My dearest Spock,

On my first day on the job, you came to me and introduced yourself. You had this odd tone of voice, which to me seemed as though you were judging me. All because I hadn't been in charge of a starship before. And that look you gave me. I will always remember it. Your eyes, normally so soft and kind, looked as though they were on fire. God, you despised me! So, for that reason, I hated you back. But as you walked away, my Spock, that was when I got this feeling. Right in the pit of my stomach. I can remember the tingling sensation there as I swallowed deeply, watching you disappear from sight. It wasn't a nice feeling. It's hard to explain, I know, but in that moment I just knew. My life was going to change forever. For better or for worse, at the time I wasn't entirely sure. I feared for the longest time that it would be for the worse. I'm glad it wasn't.

Maybe this is a cowardly way to tell you – there are far better methods of communicating, as you know all too well – but it seems that this centuries' old fountain pen is my only friend at this hour. You don't have to respond of course, and if you never want to see me again, I'll understand. You can raise our son on Vulcan if you like, and you can tell him stories about how I broke your heart. You can perceive me as a real monster for all I care. Or don't mention me at all. But just for one moment, I need you to listen to me. Even if it is the wrong choice of words here.

Kathy was never the love of my life. Don't get me wrong; she's a lovely girl, and I cherish her very much. But she was nothing more than a holiday romance. A phase. A dream. A shooting star. We were never going to be happy and she doesn't deserve that. She needs someone who will love her like I love you. I should have realised that a long time ago. Before all of this happened. Because I would want to do it properly if given the chance to slingshot around the sun – so to speak. We would be a real family; you, me and Jeremy. We can still be that. I would make you my husband in a heartbeat if you were here right now. I know it's the thing you truly desire, even when you don't admit it. Because that need is always going to be there. So I'm pleading you. Please, t'hy'la, please consider it before you take my son from my life. I need him as much as you need him.

Awaiting your answer,

James Tiberius Kirk

PS: Jeremy is the name I chose for our baby.

" Jeremy?" Spock uttered out loud.

Bathed in the light of his bedside lamp, he sat upright in bed, which caused his round belly to stick out at an odd angle. His back, sore, knotted and on fire, was supported by a mountain of pillows as he gazed upon the scruffy, slanted handwriting of his beloved captain. There were ink spots all over the virgin-white page, which initially drove Spock to the point of madness, but it seemed so human that it was almost endearing. In a world full of logic and reason, Spock missed that. Awkwardly, he heaved a sigh. This was the thirty-fourth time he had read Kirk's letter, and he was still no closer to making a decision. He wasn't being lazy or neglectful; he really did want to make one. But he was faced with a similar dilemma he had met several months earlier. Only this time, it was harder to choose. Spock had been enjoying his stay with his parents, even though Sarek still didn't approve. Amanda was immensely welcoming; however, therefore was the one whom Spock saw the most. He was grateful for this, despite never having the courage to admit it. In his weakened condition, even he came to realise that he wasn't indestructible. He still felt very sore after his operation, and couldn't walk around the house for long. So, he was glad that it was his mother who spent her days fussing over her only child. Every morning, when the two Vulcan suns shone the brightest, she would bring in a breakfast tray of Vulcan-friendly foods, regardless of whether Spock was hungry or not. During the day, as Spock was confined to his bed, Amanda would make sure that he was entertained. As if he were nothing more than a small child, she would read books to him all day long in a light-hearted manner, and she tried with all her might to make him smile as she did so. Of course he never did smile, but that was to be expected, and not just because he was a Vulcan either. Amanda was fully aware of what happened to poor Thomas, the little angel, her grandchild, that now looked over Spock in all his victories and wrongdoings from afar. She knew that Spock needed to be comforted in his hour of grief. Because she had never suffered the loss of a child, she simply could not imagine the pain he was going through. But she wanted to. She wanted to know this kind of pain so her son wouldn't have to go through it alone anymore. Even if he didn't want to let it show. Even if he didn't want to share it with his mother. But, as Spock was going to learn, secrets between mother and child always uncover themselves at some point or another.

The baby shifted, making Spock wince slightly in response. He heaved another exhausted sigh, and carefully folded the letter with trembling fingers. He placed it back on the table, where it had been waiting all day, aching to be read again. The paper knew what the words meant; they were etched into her skin, never to be erased, and she was proud to wear them. But what she regretted the most was the inability to truly make Spock understand. If only he knew the tears Kirk had shed as he scribbled it all down; if only he understood the guilt and the regret the captain was carrying around in his heart. So relaying the news on to the Vulcan was the best thing she could do, which she hoped would be enough. Before switching off the light, Spock settled down to sleep. It took a few minutes, but he soon found a comfortable position on his back, where it was supported by the cloud-like mattress. Exhausted after his long day, his eyelids began to droop and he could fight it no more. He was in a deep slumber, enchanted by the Greek god Morpheus, only to be wakened by the scent of his favourite meal. But as Spock began to dream, however, there was something that held him back. Whether it was the prospect of being hurt again or something else entirely, he wasn't sure.

As he wandered curiously through a black field of nothingness, he realised that he was no longer carrying his son. As naked as the day he was born, he glanced down and saw that he had no bump, but instead, he was very scarred and still incredibly sore. He came by a river. A long winding river that went on for miles. But the water, the water was an unusual colour. It was nothing like the water that kept his planet alive. It was green, and slightly thicker. It was the colour of a Vulcan's blood, but Spock couldn't work out whose it was. He followed the river's trial until he came across a cradle and a grave. The plaque on the grave had no name or sorrowful words of any kind. But Spock knew straightaway. Sadek had died here; and the cradle, empty and cold, was supposed to be Thomas'. And then, he felt an incredible pain in his abdomen. It was as if a great hand of some vast creature had him in its grasp, squeezing the very life out of him. He grunted and cried out, collapsing to the ground in agony. He caressed his scarred belly, and he begged for this pain to be taken away. He was even close to tears now. He looked up and saw that there now was a message on the grave's plaque. Spock was in too much pain from this invisible force, but if he had the strength, he would've those words out loud.

Here lies good friend Sadek, our brother and our lover, who keeps all our lost loved ones as safe as a song.

Spock understood now. Sadek was the one to take care of Thomas, and the only way to let go was to bring the child to him. There was instant release.

" Spock, honey. Spock, wake up, darling."

Spock's eyes fluttered open to the sight of his mother hovering worriedly over him. He glanced over to the table. His stomach rumbled. On the table sat a large vegetable pie, packed with the most delicious green leaves and fluffy, white cream in the centre. Amanda's specialty. When the elderly woman saw that her son was awake, she cracked a warm and welcoming smile.

" Good morning, darling. Have a good sleep?" she asked, to which Spock slowly nodded his head.

" Yes, Mother," he mumbled.

" What time did you get off to sleep? I saw that you had your light on."

Spock was reminded of the days of his childhood, in which he would read all night and get scolded in the morning for staying up past his bedtime. He was grateful that Amanda no longer punished him for it, and he loved the fact that she was so attentive, but he sometimes felt suffocated by her never-ending kindness. He would never penalise her for it, though. He could never do that to his mother.

" I was rereading Jim's letter," he muttered, truthfully.

At this, Amanda lowered herself slowly down at the end of Spock's bed. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. " And?" she asked, desperate to find out what he had to say about the marriage proposal.

" That's not the only thing," he admitted. " I miss Thomas. He…He was my child. He always will be. But I don't think I can let him go until I give him a proper burial."

" You still have the body?"

" No. The body was disposed of on the ship. I have his umbilical cord. That should be enough."

The moment she heard this, a wide grin spread across Amanda's face. She gently nodded her head in understanding, the pride and the nostalgia enveloping her like the warmth of a fire in winter. Spock was more human than she realised. And she, too, had held on to her own son's umbilical cord for a few weeks after his birth. It was the last thing that ever connected the two physically, so it was tremendously difficult to let go of. If he had chosen her to help him bury it, she was very excited to support him through his grief. She swallowed.

" There's a nice spot in the garden. What do you think?" she suggested kindly.

Spock shook his head within a second. " No. I already know of the perfect place," he replied. " It's a while away, but he needs to be buried there. That's what he deserves. That's what Sadek deserves," he said decidedly in a firm, steady voice. His eyes of brown were sad, but his lips were curled into a slight, confident smile.

Not entirely sure what caused him to say Sadek's name, Amanda studied her son's face for a long moment. As she stared deeper, absolutely captivated by those beautiful eyes, she eventually learnt of the love he still had for his first best friend. And no more words needed to be uttered between them. Amanda nodded softly, and she leant in closer to Spock in order to plant a loving kiss on his cheek. He barely reacted to it, of course, but was very appreciative of the support. He glanced again to the pie, still steaming, and back to his mother within a millisecond. She had noticed, and she grinned broadly, giving a little chuckle.

" Baby demanding breakfast, is he?" she guessed.

Spock nodded eagerly and hungrily, not bothering to point out that the baby could not demand anything at this stage, especially while he was still in the womb.

Amanda smiled again as she stood up from the bed. " I'll leave you to it. We'll start the journey tomorrow before sunrise. It's too hot to go now. Is that all right, my darling?" she informed him, just as she was about to leave the room.

" That would be acceptable. Thank you, Mother," Spock replied.

" Good," she answered softly. " That's settled, then. Now, I want you to eat all that pie up!" she jokily added and winked. " I'll come by later, and we can talk more about this expedition."

So, as Amanda made her leave, Spock was left to rest some more, and to wallow in his solitude. Alone, he could think more clearly. Alone, he had the strength to do anything. The baby gave a lively kick, pushing his tiny foot up against the inside of Spock's abdomen, where he could spot the strange movement. He put his hand there, and even raised a warm, loving smile. Perhaps he wasn't quite so alone after all. For the moment, he still had this little one. And that, he decided, helped him lift up his spirits during this hour of darkness.

" I am sorry, my boy," he muttered lovingly. " It seems that, since the death of your brother, I have neglected you and your needs. I am sorry, my son," he said again with the deepest regret in his voice.

He drew an invisible smiley face on his belly with a single index finger, which he hoped would mirror the emotion of the baby if he could show it in this moment. But minutes later, Spock decided that he would never speak of this in the years to come, or even think of it, because he was about to put all of his troubles behind him. He was going to start anew after tomorrow. So he simply pulled his breakfast up close and tucked into it as if he hadn't eaten a thing for a month. Because, after all, he had someone else to take care of beside himself, and couldn't starve himself anymore. Spock would be very conscious of his unborn son from this day forward, and as he wolfed down his meal with all these thoughts racing through his head, he instantly became aware of what his baby would need in the near-future. And one of those things, needless to say, was a proper family; not just a single parent and his grandparents – as supportive as they would be. Even though Spock wanted to bury miserable moments of the past, he also wanted to revisit the loving ones of it; namely Jim. It began to dawn on him. He wouldn't be with child now if he didn't want to think about him later on. He would have had the termination. End of. He just had to wait now, until the day he would be reunited with that beautiful man.