The BLTS Archive- Homecoming
Second in the Trefoil seriesTrefoil 5
by EmGee (mgtrek@altavista.com)

---

Archive: Yes to ASCEM, others please ask.

Comments:  This story fits into my "Trefoil" universe, in which ST
II: TWOK and everything after it never happened.  David Marcus does
not exist.  Khan is still on that wretched planet.  Spock does not
die saving the Enterprise from the Genesis wave.  There be no whales
here.

Honest and thoughtful criticism is appreciated, whether delivered
publicly or privately.

DISCLAIMER:  Claire Kendall is my own creation.  The other characters
are the property of Paramount.  I'm just borrowing them so Claire
will have someone to play with.  Paramount can have 'em back when
they're done, safe and sound.

---

As soon as she returned home, Claire Kendall changed out of her
uniform, brushed her hair, and made herself a cup of tea.  Then, as
she often did, she took herself out to the porch to watch the
sunset.  The day was typically pleasant, but there was a cool breeze,
so she draped a light shawl over her shoulders.  She curled into a
corner of the porch swing and tucked her bare feet under the hem of
her dress.

The sense of her bondmates' nearness had been growing all day.  She
wasn't precisely sure when they would be joining her, but she had a
strong feeling that it would be soon, most likely today.  She never
tried to obtain more precise information on their schedule. Rather,
as she did each time, she chose simply to sit, and watch the colors
change on the horizon, and allow the anticipation to tickle at the
edges of her consciousness.

---

Kirk affixed his signature to the last of a long series of documents,
handed them back to his yeoman, sighed, and turned toward Spock's
station.  "All the leave details finalized for the crew, Mr. Spock?"

"Completed, Captain.  Most personnel have already departed.  Space
dock personnel are ready to take over for the bridge crew."  The
Vulcan wore his customary impassive expression, but Kirk could see
the slightest gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

"Captain, the dock crew is requesting permission to come aboard."
Uhura swung her chair towards Kirk's command seat.

Kirk grinned at her.  "Relay permission granted.  And as soon as they
arrive on the bridge, you are relieved.  Go ahead and shut down your
station.  You too, Sulu, Chekov."

Uhura returned the smile.  "Thank you, Captain."

"Aye, sir," Sulu and Chekov chimed in nearly simultaneously.

Kirk stretched in his chair and stood, moving forward to stand
between his helm and navigation officers.  "So, gentlemen, it's been
a long time since you've had three months of leave.  Any special
plans?"

Chekov's smile broadened.  "Oh, you know, Captain, this and that.

Some time in Moscow, some good vodka, some beautiful women..."

Kirk turned to Sulu just in time to see him roll his eyes in long-
suffering silence.  He quickly controlled the muscles of his mouth
and asked, "And what about you, Mr. Sulu.  Visiting your family?"

"Yes, Captain, for a little while anyway.  But I'm not taking leave
the whole time.  I'll be teaching some classes in special helm
maneuvers at the Academy."

"Good for you.  They're lucky to have you.  I know Commander Kendall
will enjoy seeing you too."

"Thank you, sir.  I'm looking forward to a little fencing."  His
smile made him seem suddenly ten years younger.  "Haven't had any
good competition since she transferred Earthside."

"Why, Mr. Sulu, I think I've just been insulted."  The twinkle in
Kirk's eye belied his words.  It was common knowledge that, when it
came to swordplay, the Captain's skills were of the survival-
oriented, rough-and-tumble variety.  Sulu, on the other hand, wielded
a saber with classical grace and strength, and with a foil he had the
delicacy and control of a surgeon.  While Kendall was not quite
Sulu's equal with the saber, her abilities nearly matched ? and
occasionally surpassed ? his with the lighter foil.  When she had
been assigned to the Enterprise, their bouts had regularly drawn
appreciative audiences.

"Of course not, Captain.  The truth can never be an insult."  Sulu
was struggling hard, and mostly succeeding, to keep a straight face.

Kirk knew that behind him, Spock's eyebrow was climbing up into his
hairline.  He could hear Uhura's intake of breath and the beginning
of a laugh, quickly suppressed.  "Touche, Sulu.  I bow to the
expertise of the master."  He touched Sulu's shoulder once, quickly,
a gesture of camaraderie, then swung up to his command chair once
again.

The turbolift doors swished open, and two women and a man strode onto
the bridge.  The older woman, small and dark-haired, spoke.  "Captain
Kirk, I presume."

"That's right.  And you must be..."

"Dockmaster Eileen Eidukonis, Captain.  May I present our refit chief
engineer, John Shea, and the refit crew chief, Ulla Pedersen."

Greetings and handshakes were exchanged all around.  "We relieve you,
Captain.  You get her back in three months, better than new."

"I'll hold you to that.  Take good care of my ship."

"Aye, sir. One of our crew is in the transporter room to handle
beaming for you."

"All right, I get the message."  Kirk's voice held an amused
tone.

His glance swept the bridge.  "Run along, ladies and gentlemen.
We've just been officially kicked out of here.  Spock, a moment,
please."

"Of course, Captain."  The other members of the bridge crew departed.

"We have one item of unfinished business.  Please come with me."  And
they too entered the turbolift.  Spock turned to Kirk with a look of
inquiry.

"I believe that everything is in order, Jim.  Is there a matter of
which I am unaware?"

"No, Spock, I just wanted to speak with you privately.  Have you been
in touch with Claire?"

"Since I thought you might wish us to surprise her, I have not
communicated with her.  Though she presumably is aware of our
presence and imminent arrival."

"Yes, I'm sure she is.  It's not that I want to surprise her.  It's
more -- well, I don't want to talk to her over some communication
channel.  I want to see her and talk to her in person."  He sighed
again, then smiled ruefully.  "It's when we come home that I realize
just how much I've missed her.  Missed *us*, what we are when
we're all together.  This time, more than ever.  It's been all I could
do
today to keep my mind on the business at hand."

"I sensed your distraction."  Spock rested his hand on Kirk's
forearm.  "I, too, have been ... diverted."

Kirk turned his arm and slid his hand into Spock's.  He felt the
familiar jolt, almost like a static charge, as his bare flesh touched
the flesh of his t'hy'la and bondmate.  "We're officially on leave.
We can be diverted all we want, now."

Spock's free hand slipped up to brush his mate's habitually
unruly  lock of hair into place, then to caress his cheek and jaw with
paired fingers.  "I find the anticipation pleasurable."

It didn't matter how many times the Vulcan touched him in this way,
Kirk always had the same response -? a sudden feeling of
breathlessness, then the sensation of receiving a double dose of tri-
ox, followed by a wave of euphoria.  He shuddered and leaned into
Spock's touch, then moved away as the turbolift slowed to a
halt.  "Soon, Spock," he murmured as the doors opened.

"As soon as possible, t'hy'la."

---

The sun sank in a blaze beneath the horizon.  It would not be long
now; Claire could feel the presence of her loves more strongly with
each passing minute.  She padded into the house and lit candles in
the large, simply furnished living room, bathing the cream-colored
walls and pale carpets in a warm glow.  The wine that Jim liked in
the cooling bucket, Spock's favorite meal in the warmer, Andorian
love ballads cued up and ready to play on the sound system, a small
fire in the hearth -- Claire looked around with satisfaction.  It
pleased her to create a welcoming environment for her bondmates, to
make their homecoming special.

She had learned to savor this period of anticipation.  It made the
reunion all the sweeter.  She found herself thinking of the first
moments, when they would embrace and kiss.  Then the time over drinks
and dinner, when they would rediscover the easy rhythm of three-way
conversation.  And then their retreat to bed, where they would
reinvent another, more ancient rhythm.  There would be nothing "easy"
about that rhythm.  But oh, what sweet labor.

"Aahh," she breathed, feeling a stirring of desire.  She felt like
singing, though the words that beat a constant refrain in her head
were not the words of any song she knew.  *They're home, they're
home, my loves are home.*  A weight that she had not known she
carried fell away, and the lightness in her heart made her giddy.
She laughed out loud with the sheer joy of it and, smiling, danced to
the kitchen to toss the salad.

---

Spock and Kirk materialized beside the garden gate.  Ripe fruit
weighed down the branches of the citrus trees overhanging the walls
of the space that Spock tended so carefully during every leave, and
Kirk's first thought was of fresh sweet oranges and afternoon
lemonade.  Yellow roses flanked the gate, the blossoms clearly
visible even in the dim light.

Kirk took a deep, appreciative breath.  "I always forget how good it
is to breathe unprocessed air.  Does anything smell as wonderful as
roses?" he asked rhetorically.  "The garden looks good."

"Yes.  Claire has cared for it well."

"She'll be glad to have you take over.  You know she hates to weed."

"Not as much as she dislikes pruning."

"But she did that too," Kirk said, pointing to the well-trimmed
hedges.  "She must love you a lot."

"So she says," Spock agreed, deadpan.

"C'mon, love," Kirk said, laughing.  "Let's go in."

They passed through the gate and crossed the garden to the kitchen
door.  Spock bent to pluck a sprig of thyme from the herb patch by
the door.  He crushed it between thumb and forefinger, releasing a
heady smell.  "Another fragrance of home," he murmured.

An innocuous comment, on its surface.  But whenever Spock spoke of
this place as home, especially in that tender voice that he allowed
only his bondmates to hear, Kirk was stirred to his soul.  The three
of them had worked hard to turn a dream called 'home' into a
reality.  This was their haven, their harbor.  He and Spock left it
willingly, even eagerly, to travel the stars, but for all the wonders
they saw in their travels, it was to this tiny plot of a small,
watery world called Earth that they were compelled to return.

Spock called this place home -- but what of the world of his birth?
Kirk was suddenly uncertain, a little afraid.  Did Spock miss
Vulcan?  Were he and Claire being selfish by anchoring him here, in a
place too cold, too wet, too full of clamorous emotions?

Kirk drew Spock's hand to his face, inhaling the scent of the sweet
herb.  He brushed his lips across Spock's fingers and looked up into
his eyes.

"Spock."

"What troubles you, Jim?"

"We always come here on leave."

"Why would we not?  This is our home."

"But--don't you ever want to live on *your* home world?  On Vulcan?"
he added unnecessarily.

Spock drew the thyme along Kirk's cheek, then let it drop as he
returned his hand to Kirk's, gently prying open the suddenly tightly
curled fingers to insinuate his own therein.  "There will be time for
Vulcan in my next life." Kirk knew he wasn't speaking of
reincarnation, but of the time when both of Spock's human bondmates
would be gone and he would still have half his years ahead of
him.  "I have no regrets, no longing for the place of my birth.
Claire is here, you are here, so this place is home.  This is where I
choose to be."

Spock gazed calmly at his t'hy'la, his contentment palpable.  He
touched Kirk's lips once more, then followed the caress with a gentle
kiss, and Kirk's fears floated away on the night air.

They smiled at one another, each in his own way -- Kirk with his
whole face, Spock mostly with his eyes, along with the tiniest uptick
of the corners of his mouth -- and entered the house.  Their home.

---

Claire heard the footsteps in the kitchen.  She stood and moved in
that direction, but as she did, Spock and Kirk passed through into
the living room.  Eyes locked in an intricate three-way connection,
and for an instant she was breathless.

A multitude of conflicting sensations suddenly tumbled through her.
She loved them and hated that they were so often apart.  She longed
for their touches but resented the frequent thwarting of those
desires.  She was filled with joy that they had returned safely and
despaired of the day when they might not.  She was glad of the time
that they would spend together and desperately sad about all the
moments of their lives that had not been shared.   She felt a
precognitive loneliness born of the knowledge that they would
eventually be parted once again.

For all her anticipation of their reunion, she had not expected this
inner turmoil.  Most of the time it was all so simple.  Welcome home,
I missed you, let's eat, let's make love, let's live our lives, let's
say goodbye until the next time we're together.  Simple emotions,
simple rhythms.  One simple melody at a time.  When had it gotten so
complicated?

There was so much she wanted to say to them but everything pounded at
her, dissonant and distracting like a dozen musicians rendering a
dozen different tunes, and she could utter nothing at all.

They stood in tableau, outwardly quiet.  Spock was silent in both
speech and body as only he could be. Kirk's eyes held a sudden
watchfulness as if confronted with something he had never seen before
and did not quite know how to interpret.

With great effort, Claire stilled the cacophony in her head and
focused on the simplicity of one small measure, one instant in the
composition of their life together.

"Are you hungry?" she said.

"Starved," Kirk said.  He didn't smile, and she knew he wasn't
talking about food, or even sex, but something much more profound.
And once again the musicians all were busy, but this time she heard a
symphony.

"Don't worry, I'll feed you," Claire said steadily, and he knew she
wasn't talking about food.  "And you, Spock?" she said then.

"I thirst," he said quietly, and he wasn't talking about water.

"Drink all you want," she replied, and she wasn't talking about water
either.

"What about you, Claire?" Kirk whispered.

She paused, considering, listening in the stillness of the night to
the melodies of her heart, the rhythms of love.  "All I need is
music," she answered finally, the harmonies swirling around her, "and
it's already playing."

She smiled.  She could see that they didn't completely understand,
but that was all right.  Before, and after, were suddenly
unimportant; what mattered to her at this moment was the here and
now.  There would be time enough to explain everything to them in a
meal, quiet discourse, the sharing of bodies, the concert of three
joined souls.  Time enough to begin to comprehend it all herself.

Now she could sing the simplest of her heart's songs, speak the words
that would make her world a safe and simple place once more.

"Welcome home."

---

The End