It felt
good to have Spock beside him, even though Jim hadn’t even known before he
stepped foot inside the Memorial that he would feel that way. That he would
need his first officer there. Or just how deep his feelings had become for
Spock that he wanted the Vulcan with him at all times. Something he hadn’t
altogether analyzed. Not yet.
For
probably longer than he should, he stood in front of Pike’s memorial. The pain
of Pike’s death was one he still felt sharp and fresh though a few years had
passed now. It didn’t feel that way. Not at all.
His gaze
scanned the few short paragraphs that were meant to describe the existence of a
single man, but didn’t really come close. Not for Jim. For an all too brief
time, Jim’d had a father, as his own didn’t get the chance to be, and his
stepfather, Frank, had never wanted to be. And maybe Jim had put more
significance on Pike then he should have. Maybe it was too much pressure,
ultimately, on the man. But Jim couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t pretend Pike
hadn’t meant so much.
Jim glanced
at Spock, saw him looking at the memorial with a sadness he rarely showed and
Jim was reminded, all too well, that Spock would be grieving for Pike also.
After a
moment, it seemed as though Spock felt his gaze and he met Jim’s eyes. For a
few breaths, their gazes locked, then with a shared nod, they both looked away.
They
moved on then, stopping at a few others, though more briefly, until Jim reached
the aisle that would lead them to the one he didn’t want to see, but would
anyway. He stopped.
“Captain?”
Spock turned toward him, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Your
mom should be here, you know,” he said softly, then regretted it. He frowned.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was
not a member of Starfleet, so it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
Jim
nodded, biting his lip, then looking away. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“There
is no memorial for her. Or any of them individually. Just a…plaque in front of
the Federation Headquarters.”
Spock’s
voice was so quiet that Jim strained to hear it. He took a step closer,
uninvited or maybe unwanted, he didn’t know.
“There
should be.”
Spock
tilted his head. “Remembrances, I suppose, are something most Vulcans
find…pointless.”
“Spock.”
But that was all Jim seemed to be able to say. Any other words got stuck in his
throat and seemed entirely not enough.
Eventually,
he touched Spock’s arm, drawing Spock’s gaze to his for several silent moments.
He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say that would make any of it all right.
Then
Spock broke the spell by flicking his head in the direction they needed to go.
“Shall we?”
Jim
nodded, lump lodged in his throat, and turned to go down the long aisle that
contained the memorials for the Kelvin. Like Spock’s mom, and the billions of
Vulcans murdered, there’d been no remains of many of the Kelvin who lost their
lives that day, his father included.
When
they stopped before his father’s plaque, Jim was surprised, though grateful, to
feel Spock’s hand on the small of his back. He placed his own hand against the shiny
plaque that listed George Kirk.
“Last
time I came here, I was just a kid,” Jim said, softly. “I came with my mom.
Sam, too.” He shook his head. “This was all before Frank. When I got older, I
didn’t come.”
“Too
painful?”
“I wish
that I could say that. More…too self-involved.” Jim turned a little to look at
Spock’s face, but not enough that he would dislodge the comfort of that hand on
his back. Spock, of course, held no look of judgment. No censure. In fact,
there was a gentle affection in those dark eyes that threatened to steal Jim’s
breath. Jim swallowed. “Spock, I…”
His
first officer nodded. “This is not the time or place, I am aware.”
“No, but—”
“Jim?”
Jim
turned, startled at the sound of his mother’s voice, to see her running toward
him. He made a little whooshing noise as he caught her against him as she threw
herself into his arms.
“You
came!”
Jim met
Spock’s eyes over her head and then he squeezed her. “Hi, Mom.”
She
pulled back, but only to put her hand on his cheek. “God, it’s incredible to
see you. I didn’t even know you were going to be in San Francisco.”
“I know.
We’re waiting on repairs and I wasn’t sure myself. I thought you’d be in
Riverside.”
“I’m
spending the summer here.” She pulled entirely away from Jim then, her gaze
going to Spock. They’d met once, during the time of Jim’s recovery after Khan. “Mister
Spock. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you
as well. Though not the best of circumstances.”
“Whatever
they are, I’m just so happy to see you, Jim, and here with Spock.” Her eyes glistened
with tears. “Give me a moment, will you?”
Jim stepped
back, with Spock, as she stood before his dad’s memorial. He looked away,
respecting his mom’s privacy. After all, his dad meant everything to her, and
though he’d been Jim’s dad, he’d never even known him.
And
Spock, well, he meant everything to Jim, so he definitely got it.
He turned
to face Spock.
“I love
you. I do. And I don’t want to waste even one more minute not telling you.
Because it’s just…I could end up here, or you could, or both of us, I guess,
and I just—”
“Jim.”
“It’s okay,
if you don’t feel that way, I just had to tell you before I burst, I guess.”
“I feel
the same way,” Spock whispered. “Your affections are returned.”
Jim
swallowed the lump, nodding, holding the sight of Spock in his heart, for that
moment, to remember.
“All
right.” His mother came over and linked her arms with Jim’s and Spock’s. “Lunch?”
Jim
smiled. “Yes. Sounds good.”
“And
dinner?” She teased, but, Jim also saw, there was hope there in those familiar
blue eyes of her.
“Yes,
dinner, too.”
“How
long are you here?” she asked, as she drew them away from his dad’s memorial,
her gaze sweeping over it once more, before her eyes went to the front of them.
“A week,”
Jim said.
“That’s wonderful. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I
missed you, too, Mom.”