LEAVING THE PAST
The first time, when he, Scotty, Uhura, McCoy, Sulu, and Chekov had discovered the loss of their friend on the Enterprise-B’s shakedown cruise, that enough had been a crushing blow. It had sent him reeling, and out of Starfleet and his ambassadorial duties. He couldn’t bear to continue there. He had left behind all of his friends, and his memories of his voyages through the stars. And one by one, after the years, he had received word of their eventual deaths. Human life was fragile, and so much shorter then his. It had compounded upon his consciousness, the loss of his friends, and the people with whom he had shared so many adventures.
But for some reason, he had held up some small glimmer of hope that Jim was different. The man that had inspired such courage in his officers, and to so many had seemed invincible and untouchable. Maybe it was because they had never found a body. Or maybe it was just because Spock couldn’t begin to believe that he had lost him. Either way, he had illogically thought that perhaps, Jim might still live.
And for that one second, he had thought he was.
He felt his chest tighten with emotion, and he squeezed his eyes closed, unable to look at himself being such a disgrace to his legacy of being “more Vulcan then most full Vulcans”. Maybe if he had never begun to think that there was a possibility that Jim had lived, it would not have hurt as much as it had, the second time.
After that one second, that one moment of joy, he had stopped himself, and it had dawned upon him. And he had pleaded silently that Picard wouldn’t say what he knew was next. That Jim was dead.
How was it that it had hurt more the second time? Shouldn’t he have been more prepared, or at least known? Then again, deep down, he had known, even in that moment of elation, that it wasn’t possible.
It should have been a conciliation, that even though Jim had died on some planet Spock would most likely never visit, that he had died to save the lives of that planet’s population. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. But yet, it never did seem to help with anything. Even when Spock had gone down to that engineering deck, and faced the radiation to save the Enterprise, and died because of it, when McCoy had returned his katra to his body, Spock had learned that despite the fact that he had died for the good of the many, it had not lessened the hurt it had caused his friends. And it had not diminished his.
In a way, he envied Picard. He had been the one to be with Jim as he had died, not Spock. Instead, someone who was a stranger to Jim. He had not gotten to see anything of time he had found himself in. As soon as he had come, he had gone, and this time for good.
Spock was now alone.
His mother and father, gone. His crewmates from the Enterprise, gone. Everything from his life before, gone. It left him feeling hollow. His only comfort was that, now, he was doing some sort of good. He did not have his old life in Starfleet anymore, and he no longer was struggling to hold onto the fragments that remained from the past life. He might always carry with him the burden of knowing that he was the only thing to survive that life, but at least he had this new chance
Spock put his head back, then slowly turned to look out his window. Ki Baratan of Romulus sprawled before him, and in it, its young people who yearned for a chance to know of their cousin world that lay in the middle of the Federation, where they could not reach out and touch it without his help.
Jim was dead. It hurt. But there was hope for him.
*Was just a for-fun. Any feedback is appreciated
Spock sank slowly into a chair, his eyes moving over to the panel next to his door. But it was signaling that the door was locked, and that he was alone, and in privacy. That was enough. He let his head fall into his hands, and shuddered. When Jean-Luc Picard had said that he had met Jim Kirk, for a split second, Spock had let his control go, and he had been astounded; joyous, relieved, happy disbelief. He should never have made that mistake. He should never had gotten his hopes up. After more then seventy years, how could he have believed for even a moment that Jim could have been back? It had been completely and utterly foolish of him.
The first time, when he, Scotty, Uhura, McCoy, Sulu, and Chekov had discovered the loss of their friend on the Enterprise-B’s shakedown cruise, that enough had been a crushing blow. It had sent him reeling, and out of Starfleet and his ambassadorial duties. He couldn’t bear to continue there. He had left behind all of his friends, and his memories of his voyages through the stars. And one by one, after the years, he had received word of their eventual deaths. Human life was fragile, and so much shorter then his. It had compounded upon his consciousness, the loss of his friends, and the people with whom he had shared so many adventures.
But for some reason, he had held up some small glimmer of hope that Jim was different. The man that had inspired such courage in his officers, and to so many had seemed invincible and untouchable. Maybe it was because they had never found a body. Or maybe it was just because Spock couldn’t begin to believe that he had lost him. Either way, he had illogically thought that perhaps, Jim might still live.
And for that one second, he had thought he was.
He felt his chest tighten with emotion, and he squeezed his eyes closed, unable to look at himself being such a disgrace to his legacy of being “more Vulcan then most full Vulcans”. Maybe if he had never begun to think that there was a possibility that Jim had lived, it would not have hurt as much as it had, the second time.
After that one second, that one moment of joy, he had stopped himself, and it had dawned upon him. And he had pleaded silently that Picard wouldn’t say what he knew was next. That Jim was dead.
How was it that it had hurt more the second time? Shouldn’t he have been more prepared, or at least known? Then again, deep down, he had known, even in that moment of elation, that it wasn’t possible.
It should have been a conciliation, that even though Jim had died on some planet Spock would most likely never visit, that he had died to save the lives of that planet’s population. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. But yet, it never did seem to help with anything. Even when Spock had gone down to that engineering deck, and faced the radiation to save the Enterprise, and died because of it, when McCoy had returned his katra to his body, Spock had learned that despite the fact that he had died for the good of the many, it had not lessened the hurt it had caused his friends. And it had not diminished his.
In a way, he envied Picard. He had been the one to be with Jim as he had died, not Spock. Instead, someone who was a stranger to Jim. He had not gotten to see anything of time he had found himself in. As soon as he had come, he had gone, and this time for good.
Spock was now alone.
His mother and father, gone. His crewmates from the Enterprise, gone. Everything from his life before, gone. It left him feeling hollow. His only comfort was that, now, he was doing some sort of good. He did not have his old life in Starfleet anymore, and he no longer was struggling to hold onto the fragments that remained from the past life. He might always carry with him the burden of knowing that he was the only thing to survive that life, but at least he had this new chance
Spock put his head back, then slowly turned to look out his window. Ki Baratan of Romulus sprawled before him, and in it, its young people who yearned for a chance to know of their cousin world that lay in the middle of the Federation, where they could not reach out and touch it without his help.
Jim was dead. It hurt. But there was hope for him.
*Was just a for-fun. Any feedback is appreciated
Too bad my brain conveniantly forgot to remind me of that fact!
