Shi'Kahr, Vulcan
2238
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Spock's mother held to the tenets of serenity admirably during the day. He had heard visitors remark on her almost-Vulcan deportment to his father. It was only at night, when she believed her son slept, that her humanity held sway. Spock heard a faint click and waited, breath regulated to simulate sleep, for his mother's fingertips to caress his hair and her soft lips to brush his cheek. He hoped she wouldn't whisper, "My little boy." He was six, not little at all, and intellectually advanced for his age.
Something silky tickled his cheek. A moment of analyzing provided the answer: strands of unbound hair. Odd. His mother kept her hair up unless she was sleeping. Tonight, her lips pressed against his temple, another variance from the normal routine. Spock opened his eyes enough to peer through his eyelashes. Instead of proper robes, his mother wore a thin nightdress that left her arms bare. Earth-made, he was certain. The material looked slippery. Satin, that was the word. No Vulcan woman would wear such material. It provided neither modest covering nor warmth. Did his mother wear it because his father was leaving on a diplomatic mission the following day? Did wearing an Earth garment provide comfort?
He considered the matter for several minutes and then slipped out of bed. His parents encouraged open family discussion. He would ask his mother to explain why humans found solace in objects. Outside his parents' sleeping chamber, he heard a low, husky, feminine laugh, and then his father said, "Oh, Amanda."
Spoke froze. His father was a master of Kya'shin, thought over emotion. His mother was unable to bear more children. They should be murmuring tranquil good nights, not . . . .
Memories of past taunts followed him back to his room.
I heard your parents mate out of season. That they join like animals. My father says instead of T'Sai Amanda, we should call your mother Sarek's whore.
Spock climbed into bed, whispering, "My mother is a lady. My mother is T'Sai."
.
He rose and dressed himself while the sun was rising. As was their family custom, Spock as first riser prepared bowls of Plomeek broth and poured cups of gespar juice.
"Moi loma," his father said, entering the dining chamber. Sarek had dark shadows beneath his eyes.
"Is it a good morning if you are not rested, Father?" Spock asked.
Sarek sat at the table. "Vulcans are capable of surviving for long durations without food or sleep." He gestured for Spock to join him. "I am, however, thankful for the meal before me. Your mother will not be joining us. She prefers private farewells."
Spock watched Sarek taste a spoonful of broth. "I do not understand the logic of beginning a diplomatic mission owing a sleep debt."
Silence followed as Sarek ate his soup. Once he'd emptied his bowl and taken a drink of ruby red gespar juice, he said, "I will sleep en route to my destination. What is your true question, my son? Speak freely."
"Why did you put aside Kya'shin?" Everything Spock had seen and heard the night before had been the opposite of the Vulcan ideal. Emotion valued over thought. Private farewells.
Sarek blinked, disconcerted for an instant before regaining composure, drawing it around him like his ambassador's robes. "Humans have illogical hearts," he said. "They need to hold things close before they can let them go." Although his expression remained imperturbable, his tone softened, "My mission will take me farther away than I have ever been. Encourage your mother to meditate and embrace serenity in my absence."
Spock nodded and bid his father to live long and prosper without a trace of emotion in his voice. He might be half-human, but he was his father's son.
.
.
Starbase Yorktown
2263
.
"You didn't have to escort me to my room," Nyota said. "Unlike the birthday boy, I know my drinking limit. I can walk a straight line." She smiled. "Kirk can't even do that when he's sober."
Her tone was light. Sociable. A muscle twitched in Spock's jaw. Dismay, he concluded, not a hemifacial spasm. After the mistakes he'd made putting duty before personal relationships, why had he told Nyota that he'd chosen to engage with her socially at Jim's birthday party instead of completing the mission report? She'd misunderstood his desire for her company. It wasn't to ensure a harmonious working environment. "May I speak with you in private?"
Nyota's mask of determined friendliness slipped enough for him to see the pain in her eyes.
"Please," he said.
She spun on a high heel, the skirt of her red dress flaring, drawing his gaze to her legs. The chamber door slid open.
Her temporary quarters were more compact than his, but just as aesthetically pleasing. He averted his gaze from the bed.
"I have always considered myself my father's child," Spock began. He told her the story of the boy who learned that humans have illogical hearts. "As I grew into adolescence, my tolerance waned. I became . . . arrogantly critical . . . of what I perceived as my father's weakness in indulging his wife."
"Vulcan arrogance?" Nyota feigned shock. "Isn't that an oxymoron?"
"Clearly, it is not," Spock said dryly. "I had the temerity to chastise her." He pictured the scene so clearly; the gangly teenager who believed his superior height accompanied superior purpose. "Was it not enough that hers was the face Father searched for when he entered a room? That he put Mother's well-being above his own? Must Sarek, a member of the Vulcan High Council, cater to human whim?"
Nyota searched his face. "What did she tell you?"
"That I would understand the logic of her actions one day." He reached out to cup Nyota's cheek. "The night you stated it would be better if we parted, everything we had shared that evening—"
"Wasn't just your way of holding me close before letting me go?" Her eyes glistened.
Spock shook his head.
She wrapped her fingers around the blue stone amulet dangling from the chain around her neck. She said, "It felt like we were joining hearts and souls, not just bodies. That's why I broke things off. I thought my feelings were one-sided. But your reaction when I offered to give this back gave me hope."
The miserable have no other medicine but only hope. He'd quoted the axiom from Measure for Measure to McCoy when Spock was injured and desperately hoping to find Nyota alive and well, but other words from Shakespeare tripped from his tongue now. "Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move." He cradled her face with both hands. "Doubt truth to be a liar." He felt the strangest urge to laugh and cry at the same time. McCoy would say he was delirious. He'd never been sounder of mind. Denial of truth was illogical. "But never doubt—"
Nyota's mouth stole his words from his lips, so he completed his declaration in actions, joining their bodies and souls before saying the words from his heart.
I love.
.
.
A/N: The phrase "Trippingly on the tongue" and the "Doubt not" declaration are both from Hamlet. Sarek's statement about Vulcans doing without food or sleep came from a Star Trek wikia, which is also where I found out about Plomeer broth for breakfast (comes in spicy and bland!) and gespar juice (tastes like pineapple crossed with a tangy Rigellian kir).
This story was inspired from watching Star Trek Beyond and wanting to create a backstory for Nyota trying to return the Vokaya amulet Spock gave her. It was so obvious that she was the one who broke things off, and he was trying to get her back, both literally after abandoning ship and romantically. Since Spock was such a devoted son, I decided to go back to the six year old Spock I'd written in Take My Hand, my Star Trek 2009 Uhura/Spock one-shot, and do a different kind of then and now story. If anyone hasn't read the 2009 story, I'd love you to look it up, and anyone who enjoyed this story, I'd love you to tell me in a review!