Mr Scott's calculations danced on the Central computer screen in front of Spock. He was, as yet, unable to detect the slightest error. He adjusted another variable and watched the probabilities calculation. He had performed the initial calculations mentally but these were so complex they required the use of the computer. It was a brilliant, innovative breakthrough in thinking and Spock had begun to favour Mr Scott's hypothesis that trans-warp beaming might be possible.
A cold feeling trickled down his spine as Gillian entered the room. Fluffy locks of hair floated loose around her red rimmed eyes and she wore her nightgown instead of her tracksuit. The nightgown represented everything that was wrong. Even when heavily pregnant she had never concealed herself from him but since returning from the hospital, he had not seen her naked. She acted as though the thin fabric could conceal the changes in her body that the pregnancy has caused.
She had resumed her morning exercise routine with a religious fervour since the death of the baby and it had become the new normal. Exercise, followed by a shower and breakfast, then the only part of the day he enjoyed. She perched on the edge of the bed between his knees and he braided her hair so it lay flat against her head, running his fingers through the silken locks and breathing in the unique scent of her with which he was so familiar. It was the single remnant of their routine which remained untouched.
As she had requested, they did not talk about making another attempt to have a child. Nor did they talk about anything else. Her leisurely morning walk had become a hard run and the shower afterwards was quick and perfunctory, never the excuse for a sensual exploration it had often been before. Breakfast was silent and joyless, a preview of dinner, when she returned home from late from work and further exercise.
She had returned to work after ten days, although she had cried most of the first day, watching George and Gracie with their new calf, according to Dr Liang. At night, she would wake sobbing, from a nightmare which became cold reality and he held her while her hand groped at her flat stomach. She never acknowledged him and tensed whenever he touched her anyplace more sexual than her back. She held herself apart from him, her emotions locked beneath the surface. She had abandoned all creative endeavours. Guitar strings unplucked, half-finished novel unwritten, tangled coils of yarn lay forlorn in the bottom of her closet. Gone too, were the loving extras that used to pervade their marriage. Illogical as they were, he had treasured the physical notes she left in his pockets, the special food she had made to tempt him, the way she massaged his hands when he'd been at work for hours.
Improvements had been few and far between. The first night she had slept without nightmares, he had awakened from meditation to find Gillian had destroyed the gifts people had given them for the baby while he was at work. There weren't many, he had suggested people wait until the baby was at home before they set up a nursery, in case what had happened, happened. The ashes, a silver comb and a stretchy old fashioned baby outfit his mother had bought, nothing remained. Since then, he had brought work home with him so he was in the apartment whenever she was or asked Christine to visit until he got home. She saw few people other than Carol Marcus outside of work, claiming that she did not like the awkwardness that people had around her, that their constant words of condolence and apology were meaningless and did nothing to help. He performed extra meditations, to deal appropriately with his memories. Vulcan memories did not fade as those of humans did. Unless he used specific mind techniques to push them into the far recesses of his mind, they remained as clear and sharp as the day they formed. Every memory and the emotions that came with it.
"Is there a problem?" he asked. A hesitant smile flickered across her face but died. "On the contrary," she said. Her head turned away from him as she spoke and he braced himself. She seemed nervous, not happy so he did not expect good news. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet and laced with false cheerfulness "I lost all my baby weight."
A muted sense of grief was all he could feel through the bond which he kept narrow, in an attempt to keep her from being flooded by his overwhelming emotions. Opening had sent her into a hysterical crying fit. She must have wanted to lose weight, hence all the exercise and he opened his mouth to congratulate her when she crossed the room and slipped her legs to the outside of his, straddling him. Reaching forward, she placed her hands on his shoulders, lifting her lashes to meet his gaze, a shy girlish gesture. "Want to see?" She caught her lip between her teeth as though he might say no. Sometimes Spock had great difficulty following Gillian's thought processes. In answer, he reached for the neckline of the hated gown with both hands and tore it, with great precision down the front. He could hear a genuine laugh as he buried his face in her cleavage.
The touch of her was familiar but not the same as it had been. Pregnancy had not changed her body but it had made her tentative and sad where once she had been bold and happy. He could taste salty tears on her face when he kissed her but ignored them. She had been gone from him for so long and now she was coming back.
Later, he lay in their bed, curled towards her, running his hand over her hip, into the dip of her waist. He let the bond open, feeling her relaxed contentment drain away, replaced by high strung anxiety. "You have to say something," she whispered into his ear, her arms still wrapped around his neck, hair tangling in his face.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked keen to say the right thing.
"Something personal," she said her voice soft and hesitant. "The book said so. The one Leonard left. So we don't grow apart in our grief." He had read the book also, hoping for something, anything helpful. She sounded as doubtful as he did as to the efficacy of the suggestion but the fact that she had suggested it, that she wished their marriage to go on was reassurance in itself. He felt her surprise when he gave his prepared answer. It was not logical to wish for that which could not be.
"I grieve for the death of our child. I would change the past if I could." Tears welled in her eyes and she took several shaky breaths. Then in a rush, she whispered "I'm so sorry I put you through that. I wasn't thinking at all about how hard it would be for you. I was so arrogant, I thought I could do it and make everything perfect and instead I caused you so much pain. I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't realise what it must have been like for you. Just the thought of trying again makes me want to be sick with stress. I don't know how you did it all those times."
He drew her to him in a gentle embrace and placed his lips against her hair in a demure kiss. Relief flowed through him. She was going to listen to logic. He would make more of an effort, from now on, to show her the life they could have. They had fallen into cosy domesticity during her pregnancy, staying home more often than travelling, taking advantage of the time for just the two of them before the demands of parenthood enveloped them. He would return to the behaviour of their early courtship, showing her the wonders of the 23rd Century. He would take her to Luna for her birthday, to see what was left of the Great Wall of China after the Romulan attacks, to Berengaria IV so she could see dragons if that's what she wanted, even if it was a dismal, cold swampy world.
"I have missed you," he said. "It has been lonely here without you." She snuggled closer to him and they lay together for a time. She was coming back to him.
He entered the Ready Room to find Captain Kirk sitting at the head of the rectangular table with a cup of coffee, ankle crossed over his knee. Alpha shift changeover hadn't started yet, so Spock said nothing, moving to stand behind the next chair. Jim's face lit up with a smile "Oh good," he said, "Gillian's feeling better then." Spock stared at him, at a loss how to respond. He wasn't sure of the basis for Jim's statement. "Yes," he said after a brief pause. That seemed safe enough. Nyota and McCoy entered the room, McCoy standing back to let Nyota enter first, as he did for all women, except Gillian, who was inclined to lecture him on the disrespect inherent in such a gesture.
McCoy glanced at him and smiled but Nyota crossed the room smiling and stepped forward, kissing his cheek despite his effort to step back and avoid her. It was an inappropriate gesture; they were both married to other people. "I'm so glad she's feeling better," she said, delighted. She looked at him and Spock made an effort to keep his face neutral. He should be good at it after all these years. She laughed and answered his unspoken question. "It's your body language, Spock. You've lost a bit of that horrible tenseness to your shoulders." She gazed into his eyes, considering, and added, "And the hollows under your eyes are a bit reduced."
"So, you're staying with us, then?" asked Jim. Spock had no answer. He had withdrawn his resignation from Starfleet but now had no plans for his career. He had intended to move into the diplomatic Corps like his father while Gillian took a few years off work to be with the baby. He had been lecturing at the Academy for the last four months. "I do not know," he replied.
"You would be the best choice to complete the treaty you've worked on. I know you have it organised for someone else to finish but you did all the work, you should get the credit. You would do it better than any replacement."
"I should stay on Earth, near Gillian," he responded. Nyota's head nodded in silent agreement and McCoy 'harrumphed' and shifted position.
"She won't mind," coaxed Jim. "She knows what your job involves. She's never complained before." He would have to resume normal life but was uncertain if it was too soon. The mission wouldn't require him to leave for another two weeks.