Disclaimer is in prologue. Letters in Italics represent people's inner thoughts.
Author's note: Gray's epilogue takes place after the events of the 2009 movie. It is not a happy one - especially for us who are not pleased (to put it mildly) with the movie's writers who destroyed Vulcan. This epilogue brings together TOS/TAS with the new AU and it's dedicated to everyone who, like me, was shocked when Amanda Grayson failed to materialise in Enterprise's transporter room.
This chapter is edited by Aphrodite420 who corrected all the misplaced words and my crazy backward sentence structure ;-) My terrible habit to make last minute changes makes all remaining mistakes entirely mine.
There is no way I shall even thank Aphrodite420 and TeaOli enough for their assistance. Only their kindness and generosity made this story possible.
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Various Shades of Gray
Epilogue: Twenty-one years later
She shudders and yet refuses to open her eyes. For a few seconds she is unaware of his weight on her and feels as if she's floating, weightless, nameless, and empty. Except for the sensations her lover is causing in her body, there is nothing else in the entire universe. Only her… and him inside her.
Then he moves in her once more. Slowly. Silently. Forcefully.
And the universe explodes, as she comes with a loud moan.
He places his hand on her mouth to prevent her voice from being heard. The room's sound-proof protection is not activated and he makes a mental note to never again repeat that mistake. But as his fingers cover her mouth, she sucks them in. The touch of her lips is beyond his control – involuntarily he moans.
Lost in the aftermath of an orgasm, she is unaware of his fast breathing – something rare during their personal moments. She blinks once but suddenly even her eyelashes feel heavy from exhaustion. She closes her eyes again… Her body feels heavy like lead.
Perhaps a few minutes of rest… Yes… she thinks and falls asleep before realizing that he gently withdraws his body and repositions her on the bed, to sleep in a better position.
He exits the bathroom after a quick sonic shower, when the door's hissing sound causes her to quickly open up her eyes.
Perfect. Will there be a day when I won't collapse after sex? she wonders, savoring the distinct musky scent that surrounds her. It is a sensation she wouldn't change for the entire world.
Without the slightest noise he returns to bed and takes her in his arms. It took an extensive two-hour conversation to convince him of the logic of cuddling without immediately changing the sheets. It was so worth it. His body is warm like an oven.
She smiles.
"Mmmm… A-plus."
His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "Do you grade our intercourse?"
She replies wearing her most innocent face. "Of course not, my love. Only your performance."
For a moment he hesitates, before he realizes - she is teasing him again. Human females… he ponders. Their behavior is so typical sometimes.
"I am not amused, Lieutenant," he states with his full Vulcan dignity.
Her face breaks into a big grin. "I'm not surprised, Commander. I think it's a common thing among males of all species." She narrows her eyes. "Hmmm… I wonder why..."
Smiling, she rests her head on his chest. The bed is not large. But that is not why they lie so close together.
"When is your next shift?" she asks, yawning. Thank God I quit the gym, she thinks, stretching her exhausted legs.
Reaching out to the bedside table, she checks the clock she has brought to his room. They've had sex for almost three hours.
"15:00 hours. You should sleep," he replies and kisses her forehead.
"Mmmm…"
"Sleep," his voice caresses her like a soft breeze.
She sleeps.
He remains still for a few minutes, looking at her peaceful face. Then he puts his face close to her head and sniffs her scent several times. His essence is all over her, and inside her. They are one.
All is well, he contemplates, satisfied, and after a few minutes he follows her into peaceful sleep.
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"Nevertheless I must insist. I consider that information vital."
She blinks; the sound of his austere voice suddenly wakes her. She feels upset and instinctively rubs her eyes and forehead, removing wisps of hair that fall on her face.
What the-? What time is it?
"No, I do not agree with your assumptions. And furthermore, in this case, I find your logic seriously flawed."
She sits up disoriented. The bed next to her is almost cold. Where is he?
Alarmed, she looks up and sees him from behind, sitting upright in front of the computer terminal. He is talking to someone by subspace connection. She can't see the other person, but whoever is on the other line has made him visibly irritated.
Too puzzled to speak, she chooses to stay quiet for a few moments. It's been months since the only time he lost his control. But since then he's been a model of composure and serenity. What is going on?
She doesn't hesitate for long. Removing the covers, she grabs her robe and rises from the bed.
His voice sounds dry. "No, I will not recede, nor will I change my mind. I need that location. And as it happens, you are the only one who possesses that information."
Hearing familiar footsteps, he turns suddenly only to see her standing next to the bedroom's doorframe. His face is completely neutral. If he is surprised, it doesn't show.
Then he again turns his attention to the screen.
"We will continue this conversation another time. Till then," he says to the other person and shuts the screen, ending the conversation abruptly.
No formal greeting, she thinks. Not good at all. He is the personification of formality and the scene she just now witnessed isn't him.
He closes the terminal and swiftly stands up to face her. As always his face is blank, no emotion whatsoever. Whatever he thinks, he is cloaking it excellently. He is wearing only his meditation pants - nothing else, and he is barefoot. The call was unscheduled, she assumes.
Now what? She stands there facing him, confused and uncertain. Maybe we both are uncertain, she thinks.
"I awoke you. My apologies."
"It's okay; you know I sleep lightly… What was that?" she asks and prays that he won't hold it against her for being curious.
He is the most private person she has or will ever meet, and granting her access into his life was so hard for him. Besides she didn't mean to eavesdrop, it was an accident. And they can't pretend it didn't happen either.
"I regret you witnessed that unfortunate incident," he replies and politely bows his head.
He is uncomfortable, she realizes, and tries to hide it behind good manners. They've known each other for three and a half years, have been together for almost a year and a half, and she knows him that much.
He also avoided answering her question. Always the diplomat's son, she thinks and curtly nods.
She wants to come closer, she wants to be in. She has fought tooth and nail and finally she succeeded – he let her in.
But it was so unbelievably difficult and still is; he is private as a sphinx. And there is nothing he could do about it, she repeats to herself. Apart from being a Vulcan, he is also an only child. It's in his nature to be secretive.
Yet they are together, and secrets should not exist between them. When she was a child, secrets almost cost her parents their marriage.
So tonight, once again, she will push a little more, just a little bit inside his comfort zone, and… they'll see what happens.
"Would you like to talk about it?" she asks. "Maybe I can help." She sounds hopeful – more hopeful than she really is.
He looks at her for a few seconds. "Your intention is most welcome-" he says.
Shit, she thinks. Here we go again.
"-but that is not necessary. It is…" he slightly tilts his head, "a private matter."
She sees red. She is so mad at him she feels her blood rise to her head within seconds. But she knows that anger will take her nowhere. So she mentally starts counting back from ten. Again.
Ten… nine… eight… seven… six...
She is grateful to her Starfleet training; she's able to control her temper more effectively, and of that she's really proud. The last time she lost her control, was three and a half years ago in a bar near the Riverside Shipyard, when she pushed the Captain, who was an even bigger jerk at that time. He had drunk half the Iowa River and – accidentally? – grabbed her 'girls'.
…five… four… three… two…one. She takes a deep breath. Better.
She raises both eyebrows. "Private?" she hisses. "Private," she repeats in a flat voice and forcefully exhales, fully aware that above all she needs to handle this with logic. Only then will she be able to win.
"Okay, private! Let's see." She reaches for the clock on the bedside table. "It is now… almost eight o'clock. That means that four hours ago – only four hours! – you had your mouth between my legs. You practically devoured me! You bit me! And you consider this," she gestures to the computer "private?" She crosses her arms and throws him a severe look. "I wonder where the logic is in that."
He visibly stiffens and straightens his shoulders. Her argument is both unexpected and an excellent one. She has won that point and they both know it.
For 5.2 seconds he stands there, simply looking at her. She is beautiful, he ponders, even during an argument. Her black hair falls on her shoulders like ribbons of soft silk.
It only takes him 5.2 seconds to change his mind. Her argument after all was quite logical. He has let her in – it is not proper to keep things from her. Not since he intends to declare kun-ut so'lik one day.
He blinks once and at that moment she knows she's won. Then he moves to his desk and opens up a drawer. He takes a small memory stick from inside and places it on the desk.
"What's that?" she asks.
"A few files I managed to retrieve from the Jellyfish, before I was beamed back into the Enterprise," he replies and watches the surprise written all over her face.
"The ambassador's ship?" she asks and he nods. "Why do you keep it here, in your quarters?" She narrows her eyes. "Does anybody else know about this?"
"Only my counterpart, and now you."
Her gaze widens in surprise. "And you didn't tell anybody? Why? Starfleet would want that information!" She knows that he might tell her how illogical it is to state the obvious, but she is shocked. He is one of Starfleet's best officers. He would never conceal evidence. This isn't logical... In fact, it is far from it.
Her face darkens. Whatever he's doing, it can damage his career. Was it worth it?
"What's in these files?" she asks, certain she will not like the answer.
"Information related to the red matter's nature and instructions on how to manufacture it," he answers in his usual neutral tone.
For a moment she feels dizzy, unable to believe her ears. It is an odd feeling, as if all blood is drained from her body.
"W-what?" she manages to ask before her body becomes limp. Stunned she takes a step back and almost stumbles. He moves toward her, but she withdraws again and avoids his embrace. Slowly she sits on the bed, watching him in disbelief.
He stands uncertain for a few seconds. Then he kneels in front of her. "Are you well?" he asks, unable to hide his concern.
Instinctively he places his right hand on her psi-points and checks her mentally. She is in need of rest and requires sleep, but overall she is well; just shocked by the unexpected revelation.
"I–apologize." He never mumbles, but seeing her changing colors is too much for him. Inwardly he curses his innate bluntness – he knows that he needs to pay more attention to the emotional side-effects his words have upon her.
Ηe rises quickly, goes to the replicator and returns with a glass of water which she accepts mechanically, without uttering a single word.
After drinking it she is still unable to say anything. Only her eyes, looking at him kneeling in front of her, reveal her hurt feelings. But quickly she manages to find her voice again.
Nyota Uhura is a fighter, always has been. She has fought hard in her life and has managed to win over her most difficult enemy: herself. She has struggled through poverty and with the help of her family she has succeeded in studying xenolinguistics and finally became not only an excellent exolinguist, but also one of Starfleet's best communications officers.
And she has never, ever, begged anyone in her entire life.
Until now.
"Spock, please talk to me. Please, don't shut me out. Why did you do this? Why? If anyone finds out-"
He finally reaches out and caresses her check. "K'diwa, nobody will know. Calm yourself."
But she can't, she is furious. "That… shit, destroyed your planet!" she explodes and points to the memory stick. "It almost destroyed mine. So many people… And you kept it, without telling anyone? Why? Why?"
"Please calm down."
"I am calm, damn it!" Her eyes flash, her voice is desperate. "I only want to know, why?"
He rises and moves to stand next to the external window, one of the few privileges of being first officer on the Federation's flagship.
So for a few moments he just stands there, looking at the bright stars.
And she is sitting on the bed, waiting anxiously.
"I once considered undertaking the kolinahr," he simply says. "It is a mental training that purges a person from all emotion. That was before I entered Starfleet. My mother was the only other person who knew of this. I was uncertain about her feelings on this subject. However when I informed her, she smiled and told me she was proud of me, regardless of the choice I made.
"My mother…" He hesitates for several seconds and swallows to clear his voice, "…loved me unconditionally." His eyes do not leave the stars; the memory of his mother's last almost-smile will haunt him forever.
"She was Human, therefore quite emotional. And she loved me. Without reasons, without conditions, without boundaries, my mother was the only person who accepted me for what I am." His eyes turn on her and his gaze softens. "Present company excluded."
She is unable to hold back a small smile. "Thank you very much for the compliment, but I already knew that."
A sharp eyebrow rises. "I am curious as to how you acquired that knowledge."
"Well, she was your mother. Isn't it… logical?" She smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
"Unfortunately not," he replies. Curious, she looks at him. "You see, I had rejected her culture," he explains. "Biologically I may have a few Human genes, but I am fully Vulcan, by choice and by trial."
"I do not understand."
"Allow me to clarify." He moves away from the window, draws a chair and sits opposite her, steepling his fingers.
"Every Vulcan child at the age of seven undergoes a ritual known as kahs'wan, training to adulthood." He pauses for a few seconds, and then tilts his head. "Or at least that was the ritual, until now," he adds bitterly.
Looking down, she swallows hard. She wishes there was something she could say, but there is nothing… There is nothing else to say. What could anybody say, after such loss? She had said everything on that day, inside an elevator. So now she simply sits and lets him know she is there for him.
"However in my case, the ritual was accompanied by a serious choice," he adds and looks at her intensely.
Sometimes when he looks at her in that way, she can swear he will sigh. Of course he never does. He just… stands there, looking deep in her eyes as if he's searching for something. A connection perhaps? sometimes she wonders.
"What choice?" she asks, breaking the silence.
He takes a small yet audible breath. "I had to choose what path I would follow in my life, the Vulcan or the Human philosophy. I chose Vulcan. I chose my father."
"Why? Err, I mean how? You said you were only seven. What if later you changed your mind?" She shrugs her shoulders. "Or, I don't know, whatever happened? Something - anything, to make you reconsider. Couldn't you follow a combination of the two?" she asks, clearly confused. This is a subject they have never discussed before.
He nods. "I see I must explain before that."
He rises from the chair, and moves again to stand by the window. Since his childhood it was always easier to dream looking at the stars. And perhaps hope for something better to come…
"You know who my father is," he says as his eyes scan the dark space expanding in front of him.
"Who doesn't?"
"In the year 2225 my father came to Earth for the first time, to serve as an ambassador. He was completely uninformed of the planet and its people. He only knew that Humans, the planet's inhabitants, were an emotional species. Skon, my grandfather, had encouraged him to accept that position due to… personal reasons." He shifts uncomfortably and she holds her breath. He has never spoken to her about his family. He barely ever speaks about himself.
"My father had… kind of… divorced, as your people would say. Skon knew your species quite well. He respected Humans enough to translate 'The Teachings of Surak' into Standard English. And my great-grandfather, Solkar of Vulcan, who made first contact with Humans, served as our first ambassador to Earth."
She nods. "It's in every history book." Of course she knows that. What she didn't know is who her lover was. Well… eventually she found out.
"Two years later my father met my mother, who was hired to work as a junior assistant at the Vulcan Embassy. They developed a deep appreciation for each other, and after a few months they decided to bond."
"Marry."
He always looks at the stars. "Yes," he nods and continues.
"When my father was appointed as a member of the High Council, my mother gave up her entire life on Earth to follow him back to Vulcan. She resumed the citizenship by marrying my father and was adopted by our clan. Therefore she became Vulcan by marriage. It is rare, but it has happened in the past. Two years after their marriage I was born." He remains silent for a few seconds. "That much is public knowledge."
"She must have loved your father very much, to just leave everything behind and follow him."
He shifts his head in an undetermined way. "What is not widely known is that, after my birth, my mother developed a disease that prevented her from having another child."
She freezes – that was one of the last things she expected to hear. "I'm sorry," she says mechanically, and immediately closes her eyes and mentally scolds herself. How many times has she said that phrase during the last months? Numerous times. At the end it will lose its meaning. Not that for him that phrase is significant.
"My father never asked me to choose between him and my mother," he continues. "However, which philosophy to follow was a choice I had to make for myself. Therefore my father presented me with the two available choices, their advantages and their deficiencies.
"Due to certain events, that occurred when I was seven, I chose to follow exclusively the Vulcan way as I deemed it was the best option for me at that time. Now, after so many years, I still do. So I may have a few Human genes, but I am full Vulcan by choice. Additionally I have succeeded in my kahs'wan; therefore I am Vulcan by trial."
"I see," she whispers. How would he be, had he chosen otherwise? she wonders. Yet somehow, it is impossible to think of him differently. Somehow, in her eyes, he is perfect, just as he is.
"I understand that it is difficult for you to comprehend the reasons why I kept the red matter information. In order to fully explain my actions, I shall narrate to you the circumstances under which I took my decision to fully embrace my father's culture."
He never looks at her. His gaze always remains on the stars. But he is not dreaming – he has no need to dream – he remembers. Because, due to his eidetic memory, he can not forget, and never will.
"The circumstances, of which I speak of, are events that happened a month before my seventh birthday. One day I had a…" - he shakes his head infinitesimally as he carefully chooses his next word - "…disagreement with three of my schoolmates. Our argument left me determined to prove myself in the face of the kahs'wan ritual which I was scheduled to undertake the next month.
"That same night I decided to leave the safety of our home and headed for the Sas-a-shar desert in order to spend a night there. Although quite an inhospitable place, I had confidence in my abilities because it was not the first time I visited it. I had been out there numerous times before, with my father. It was however the first time I went out there alone. Or at least that's what I intended. I'Chaya, our sehlat followed me."
"You had a sehlat?" she asks with a timid smile and he nods.
"Most Vulcan families have. Had," he corrects himself and her smile vanishes. His loss is still so painful that sometimes – quite often – she feels a sharp pain through her heart.
"Very quickly I saw the fault of my impetuous decision. In my haste I forgot the most important rule of survival. A person should travel to the desert only during the day and should seek shelter during the night. As it happened, I was attacked by a desert predator, a lematya."
She gasps – she knows what a lematya was like. "Oh, my God! What happened?" Her voice is filled with agony and for the first time he turns to look at her face.
He is illogically pleased with her emotional reaction, most pleased. Her eyes become wider, her breathing becomes faster, and her mouth is slightly open. It is an unVulcan emotional reaction, her worry about him, yet somehow this makes him… feel… proud.
"I'Chaya defended me. He fought the wild animal and saved us time. We were fortunate that a guest of my household, a strong, young man at the prime of his life, without our knowledge had followed us, I'Chaya and me. The man nerve-pitched the lematya thus rendering it unconscious and saved my life.
"I was safe; however during the fight I'Chaya was slightly injured. I ran to fetch a healer but by the time we returned it was too late. The venom from the lematya's claws was deep inside him and no antidote could save him.
"The man who saved my life stood beside me and offered useful advice at a most… ambivalent and conflicting moment. I'Chaya's alternative would be a slow and agonizing death. But that man helped me make the best, most logical decision."
She understands the full meaning of his words. "Oh, I see," she whispers and lowers her gaze.
"His exact words were, 'every life comes to an end when time demands it. Loss of life is to be mourned but only if the life was wasted'. I'Chaya's life was not wasted; therefore it was illogical to extend his agony or mourn his loss."
She bites her lips. After her parents put Tiara, their cat, to sleep, she cried for weeks. She was only eleven and the idea of not being able to cry even now is… unthinkable.
"At that time I'Chaya was quite old, 112.91 years old-" he catches himself and eyes her carefully "-approximately." She dislikes it when he mentions long numbers in their private bedchamber.
He turns again to gaze at the distant stars – they look so peaceful… so quiet. "I'Chaya was a member of our household for three generations. Skon, my grandfather, had brought him as a surprise gift to my grandmother, years before she even conceived my father. My reckless actions cost him his life."
"I'm-" she catches herself, before again saying sorry. "I grieve with thee," she says and he turns and slightly bows his head.
"It was not a meaningless sacrifice," he replies, looking at her. "I'Chaya did save my life by gaining time. And his death offered me a clear perspective of the path I had to follow."
Now she is even more confused than before. "Thank you for sharing all of that with me. But what you're saying happened twenty years ago."
"True. The most important element in the story is the identity of the man who saved me. He introduced himself as Selek, a long-distant cousin my father had never met. He arrived in our house earlier that day and left the next morning after delivering me safe to my parents.
"After 2 weeks my father spoke with his uncle Sasak, and inquired as to whether his son's journey to the family shrine was without any further incidents. He wished to thank him as Selek's interference had saved my life. Sasak's reaction was a most unexpected one."
"What do you mean?"
"Sasak's son, my father's cousin, was not at Shi'Kahr at that time. The man, who came to our house and saved my life, was an impostor who resumed his identity. My father tried to locate him but to no avail. It was as if he disappeared from the planet's surface."
"An impostor?" She can hardly believe it. She never expected to see the day a Vulcan would lie. But again so many things, unexpected things occurred…
"Ultimately his identity was revealed. In the light of the recent… events."
"You found him?"
"I did."
"He survived?"
"Yes."
"Thank God! Did you have the opportunity to thank him?"
"I did. He offered again most useful advice."
She shakes her head. "So… who is he?"
"His name is Spock. He is my counterpart."
"No!"
"Yes."
"It can't be! He traveled across time twice?" She freezes and for a moment she is almost out of words. Then her mind quickly repeats what he just told her. There are several inconsistencies in this story.
"But… But… How? The time portal opened when the black hole destroyed Romulus. He was already old when that happened."
"Indeed, 118 years older. He was 39 years old when he first traveled back to Vulcan and saved my life. Now he returns for the second time and he is 157 years old."
"But… how did he manage to travel through time without the red matter? He said that it was specifically developed to prevent the destruction of Romulus." She gasps. "Oh, my God! He lied?"
"Actually, he did not. Which brings us to the reason I withheld this memory chip without informing anyone."
Unwillingly she shivers. "I have a bad feeling about this."
He again turns his gaze to the stars. "According to these files, somewhere out there, in one of our galaxy's four quadrants, there is an L-class planet called Gateway. Or at least that is what it is called in the ambassador's time. When we discover it we might name it differently, even though that name is quite fitting.
"When my counterpart served on the Enterprise, during their initial 5 year mission, they discovered the planet and the remains of an ancient civilization that vanished millennia ago. They are now extinct; nevertheless they did leave a few traces behind.
"On that planet, among other things, that species left a device, a construction as old as 5 billion years, perhaps older. However its age is not its most memorable characteristic. The construction is a sentient being, capable of interaction. It calls itself 'the Guardian of Forever' and apparently is self-conscious."
"Sounds very impressive," she agrees. "One more reason Starfleet would want this memory stick."
He nods and turns toward her. "Indeed. Yet there is more. In addition to answering questions, the Guardian also acts as a time portal, capable of controlling the flow of time. The first time the ambassador traveled back to the timeline, was through that portal."
She blinks, once, twice, three times.
"Unbelievable!" she murmurs slowly as she tries to comprehend the new knowledge all at once. Then she rubs her forehead. There are still parts that do not make sense.
"But why were those files on his ship?" she asks, clearly confused. "He made the journey more than 100 years ago. Why did he still carry it with him, after all that time?"
"Apparently a group of scientists from the Vulcan Science Academy spent many months studying the Guardian, on what was an unauthorized research. They discovered that the basic element empowering the Guardian's time portal is decalithium, a rare isotope-"
"-Narada was equipped to mine..." she cuts him. The sudden realisation sends chills down her spine "…and the basic element of red matter."
"Exactly," he nods. "Their research was without the consultation or approval of Federation authorities. Yet when Romulus was in danger, these scientists were ready and provided the solution-"
"-only they were too late…" Her mouth twists in an odd, pained smile as she lets out a mocking chuckle. "Ironic, isn't it? They had in their hands Humanity's greatest dream, a device that controls time… and still were unable to prevent disaster."
"It appears that each time a person travels through time, they must be very careful not to alter important historical events," he explains in a thoughtful way. "That is one of the requirements the Guardian sets in order to allow passage through the portal. The slightest disruption in the timeline can change the course of events in most unpredictable ways.
"The first time the ambassador traveled through the Guardian, was to prevent the death of me and my mother. A previous scientific expedition had made a mistake that slightly altered the continuum.
"The Guardian was aware of that, therefore he requested that the course of events be restored. As a result my counterpart was forced to act, so as to reverse the damage the previous expedition had caused.
"Luckily for both of us, he succeeded in preventing my death, which would later result in the death of my mother." He appears hesitant while he admits in an uncomfortable way, "Should I have died… my mother would leave my father… and die in a shuttle accident on her way to Earth.
"In my case, during the ambassador's first journey, the events resulted in a minor side-effect, I'Chaya's death, something that did not happen when the ambassador was a child. In his memory I'Chaya was not injured by the lematya and lived an additional 24.1 years."
He stands in front of her rigid and unyielding, the perfect example of Vulcan discipline, self-control and worse – determination.
"You asked why I kept that memory stick and did not hand it over to Starfleet. I intend to find planet Gateway and use the Guardian to return to our planet a few minutes before the disaster. I can not alter the main historical events – the Guardian will not allow it.
"However there is something I can do – someone to save. And I shall return to save her. I shall return back to fetch my mother. Alive."
She can't believe her own ears. "But… But…"
He turns to look again at the stars; his eyes frantically try to locate the one, single planet among the billions. Which one could it be? There are so many…
"I suspect the planet is in the Beta Quadrant of our galaxy, although I am not sure," he says, partially to himself. "Its exact location and even its very existence was a highly classified secret. My counterpart knows where it is located, yet so far he refuses to tell me."
"Why?"
"He claims that although it is possible I will succeed, there will be events that may be affected – events out of my power. He fears that the timeline might be altered again and that the Council's rescue attempt will fail… or worse.
"I admit– I admit that initially my intention was to return, alert my people and try to save Vulcan. But that would change the timeline and the Guardian would not allow it.
"In addition to that, Narada's force was no match even for our advanced defenses. Every scenario I created ended up with Vulcan's destruction. I could only delay the inevitable – not prevent it.
"Then I considered notifying the Federation, but, as it was proven, our fleet was no match for Narada's power either."
His voice sounds almost passionate as he narrates his plan.
"My father told me that my mother was not at home when he returned for her. She was on a nearby hill, observing the drill's beam. According to my father, when he found her she appeared to be in a state of mild shock. That presents an ideal opportunity. I shall return at that moment before my father locates her and retrieve her. In that way we will not be seen by anybody else.
"My actions will not alter the timeline; not considerably anyway. I shall still presume my mother died on Vulcan, therefore my reaction to the captain's provocation will have 85.2 percent chances in being the same."
In a flash her mind goes back and replays everything he has told her from that day.
How his father left from the Science Academy, went home, took the hoverbike, and searched frantically for his wife.
How he finally, through their bond, located her on the nearby hill, took her and together they sought shelter in the katric ark, until their son beamed down on the planet's surface in an attempt to save them.
Her eyes are filled with tears. There is still so much pain, so much loss inside him that sometimes, when she takes a moment to think about it, she feels a deep choking pain in her throat.
"I can see you have thought about this quite thoroughly," she whispers numbly.
"I have."
"And you are quite determined."
"I am," he replies in a firm voice. "The planet's location is the only piece of information I am missing. I am certain the ambassador will soon see the logic of my proposal and provide me with the location. It is after all something he chose to do in his past."
She shakes her head in wonder, thinking about everything he had told her. "You know, this can actually work," she murmurs partially to him, partially to herself.
"I am pleased that you agree with me."
It is perhaps the most difficult thing she has said in her entire life. As she opens her mouth to speak, her breath is caught in her throat - she almost chokes on her reply.
"I - don't."
He remains silent for several seconds, eyeing her carefully as if he is measuring her exact weight with his eyes. His next words are chosen one by one. "I am not certain I understand where you object," he says in the driest tone she has ever heard.
He can't see what's right in front of him, she thinks and a single tear rolls down her cheek. She draws in a deep, shaky breath. This… will be difficult.
"May I ask you a question?" Her tone is almost shy.
"You may."
"If I was in your mother's place… Would you come back for me?"
He shifts his head imperceptibly, trying to predict her reasoning.
"Would you search for me," she continues, "while everything around you fell apart?" Her voice is soft as she looks at him in a pleading way.
It is my duty, is his first thought. He wants to say it aloud, but he doesn't. They are not bonded yet. Not now, but soon, he thinks.
"If you were within my range of responsibility, I would ensure your well-being," is his final reply.
Always the diplomat's son, she thinks and in the next moment she is again boiling mad at him.
He is so like his father, a god-damned splitting image, why can't he see for himself what's right in front of him?
He will hate her for what she'll tell him, she is sure of it.
Frustrated she bites her lower lip fiercely and repeatedly while looking from one side of the room to the other, in an attempt to delay saying what she wants to say.
He worships his mother. Even if he'll never admit it loud, she can see it in his eyes. When he speaks of her, his voice becomes softer, his words slow down and his eyes slightly lose their sharp focus.
He also loses his concentration – that discovery was one of the most shocking things she has ever made about him during their relationship. When he recalls his mother his ability to concentrate slows down. And his brown eyes look… sad.
Yes, he will hate her, she is certain of it.
But she'll say it nevertheless. She loves him that much.
Stupid girl, she thinks to herself, you give him everything and don't hold anything back for you. But she can't, she is unable to keep secrets from him; she is in love and wants to lay her bare soul at his feet. So be it then.
"So… What about your dad?" she asks. "What will happen to him?"
"My father will seek shelter in the katric ark," he replies in a matter-of-fact tone. "He already has done so. I shall retrieve him with the rest of the Council members."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"Naturally. There is no logical reason not to-"
"Didn't it ever strike you as odd the fact that out of the six Council members your father was the only one to bring his wife with him to the ark? You told me your parents were the last ones to arrive because your dad delayed, searching for your mom. You say that you wouldn't leave me out there. What makes you think your dad would leave your mom?"
Suddenly he realizes what her words mean. She is trying to warn him about… about…
About history repeating itself.
His eyes fall to the floor.
I'Chaya's lying there, right in front of him.
He sees again his childhood friend's pleading eyes, hears his soft whimper while the venom is running deep inside his veins.
He will always control his emotions, emotions that if left free have the power to destroy… him and everybody around him.
And I'Chaya is always whining a slow, agonizing plea that tears his strong Vulcan heart apart.
During his last minutes his friend endured such intense pain, that his counterpart, in order to offer some relief, until the healer's arrival, had to nerve pitch him.
He recalls his frantic run, a small seven-year-old child's frantic run from the dangerous desert to the healer's home in the city of Shi'Kahr.
Desperate, he had begged, pleaded the older man, had used his father's respected name in order to convince him it wasn't a human farce, and bring him to the desert in the middle of the night.
Upon his return with the healer, he had watched those big, soothing eyes fade forever. The moment he took his first step to the path of logic, was the moment he bade farewell to his only friend.
Ever since that day he had followed that path, the only path that offered serenity and peace, without ever looking back.
That was… until the day he stood with his father on the transporter platform.
He recalls his father's pained dark look, the moment they both experienced the abrupt cut of their telepathic bonds – him, his maternal bond, his father his marital bond.
He recalls his father's soft words; spoken for his ears only, as later they stood alone in the same transporter room.
"You asked me once why I married your mother," his father's voice is ringing in his ears again. It took Sarek 17 years to answer his 11 year-old son's question.
Then his mind plays one more scenario.
One more… in a long line of possible case scenarios formed in his mind during the last months, ever since he examined the contents of an insignificant little memory stick.
The events that take place in front of him are the same as the ones spoken by his lover's lips. He turns his eyes to look at her.
His gaze is fixed on these beloved lips. They speak the truth. They tremble. When did the truth become so painful? he wonders.
"I know you've said you've thought of everything," she says with a shaky voice, "but… I'm thinking… are you sure - and I mean absolutely sure - that your dad will go to the katric ark without your mom?
"I mean… even if between the earthquakes and the planet's destruction… Even if somehow you do manage to find your mom, communications were blocked; the planet was falling apart… How will you notify your dad that you've got her? What if your dad goes searching for your mom and doesn't make it back to the ark in time?"
She looks at him with a pleading look in her eyes. "And are you absolutely sure that you two will manage to reach the portal before the planet explodes? Everything happened within minutes – minutes!"
Frustrated she turns and sits on the bed – collapses onto it is more like it.
"Now that I'm thinking about it," she says, "it makes sense that a person's presence in another timeline will change things, no matter how much they'll try not to. Maybe that's the reason your sehlat died, and it had nothing to do with the ambassador's actions. Just his mere presence created… a different situation.
"The way I see it," she continues, "even if Narada's crew or the Ambassador did nothing to intervene and change history, their presence alone would somehow change the flow of events. Maybe not in the way it did… maybe in a far lesser way. But some things eventually would change."
For a brief moment he hesitates as his eyes are fixed again on the floor, in front of him.
Soon we shall bond, he thinks, looking at I'Chaya. Soon she will know my most intimate thoughts… He speaks the next words almost against his will.
"The ambassador's mother was 96 years-old when she died. Quite peacefully in her sleep." There is a thin thread of longing in his voice. "And for that… I… envy… him."
Stunned he lowers his head and looks at I'Chaya, suffering at his feet.
Could it be? That his actions in the last months were illogical? He had accused the ambassador – the ambassador! – who had already saved his mother's life once. But could it be that he was the illogical one?
Well if he was, for that brief amount of time, illogical never seemed more desirable.
Sitting on the bed, she is unable to hold back her tears. Her shoulders begin to shake as she begins sobbing quietly.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" she whispers in a drowned voice. That painful emotion of grief that enfolds her like a heavy veil is almost unbearable. She chokes – her throat is burning. Her vision is blurred by tears. Her cheeks are aflame. She feels her temples throb, the blood in her veins pounding. She coughs and takes a deeper breath – it is as if there is not enough air in the room…
He raises his gaze from the floor. Just like Vulcan, I'Chaya was and is no more. Kaiidth. What is is.
But his mate is here, now, and she needs him. He takes two determined strides and reaches her side.
Swiftly, she rises from the bed and throws herself into his arms. Tenderly he embraces his lover, transmitting to her an enveloping feeling of calmness and serenity.
He sniffs deeply once - the sensation is most calming. His scent is still all over her.
"You said so yourself," she whispers between sobs, "every life comes to an end… when time demands it… and loss of life is to be mourned… but only if the life was wasted. I look at you… And her life wasn't wasted... It wasn't her time, yes, but… what if… what if, while saving her, your father sacrifices his life, just like I'Chaya sacrificed his life for you?
"You said you wouldn't leave me. So why should your dad behave differently? What if he doesn't leave her either? And… if your dad doesn't make it to the bridge… Spock, you'll kill someone with your bare hands. And then… what will happen to our home?"
He looks down at her face, his expression unreadable as always. Only his eyes reveal a feeling of sympathy in a contradictory sense, as if she is mourning for someone she lost and he is offering comfort.
True, logic and control still are and always will be far, far better options than emotion, he ponders as he strokes gently her wet cheeks, removing the tears.
Yet…
He was unable to mourn his mother's loss, Vulcan as he is. At least not according to his mother's traditions, her way of life and heritage – a legacy he chose to reject so many years ago.
A part of him is not pleased when his lover cries. The Vulcan part of him finds her tears upsetting… most upsetting, almost threatening his own existence.
But another part of him, his Human part, is grateful for those tears.
True, he was unable to mourn the loss of his Human mother, Vulcan as he is.
So when, six months ago, his lover's tears first began running down her cheeks, he did the only logical thing… and claimed them as his own.
From now on, these were his tears streaming down Nyota's face, mourning his mother's loss, the way he knows she always wanted, but never spoken out loud.
He will forever be grateful for these tears that now stand at the edge of Nyota's eyes and one by one slowly roll down her cheeks. When he claimed them as his own, it was one of the most liberating moments of his life.
He recalls a fond memory from a time and place long, long ago. At the time he thought of it as another human joke – a tease. But not any more.
"Ever since my kahs'wan, my mother often said I was more Grayson than everybody else believed I was." He gently strokes her hair. "I think I understand now what her words truly meant.
"Please, do not cry ashayam. I shall… meditate upon it."
She sniffs, considerably calmer. "Okay," she nods, embarrassed, wiping tears away.
He cups and lightly raises her chin, bends down and places a chaste kiss on her lips – almost a soft touch.
Always willing, her mouth opens and accepts his, deepening the comforting kiss, that becomes more and more intense, almost desperate. She embraces him tightly with both her arms, and after a hesitant moment he reciprocates the embrace.
Her weight is insignificant. He lifts her from the floor, and lays them both on the bed; his hands caress her body, removing her robe… when he breaks the kiss for a second.
"Computer, activate sound-proof protection."
"Oh my God! It wasn't on?"
He silences her with another breath-taking kiss.
.
.
.
After some time they lay spent in one another's embrace.
"20 minutes," she says, checking the nearby clock. "That was a quickie."
"It would be illogical to engage in a prolonged copulation. You need rest."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly sleep now." She remains silent, her head resting on his chest. Thank God, that choking feeling is now gone and she can think straight again. And he said that he'll meditate about it… meaning the discussion is closed.
"I'm sorry I cried earlier," she whispers.
"It is of no consequence. There is no need to apologize."
She shakes her head. "No, it does matter. It makes you uncomfortable - I'm sorry. I just…" She sighs. "I don't know what's come over me. I'm not whiny. It's just that sometimes during the last months - I can't help myself."
It is his turn to remain silent for a few minutes, contemplating. True, she is always composed – even in the face of Vulcan's destruction she showed unparalleled bravery and courage – especially for a Human. Her behavior and proactive thinking earned her the communications console on the ship's bridge.
So what is the meaning of those tears? Where do they come from?
Laying her head on his chest she says nothing, knowing that he is probably thinking about something. He will speak about it when he is ready. So she closes her eyes and waits, lying comfortably in his arms.
Her lover's skin is hot, hotter than hers. She is almost lulled into sleep by his cozy warmth when his voice awakens her.
His thread of thoughts led him into the only logical conclusion.
"It is possible that I am the reason of your emotional unrest."
She raises her head and gives him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
"Our close physical proximity. I am a touch telepath and skin to skin contact can initiate emotional transference. I believe I need to strengthen my mental shields." Until we are bonded, he thinks but doesn't say it aloud. That day will come soon. But not now.
"Are you saying that I am sensing your grief?" she asks, surprised.
"It is possible. Vulcan emotions run deep. However without control-" He hesitates. "You also need to learn to shield yourself from me. We shall begin with a few simple first-grade mental exercises."
"First-grade?"
"Appropriate for infants and children under three years old."
"Hey! Watch it, mister," she gives him a small, crooked smile and pinches his arm. "I'm not a baby."
Clearly amused, he raises an eyebrow. "Indeed you are not, but you are psi-null. My mother also undertook the same training." The twinkle leaves his eyes and his gaze becomes serious again. "In the absence of a healer, we shall train together... Nyota, did you learn the mantra I gave you?"
"The children's song?"
"It is not a child's song."
"You just said that those exercises-"
"That mantra is not an exercise. It is an ancient tune performed during– a ceremony."
"Oh! And I was wondering about its meaning. What kind of ceremony?"
He remains quiet while looking at her. Another ideal moment is presented in front of him.
Now, right now, exactly right now, he could tell her everything.
How his logic will one day leave him and, against his wish, he'll seek her out. He will seek her and only her, the most precious of all females – his k'hat'n'dlawa.
How nothing will stand in his way. He will look for her with all his power, because she'll be his only hope, his only salvation, his only anchor with sanity… with life.
How his blood will burn and, before the fever consumes him, he will place his life in her hands.
How she will keep him alive while he will struggle with his inflaming body.
Then he could tell her how important it will be that she remains calm, strong and focused on the mantra, like a proper Vulcan wife. Like his late mother who had stood by his father through so many Times.
That ideal moment comes… Ιs here… now… now… now…
And then it is gone.
Before he reveals to her Vulcan's most shameful, deeply hidden secret, he must discuss it first with an Elder, who will provide helpful information on the delicate issue.
At first he had thought of a healer. But then the Ambassador came; only he told him his bondmate was not human. Due to the present shortage of healers, that leaves as the only logical solution, his father.
However his father, like himself, still struggles with the pain of his bondmate's recent loss. That conversation would be most ill-timed, not to mention painful to both of them.
And even when they do discuss it… Once she will know…
He looks at her. Will she do it? Can she do it? A cold feeling sweeps all over him. Fear. Fear for the unknown. Fear of what is to come. Fear for himself. Fear for her.
And hope. She is here, now, in his arms, safe and secure. She is not going anywhere. She loves him, unconditionally. And there is still time.
They still have time.
"An essential ceremony," he replies drawing her closer.
One day he will tell her. But not today, not now.
Later during his meditation, when he will recall in his mind the events of the day, he will realise that this was the first time he referred to his mother as 'late' – the first time he acknowledged her loss. The first time he truly thought of her as… absent.
Only the answer he gave is not exactly what she expected to hear. "Hmmm… Spock, is there something you want to tell me?"
He hesitates for a brief amount of time. "There is still time for us to get accustomed to certain things. However, I wish to make a request."
He's uncomfortable again; she realises and tightens her arms around him in a reassuring way.
"Sure. What is it?"
"I wish for us to experiment… during sexual acts."
Despite her blue mood, she almost bursts out laughing – again he caught her totally by surprise. Did he just say… what? He is shy, one of the shyest people she has ever known. It's not that she was an expert, but the first time she performed oral sex on him, he was unable to make eye contact with her for the next two days.
But this is a golden opportunity for a tease. And she is far too evil to let it pass.
"An experiment?" she purrs in her most sensual voice while running her right index finger in circles around his navel. "Why, Commander… I'm not sure I've told you before, but I don't do threesomes."
"A sum of what?" He raises a confused eyebrow, and the only thing she can do is choke a small laugh.
Cultural blindness indeed. He couldn't understand a joke even if it hit him right in the head. She shakes her head and gives him a wry smile. "Never mind. What sort of experiment?"
"I wish for us to engage in copulation while you mentally chant the mantra."
Well, that's… odd, she thinks, observing him - his slanted eyebrows, his pointed ears. Her hand lying on his side feels his beating heart. For a moment she becomes distracted by his soft, honey-brown human eyes.
Then he blinks once - in two phases. First with his external and then with his inner eyelids. The movement is so quick that it goes almost unnoticed to the casual observer.
Sometimes, when she looses herself in his warm brown eyes, she forgets that her lover is alien, not human. And sometimes, quite often, she has the strange feeling that her body is not the only thing he wants to claim from her - that her soul is his ultimate goal.
It is an intriguing but also scary thought, but she dismisses it almost immediately. Vulcans value privacy more than anything else. She must be mistaken.
"Ummm… sure. Why not?" She twists her lips. "And as we are making confessions…" her hand that lies on his side abstractly makes small circles.
Slender fingers, strong as steel, circle hers gently before she reaches his ribs, which are quite sensitive to the touch. It was a discovery they had made at the beginning of their relationship when they still learned each other's body.
They have never spoken openly about it as he considers it a weakness - obviously a part of his Human heredity.
"You have a confession to make?" he asks, trying to divert her attention.
"Yea…" she puffs. "I meant to tell you, I changed my schedule and quit the gym, it was so boring! So we won't meet there any more. What I'm thinking about is enrolling in a dance class. It'll be fun. What do you think?"
An image is formed in his mind, that of a rival male embracing she who belongs to him. He is no fool – he knows how other males view his mate. The words leave his mouth almost before the thought is formed in his mind. "I shall accompany you, should you enroll in a dance class. After all most dances are performed by couples."
"You?" She is surprised, always assuming he has two left feet. "Commander, do you even know how to dance?"
"Of course I do, Lieutenant."
"I mean Earth dances, not Vulcan ones with weapons!"
"I refer you to my previous answer."
Is that a smirk at the edge of his mouth? she wonders. No, his face is serious, yet she can swear he is laughing from within.
"You. Know how to dance," she repeats, still unable to believe her ears.
"Naturally."
"And may I ask who taught you?"
A sharp eyebrow rises - the utmost Vulcan gesture and in this case, a small tease.
"My mother," he replies in a casual way. He draws her closer and she again rests her head on his chest.
"My mother," he repeats in a much softer tone as his gaze travels to the ceiling.
He really is not looking at it.
"She taught me a great many things."
.
.
.
In the Vulcan Embassy on Earth, the four surviving members of the High Council rest in their personal bedchambers. It is night and they are all tired and spent, both mentally and physically.
The burden that falls on their shoulders is enormous, heavier than that of the rest of the remaining members of their species.
All Elders have lost their bondmates. However personal grief is illogical, as the needs of the many always have and always will outweigh the needs of the few.
Οr the one.
As of now, on the four of them falls the responsibility of re-establishing their species. Someone weaker couldn't have made it. Yet Vulcans are strong in mind and in body. And this is not the first time they face annihilation. They have survived in the past, they will survive now.
During the last months, apart from finalizing the relocation plans to their new home planet, the four Elders have performed numerous mind-melds to assist surviving members of their decimated population. The cut of telepathic family bonds was abrupt and Vulcan emotions run deep… Many survivors are severely traumatized both physically and mentally.
The healing process is difficult, most difficult. It requires time, patience and strength. So, unless there are any emergencies, at night all Elders retire to their bedchambers after another exhausting day.
They all follow the same sleeping pattern. They lie on their backs and keep to themselves. That is the most logical and efficient sleeping position. Tomorrow will be another difficult day and they need to regain all their strength to face the unknown.
However one Council member sleeps in a different position than the rest. He lies on his side and a pleasant dream draws the faintest smile to his lips.
.
The end.
All Vulcan words and phrases are from the Vulcan Language Dictionary and are mentioned in the previous chapters.
Chapter soundtrack
Diana Ross - If We Hold On Together
Author's note: Red matter information comes from Memory Alpha and Memory Beta. I really have done a LOT of research for this story.
According to Wikipedia the name 'Grayson' first appeared in the TAS episode 'Yesteryear'. I don't know how D.C. Fontana chose it as Amanda's last name. I imagine by chance (although I'd like to ask her). Nevertheless, chance or not, I feel that 'Grayson' describes perfectly Spock's personality.
Recently I read a very emotional ST story about loss and writing the closing line gave me an idea about Sarek saying goodbye, a small one-shot. However I need to get another writer's permission for that.
I understand that some people may not like this ending. But this story is written as a sequel to 'Yesteryear', a tale of losing someone dear and finding yourself, a tale of going forward while leaving your heart behind, the best ST episode of all series, IMHO. Please forgive me for having the nerve to write its sequel.
For those who want two great stories on how Amanda Grayson was brought back, check out Tales from the Spock Side's excellent "Holding pattern" and Aphrodite420's "Shen s'Vitush" from my favorites.
Don't forget, reviews are not only encouraging but also my window to communicate with you. Please let me know what you think.