 @fasciinating moved for the beta editor from here
         HE COULD FIX THIS WITH a single touch, he thinks, tilting his head and staring. It would be so easy, or simple, gratifying in a way, to shove his fingers into this human’s face, even as it mocks him, and pour every ounce, every cut and bruise, every distinct mutter of half-breed, of his own hatred — desert filled and an everlasting forever — for this pitiful Empire into that bloodied and addled skull, and prove it. But it is — with fortune to the Captain, he supposes — precisely what Spock has been conditioned to do, having been molded into a weapon only sharp enough to pierce the minds of their enemies before he’s pushed back into the shadows to rot. So it is that he doesn’t, he won’t, because in the end, it will not serve him in gaining even a sliver of this man’s trust by taking and taking and taking, stealing respect with blood on his hands like he’s expected to. “ Neither have you, ”  he retorts cooly, just as unimpressed as it seems the Captain is. By now, he’s grown used to the same flippant disregard for the colors of the Empire branded into his bones. What he says to a traitor or not, is often taken with a measure of disbelief and treachery. Why should this be any different? Spock stands his ground. “ You are aware of Vulcan telepathy. ”  That, is not a question.  They all are. Spock cannot imagine a single Terran in this galaxy does not possess some knowledge of Vulcan physiology. Know thine enemy, as Terrans have said. For that, the times Spock has utilized his natural abilities are not unknown to any true commanding officer within this fleet. It does occur to him Lorca may be of a different sort, blind to Spock’s achievements. It did not change the fact that he’s killed the messenger — quite literally — once they have worn out their use in almost every case. The language of the Empire demanded no other terms but survival of the fittest.
“ Imposing my mind upon yours is only a matter of will. ” Spock’s eyes roam the side of Lorca’s face, meld points merely waiting for contact. He doesn’t move,  “ I could show you what it is to be half human in a universe that only caters to your kind in full. ”  His voice quiets,  “ Though, if you were truly assisting those seeking freedom from that universe, I suspect you possess an idea. ” Something coils in Spock’s chest, “ Was my father among them, Captain Lorca? ”
Gabriel breathes in and out, shallow in spite of the slow speed he maintains. Another burst of adrenaline as he finally understands the exact danger he's gotten himself into today. It's not that he had forgotten about Vulcan mind-melds, exactly. He's just been so busy reacting, playing a part and trying to keep up, that it had slipped his mind. In this hellish universe, where pain has become an old friend and death an inevitability, his own mind has become his last refuge. He cannot trust anyone else, and his own body might betray him, but at least in his mind he has freedom.
If the commander chooses a telepathic attack; to break in, to search out his secrets and tear apart the rest, then Gabriel has no way of stopping him. Only death would keep his secrets safe now, and he doubts that this Vulcan could be so provoked.
Strangely, there is a certain amount of FREEDOM in knowing that he has no power to stop Commander Spock. And a rock hard determination in discovering, after years of waning faith, that he still has something left to lose.
His father. Is that what this comes down to, in the end? ( How does a half human, half Vulcan come to exist in this universe? The ambassador and his human wife had struggled against prejudices enough back home; Gabriel wonders what the twist in that story is here. )
The short answer to his question: he doesn't know.
He could admit that; honesty would perhaps be a good idea if he wants to inspire trust---- which, well, he's not entirely convinced that that's his endgame here. On the other hand, if he can't give the Vulcan the answers he wants, Gabriel might find he's outlived his usefulness. Any more time he can buy himself ( and the rebels ) seems precious right now.
Watching Spock, Gabriel shakes his head slowly. It's not an answer, he's still considering. Acknowledging that the answers could be pulled from his brain without his consent at any moment, and wondering why he's even bothering to ASK.
Deciding whether to keep playing ambiguous, or to admit where his loyalties lie.
"If I was the TRAITOR you think I am," he says, carefully, calmly, and the hostility is gone from his voice, replaced by a hoarse neutrality. "And if your father was amongst the rebels, I would not betray him to an Imperial Fleet Officer." He might have just signed his own sentence with that answer, but with it Gabriel makes clear to the Commander that he will not BREAK so easily. No matter what little trust the rebels might have in him, he will hold it sacred.
"And you're assuming that I would even know who your father is," he adds, in the same way he might have once pointed out a mistaken assumption to an Ensign on the Buran.
