Untitled KirkSpock

It was the end of a very long and eventful day, and there was nothing that Captain--Captain again!  He caught himself whispering it to himself a few times and had to stifle his giggle--James Kirk wanted to do more than to go throw himself on his tiny Starfleet-issue bed and sleep through till next week.  But despite his exhaustion and despite how deliriously happy he was to have his ship back after being sure that she was gone forever, there was something niggling at the back of his mind.  He didn't have to think too hard to remember what was troubling him.  It was the one mismatched puzzle piece that was keeping him from complete happiness--Spock.

The man had been his sole focus ever since… Genesis.  Even the thought of the word caused him pain.  In his mind, the planet was a vast graveyard, its molten jaws gaping to devour his friends, his enemies, his family, all alike.  Spock alone had come back from that unknown frontier, and Kirk had thought that once his katra was restored, things would go back to normal between them.  Sadly, three lonely months on Vulcan had proven him wrong, and even saving the damned planet Earth hadn't brought back what he craved.  That spark, that warmth that they'd shared before--it was missing.  Spock still treated him with such formality, almost more than when they first met.  Kirk wondered if maybe some of Spock's memories had been damaged or lost.  He couldn't forget something that had been so important to both of them… could he?

Not only that, but Kirk had noted with growing concern that even after Spock's return to life, their bond hadn't been restored.  There was still the same gaping emptiness echoing in Kirk's head that had been there ever since he had watched Spock collapse against the hateful layer of reinforced plastic separating them.  The wound of the shattered bond had stayed with him for all that time, gnawing at his mind.  He'd had such hopes that when Spock was revived and his katra restored, the bond would surge anew and that he would feel complete again.  Sadly, he had been horribly mistaken.  He'd felt too awkward to bring it up around Spock when they were on Vulcan, and after that he had been preoccupied for obvious reasons.  And still the emptiness remained, like an amputated limb that aches with the memory of wholeness.

Deep in anxious contemplation, Kirk barely noticed where his feet were carrying him until he was standing outside the door to Spock's quarters.  Even though the ship was sparkling new, the layout had been kept the same, and his muscle memory had taken over.  

For a moment, Kirk considered turning around and heading to his own quarters, but his subconscious had certainly taken him there for a reason.  He knew that he would never be able to find peace on this new Enterprise unless he managed to find out what was wrong with Spock.  And since Spock had a long and memorable history of not reaching out, Kirk figured that he would have to be the one to reach out first.  He made up his mind and then thumbed the door chime.

"Enter," came the familiar voice.  For an instant, Kirk could almost pretend that nothing had changed, that they were both young again, and that they were meeting to engage in their usual game of chess.  But when the door slid open, the illusion was broken, and Kirk had to clamp down on a surge of disappointment.  Spock was sitting in a corner in his black meditation robes, and they flowed about him like ripples in the deepest darks of space.  He looked up at Kirk's entrance, but his face was as impassive as it always was, betraying hint of neither pleasure nor remorse.  He rose and gestured to a small table with two chairs.  Kirk sat as Spock retrieved a curved bottle of an unidentifiable fluid and poured some into a bowl-like teacup.

"I was not expecting company, but would you care for a drink?" Spock asked civilly.  Kirk accepted, but did not drink from his cup, merely clasped his hands around it and turned it absently; his hands could sense the nervousness in his mind and ached for something to occupy themselves.  Spock took his seat and looked at the captain expectantly.  Kirk tried to steel himself against over-lofty hopes as he plunged forward.

"It's nice to have the old girl back, isn't it?" Kirk asked, forcing a smile.

"Theoretically yes," Spock replied tranquilly.  "Although it is not truly the same Enterprise.  The model is the same, but the ship is much improved.  I have noted that the new rendering of the ship has utilized the best of some new technologies and that it has made the ship 35% more efficient than the previous model."

Kirk faltered, a bit put-out by Spock's coldly clinical assessment, although he realized that he should have expected nothing less.  He had become too accustomed to the old Spock, the one who had begun letting down his emotional barriers with increasing frequency when he and Kirk were together.  The complete regeneration of these barriers only made this more painful for Kirk.  He was beginning to wonder if he and Spock would have to start all over again.

"Well, uh, yes," Kirk said, still fidgeting awkwardly.  "So, how… how are you feeling, Spock?"  

"I am fine, captain," Spock replied.  "I am adjusting well to my return to duty."

"And… your memories?" Kirk asked, going right for the heart of his concern.

"They have all returned with perfect clarity," Spock confirmed.  "They were all in order even before we left Vulcan."

"But--" Kirk started, and then held back.  He wanted to ask, but he didn't want to seem so… needy.  But Spock's inquisitive eyebrow raise gave him permission, so he plunged forward.  "But you still haven't called me Jim the way you used to," he said, trying to mask his anxiety with a casual tone.  Spock's eyebrow remained raised.

"I apologize," he said, although his tone was still detached, professional.  "But it is not appropriate for me to address you thus, especially on the bridge.  I have memories of doing so in the past, but I am attempting to correct my misbehavior."

Kirk nearly flinched at hearing Spock's prior affection for him termed as "misbehavior."  Was that how he saw it now?  How could this be his Spock?

"So…  You have memories of everything?" Kirk asked tentatively.  "Everything that we did?  Everything about… us?"

Spock suddenly looked uncomfortable--a subtle change in his posture and the tension of his mouth.  

"I assume you are referring to the… relationship that we pursued during our term on the Enterprise.  Indeed, I possess these memories, although I do not care to dwell on them."

Kirk tried to suppress the feeling that he'd just been punched in the chest.  He was gripping his teacup so tightly now that it was beginning to shake, tiny ripples disturbing the surface of the drink.

"If you have all those memories, how can you be so… unfeeling?" Kirk asked, realizing instantly how foolish he sounded.  Spock's eyebrow raised once more, only increasing Kirk's humiliation.

"I don't think I should have to remind you that I am a Vulcan, captain," Spock said.  

"I know, I know," Kirk huffed, now frustrated at his own incompetence more than anything.  "I just mean--how can you be so…  How can you forget--all that we had?  Everything that--everything that we meant to each other?"  He tried to keep the plea out of his voice, but it bled through, and secretly he hoped that Spock would recognize it, that it would remind him of their bond.

"Although I retain the memories," Spock explained, looking down at his cup rather than at Kirk's face, "I have not recovered the emotions associated with them.  The healer did not see their relevance, so they were not included in the transfer.  I confess myself grateful, for I can now look back objectively on my actions and see the illogic in them.  Our relationship was unprofessional and inappropriate.  I beg of you to forget about the liaison as I have."

Kirk felt like his stomach had dropped down and was grinding his intestines to powder.  He had no idea it was this bad--he'd been hoping that Spock was merely trying to avoid or suppress his emotions, but to have been denied them completely?  How could he reach Spock now?  

"Was there anything else you wished to speak to me about, captain?" Spock asked, and Kirk looked up, suddenly realizing that he'd been staring down at his own undrunk teacup and that his knuckles had turned white around it.  He released the cup and let his hands fall into his lap where they twisted fitfully together.

"No," Kirk confessed quietly.  "No, that will be all, Spock.  Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure, captain," Spock replied succinctly, taking a sip from his drink and still not meeting Kirk's eyes.  Kirk rose from his seat and turned to leave.  If only he could make Spock see…  Kirk managed to take one halfhearted step towards the door before a thought occurred to him--a glint of hope that flickered brilliantly in his mind.

"Spock!" Kirk exclaimed, whirling back around and planting his hands flat upon the table, leaning forward in enthusiasm.  "Meld with me."

"Captain?" Spock asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.

"I can show you!" Kirk insisted.  "Look into my mind!  It's all there!"

"Captain--" Spock began, raising a hand in protestation.  But Kirk didn't think he could stand to hear whatever logical excuse for rejection Spock had come up with.  He felt his flicker of hope begin to dim as he saw that Spock was truly averse to the idea.

"Please, Spock," Kirk pleaded, no longer trying to hide his desperation.  He needed Spock to understand, to give him this one chance.  He knew that if he could just get Spock to share the memories as he had experienced them, he would recall the emotions that he had previously been in touch with.

"It is apparent to me that the termination of this relationship is upsetting to you," Spock said, steepling his long fingers, "although I fail to understand why.  But please understand that I am content with my current emotional state.  I do not wish to recover these emotions, and it would be improper for me to do so."

Kirk's hands curved into fists upon the table, and he tried to stifle the hot feeling that was creeping up his chest and the back of his throat.  

"I could order you to comply, you know," Kirk said, keeping his eyes locked onto Spock's, his authoritarian instinct rising to the surface.  It was a threat, but it was a bluff, and one that he hoped Spock wouldn't call him on.  Spock's eyes bore into Kirk's, glinting with obsidian determination.  

"You could," Spock said, and although his voice was as neutral as always, his eyes were sharp with challenge and Kirk knew that he was beaten.  Of course he wouldn't--couldn't.  It would undermine exactly what he hoped to achieve; he wanted Spock to return to him willingly or not at all, no matter how painful it would be.  Kirk let out a sharp breath and let his head drop in admission of defeat.  Now all that was left to him was to wonder how he was going to function without his more noble half.  

"Thank you for the drink," Kirk said softly, lowering his eyes so that he wouldn't have to subject himself to the Vulcan's passive visage.  Without another word he turned and resumed his trek toward the door.  But just as he heard the familiar "whoosh" of the opening exit, a voice halted him.

"Captain," Spock said, and the word was like a physical restraint, forcing Kirk to pause and glance back at his first officer.  Spock's expression was still unreadable, but Kirk had slowly become an expert, and he noticed there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of turmoil beneath the surface.

"This means a great deal to you," Spock said quietly.  Kirk nodded, although it was not a question.  Spock touched his steepled fingers to his lips in quiet concentration.  After a few moments, he placed his fingers upon the table and looked up at Kirk.

"If I allow you this, will you then accept that I enjoy my current peace of mind?  Will you respect my choice to continue my life unburdened by the sentiments of the past?"  Spock asked.

Kirk felt his heart leap into his throat--he had a chance.  He was sure that when they melded, Spock would remember.  Kirk had always been the one to have enough emotion for both of them, so it now seemed fitting that he would be the one to restore Spock's emotional memory by sharing his.  Eagerly, he strode around the table to stand in front of his first officer, but what he immediately saw in Spock's face gave him pause.  Deep within those shadowy obsidian depths Kirk saw fear, half-caged behind bars of Vulcan restraint.  Spock was afraid of regaining those forgotten emotions, of revisiting that foreign passion.  Thinking more clearly, Kirk couldn't blame him.  During their relationship, Spock had forsaken his familiar barriers of self-control, he had allowed Kirk insight into the innermost depths of his soul.  Something like that had to be completely frightening for Spock now, looking back and seeing what he did, but not understanding why.

"It's okay, Spock," Kirk whispered, hoping to convey through his voice and eyes everything that he wanted Spock to know.  "I promise."

Spock's expression softened, becoming almost as unguarded as he had been in the days of their bond.  He nodded silently, and got to his feet.  He raised his arms, positioning his fingers in their familiar positions upon the meld points of Kirk's face.  Kirk almost sighed aloud at the wonderful familiarity, the rightness.  After Spock's death, it was a feeling that he had never dreamed to feel again.  

And then--with a flash that seemed to rip Kirk from his body--their minds were open to each other.  But it was not like before--lost was the encompassing, embracing warmth.  Kirk could feel something being held back, almost like there was a thin membrane separating them.  It was Spock's lingering fear--in his mind's eye, Kirk could see the barrier like a wall of ice, jagged crags rising up before him, crackling with terror and reluctance.  Kirk surged forward, pressing with all the sincerity he could muster.  He summoned an aura around himself, woven with all the warmth of their previous lack of inhibition with each other, the heat of their former passion, the fire of their bond.  Kirk opened himself, bearing the broken bond, exposing its dull throb to the harsh ice--he wanted so badly for Spock to see how it pained him to be separated.  Slowly, the barrier began to melt away, receding as more and more of Spock's mind flowed into Kirk's.  

And then, with a sensation like a key clicking into a lock, the last of the detachment was thrown away--their minds were open to each other, flowing like the eruption of water from a hose, clashing together and mingling.  Kirk could have wept for the joy of it.  He surrounding himself with Spock like he was diving into a pool, reveling in the impression of home, of together, of whole.  And it was not only Kirk himself who was experiencing these wonderful, familiar feelings--through the link, Kirk could feel Spock's mirroring elation.  The very knowledge that Spock was feeling the same as he--that Spock had missed this, however subconsciously--increased Kirk's happiness tenfold.  

Kirk soared through Spock's mind, seeking out each and every one of their shared memories, cradling them like beloved children.  He touched them all, infusing them with the emotional memory that he had retained from them, and the emotions that he had felt from Spock at the time.  He enveloped Spock into the heart of him, communicating wave after wave of wordless affection and gratitude, just letting him know how much he loved him.  And to Kirk's overwhelming joy, he felt the same sentiments imparted to him by Spock.

They stayed this way for what seemed like an eternity; it was pure bliss.  They didn't worry about their respective responsibilities as captain and first officer of a starship; they didn't worry about the expectations of their respective cultures, societies, their comrades, their superiors, their subordinates; they didn't worry about the relentless flow of time--they just basked in the beautiful luminosity of each other.  Content.  Safe.  Loved.

Gradually, they began to disentangle themselves from each other, as gently as possible.  Kirk was reluctant to leave, but he knew that it couldn't last forever--and as he slowly drew back into himself, he felt the familiar thrum of their bond, keeping them partially together always.  It was more fulfilled than he'd felt in a very long time, and he felt himself give a happy sigh as he completed the transition back into his own mind and body.

As Kirk's fluttered open, it took him a moment to orient himself, but as soon as he did he noticed that he was still standing but Spock had collapsed back into his chair and was slumped forward, his face concealed.  Kirk sank to his knees, ignoring his protesting joints, and laid his hands upon Spock's shoulders.  Had something gone wrong during the meld?  Please no, not when he'd just gotten him back…  But then Spock raised his head, and Kirk saw the tear tracks, and he understood.

"Can you forgive me?  …T'hy'la?" Spock whispered, his face wrought with barely contained anguish.  

"There's nothing to forgive," Kirk replied firmly, and then crushed Spock to him, burying his face in the crook of Spock's neck.  He felt the eternally unshakeable Vulcan tremble almost imperceptibly, then solid arms slid up to wrap around Kirk's frame, binding them together with equal force.

Kirk sent Spock all the forgiveness he could muster, their bond singing with reassurance and warmth, and he felt Spock utter a sob, both physically and across their link.  It was an exhalation of release, of relief, and Kirk knew that Spock understood.  Kirk was far too grateful to have Spock back to blame him for his earlier behavior.  Spock had been afraid of what was lying beneath the surface, and with all the overwhelming backlash, Kirk almost didn't blame him.  It was very intense, so it was natural that he would have repressed it.  

But none of that mattered now.  All that mattered was that they were connected once more, and all was right with the universe.  Two halves had come together once more, like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together.  Blue and gold, balancing and complimenting each other, never to be parted again.

Suddenly, Kirk was reminded of the old "'till death do us part" chestnut, and he couldn't help but let out a gentle chuckle.  Guess that was just one more concept that they'd blown out of the water.  Unconventional to the end.  Spock raised his head and looked at Kirk questioningly.

"Heh, nothing," Kirk murmured, flashing a playful smile and then leaning forward to claim Spock's lips briefly, sweetly.

Kirk could almost swear he felt his heart swelling in his chest.  Finally, everything was right again.

FIN