"Should we expect this sort of greeting everywhere we go?" Spock asked as they entered the rental.
"Well," Jim said, looking over at him. "If Noulaul can keep Frank in jail until we leave, it will help. Otherwise, yeah, pretty much."
"I can see now the true reasons you hesitated to return."
"Yeah," Jim shrugged. "To say it's complicated would be an understatement."
"Indeed," Spock agreed, handing Jim an apple.
"Thanks," Jim said, accepting it to munch on it. "At least we got the Tube O'Lube without anyone asking awkward and embarrassing questions."
"A fortunate outcome to an unfortunate event."
"We'll stop again on our way back to the hotel. For milk and beer," Jim said as he maneuvered the rental on the road that would take them to the farm.
"What do you wish to accomplish while at the farm today?" Spock asked in the tone he normally reserved to request a mission briefing.
"Well," Jim said, considering the question and trying to think of it in terms of a mission. What were the outcomes he expected from being at the farm? What were the tasks that eventually needed to be accomplished? And was there a priority to them that he needed to factor into his planning?
He asked these questions of Spock after realizing he wasn't entirely sure what needed to be done in what order. Spock helped him think through the tasks they would be faced with and to make a mental to-do list. They also added to that list contacting Jim's lawyer the next morning, both to discuss selling the farm to Starfleet and to alert her that Frank had been arrested.
They had an informal plan of action when they pulled up at the farm, going into the kitchen to find the table completely covered with cakes and cookies, fruit baskets and crackers, and gallons of tea.
"What is all this?" Spock asked as he surveyed the table practically groaning under its burden.
"From the neighbors," Jim said, looking at the attached cards.
"Why did they place food here?"
"It's what we do, Spock. When someone dies, the neighbors bring food to the family. I'm sure the refrigerator is chock full of casseroles and salads."
"Neighbors react to death with offerings of groceries?"
"Well," Jim laughed softly. "We don't think of them as groceries. It's so the bereaved family doesn't have to worry about cooking. Or feeding the friends and family that will inevitably stop by."
"You have no family. And you are not bereaved," Spock pointed out.
"I know. It's still what's done," Jim explained patiently. "It's what they can do. It's their way of helping and offering their sympathy."
"I see," Spock said although he wasn't entirely sure he actually understood. "How do all of these people know that you are here?"
"Maddie told them. And Noik. This is from his mom," Jim explained, showing him a pineapple upside down cake in a pretty cake dish.
"You cannot possibly eat all of this food."
"No. But once the memorial service is over, everyone will stay and eat. And I won't have to worry about feeding them. Maddie will make sure there's enough food if this is gone."
Spock could only shake his head at the wonder of it. "I had no idea."
"It's what we do," Jim repeated, carefully collecting all of the cards. The dishes would be returned by Maddie or the neighbors would stop by for them after he had left.
"What will you do with those cards?" Spock asked, watching him make his collection.
"Write thank you notes. Tomorrow I'll probably get flowers. Or more food."
"I see. And you do not lock your doors?"
"No. Not much point. Even if I did, anyone who wants to break in would be able to. Most people don't bother," Jim said, taking off his light jacket when the cards were carefully stored in his pocket. "I think we should have the memorial service on Wednesday."
"That seems appropriate," Spock agreed. "Will it be held here?"
"Yeah. Winona wasn't much of a church-goer. I'll ask Tyrl to preside. He's done it before. We can have it in the backyard," Jim said, going to the window over the sink to look out at the expanse of yard at the back of the house, the daffodils undisturbed by the circumstances of the humans inside.
"That seems appropriate," Spock agreed. "Might you show me around?"
"Sure," Jim agreed, leading him out the back door. Jim showed him the yard and the tree house where he and Sam played or hid from Frank when he was on a tear. He took him over the barn where the farm equipment and tractors were stored, showing him the root cellar underneath. He took him out to the edge of the fields, showing him the acres that had belonged to the Kirk family for centuries, stretching out before them as far as the eye could see.
"You have no wildlife on your farm?"
"Wildlife?" Jim asked, turning his focus from the fields to Spock.
"Fowl. Bovine. Swine," Spock said, enumerating those things he had always thought would be located on an Earth farm.
"Oh," Jim said in realization. "Livestock."
"Is that not what I said?" Spock asked quizzically.
"Well, there's a difference between wildlife and livestock," Jim said, trying hard not to laugh. "Chickens, cows, and pigs are livestock. Deer, pheasants, and foxes would be wildlife."
"I see," Spock said, one eyebrow raised. "They are not the same?"
Jim had to laugh at that, shaking his head. "No, they aren't the same. And there was a time the farm had livestock. Not in my lifetime. My grandfather Tiberius did."
"And you have no reservations about giving up your farm?" Spock asked thoughtfully.
"No. I won't come back," Jim said with a shrug, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. "It's not home. Hasn't been for a really long time."
"I am sorry," Spock said most illogically.
Jim shrugged again, turning to look at Spock. "There's no reason for you to be. Enterprise is my home now. So long as you are there."
Spock nodded at that, leaning closer to very lightly kiss Jim's mouth, no other response necessary.
"Come on. I'll show you around the house."
Spock followed him back into the house, seeing the living room where Jim rarely spent time as a child, most activities occurring in the kitchen; the parlor where they would erect the Christmas tree each year and spend evenings in front of the fire. Upstairs, Jim showed him the four bedrooms, the one where he had slept empty except for a twin bed.
"Where are all of your childhood belongings?" Spock asked.
"In the attic. Or thrown out by Frank," Jim said in indifference. He went to the bedroom next door, finding it equally empty. "This was Sam's room."
Spock nodded, not making any comment. What would he say if he did speak?
"And this was Winona's room," Jim said, showing him the largest room with a double bed and the usual assortment of furniture generally found in a bedroom. It was in perfect order, the bed covered with a white spread, ready for any who needed rest.
The wooden stairs creaked under their feet as they climbed up to the attic. It was darker and faintly musty as all attics had been since time began. There were chests and dressers and boxes with labels slightly askew.
"We'll need to go through all of this," Jim said as they stood side-by-side surveying the storage area. He waved a hand vaguely at the accumulated evidence of those who had lived here. "Most of it we'll throw out. Some of it I'll put in storage for when I retire. Some I'll give away."
"Do you wish to begin sorting now?" Spock asked.
Jim sighed and turned to look at Spock, his eyes clouded.
"In what way can I best assist you?" Spock asked, some sympathy creeping into his voice but not so much that Jim couldn't stand hearing it.
"I honestly don't know," Jim admitted. "I shouldn't care. She wasn't much of a mother. But then I wasn't much of a son. But this… there's something so… permanent about this."
"Permanent?" Spock repeated, hoping to assist his friend in finding clarity.
"It doesn't make any sense," Jim confessed. "I don't suppose I can just sell the house and let Starfleet clean it out, can I?"
"You… I do not understand, Jim."
"I know," Jim sighed, turning to look at Spock. "I don't think I'm ready to face this yet. I know I have to do it. And I will. But…."
"What do you want to do?" Spock asked in a quiet voice, some part of him wishing that Dr. McCoy was in fact with them, suspecting he would have a much better idea of what the Captain needed. Because Spock was utterly lost in knowing what to say to ease Jim's burdens.
"I want to go back to the Enterprise. I want to return to being Captain Kirk, giving orders, charting unknown solar systems, visiting exotic and semi-dangerous planets. I don't want to be anyone's fucked up son. Anyone's mistake. Anyone's whipping post. And I want to make mind-blowing, brain-numbing love with my First Officer. That's what I want."
Spock could only nod at that, understanding the need behind the words, the ache behind the barely disguised pain, the anger disguising something deeper. "Come," Spock said gently, leading him to the steps that would take them back down to the hallway. From there he made sure Jim was following him down and out to the porch. When Jim was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, Spock sat next to him, waiting. When Jim didn't seem inclined to speak, Spock finally broke the silence. "If you want to return to the hotel, that is what we will do. If you want to stay here and talk, that is what we will do. If you want me to leave you, that is what I will do but I will regret it."
Jim nodded but didn't speak, still staring out the porch screen at the yard and the windmill that was quietly humming on the far side of the driveway.
"Do you need me to decide, t'hy'la? Would that help you find peace?" Spock asked.
Jim just continued to stare straight ahead, no change in his expression. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He couldn't think about it. Not right now. It was…too much. Too many conflicting emotions, and too many memories that were flooding back, taunting him. This house….this place. It was his past. The past he had finally escaped and now he was immersed back into it with no escape possible. Not until he had discharged his duties as a son and an heir. For a woman who spent her entire life pretending he didn't exist. And now that she was dead, his whole life was turned upside down and he had no control over what was demanded of him.
"I would rather face 5 Klingons Warbirds than the contents of my mother's attic," Jim finally admitted. "It's stupid and I know it. I'm Captain James Fucking Kirk and I'm paralyzed by boxes. By boxes, Spock. I've faced life threatening world ending cataclysmic catastrophes and been less… affected. I can't face an attic filled with fucking boxes."
"I believe that I understand," Spock told him quietly.
"Then you need to explain it to me. Because I sure as hell don't understand it," Jim said, his tone bitter and hard.
"You are coming face to face with your past, t'hy'la. A past that no longer defines you. A past that can no longer be altered."
"No longer altered," Jim repeated, tasting the words.
"As long as your mother was alive, the possibility of a reconciliation existed. Now there is no such possibility."
"We would have never reconciled," Jim told him firmly.
"I acknowledge that. However, it is my observation that Humans often believe the future holds boundless alternatives, endless possibilities. That had the circumstances been 'just right' you and your mother could have found common ground. Made peace as it were."
"Made peace," Jim repeated, trying out Spock's words for himself. "When I was talking to first-Spock, on Delta Vega, he told me that in his time, my father had lived to see me become Captain. Which I took to mean that my mother was also still alive when it happened. First-Kirk must have known he was loved."
"Many things changed with the arrival of Nero," Spock agreed very quietly.
"I'm sorry," Jim said softly. "My loss in no way compares to yours. Mine's not even so much a loss as an…inconvenience."
"We have both suffered, Jim. I grew up knowing my mother loved me. My father did as well in his own way. He still does. I was no one's after-thought."
Jim nodded at that, silent for several minutes. "Are you sure you want to bond with me? I'm pretty much fucked up."
Spock shook his head and gave Jim his version of a smile. "I am aware."
Jim had to laugh at his answer, a strange sound breaking the silence engulfing them. "Not exactly reassuring there, love."
"I love you fully and completely, James T. Kirk. Under no circumstances could I love you more or want more to bond with you," Spock said, reaching over and covering Jim's hand with is own.
"That will do it," Jim said with a smile that finally reached his eyes.
"Do you love me?" Spock teased.
"Not really. I'm just using you for your body."
"That is acceptable," Spock said with a nod.
Jim laughed at his answer, leaning over to kiss him. "We could make love for the first time in my mother's bed."
Spock shook his head at that, a light in his eyes. "We could but we are not."
"I suppose that would be inappropriate," Jim had to acknowledge. He straightened with a small sigh when his communicator sounded, taking it out of his pocket. "Kirk here."
"Jim, it's Noulaul."
"Hi, Noulaul. Don from Piggly Wiggly call you?"
"He did. I need your statement. And the statement of…" there was a brief pause before he continued "Commander Spock."
"Of course," Jim agreed. "We're at the farm. Can you come out? Or should we stop by the sheriff's office?"
"I'll come there. I'm 7 minutes away."
"Alright," Jim said. "We'll be here."
"Very good. Koie out."
"We need to rent chairs for the service," Jim said absently before stuffing his communicator back in his pocket.
"Where does one generally procure them?" Spock asked.
"One of the funeral homes. I'll ask Courtney when we see her. She'll know where I can get them. And there is a small stone memorial in the town cemetery for George. I should add one for Winona," Jim said in resignation.
"Is there one for your brother?" Spock asked quietly.
"Not unless Winona put it there. I guess I should add one for him too." Jim turned his expressive eyes to Spock, studying him intently. "When I die, I want you to swear to me you won't add a memorial to me there."
"I will not," Spock assured him. "You will be appropriately acknowledged in the Starfleet Memorial Cemetery."
"That's okay then. Tell Bones just in case."
"I will," Spock said with a nod.
"When we get to San Francisco, would it be inappropriate to find an apartment? So we'd have a place on Earth that was our home?"
"I find the idea appealing," Spock said, considering it. "You do not wish to purchase a small house?"
"Eventually. But for now we need an apartment. So someone else takes care of the utilities. In case the toilet decides to overflow. We could sub-let it to someone teaching at the Academy, providing they were willing to get out when we wanted it."
"We could. But it is not necessary. I would prefer it remain ours alone."
"Ours," Jim said with a smile. "I like the sounds of that."
"As do I," Spock agreed, turning to watch the sheriff car pull up the drive. Jim stood and went out into the driveway, Spock following him.
"Jim," the deputy said, holding out his hand. He was shorter than Jim and much rounder, his belly soft and his cheeks plump. His short black hair was mostly hidden under his Smokey the Bear hat, his brown uniform monochromatic and well ironed, with sharp creases up the fronts.
"Noulaul," Jim returned. "This is Commander Spock."
"Commander," Noulaul responded with a nod. "Good to meet you."
"You as well, Deputy," Spock said with a slight incline to his head.
"Come on in," Jim invited, turning to return to the house. "You want something? Some coffee or iced tea? We have plenty."
"I bet," Noulaul agreed with a smile. "Mama said she'd bring some potato salad by once she knew when the service would be."
"Wednesday," Jim said, going into the kitchen when Noulaul requested a glass of tea. Jim automatically went to the cabinet that held the glasses without thinking about it, taking one out before filing it with ice. Once he'd poured the tea, they all went back out to the porch.
"You're looking good, Jim. Starfleet agrees with you," Noulaul observed, putting his hat under his chair before sitting.
"It does. You still enjoy being a deputy?"
"Sure do. Hope to run for sheriff one day. Once old man Burnes finally retires," Noulaul said.
"He still terrorizing the youth?" Jim asked.
"You know it. Purchased four more robocops to try and stop the drag racing. We told him he could buy 40 of them and it wouldn't help. But he doesn't listen," Noulaul said in resignation.
"Never did," Jim agreed.
Noulaul shook his head, taking his padd out and reviewing the information. "Frank's in the holding cell. Blood alcohol of almost .2 means he's in violation of parole. Drunk and disorderly. Disturbing the peace. Enough to keep him locked up for minimum of 10 days."
"I appreciate it," Jim said. "Noik said he thought Frank'd been sober for 2 years."
"He was. Until he heard about Winona. Mama thinks he used it as an excuse. Plus he knew you'd be coming."
"Yeah," Jim sighed. "It's a wonder he hasn't gotten himself killed before now."
"Fools and children, Jim."
Jim nodded, catching Spock's quizzically raised eyebrow. "God watches over fools and children," Jim explained to Spock's nod. Jim knew he didn't really understand nor would he ask about it any further. Not yet.
"What happened before you knocked him unconscious?" Noulaul asked.
"I didn't hit him, except with the milk," Jim said.
"Don said he was out cold," Noulaul said referring to his notes.
"I am the reason for that," Spock said, speaking up.
"You knocked him out?" Noulaul asked.
"Not precisely. I employed the Vulcan nerve pinch on him when he attempted to assault the Captain. It is quite effective without overt violence."
"I see," Noulaul said in respectful tones. "Quite effective is an understatement. Report says he was out for some time after we hauled him off to jail."
"It will do that," Jim agreed. "I've tried to learn it. But Humans can't generally do it."
"That's too bad. Be an effective law-enforcement technique."
"It would," Jim said. "Do I need come press charges?"
"No. Don did it. His signature is plenty. And since I have your statement. I'll send you the official version and you can return it with corrections or approval."
"Of course," Jim agreed.
"We'll send a copy to Ms. St. Peter, so she'll have the record," Noulaul said, Jim nodding.
"We're going to see her probably on Tuesday," Jim confirmed.
"Yeah. I guess you would need to settle up some things."
"We do," Jim agreed, some of his exhaustion coming through despite his best efforts to disguise it.
"If you want Mama to come over, you know she will. Help sort and… you know," Noulaul said kindly.
"I appreciate it. I'll let her know?"
"Of course," Noulaul said, standing up. "Unless there's anything else I can do for you, I need to be getting back."
"Thank you for coming," Jim said, also standing to shake his hand. "I think the service will be around 4. Can you come?"
"Of course I'll be here," Noulaul said, leaving the porch with Jim and Spock. "I'll see you then. Commander."
Spock nodded, watching with Jim as Noulaul left, a faint dust cloud following the car as he pulled away. "Come," Spock said.
"Come where?" Jim asked, his eyes squinted as he looked over at Spock.
"We are returning to the hotel where you will be going to sleep."
Jim shook his head at that. "There's too much to do."
"We are on leave, Jim. Starfleet specifically said we are not to return until we are ready. We may remain in Iowa and then San Francisco for as long as necessary." He held up one hand when Jim began to protest. "Your ship is in spacedock. Your chief engineer is fussing over every modification they are thinking of making. Your crew is safe."
"Fussing?" Jim laughed.
Spock shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Do you have further protests you would like to try and make?"
"No," Jim said. "Will you sleep with me?"
"If sleeping is all that we do, yes. We will pursue more interesting and satisfying activities at a later time. Possibly later today."
"If I have your promise," Jim said.
"Have I ever lied to you before, Captain?"
"Hmm…" Jim said, pretending to consider it. He laughed at Spock's raised eyebrow. "Okay. I concede."
"Wise," Spock said, returning to the house for Jim's jacket and the fruit basket. "Do you need me to drive?"
"No. I'm fine. I'm just sorry…." Jim stopped, looking over at him. "I know. Apologies are unnecessary and illogical."
"Yet very typical for you, especially in your current state of mind," Spock said, entering the rental with Jim.
"You didn't think it would get this bad, did you?"
"'Bad' in what way?" Spock asked.
"That I could be such a mess."
"I do not find you to be a mess. I see that you are coming to terms with a difficult and trying loss. Anyone in your circumstances would be undergoing the same emotional turmoil," Spock said.
"I guess so. You always think you know how you'd handle it until it actually happens to you," Jim said thoughtfully.
"As is often the case with life circumstances," Spock agreed.
"I hope so," Jim said. "When we get back, I want to see if I can reach Bones. You won't think that…."
"I will think that you miss him. That you have not been away from him for any length of time since you entered the Academy," Spock said when he interrupted. "And I also know that if he were here and I was not, you would be contacting me."
Jim laughed at that, glancing over at him. "You are right about that. Do you know what time it is on Ritilla?"
"I do not," Spock said.
"Okay. I'll try contacting him and see what happens. If I wake him up, he'll just grumble at me."
"A likely occurrence even if you do not awaken him," Spock said to Jim's laughter.
"Yeah. He can be contrary," Jim agreed.
"None of us take offense at it."
"Good thing. Chances are good he's never going to change," Jim said.
"My observation as well."
"I also need to contact Chris. Let him know about the service. Starfleet will want to send someone, don't you think?" Jim asked, glancing over at Spock.
"It would seem appropriate," Spock agreed. "As she was an active member of Starfleet. And your mother."
"And George's widow," Jim added.
"Indeed. Whose farm is this?" he asked as they drove by an entrance to another farm.
"Noulaul's parents. They are our closest neighbors. When things with Frank were especially unbearable, I'd sometimes go to their house. I'd stay as long as I could. But I didn't want him to come take it out on them."
Spock could only shake his head at that, still unable to comprehend an adult's intentional cruelty to a child. "That is why the Deputy said that his mother would come and help."
"Yeah. She and Winona weren't exactly tight. But Aleola would do everything she could to protect me."
Spock made no response to that instead looking out the window. How could Humans be so casual in hurting their offspring? Even those not biologically related who were entrusted to their care? In Vulcan society, children were cherished and nurtured. By parents and strangers alike. The idea of raising a hand to a child was anathema to all that Vulcan stood for.