Perhaps have tissues

Jim fell asleep on the shuttle to New Vulcan almost immediately after they boarded. This concerned Spock, because Jim often woke up a little confused, and in an unfamiliar setting, it would be particularly upsetting for both of them.   

It wasn’t that Spock didn’t want Jim to have all the care in the universe. If he could be helped, Spock would be first in line for it. Once, Spock had been accused of neglecting to pursue alternative care for Jim because he wanted to keep Jim completely reliant on him. Spock would sell his very Katra to see Jim well and safe and anyone who truly knew Spock, and what Jim meant to him, would know.

Across from them on the shuttle sat Suvoc and Ronan. They were speaking softly to each other, so softly that Spock would have to strain to hear, his hearing was not what it had been once, and he was too disinterested to bother. If Suvoc had found a bondmate even one-tenth as important to him as Spock had with his, then Spock was glad for them, whatever the circumstances that got them together. Spock could no more blame Ronan for the rogue Romulan, Nero, then his old counterpart could be blamed for the destruction of Romulus.  Probably even less so. Every species of every planet had their problematic citizens.

The truth was, Spock did not relish the idea of giving in to that most inconvenient emotion of hope. For if he did, if he allowed himself to be filled with hope that Jim would be well again and a true partner to him once more, and then the healers on New Vulcan advised that there was nothing to be done for Jim, then Spock would feel twice as devastated. It mattered not about how illogical that was. He would be no worse off than before he’d learned Jim could not be helped, and therefore, it made no sense to mourn what he’d never even had the hope of having.

And there was that word again…hope.

But he had it. It had come in. It had crept into his heart, into his mind, his dreams, uninvited, and most unwelcome.

And if they were both doomed to disappointment, Spock had a decision to make. He was well aware that Jim would not want to live years as he was now. And Spock was equally aware he would not live years without Jim. He had made that decision long ago.

So if all hope was indeed loss for Jim, for them, then Spock would have to, at last, end it for both of them.

As they approached New Vulcan, Jim began to stir, and Spock prepared himself for what he would face as Jim awoke, for his own mind was already filled with the dreaded horror of Jim’s desolate confusion.

Jim straightened from leaning against Spock and looked around the shuttle in panic. “What? What is this? Where am I?”


He looked at Spock, but there was only blankness. “Who are you?”

“I am Spock.”

Jim shrugged. “So?”

“Your husband.”

Jim shook his head. “No. No. I don’t know you. Where am I? Where’s security? Someone help me!”

He scrambled up from his seat.

Suvoc put a hand on his shoulder. “Here. I will help you.”

Jim looked at him, frowning. “Who are you?”

“It is all right, Father…Dad. It is me. It is Suvoc. We are on the shuttle about to land on New Vulcan.”

“New Vulcan.”

“Yes. And Spock is your bondmate and husband.” Suvoc turned him back toward Spock. “You remember. You have been together many years.”

Jim’s face crumbled. “Spock,” he whispered.

“Yes, Dad. Go to him.”

Spock opened his arms and Jim went into them, burying his face in Spock’s neck, tears already flowing. “I am here, ashayam. I am here.”

He gazed across, over Jim, at Suvoc. They shared a look. They both knew that if this didn’t work, the option left open to them.

Spock hoped it worked.

And there, he was back to hope. All that he had. They had.