And we continue with the TOS OMS…
Kirk had had no idea the question of Spock remembering their
first night together would ever come back to haunt him. But it did. Almost
every day since Spock had been revived.
He’d given up almost everything there was to bring Spock back…to him. Kirk couldn’t really lie that it hadn’t been for him. No matter promises or words made to Sarek or anyone else. Kirk had selfishly sacrificed it all to have Spock alive again.
And as hard as it had all been, as much as it had hurt to know
his own son had perished, surely because of him, he’d still felt joy when Spock
had turned to him and said, “Jim. Your name is Jim.”
Telling Carol had been torment. She’d looked at him, over the
view screen, and she had said in a quiet voice, “And this is why I didn’t want you in his life.”
And then she had closed out of the call, out of Kirk’s life,
forever, he imagined.
Kirk couldn’t blame her. He’d made himself sort of sick over the
entire matter. But Spock was living and walking and breathing again. And Kirk
didn’t know when Spock had become so much of literally everything to him, but
he had, and it was the way it was.
The first time, after all that, when they were still on Vulcan,
when they hadn’t gone back to save the Earth and the whales, before they’d
faced the hearing, and Jim had been gloriously demoted back to Captain. Before
that.
He’d been alone with Spock. Spock who looked at him as though he
were not a stranger, but not that familiar either, and Kirk, seated across from
him, had asked.
“Spock, do you remember our first night together? After T’Pring
and the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee?”
Spock had stared at Kirk, blankly. His expression more blank
than it had ever been. And had said, “No.”
That simple word had pierced Kirk’s heart, even if it hadn’t
been entirely unexpected.
And so Kirk had nodded, smiled a little, reached over and patted
his husband’s knee, said, “That’s okay, Spock.” Stood and walked out of Sarek’s
house to do his own form of meditation. A big glass of whiskey.
Spock remembered little of their life, not only from during
their missions, but from their bonding and marriage, after the V’Ger incident.
He’d been told that Kirk and he were married and bonded, but Spock felt nothing
about it.
Kirk had been joined by Bones in the drink.
“After all this, with him not remembering your life, your love,
any of that, was all this, was it worth it, Jim?”
Kirk had looked up to the hill where he could see Spock, dressed
in his Vulcan robe, walking, going toward the temples.
“Yes,” Kirk had whispered, tears stinging his eyes. “Yes, Bones.
It was worth it.”
And now they were back in San Francisco. On temporary leave. They’d
be out again, on the Enterprise, someday, Kirk hoped and had been told, though
it was hard to trust anything Starfleet said, but the ship was not completed,
and Kirk was back to his apartment here. That he’d kept for years and probably
would always keep, even when he was retired.
Spock was there with him. It had become their apartment after
they married and bonded. Before Khan had come back to destroy it all, them.
The November sky had darkened even though it was barely
five-thirty and around the edges was the color of burnt-orange that sort of
reminded Kirk of Vulcan. He’d been afraid, ever since they returned, that Spock
would come to him and announce his intent to leave, to go back to Vulcan.
Sure, Spock had spoken to his father just before they departed
the hearing to decide their fate, and had not given any indication he intended
to leave, but it was what Kirk feared nevertheless.
Eventually, surely, Spock would tire of him and not remembering
their life.
And yet, gratefully, it had not happened.
He’d made the decision to give Spock space. Both emotionally and
figuratively as well as real personal space. He’d turned the office/meditation
space they had created together into a bedroom for Spock. Naturally, Kirk hoped
it would be temporary, but if not, he would accept Spock in whatever way he was
required to do so. Spock was it for him and he only wished he had realized that
long before. He hadn’t and was filled with regrets.
“Jim?”
He turned from his spot standing by the railing on the balcony
of the apartment to see his husband standing just inside the apartment, peering
out at him from the open door. He could tell that Spock was reluctant to step
outside, but he also wanted to ask Kirk to come in.
It was breezy and cool and Kirk wasn’t even sure when that had
happened as he hadn’t noticed it before.
“Yes, Spock?”
“Will you come inside now?”
And there was a part of him that wanted to say no, that he
didn’t want to go back inside to the awkwardness of being husbands and mates
but not quite. To a life where he never pressed Spock on what he remembered for
fear the answer would also be that he didn’t remember something that had been
important to Kirk, to them.
“Sure,” he said instead, sparing one last glance for the breezy
night sky. Then he turned and went inside, bemused when Spock stayed there to
close the door behind him.
“I have made some soup,” Spock announced then.
He smiled faintly. “Yeah? Plomeek?”
“Negative. Butternut squash. I recalled you had a preference for
it.”
Kirk blinked, feeling sudden constriction in his chest. “That’s
right. Yes. I…yes. Thank you.”
“If you will sit at the table, I will bring it to you.”
He took his seat at the table which Spock had already set up with a napkin, spoon, knife, butter and bread. The whiskey bottle along with a glass had also been set beside it. But Kirk shook his head.
“I’ll just have water,” he announced.
Spock made no comment. He just took away the whiskey and brought
a pitcher of water over, filling both their glasses.
Next came the soup, which arrived steaming hot in ceramic bowls
just as Kirk slathered butter on a big thick slice of French bread.
When everything was settled and Spock had taken the seat across
from him, Kirk found himself smiling at the simple meal. Maybe Spock couldn’t
or hadn’t remembered everything, but there were little bits like this where he
did remember and those moments were ones Kirk treasured.
He took a spoonful of the thick soup. “Delicious. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” Spock paused. “Jim.”
“Yeah, Spock?”
“I have a request.”
Kirk nodded. “Okay.” He thought for a second, then chuckled. “Is
that why you made the soup? To butter me up?”
Spock arched a brow. “Butter you up?”
“Never mind. What’s your request?”
And he tried not to feel anxious about it. Whatever Spock asked,
he certainly would not deny him.
“If you do not object, I would like to move my things back to
your bedroom. To share the bed with you.”
Object? Not in a million years.
Kirk reached for Spock’s hand, the one not clutching the spoon,
and curved his fingers around the palm of Spock’s hand. “I do not object even a
little. I would like nothing better than to have you with me. Every single
moment of every single day. Forever and always.”
Spock stared at him, rather blankly, and for a moment Kirk
thought he had overstated things. He was known to do that from time to time.
Spock said so softly that he had to strain to hear. “Parted from
me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched.”
Kirk broke into a smile and maybe there was a little moisture in
his eyes too. “Yeah. Yes, Spock.”
“After dinner, then, I will move my stuff,” Spock said simply
then.
Kirk found himself suddenly eager to finish the soup and bread.
And yes, there was still a long way to go, he knew that. But this…his heart
felt lighter than it had in weeks. There was hope.
