Result

"Of course you must go. It is a great opportunity."

"But. . ."

"You must not think I would hinder your career in any way. I am not that sort of man, my friend."

The scene has been nothing of what I expected. He is more understanding than I thought he would be, more open and easily convinced. Somehow this makes it even harder.

He won't miss me.

I'm just a friend.

Whatever we have had, he will remember.

And that's all he needs from me.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, quite dispassionately.

I'm a little bit stunned. "You're asking? Now of all times you don't just reach out and take whatever from my mind that you want and then pour yourself into the gap you've made?" I'm being petulant and I know it.

He knows it too.

"You know that is not how things were."

Were.

He's already dismissed me. Us.

We were never an us. I have to remember that.

"No, things were much more convenient than that, weren't they?" I say, trying to tamp down on my feelings. "You had a friend, and I had the one man on campus no one else could get - thrilling for both of us, wasn't it?" I'm trying to rile him up.

And then, at last, I feel a frustration beyond my own. A frustration so odd I know it's coming from him.

It is beyond me, my friend, to do this now. It is. . . too much. I am too much, you are too much, and this. . . this that we have, it is too much.

Yes, it is.

I never explained to you how much psi-abilities can complicate a friendship.

No, but I figured it out on my own.

You are a most intelligent woman.

He manages to wangle it so that he is the one operating the transporter when I beam out to my ship. I'm grateful. This is the best way for him to say goodbye - by being useful to me and at the same time making sure I'm safe.

I bring my one valise to the step of the transporter, then turn to him. I don't want to say anything. I want him to mind-talk to me.

I know he won't.

He comes over and stands by me, not looking, not touching, not even thinking at me, but suddenly his arm comes out and grasps my elbow. His head bends over and he kisses my shoulder. It's all over in a second, without a single bit of skin contact. Then he meets my eyes for the briefest of seconds, and then he turns back to the transporter console.

After so long learning his mind, I know that I know what he's thinking. He's wondering if there is any universe, anywhere, or some time in history, where we would have been an "us". He's wondering if there's an alternate reality somewhere where he isn't him, and I'm not me, and no obstacles stand in our way.

He's wondering if he's ever said "I love you" in any of them.

"It's okay," I say, not entirely meaning it, "I can love you enough for both of us."

And now he knows I'm just being silly. He knows that there's no substitute for real, bonded affection. He knows that emotion flows both ways, or it doesn't flow at all. He knows that my love is and must always be one-sided, that he can't ever use me as a crutch, or he'd crush us both.

He knows he's not ready for love. And he's certainly not ready for what I'd want him to be.

"It would be better if you forgot me," he says, seriously, "You are going far away, and the connection between us will be greatly strained. I. . ." For once in his life he trails off.

"I understand." I say, quickly covering the silence, not letting him get close to being embarrassed, "If I really loved you, I wouldn't be going, is that what you were trying to say?"

"No." His voice is softer than usual. I wonder if he'll take the out I've given him.

He does.

"Well, then, my friend, I wish you every success," he says, giving me that famous hand salute that I can never make my fingers do, "Live long and prosper."

"Live long and prosper," I mumble in return, to cover my senseless tears. I turn to the transporter pad, climbing up and standing very still.

He nods to me, then for a moment his eyes meet mine, and he says, very softly, "Goodbye, Leila."

I close my eyes and project, as I have done so often with him, Goodbye, Spock.

Then there is a short burst of tingling light, and I am gone from him.

I know we will never meet again.