Title: Unending Love

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the rights to Star Trek. I'm just borrowing some characters for fun. Please don't sue. The characters and names of the people in this story are purely fictional.

Author's Notes: The tv series focused on Spock's brilliant scientific mind and cool logic as the Enterprise sought out new life and new civilization. Being of mixed parentage, why did Spock choose the Vulcan way? Was there a back story, an exciting past, a story of a choice made and its consequences? Special thanks for Anna Amuse for a quick beta and for generously giving her time and views during the writing process. Warning: This story makes reference to under-aged sexual situations and a suicide attempt. If you are uncomfortable with these issues, please don't continue. Comments and reviews are welcomed.

*****

Chapter 1

It was a hot, sticky Monday afternoon in San Francisco. Starfleet Academy grounds were filled with excited chatter from the new fall intake. Freshmen, in their bright uniforms roamed the dormitories, cafeteria and hallways to familiarize themselves with their new school. In his dormitory, Spock was already scheduling his core classes and tutorials whilst his peers were still exploring the campus. One of his core classes was Computer Programming 101, taught by a Professor Thomas J. Watson, PhD. in Computer Programming and Astrophysics. The course structure was very basic – something he had studied in Vulcan when he was ten years old. It was illogical to retake this course. After checking the contents of the Advanced Computer Programming course for final year students, he surmised that it was the course that suited him. Opening his computer, Spock wrote an email to the professor.

The next day, Spock presented himself at the office of Professor Thomas J. Watson.

In the office was a group of students fumbling with data pads, when Spock tapped softly on the door. Seated in the middle of the group was a small man in a green turtleneck and grey pants, with wispy silver hair that fell on his forehead. He must be Professor Watson.

He gestured to Spock. "Come."

While waiting for the rest of the students to leave, Spock glanced around the office -- one side of the wall seemed to be filled with books, shelf after shelf which he found to be curiously odd in these modern times. Most journals and reports could be found on the computer databases nowadays. On the other side of the office, prestigious degrees and certificates were displayed on the wall. There was a large desk in the middle of the hardwood floor and behind it, a window that overlooked the campus walk.

As the students filed out of the professor's office, he spoke up. "Good afternoon, Professor Watson. I'm Spock. We corresponded yesterday."

"Yes, Mister Spock, if I remember correctly," Professor Watson offered a warm smile.

"Affirmative."

"What can I do for you?"

Spock stated the reason for his visit. "Professor, as explained in my email, I wish to take the final year Advanced Computer Programming class."

Sam looked down at his data pad. "Mister Spock, I believe you are scheduled to take Computer Programming 101… for freshmen."

"Is it necessary that I take this course? I am trained in computer systems far superior to the ones you will teach in the freshman class," Spock replied candidly.

"And you will then point out that the class is taught to Vulcan children at a very young age," Sam rejoined drolly. Spock opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the professor with a wave of his hand.

"I'm sure you will have no problem scoring top marks for my class, Mister Spock, but there is an old saying that 'good things come to those who wait'," the professor said with a wink.

Spock raised one bushy eyebrow.

Then the professor bent down and scribbled something on his data pad. "Come back when you've determined what this code does. It will be worth your while. I trust we will be able to learn from each other in and outside class."

Spock stared at the data pad that the professor just handed to him -- the professor's words finally sinking in. The program code was definitely way beyond the syllabus of Computer Programming 101. It was as if the older man was baiting him with a fascinating idea.

"Is there anything else?" the professor asked, seemingly pleased that he has piqued the Vulcan's interest.

"No, sir…" the chastened student replied. Rebuffed, Spock resigned himself to the course and left the office.

Exactly two days later, he waited patiently until the class had emptied before approaching the professor.

Professor Watson looked up. "Ah, Mister Spock, I noticed that you were extremely quiet in my class today. Do you have difficulty following my lectures?"

"Professor, I have no problem with your lectures. I've determined the purpose of your code exactly 24 hours ago. It measures the energy consumption efficiency for Earth hover cars," he said, almost pleased with the discovery. "I was merely thinking about an improvement to your code."

The professor smiled again. "Nice work, Spock. That's just the beginning. "

*****

Professor Watson was older than most of the instructors in Starfleet Academy. He did not look at Spock as a child trying to be something more than he was, a lonely and misunderstood boy. Sometimes they ate together in the cafeteria, discussing the possibilities of alternative program logic. He would talk, chew, laugh with his mouth open and deliver a passionate thought through a mouthful of pasta.

Before Starfleet, Spock did not consider the study of human relations scholarly, until he met the professor. He did not believe it. The professor was a brilliant man by Vulcan standards -- the number of prestigious titles that adorned the wall of his office could not describe the man who became his teacher and mentor. He was intelligent yet humble and unassuming.

The professor would pepper their discussions with questions about Spock's interests -- he could glide effortlessly between explaining his theories and quoting famous Earth philosophers. The numbers and equations seem to come alive as if the professor willed it into being. It was at these times that Spock admired him.

"Call me, Tom," the professor said casually during one of their walks on campus. "I believe we can speak without the usual professor-student formalities outside the classroom."

Spock nodded with a ghost of a smile.

They went beyond the classroom, meeting now and then just to talk and bounce off theories about the universe. Spock had never done this with any of the other students or instructors before, yet he was comfortable doing it with Tom and the professor seemed comfortable making the time.

This went on for many years. In the spring, they would sit under a tree outside the Academy halls and in the winter, they would sit by his desk poring over lines of complex program logic or simply play a few rounds of tri-dimensional chess. Each time they talked, Tom would listen to Spock ramble then he would try to pass on some sort of life lesson. He once said prophetically, "Space is a lonely place, Spock. Cold logic will get you out of a mess most of the time, in most cases but empathy is equally important when encountering new life forms."

He spoke of the alienation and the need for connectedness with the society around him. Some of these things Spock understood, some he did not. It made no difference. The discussions gave Spock an excuse to talk to him, fatherly conversations Spock could not have with his own father, Sarek.

It had been 3.2 years since he left Vulcan and yet, he could not think of Sarek without feeling a searing pain in his heart.

*****

Professor Tom Watson sat back in his leather armchair and scrolled through the personal files of his new batch of students taking their first year Computer Programming 101 class. His gaze passed over the new faces of his students and then did a double take on a dark-haired fellow with pasty yellow-green complexion, bushy, upswept eyebrows, and pointed ears. Good Lord, it's a Vulcan!

All his life as a professor in Starfleet he never had a Vulcan student. Even though the Vulcans were the founding members of the Federation nearly two hundred years ago, Tom realized he knew very little about these mysterious and intensely private people. Vulcans were usually visiting scientists, diplomats and academicians not students. This particular one caught him by surprise and it intrigued him.

"Spock," he whispered the name. "What have you been up to?"

While accessing Spock's personal file, Tom's eyes widened even more. Spock's parents were indeed well known Federation citizens; his father was Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan and his mother was Amanda Grayson, a human from Earth. And his academic credentials were nothing short of spectacular, at least, to Tom's limited knowledge of Vulcan education. Vulcans tend to keep to themselves and rarely ventured outside their own in their pursuit of knowledge.

Why did he end up here? he wondered.

Spock was a freshman but he applied to take the Advanced Programming class for final year students. Tom knew that he would be receiving a visit from the Vulcan soon. His instincts were correct – Spock had initiated contact and appeared at his office.

The Vulcan was a tall and lanky young lad, with dark penetrating eyes and a velvety baritone voice. Through his conversations with Spock, Tom had the chance of observing him up close. Spock's relationship with his instructors and fellow students were often tense. When challenged, he was not shy about contradicting old information, or of voicing contrary theories. If other students were intimidated, some instructors considered transfer or early retirement. However, Tom was aware of the austere and aloof nature of Vulcans through his contact with them at conferences in other planets. It hadn't bothered him one bit.

As he made inquiries among his fellow academicians, Tom realized that Spock was already working on pre-requisites for a Computer Science major in his first year at Starfleet, pulling two minors in Astrophysics and Engineering. While taciturn outside of class, inside he was rarely quiet.

"A show-off," one instructor huffed.

"Yeah, he dared to quote date, volume, page, and paragraph of the journal back to me in MY OWN class!" another snorted.

"Be careful of that one," advised Professor Robert Biggs from Exobiology. "He has a tendency to keep up with the journals and posted field reports better than his instructors and he's not shy about it."

"Well, you know me, Bob. I like this boy," Tom quipped. "Keeps me on my toes…"

However, outside class not much was known about the only Vulcan student in their campus. He seemed to be a loner and Tom was not aware he had any friends. For all the noise he made in discussing theories, he was still not comfortable talking about himself. He could sit quietly for hours if that could sway the others to lose interest in him.

"You didn't say much today," Tom commented during one of their meetings.

"I don't have anything to add."

"Your thoughts are far away, Spock. Still, if you really want to talk about it, you'll know where to find me."

Spock only nodded.

Tom didn't press further and left him alone.

He had invited Spock to an orchestra performance once when he found out that Spock played the Vulcan lyre. Spock looked doubtful about the prospect of appreciating Earth music but he obliged, albeit reluctantly. On the evening of the performance, Tom offered to pick him up from his dormitory. Minutes ticked away to curtain time and Spock, uncharacteristic of him, had been delayed. It looked as if they weren't going to make it in time for the opening act. Finally, Spock appeared, dressed in a blue shirt and black slacks, his wool jacket two sizes too big for him. He looked ill at ease in civilian clothes as he stepped into Tom's hover car.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Tom. I did not know what to wear for such an occasion," he explained. "A dorm mate had graciously lent his clothes to me."

"Don't worry, you look…fine," Tom remarked and turned the hover car towards the great auditorium.

Spock slid into the chair beside Tom with unhurried grace as the performance was about to start. The lights dimmed slowly in the great auditorium and Spock leaned forward a little in his seat with taut anticipation. In a few minutes he was quite absorbed in the music, forgetting Tom, forgetting his problems. Glancing at him, Tom smiled as he sat back in his chair with his eyes closed, lost in his own reverie…

A lithe body, swirling silks, dark eyes and a beguiling smile...Mara, my lover, my wife dancing only for me on a similar stage a long time ago… I could remember the first time I saw her… She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

When the final curtains had been taken, the lights lit throughout the auditorium, and people were beginning to disperse, Spock remained seated unmoving in his chair. Tom sighed, filing away his memory as he leaned over and laid his hand on Spock's sleeve. He knew instinctively that there were times when it was better to say nothing.

"Fascinating," Spock muttered, his dark eyes conveyed interest, skepticism and layered deeply in there — a kind of wonder.

One day, Spock had come to his office to discuss the coding problems with a starship's research database. It was like any ordinary day with the Vulcan when his attention was diverted to something on Tom's desk. His eyes were fixed on the digital photo-frame in front of him.

"Spock?"

He looked up at Tom and asked, "May I see this?"

"Of course…"

It was a family photo which was taken a couple of months ago during their trip to Switzerland. His son, Mark was making a funny face and his daughter, Kate was smiling sweetly as they hugged their father.

Spock's hands trembled as he picked up the view-frame though his face showed no emotion.

"Don't you have a family photo at home? Or in your room?" he asked.

"Vulcans do not have a habit of displaying their personal life to others," he commented drily. "It's a curious human trait."

Tom decided to shrug it off. "That's my son, Mark and daughter, Kate. Mark is an attorney at law and my daughter will be taking a course in performing arts next fall."

"None of your offspring has followed in your footsteps," Spock stated as he put the view-frame back on the desk.

"True, but I don't mind at all. As long as they're happy with their choice of career," he replied. "I'm happy."

Tom's words seemed to have struck Spock to the very core of his being as he suddenly turned and looked out the window. He could sense a deep frustration and sadness emanating from the stoic Vulcan. Somehow, he had guessed that his parents did not approve of him joining Starfleet. It could be the reason why Spock came at the Earth age of twenty and he never once went back to Vulcan during his vacation, preferring to take extra courses instead. A long silence followed.

"Spock, joining Starfleet cannot be that bad," he said, breaking the silence.

"If you will forgive me, I...have a class in 3.5 minutes." Spock suddenly veered off from the subject and the mask of a Vulcan was firmly in place once more.

Tom had no choice but to allow him to go.

*****

In Spock's third year, he was already assisting Tom in the computer lab and tutoring juniors in Computer Programming. Spock was like him in more ways than he would care to admit – both were passionate about their work, with keen eye for detail and ruthless in seeking the truth. He was sure that Spock would be sorely missed once he was assigned aboard a starship.

Such are the thoughts of a sentimental old fool, Tom sighed.

Spock was busier than ever, juggling reports and extra courses -- their meetings had become less frequent. Tom had also been attending a series of meetings with Starfleet's program directors in which he was called to design a simulation test for final year Command track cadets. As starships began to venture deeper into space, the risk of encountering hostile species had increased exponentially. The program directors wanted some form of assurance that their cadets were prepared for the worst possible scenario. The objective of the test was not for the cadet to outfight the opponent but rather to test the cadet's reaction to insurmountable odds. Previous simulator tests had not been able to do that.

He met Spock in the hallway one day and suggested that they meet in his office for tea.

"I will be there at 1700 hours," replied Spock.

Spock promptly appeared at the appointed time as Tom was scrolling through the project dossier, wondering if this was too much for a student who already had his hands full. He had already recruited a three of his ex-students for this 'experiment', a historian and even a retired Starfleet captain. Spock, if he understood the Vulcan properly, would be able to ruthlessly consider ethically troubling situations without batting an eye — especially situations where people might be ordered to die.

"Please sit," he showed him to a nearby chair. "Tea?"

"No, thank you," declined Spock. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me, Professor?"

"As a matter of fact, yes… Spock, you are one of my best students and I know you have been very busy with your third year workload. You can decline if you deem it too much for you to handle. There is no obligation on your part to accept but I hope you'll consider it," Tom began as he picked up the project dossier. "I need you to assist me in designing a simulation test. The school's program directors have expressed concern about the performance of our Command track students in real life scenarios. Think about it, the ultimate game with a no-win situation," he told the Vulcan.

Spock nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

*****

Over the winter break, Tom and his team had worked closely to put together a workable simulation program. They had long discussions, sometimes while playing chess or scrolling through old texts on warfare. Meanwhile, the Academy's Engineering Department had already constructed a simulator device on a mock bridge in an empty warehouse on campus and was ready to test it in the spring.

More importantly, Tom discovered that if Spock did think like a computer, it was a computer that was programmed for swindles and traps rather than straightforward play. That would be sufficient to dispatch the majority of cadets, but there was something nagging Tom. Spock's program code had the disadvantage of ignoring an overall strategy during the test.

"Do you not need to return to your home for Christmas?" Spock ventured one morning. He had noted that it was December the 24th. Tom had given the other team members the day off to be with their families.

"No, I've already told my family that I'll be busy. No fussing. Besides, I already promised them I'll be back in the summer," Tom replied, then eyeing the Vulcan. "Have you experienced Christmas before, Spock?"

"Yes, I was exposed to this Human holiday feasting through my mother's extended family though I could never understand how humans aggrandize and ritualize the basic taking of sustenance."

Tom laughed. "Yes, totally curious, isn't it. Look at the time… it's getting late. You should go back and rest. We'll do this again tomorrow morning."

"Vulcans do not need rest as much as humans do. I could stay back to finish the coding," Spock argued.

"Spock, I'm well aware of the fact that it needs to be finished by next month. There's no need for you to exert your Vulcan abilities for this purpose. Go back and think over the possible scenarios again, if you have to do something…," said Tom firmly.

Spock was about to protest but Tom brooked no further argument. It was as if he was reluctant to leave as he slowly picked up his coat and exited the office.

Alone in his office, Tom's ebullient mood immediately changed -- leaning against the back of his armchair, he stared out through the window, surveying the lights that dot the campus grounds. He took a data pad and, suddenly he flinched with a spasm of pain in his shoulder. It was sharp but brief. He noticed it but when it did not continue, he ignored it.

Tom resumed looking at the data pad when suddenly the pain struck again. He reached for his shoulder, and tried to massage away the pain. This time it did not subside. Tom stood up and tried to shake it off, but it refused to go away -- something was unmistakably wrong. The pain intensified as he grabbed a corner of the desk and held on with one hand, with the other clutched at his shoulder and arm. The pain had violently seized the upper part of his body. He broke out in sweat as color drained from his face.

"Damn it! Not now… not yet," he cursed under his breath.

Another spasm, the worst one yet had weakened him. Finally, it subsided and there was an eerie silence in the room, a void. Tom knew what it was. At the age of sixty-five, he knew it was the symptoms of a heart attack.

He never told anyone about the incident that night though Spock looked as if he sensed something was wrong the next day. "You look pale, Tom," he commented with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm an old man with the usual kinks," Tom brushed off the look. "Now, where were we on the coding?"

Spock did not press further as he launched himself into the project; re-writing parts of the code and introducing new lines into the program. "I've been thinking about what you said last night, about the possible scenarios…"

*****

The prototype of the simulator test was ready for testing by the time the staff and students returned to the Academy after the holidays. They were waiting anxiously on the mock bridge as the school's program directors, Starfleet admirals and Federation officials assembled on the Observation Deck on the first floor.

Spock made the final checks on the computer and nodded to Tom.

Dressed in a smart dress uniform, Tom stepped forward confidently and addressed the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, it is with great pleasure that we present to you the Kobayashi Maru!"