Spock stood still, his breath shallow and rapid, staring at the lieutenant now lying crumpled on the floor. His hand still tingled from the force of the strike, the surge of emotion—anger, frustration, confusion—coursing through him with alarming intensity. It had been a moment of weakness, a lapse in control. Something about the lieutenant’s words, the tension in their confrontation, had triggered a reaction Spock couldn’t suppress. The Vulcan side of him, desperate for release, had taken over. His strength, honed through years of discipline, had come out in full force.

Yet, what struck him as even more unexpected than the strike itself, was what followed. The lieutenant, despite the force of the blow, was already moving. There was a moment of disbelief as Spock watched them rise—fury in their eyes, pain in their body—but still determined. Before he could react, they closed the distance with swift agility, a force of their own, and landed a retaliatory blow.

The impact was sudden, disorienting. Spock’s world tilted as the ground met his back with a harsh, unforgiving thud. His breath was knocked out of him, and for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Groggily, he blinked up, vision swimming, his hand instinctively moving to the back of his head where the pain throbbed. His fingers met the familiar sting of injury. As the world cleared, he saw the lieutenant standing over him, face bruised but fierce. The scowl they wore was clear—undeterred, ready for whatever came next.

"Quite the reaction, Lieutenant..” Spock's voice was strained, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of both surprise and respect. "You…" Spock’s words faltered for a brief moment, as though his logical mind were trying to process the rapid shift in the dynamics between them. His hand instinctively reached for the back of his head again, but he caught himself, withdrawing it before he could betray any more weakness. “I did not expect that..”