.

What does he feel, though? It is hard to say. It looks more like confusion or disappointment than love or longing. But might it even be... Irritation?

"Okay, fine," he says to himself. "If I must, I must. I will go and save that man's sorry ass one more time. I will go get a nice haircut. I will go put on my makeup and an ABSOLUTE BANGER of a little black revenge dress. I will glide onto that bridge like I own the fucking place. I will make that man cum in his pants as soon as he sees me. And I will not even deign look at him." And so he does.

Irritation does seem to be his main outward emotional state when he makes his first appearance back on the Enterprise. He is trying so hard to project himself as an emotionless brick wall, but he is actually radiating irritation in every direction. He greets Chekov with thinly veiled irritation, doesn't even let him finish his sentence:

And then he does what he came to do; he glides onto the bridge like he owns the fucking place. He looks so damn good and Kirk notices, his whole body snapping to attention. Spock looks all around the bridge, but not at Kirk standing right in front of him.

But, of course, he can't not look at him. He makes it a full eight seconds before he finally lowers his gaze and stares straight into Kirk's very soul without saying a single word out loud.

He then busies himself around the science station, taking charge, getting to work, ignoring the pleasantries erupting from all the old friends and colleagues around him. Irritation, irritation, irritation. He cuts all the discussion short and plunges headlong into the science, completely ignoring the way that Kirk is practically on his knees in front of him. But he sees. Of course he sees.

And yet, this outward irritation is simply a betrayal of his inner feelings: the fact that he cares. If he didn't care, he wouldn't be irritated. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have come at all.

But now that he is here, now that he is back, anything is possible.

#man I'm going to be turning thid whole idea over in my head like a Rubik's cube for days

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