The BLTS Archive - The Judgment of Paris by raku (raku2u@aol.com) --- Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in this not-for-profit story are the property of Paramount/Viacom; no copyright infringement is intended. Warning: m/m actions between grownups are implied but not described in detail. Stay away if you're easily spooked. OK to archive, keeping header intact; probably best archived in TOS-zone. Copyright 1997 by raku. Inspired by the recent threads on Spock/Paris and on "slashy stuff onscreen." ==================== == Paris to Tuvok == Stardate 2382 ==================== T'hyla: It all began innocently enough, I suppose. I met him at the welcome-home party for Voyager, three weeks after we entered orbit around Earth. I wish you had been there, but I understand the importance of your being dropped off on your own planet--really I do. I wish you'd stop worrying about my doing this on my own--the Fleet brass have forgiven me, and I have the run of the place--no honor too good for Eugene Paris' thoroughly redeemed blond boy. You know this place. Show them a few technological innovations and they're eating out of your hand. So the party was held in the lounge of the newest Nova-class starship, Starfleet's top-of-the-line, newly equipped with polywarp drive, simdecks to replace our decrepit holodecks, the whole ball of wax. Pretty flashy stuff--I hope you'll get a look at it soon. I was off by the observation window, conveniently next to the hors-d'oeuvre table--I'd had enough of Neelix' leola-root specials to last a lifetime--when I heard a low intense voice behind me say, "Jim." I jumped a little--I'd heard that famous voice enough times in the tapes from the computer banks--I whipped around, and there he was. Commander Spock. My height if he was an inch, as lean and dark and mysterious as his legend, wrapped in one of those dark cloaks the Vulcans save for high-holy occasions, if you know what I mean. After the last ten years or so on Voyager, I should know, right? So anyhow I hear him say "Jim" again and I leap about a foot--nobody named Jim in *this* chicken-coop--but oh, the tone in his voice. If it'd been you speaking to me that way, I'd have been out of my clothes and into your arms before you could blink, and you blink pretty fast, n'est-ce pas? So anyway, as he gets closer he realizes his mistake, and I swear he blushed a little. Only later did it occur to me I actually look a little like James T. Kirk, the famous admiral we all know and love. I suppose I'm a little taller--you'd know better than I since you've actually met him. But the hair and eye color are about the same, and we have that same charming way with the ladies . . . To give him a little time to recover from his mistake, I introduce myself and B'Elanna, and he bows very graciously to each of us. He politely congratulates us on our return, on our luck finding the wormhole at last, on my breaking the warp barrier, pretty much all our best moments. You can tell he's keeping up with the latest on the Fleet comm channels. B'Elanna begins to get the jumps--I don't think she's ever gotten used to Vulcans, if you want my opinion--and she excuses herself, leaving me to talk to this big wheel like we're old pals. Finally it dawns on me that he might not have seen the best tricks that the ship's new sim-boards can show, so I ask him if he wants a guided tour. It must have been amazing, being on a five-year mission in deep space with no holodecks, but he and the Enterprise crew and the other early starships managed somehow, I guess, so it can be done. Thank god *I* don't have to do it--I'd go crazy in a week without Sandrine's. Anyway, we leave the party and head for the new-improved holodeck, where they've got the sim-board set up. I guess they'd been running limit-tests before we were in there, because it felt like it was about a zillion degrees and I was dripping with sweat before we'd ever started. He went so far as to throw the edges of his cloak back over his shoulders--you'd think I'd be used to Vulcan heat-tolerance by now but it still struck me as amazing that that was his only accommodation to the heat. I fired up the board, and asked him if there was anything in particular he'd like to see. He raised a hand in a kind of indeterminate way, so I punched in the Enterprise filegroup, and picked the Cantarel simulation. You remember that's the one when Kirk was sick in bed, unconscious with some kind of new virus, and Spock had to pretend to be Kirk for three days while the colonists tested them--he had to snip together voice-clips of Kirk, demonstrate Kirk's command of tactical fighting--all that kind of stuff until the captain was on his feet again and the colonists would hand over their hostages. I think that's why bridges now come with some automatic voice- clips of commanding officers saying various standard negotiating phrases, just in case. When I was at the Academy that event was all the rage because of the interest in post-colonial politics, but maybe you escaped that stuff. Wish I had. When Kirk's voice came up Spock turned a kind of funny color and I thought he was going to have to sit down--I mean, he must be about a thousand years old by now--but he watched the sim all the way through. We had a really good talk about it afterward--what he'd been thinking during the phases of negotiation, how they'd jury-rigged the Enterprise computer banks after that to enable them to carry out those kinds of maneuvers more easily. But here's the really weird part. I hope this isn't hurtful--I think you ought to know, but I never asked you how you felt about this kind of thing. Well, here goes--you can tell me for yourself if I've invaded our privacy. I was reaching to turn off the simboard when I nicked the "forward" button, and the next sim began to play. It was the start of Spock's kalifee on Vulcan--when McCoy and Kirk were arguing with T'Pau about planetary customs, and then when Spock had to fight Kirk, and thought he'd killed him. He must have known it was in there, since Starfleet got permission from those involved in the sims to reproduce them, but I don't think he'd seen it before as an outsider. It *is* a kind of strange choice for a training film, but you know the brass--Be Prepared! But wait, it gets even weirder than that. We only got part way into the file, maybe fifteen or thirty seconds tops. I grabbed for the stop button at the same time he did, and his hand landed right on top of mine, skin to skin, fingers to fingers. Uh-oh, I can hear you say. Hope you keep that legendary sense of humor through the rest of this. He snatched his hand away like I was a scorpion or worse, and stood there, staring at me. Once or twice he rubbed that hand with the other one. Then all of a sudden he says "Commander Paris." (He even gets the rank right-- this is one up-to-date Vulcan, I'm telling you.) I get up my courage to look him in the eye--and man, the pain there is unbelievable. Unbelievable. "You're bonded," he says to me, in a whisper. I nod my head. "To a Vulcan," he says. I nod again. "To Tuvok, son of Tarek. He had been bonded to T'Pel, but when we thought we were never going to return . .." He interrupts me, he's clearly not interested in our situation. "It is not possible . . . " I smile a little uncertainly, not quite sure what to say. I mean, doesn't he know? Hasn't he figured it out? We've heard all those stories about Spock and Kirk, and he's telling me--they never? So I pull down my collar and show him the figure-eight on my shoulder. He recognizes the mark, checks my hand for the ring but I point out that our supplies on Voyager have been a little limited of late, that you're on Vulcan talking with T'Pel and her new mate, and arranging for our rings and the standard joining ceremony and so forth. At this point he really does start to sway, and I grab a chair from against the bulkhead and park him in it. Then he begins to talk, or talk for a Vulcan. You know what I mean. "Mr. Paris. Thomas." "Tom." "Tom, then. I was not . . . aware . . . that this was possible. For Vulcans . . . and humans. All these years . . . I . . . we . . . I cannot fathom this." T'lassa, here's the tricky part. It seems kind of strange now to think of it, but at the time it was the most natural thing in the world. I kneel in front of him, and put two of my fingers against his. "Join my thoughts?" I say to him. "Come inside. See how we have done it, all these years together in the Delta quadrant." You'd think by now I'd be used to mind-melds, but this is like no other, like he'd been saving himself up for years, decades. He puts his fingers against my temples, and Bam! instant togetherness. I've never felt it that way. Maybe a generational thing? Does that technique change over time? Anyway, there he was, stretched out inside my mind, spread out like he was lying on a mountain at the top of the world. Looking around in wonder. Not believing what he was seeing. T'hyla, forgive me. He seemed so alone. So--bereft. I shared with him your last pon farr, when we joined, when you brought me into your mind and came to live in mine. What can I say--at the time, it seemed the right thing to do. Maybe that wasn't such a hot plan, ok, I'll agree in retrospect. Even now, when I think of what you and I did, what you taught me--it's all I can stand even now. I never knew I could get into those positions, let alone hold them . . . I'd never seen someone stay hard for five days, or come without using any part of his body other than his mind. I'd never done that myself, come to think of it. But I think the last straw was when I showed him our last night--when we--well, you'll remember. I know I always will. I've never had such an erotic experience, right down to the bone. I've never learned your "mental constructs," either, and obviously I should. Now that we have a little time off-duty, I'm looking forward to being both teacher and pupil, somewhere we can really be alone. Can you tell I'm nervous about this? I don't seem able to stop joking around. So here I am, as aroused as all get-out, with Commander Spock of all people sitting inside my mind, sharing some of the most personal memories we have, and then I look up at him. Tears are running down his face. And I gotta tell you--that was a moment scarier than dozens we had on Voyager, maybe even scarier than when B'Elanna had to dump the warp core and she and Vorik were picked up at the last minute in their space suits. I've seen a lot of things in this universe but I have *never* seen a Vulcan cry. Then again, this is no ordinary Vulcan, as we all know. . . . He bows his head and says, "Forgive me. I did not know it was possible." He sits there for a while, and then nods toward my hands. It dawns on me that while he's receiving 100% of what I'm sending, I'm not getting a thing, and he obviously wants it to be reciprocal. So I place my hands the way you've taught me, and try to enter him a little more gently than he'd done me. It's hard even to put it in words. Such senses of longing, and loss, and desire, and frustration, and admiration, and respect, all mixed up together. Glowing bright images of their mind-melds, their time- travel to bring back the whales and when they met Edith Keeler--of a lost chance to share the one bed that was available but Kirk insisting he'd sleep on the floor so Spock would be well-rested for his work. So many times they walked right up to the edge, and turned away, both of them. Both believing it wouldn't work, both believing T'Pau's party line about off-worlders and their incompatibility with Vulcan ways. Spock believing he'd killed Jim (hard to think of Admiral Kirk that way, but Spock certainly does!), then reuniting with him in front of an audience--another lost chance. I could tell that part of him still didn't want to believe, couldn't accept the logical conclusion that they'd wasted a *hell* of a lot of time. He began to move toward me, sinking to his knees. He ran his fingers--well, I don't need to tell you this in detail, you'll know soon enough if you don't know already. Suffice it to say I showed him a fair bit of how close a human and a Vulcan can become. He was a wonderfully tender lover--thorough, thoughtful, imaginative. I guess maybe a combination of years of life experience, and oceans of desire? I hope you'll understand. It wasn't my plan to be unfaithful, but the logic of the moment seemed to call for some compassion. And maybe showing him a little of the path, too. He kind of fell into my arms, in a manner of speaking--he was so incredulous that Vulcans and humans would work together that I think his scientific curiosity just got the better of him. Curiosity compounded by an overwhelming desire for Jim Kirk. Maybe makes more sense if you remember he'd already mistaken me for him, at the party. So. There you have it. I hope this falls under your heading of "the good of the many"--it wasn't anything I planned, and *he* certainly didn't, but it seemed to me like it was one of the best deeds I've ever done. Then and now. You know, it's really hard to believe. They've spent decades in each other's company, wanting and needing each other--Kirk lived through Spock's death on Genesis, Spock endured losing him to the Nexus and then got him back, and they just went about their business--it's simply amazing. What was obvious to everyone but them, over and over again, and they did *nothing* about it. I didn't dare show him the "Corbomite Maneuver" sim, after what he told me about sleeping arrangements at Edith Keeler's mission. I couldn't stand watching another example of their colossal missed signals no matter *how* good the military strategy was, and I wasn't sure he could stand it, either. Well. I kind of think that's going to change. While we were--joined, it felt like I was recharging a battery, somehow. The longer we were together, the stronger he felt. The more he drew images from me, and understood what we mean to each other, and how we've learned to live within Surak's rules while still being joined--it was like watching eons fall away from him. Finally he moved away and left me, dropped his hands at his side. Just stared at me. After some moments he whispered so low I could hardly hear, "A gift beyond price." So, Tuvok, there you have it. You and I are singlehandedly responsible for the newsflash yesterday, about Admiral Kirk and Commander Spock retiring from Starfleet. Chakotay told me he'd heard they were going to live on the reconstituted Timshel--I wish them the best. I can tell it was a big shock to the brass, from the way the comm channels have filled up--the military and Fleet networks are hardly carrying anything else. Why those two never figured it out before now, I don't know; you'd think they'd have seen other trans-species couples and extrapolated. But at least they have a little time together, now, the way each of them wanted it years and years ago. Better late than never. parted from you and never parted, never and always touching and touched ===================== === Spock to Kirk === ===================== Subspace transmission: Spock Commander, ID S179 276 SP to Kirk Admiral James T, ID SC937 0176 CEC 2382:6:15 16:40:35 GMT Transit priority: diplomatic Packet: personal limited ===================== Greetings and salutations: In all the years we have known each other, I do not think I have written you three letters. Here is one. I hardly know how to begin, aside from Vulcan convention. It has been long since we have seen each other. In all probability too long, and for poor reasons. But I get ahead of myself. Allow me to start at the beginning. This afternoon I attended the reception for the newly returned Voyager. Captain Janeway is a capable officer, and her crew also seems competent. Their safe return would be evidence of that. The reception as you recall was scheduled for the Adamant, the first of the Nova-class to be commissioned. The reception was as one might expect. I encountered a number of people and I was able to study numerous features of the ship. When I arrived at the reception I met Eugene Paris' son, whose actions some years ago have been exonerated by his admirable conduct as pilot. He has the gift. Regrettably, when I walked into the room I mistook him for you. Quite inexplicable, when I knew that you were busy light-years away. Curious. Commander Paris (for such he now is) introduced me to his companion, and then offered to show me the latest technology in simulations. Thomas Paris has always been known for his skill in that area. You were missing during his cadet days and later trial and incarceration, but even as a very young man he had a substantial reputation at the Academy for his fine skills in computer programming. Commander Paris and I visited one of the modified holodecks, where he demonstrated his abilities for me with the sim-board. He called up the Cantarel episode from the files on the Enterprise. I do not often think of the past, but that was an exceptional experience. I do not know what you recall, since you were sick throughout most of the negotiations. It was a most curious experience trying to imagine what you would say, how you would respond to the colonists, what your battle tactics would be. I found it instructive, and in a curious way stimulating. Sulu of course provided invaluable guidance, but yours has always been the mind guiding the pilot's hands. Perhaps that is the difference for young Paris: it is as though he and the ship communicate with each other directly. Katherine Janeway told me she and Commander Chakotay often felt superfluous when he was piloting Voyager. A typically human response, but one based on intuition and trust. You have taught me to respect those traits. After the simulation was finished, Commander Paris moved to close the file but inadvertently ran a second one. I was surprised to discover that you, McCoy, and I were featured prominently. It was the first pon farr I passed into on the Enterprise, and our fight on Vulcan. T'Pring's rejection. T'Pau's pontificating. Commander Paris and I were both surprised. I had forgotten Starfleet was considering adding those events to the simulations. When the sim-rights coordinator first contacted me about including it, I indicated I thought it was an invasion of privacy, but apparently matters moved forward while I was on Romulus and out of touch. I will address the matter later, when other questions have been cleared up. At any rate. Commander Paris graciously moved to shut the second file down, but we inadvertently touched hands. Jim, he is bonded to a Vulcan. A Vulcan male. Tuvok is his name; he was also serving on Voyager. I know him distantly. He served under Sulu on Excelsior. He is of good family, and Sulu has spoken highly of his character. Jim, they are *bonded.* Fully. They improvised the kridyll-a during the voyage, and will take final steps when Tuvok has made appropriate arrangements on Vulcan. Bonded, Jim. Think of it. I must confess I was startled. I did not think it was possible--across species, across gender--. I hardly knew what to say. Commander Paris thoughtfully provided a chair, which I confess I needed very much at that moment. This is difficult to say, to you of all people. Seeing I was in need, Commander Paris opened his mind to me--Jim, it changed everything. He showed me how close he and Tuvok have become, how easily they share each other's thoughts, how simple it really is to join despite differences. All those years I had accepted T'Pau's views on outworlders. I never made allowance for error on her part, or for change and the passing of time. And it has come at an enormous price. Tom Paris showed me what you mean to me. I had no idea how deep the feeling goes. He helped me see events of decades past in a new light. My need for you appears to be absolute. I never thought I would say that to you, indeed to anyone. Jim, forgive me. This is no way to persuade you, this is no way to tell you what I feel for you, but when he exposed himself like that, when he showed me his experience of Tuvok's pon farr, I could not help myself. To see the bond between these two, so close, so intimate, being accepted in his mind as if I were the Vulcan he thought of. We--mated. Humans have so many polite words for the event. I have no such elegant words. For me, he was you, and perhaps I was his Tuvok. I had never before experienced the force of plaktow from another Vulcan male. I have now. This is most difficult. For a time I thought he was you. I acted toward him as I would act toward you. The vision of you, standing again before me, a young Terran all over again, shining with strength and power and promise of the future--Jim, I took him. It was as if all the pon farrs of my life had meant nothing, compared to what he helped me to feel. It was as if he--you--were the One among Many, the One for whom the fire burns. He stood there before me, in that glorious golden confidence you Terran men often convey, speaking with a lively wit, in full command of the room and the board, and I felt I had to join him immediately. It does not gladden me now to say this, although Commander Paris was gracious and accommodating. I believe he understands our situation fully, but he was kind enough not to comment or ask questions. Jim, it felt like you, you all the way through--you as I had dreamed you would feel, if I had been more honest with myself all these years. And that is why I am writing you now. I have had to admit to myself that I was afraid to come see you after your return from the Nexus. I did so, of course, for form's sake, but I was afraid to admit what I had lost when you vanished. Perhaps you wondered why I left so quickly, hardly speaking though you had been missing for nearly eight decades. Seeing what Paris and Tuvok hold between them, seeing the strength and power of their bond, it is no wonder I feared you. Perhaps you feared me too--we feared each other. Dare I say we? You know now how I feel. I regret the lost chances. The list of missed opportunities is a long one. When you disobeyed orders to retrieve me from Genesis. Our time camping on shoreleave. The bed at Edith's that we politely struggled about when you insisted on sleeping on the floor--away from me. When Valeris betrayed us, and you came to my quarters to talk, in the dark. What is it to be, t'hy'la? I would change all this. I would call you t'hy'la, I would call you bondmate. We have wasted so much time, denying what I believe we both feel, thinking it was not possible between us. It is, I know that now. Parted from you and never parted. I never knew what those words meant until today. I tried to leave today, to come to you. I ran the whole length of the spacedock but I missed the only flight. I arrive on the noon shuttle tomorrow. Spock ===================== === Kirk to Spock === ===================== Subspace transmission: Kirk Admiral James T, ID SC937 0176 CEC to Spock Captain, ID S179 276 SP Stardate 2382:06:16 06:15:35 GMT Transit priority: diplomatic reply Packet: personal limited ===================== Spock: I'll give you this--you sure do pick your moments. Your letter was waiting when I came in from an all-day meeting of the advisory committee on Academy curriculum. You can see what they've decided to do with me now, courtesy of the rejuvenating effects of the Nexus. Growing concern about the cadets' skills means that at the moment meetings are nearly weekly events. But a letter from you--now *there's* an event. What a letter. I hardly know what to say. Well, I'm glad you think highly of Tom Paris. Let's start there, on safe ground. I knew Tom's father well at one point, and I did catch up on the problems Tom had as a cadet and after. It's good to hear he's found a place for his skills--I gather he's quite something as a pilot. As you say, Voyager's return is evidence of his abilities and those of his crewmates. I've also heard very fine things of Katherine Janeway. Let's take a small step into more dangerous territory. Does Paris' conduct as a cadet remind you of anyone you know? Young, brash, arrogant, refusing to take no for an answer? And do you find that appealing? Certainly sounds so. Sorry, maybe that's a bit direct. Even with the assurances your letter offers, I'm finding this a strange note to compose, hard to say what I mean, hard to *decide* what I mean. You know, it took me years to learn moderation--you had a big part in that. In fact, I find a lot of your character woven into mine these days, even before receiving your letter and its, ah, interesting contents. And now it's you, of all people, offering a most extreme choice. Funny how humans always make jokes when they get nervous--have you noticed? Not much you don't notice, in my experience. You've put up with a lot, from all of us, over the years. And still you come back. Vulcans, the masochists of the Federation. Strange I never thought of it that way before. Well, you can see I'm beating all around the bush. Not like me. Not like you either, come to think of it. What a prize pair of fools we've been, all these many years. Your account concerning Tom--Tom Paris bonded to a Vulcan. Yes, Sulu mentioned Tuvok to me as well, when I was looking for weapons and defense specialists for the Academy. But Tom and Tuvok, bonded. Tom and you. I hardly know what to say. I keep repeating that--I hardly know what to say. I guess I'm surprised. You and Tom together on the floor of a sim-deck--well. Can I say this is good news? Can I say the shock kept me awake most of last night? What the touch of Tom's hand did for you, the words of your letter did for me. A shock to the core--a brutal realization of your place in my life, the one you've held, the one you may hold in the future. There's another step toward the edge. At first I couldn't believe what you were saying, in more ways than one. I tried to consider it from Tom's point of view--an unplanned, unintended approach from a legendary figure from Starfleet's dim past--that's how they see us, you know--yet I found all I could think of was you. You and Tom, alone in the dark. In a warm, secluded, echoing sim-deck. Did he welcome you? Did you let him slip that wonderful spice-scented cloak off? Did you touch him first, or he you? Did you want him badly, Spock, and was he good? Things you never allowed me to do. *I* never allowed me to do. Last night, lying in the dark by myself, all I could imagine was you--you and Tom. Or you and me. Touching your hand by accident, as I've done so many times, but never with that result. Never allowed to put an arm around you and keep it there. Never allowed to draw up your shirt, feel my hand on your waist. Never allowed to rest my forehead on yours, to share thoughts because we wanted to, not because some planetary crisis compelled us to. Never allowed to dwell on that soft sliding, the warm welcome of your mind meeting mine, seeing the inner, private Spock, the soul I know is there but am not allowed to touch. Never allowed, until now? Spock, the image of you and young Tom, lying in each other's arms--it's burned in my brain--you all dark and reticent--I know you must have been. Tom trying to figure out what hit him. If I'm honest with myself and with you, if I truthfully answer the questions you put to me in your letter, I have to say that I have wanted you for years, decades. There it is, glowing up at me from the screen. The last step, a leap over the edge. The thing I never dared admit to myself, to you, to McCoy. Not in dreams, not aloud, just in every single action of every single day. Every chance I took to speak with you on the bridge. Every opportunity to take you with me on a landing party. Every chess game. Every moment when I could have chosen Sulu or Scotty or any crewman on board as backup--and chose you. Not for the pragmatic set of your shoulders, for your dignified height, for that inquisitive eyebrow I loved to make shoot up, for the times you got me and the whole crew out of some stupid mess. You should know I won't be able to match Tom's performance and stamina. I don't know how else to say it, or how to put it more gracefully. The Nexus has given me a boost, but let's face it, I'm no longer the young captain you first met. If anyone could get a rise out of me, though, it would be you. I could wish it hadn't been Tom, or anyone else, with whom you made this discovery. I wish *I* had taught you that dark imperative, that oh-so-human drive, the oldest of games. Guess the best I can hope for is that this old dog knows a few tricks the young ones don't. But maybe I owe him thanks for helping us both admit this, face square on what we didn't have the nerve to face until now. I should be more forgiving, more like Bones I suppose. But then Bones hasn't wanted to hold you in his arms for ten centuries, only to learn at the last minute you've taken another man first. Your list of missed opportunities was impressive. Dismaying, too. So many times events almost brought it into the open. As you say, I was afraid. Afraid of losing the part of you that I could have--did have. So I took refuge in women--dozens of them. Didn't you ever wonder? McCoy actually got up the nerve to ask me, once. He suggested maybe I couldn't find the right one because I was looking in the wrong place. What a fool I was. I thought he meant I should look among the Enterprise crew, someone serving with me. Turns out he did mean that, in a way. Ah, Spock. If only we had the joyful decades ahead that Tom and Tuvok face. Well, I'll take what I can get--any small part of you is like ambrosia. Not the usual kind of simile for a Federation official, but maybe I've been a bit too much of that and a bit less of a man--and we've both suffered for it. So there you have it. This should reach you before you depart. I'll meet your shuttle. I also want you to know I've had my yeoman draw up resignation papers. I can't imagine that I'll have a lot more years left, Nexus or no Nexus, and I want to spend them with you. How's that for human-blunt? I think Timshel would suit us both, now that they're patching themselves back together. We worked hard to dismantle the joy machine there, old friend. Let's return and create our own. I burn, t'hy'la, I burn for you. My face is flame, my blood, flame . . . Jim ==================== == Tuvok to Paris == ==================== T'hy'la: I am pleased to report that matters are progressing in a satisfactory manner with T'Pel and her consort. We have arrived at an equitable division of household effects, we have formally severed our old bond, and our children are satisfied with custodial arrangements. I was pleased to meet Tarven, T'Pel's new consort. He is a man of quality. She has chosen well, both for herself and for our children. I honor her wise choice, and her delicate handling of this somewhat difficult situation. I have also arranged for our own formal bonding ceremony, with friends and family present. I have ordered your robes and mine, and I have completed the first round of instruction with the priestesses. If they were not Vulcan, I would say they are enjoying the prospect of instructing a young human in Vulcan ritual combat. Life is strange, as you say. At any rate I look forward to seeing you here on Vulcan when your work with the Adamant crew is concluded, so that we may hold the ceremony. My family looks forward to making your further acquaintance. I find that I miss having you at my side. Under your influence I have become peculiarly human-like in a variety of ways, more subject to human emotion than I ever would have thought possible. Not an unwelcome development, I think: it is only appropriate that our habits and beliefs alter somewhat, as our lives increasingly centre around each other. I received your letter this afternoon shortly after the midday meal. You are correct that the letter's contents did not come as a complete surprise: the nature of the bond between us meant that I was to some degree aware of the kind of activity in which you were engaged, although of course I did not know with whom. Since we had not specifically discussed it before, or been separated in this fashion, it is not surprising that you were unaware of this side of our bond--that I would be somewhat conscious of the kinds of actions with which you are occupied. The opposite is of course also true--you being aware of me--as you may notice during these weeks that we are separated. This heightened sensitivity may be one of the reasons why what you Terrans describe as infidelity is relatively rare on Vulcan. The Vulcan bond makes it more difficult to engage in secretive conduct, which I understand is the customary environment for infidelity in many cultures. On the whole Vulcans tend to find satisfactions within the bond rather than outside. I would point out that since we have now returned to a more normal life in the Alpha Quadrant, it is only logical that we will experience pressures and opportunities that may test our link. This does not cause me concern. I am confident in my choice of you as bondmate, and I trust you are satisfied with your selection of me as well. Your letter unsettles me in one sense only--that you seem to anticipate I will disapprove of your physical intimacy with Captain Spock. On the contrary: I accept your description of the circumstances and his own situation, and I honour your choice. Compassion is an important trait in civilised societies, and I could almost say I am proud of the unusual course you followed. Almost, you will notice I say: your human habits have not yet transferred to me to such an extent that I will admit I feel pride. But I do agree with you that accepting Captain Spock's advances was the right thing to do. The wisdom of your sympathetic response to someone in need is yet another mark of your honourable character. Like you, I find myself puzzled that Captain Spock and Admiral Kirk had not previously discovered that a bond was possible between a Vulcan male and a Terran male. It certainly is possible between pairs who differ in species as well as gender, as Captain Spock's own parents demonstrated, to say nothing of ourselves and many other couples in a more contemporary period. The number of such pairs has of course grown as Vulcan has become a more outward-looking and less xenophobic planet. It is, however, true that for a time my people believed that bonds could not be made between persons of the same gender--regardless of species-- because it was generally accepted that the purpose of a bond was to produce offspring. The genetic engineering currently employed by same-sex couples obviously was not available in earlier historical periods. On reflection, I realize that that belief about a bond's purpose did continue longer among the wealthier or older families on Vulcan. Families with considerable property or family traditions were more concerned about inheritance and the fulfilling of filial duties. Obviously these illogical attitudes have changed--my family's welcoming of you is but one sign--yet there were still a few carryovers in Spock's younger years. T'Pau was among the very last to grant that same-sex bonds were also logical, and she of course was the matriarch of Spock's clan when he was younger. It would be deeply regrettable if Captain Spock modified his life's course merely to conform to antiquated thinking. It was of course quietly debated by some on Vulcan why he never formed a permanent bond after his initial betrothal broke up. However, I do not think anyone considered the possibility that Spock elected the difficult path of living unbonded because he had incorrect information, because he felt he could not bond to the person he desired. For a long time there was concern that Starfleet's practices and attitudes might not be sufficiently accommodating to the beliefs and needs of its Vulcan crewmembers, particularly concerning the pon farr and its intermittent, somewhat unpredictable nature. The interval of "every seven years" was felt to be insufficiently precise, given the Fleet's needs to grant shoreleave for quite specific periods of days. Such predictions were of course even more complicated for those of mixed ancestry, like Spock-- would such Vulcans come closer to the Vulcan norm, or would they be spared the pon farr altogether? Even Spock himself may not have known in advance that he would have that experience. I myself faced questions from friends and family members on the issue of Starfleet's commitment to a diverse crew when I announced my intention to join. My parents, to say nothing of T'Pel, were concerned that such separation would cause difficulties when it came time for my own pon farr. In the end, they were right to be concerned. Yet I would not alter the circumstances, t'hy'la--if that was the way you and I were to be joined, then so be it. The most consistent complaint that used to be voiced about Starfleet's attitudes toward Vulcans revolved around Spock's betrothal and his fight with his captain. The view was that Dr. McCoy's administering of a drug to Admiral Kirk, to feign death, circumvented the real purpose of the battle, and also flouted age-old Vulcan tradition. T'Pau was dissatisfied--I believe you would say "royally pissed off," t'hy'la--to discover that Dr. McCoy had manipulated the ritual to save Admiral Kirk, and that a trick had been played upon her--upon all Vulcan, she felt. Many took the whole incident--from the difficulties Spock had in reaching Vulcan to the chemical interference of the human physician--as a sign that Starfleet was not really committed to including non-humans in their ranks. The Federation's insistence upon commissioning a starship with an entirely Vulcan crew was in part a reaction to this difficult situation, though as you will recall the Intrepid was destroyed with all hands fairly shortly thereafter. When you return I will show you the monument to the Intrepid--the architects did a fine job of capturing the essence of what draws Vulcans into space, no matter the cost. I have often thought of that monument during our voyage in the Delta Quadrant. Time I spend with you is also fostering the tendency to speculate, Tom. Very human. Despite my educated guessing, I of course do not know for certain why Admiral Kirk and Captain Spock did not discover the truth about same- gender bonds until so late. Perhaps they did not dare discover it--consider the subtle alterations in habits and beliefs that our own bond has caused, and we have had fewer complications of rank and seniority than Captain Spock and Admiral Kirk would surely have had. And that brings me to the chief point of this letter, t'hy'la, which is to say how contented I am in my relation with you. I find your character and conduct a constant source of interest and gratification, and I have never for a moment regretted or reconsidered our somewhat atypical choice. A bond between a human and a Vulcan is a curiously satisfying one. Character traits of the two species seem complementary rather than antagonistic--such as the difference between the reliance on logic and the reliance on intuition-- and areas of intellectual excellence likewise seem well suited--the emphasis on the scientific and rational on my homeworld, the emphasis on the fine arts and interpretive disciplines on yours. It is gratifying that we have been the instrument whereby two of Starfleet's most capable officers have joined. I am honoured to have played even a small role in such an event, and I was pleased to learn that they have seized the opportunity to live out their lives together. I hope someday I may be fortunate enough to speak with both of them, and offer my respects and congratulations. In any case, I am deeply satisfied that we joined early in our lives. I do not like to reflect upon what my life would be like without you. Parted from you and never parted-- Tuvok PS Your letter makes clear that while you have learned many things from me, correct orthography of common Vulcan words is not among them. I suggest you review the third set of exercises I left for you on the datapadd, involving punctuation of irregular nouns of the fourth declension. You are consistently omitting the second apostrophe in "t'hy'la." --T. ========================= == Chakotay to Janeway == ========================= Dear Katharine: I was glad to see you were able to make the Adamant reception celebrating our return, even if we didn't get a chance to talk much. I thought the rest of the crew looked well and happy, and I was pleased to see them beginning to settle into life off Voyager. I know you've been worried that they would have trouble fitting in after our long, strange trip--we were awfully isolated and inbred, despite making some new friends like Neelix and Kes. I also had a good talk with Tom at the party. Even Eugene Paris' son is managing to fit in well, now that we're back against all expectation. Perhaps that's Tuvok's steadying influence, though he's away on Vulcan. I remember how pleased we both were to learn of their bond--that pairing proved a real benefit to each man, Tom learning some restraint and balance, Tuvok learning some imagination and intuition. A powerful pair, those two. I'm very glad for them. I'm mostly writing to tell you about an interesting experience I had. After the reception, Tom and I went out for an early drink, and Tom said he'd met Captain Spock at the party. Now *there's* a man who's had an interesting career. Tom said he had had a very useful conversation with Spock about the demonstration sim-board that had been set up on Adamant. Tom gave me a little detail: apparently Spock had had valuable comments on the quality of the image reproduction and on the selection of files that are available, though Tom indicated that not all the people represented in the simulations are aware that their images are being used. A question for the legal division at headquarters, I suppose. After hearing how enjoyable Tom had found Spock's company (probably that's Tuvok's influence again; the old Tom would have had little time for a Vulcan), I was pleasantly surprised to find the captain was a passenger on the shuttle with me. During the fairly brief trip I talked a little with him about his career and about his recent work with the Romulans. He also had some useful comments on the difficulty of integrating the Romulan system of values into those advocated by the Federation. I know we always found that the values of an unfamiliar society were among the most difficult things to understand and work with--it's always hard to figure out why people choose one irrational or nonrational belief over another, when your own crazy beliefs seem perfectly normal to you. If someone would think up a universal translator for customs and values, I'm sure half of Starfleet's problems would go away. The curious thing is while we were talking about societies' values, Spock several times pointedly said that whenever I was confronting new ideas in my Starfleet work, I should always make sure to seize the opportunities those new ideas offered. I couldn't quite figure out what he meant at the time, but after what happened next--stay tuned--I think I know now. Captain Spock did seem a little preoccupied during our talk, rather taciturn even for a Vulcan. When we docked, Spock swung to his feet and raced off toward the portside door. He dashes down the ramp--and there to meet him is Admiral James T. Kirk, halfway up the ramp himself. Kirk grabs him in both arms and quietly says something in his ear that none of us catch-- although I can guess the general category, in light of what's happened since then. Probably you can, also. Spock steps back, raises two fingers. Kirk does the same and touches his to Spock's. Katherine, I was pretty surprised--the formal Vulcan greeting between intimates, here in the midst of the port, with all us other passengers waiting to disembark. You know how private Vulcans are--I don't believe I've seen that gesture much in public, let alone between two ranking Starfleet officers. Pretty interesting, I'd say. So the rest of us are trying to sidestep past them on the ramp, trying not to bump them or stare at what they're doing. As I slide by, I hear Spock say to Kirk, "I agree Timshel would suit." You know the rest, if you've seen an official newschannel. They've resigned their commissions together, announced their formal bonding, and are retiring to Timshel. Believe me, Katharine, I wish the two of them all the best--I'm delighted they're settling down together. I think it's tremendous that they should pair off; I only wonder why they're doing it now, after all their years together. That puzzle got me to thinking about Spock's comments on "seizing opportunities," and I think I've figured out what he and James Kirk have gone through. And that's why I'm writing to you, now. I'd like to point out to you that they've found each other very late, after what looks very much like years of denial. Watching them, watching the emotions they've both been keeping under wraps spill over in public, I'm inspired to write to you, Katherine, with the same question. Hat in hand, heart on sleeve, whatever metaphor you care to pick. After all we've been through, after all our experiences, time together, moments alone in one jam or another, I cannot imagine the rest of my life without you. I think of your smile, of the many conversations we had in situations good and bad, of our arguments about the best course of action in one crisis or another--and of the moments we had together on some pleasant planet, or enjoying some recreational holodeck program, or just going through everyday tasks on the bridge. I miss that cock of your eyebrow when you're puzzled or annoyed, that hands-on-hips, take-no-prisoners method of negotiating that you're fond of. I love you, Katharine. I want to share my life with you, and be part of yours. I don't want to learn fifty years from now that you always felt the same way but that you were also too scared to speak. I'd like to learn from their experience, Katharine, and not toss away a chance. There may not *be* a chance--I have to admit you may not feel the same way I do--but that's a risk I'm willing to run, for the prize at the end of the race. When I think back to the ambivalent look on your face when we found the wormhole, the realization that we were almost home, well, it makes me have hope. I know you were surprised and hurt to find that Mark had remarried, but it seemed to me some years ago that you had already moved beyond that pairing, if you would just admit it to yourself. I'd like to book passage for both of us to Risa. Away from ranks, from subordinates, from Fleet policies about fraternization. I'd like us to have some peaceful time together to talk about what I think we both feel, to discuss the possibilities in front of us. Each generation is supposed to learn from the last, my heart--let's learn from the twisted lives of these two men, so devoted to each other for so long. Will you come with me? Will you think hard about what we mean to each other? I'm not a man of fine phrases, as you know, and I don't know what the magic words would be to woo you. The best I can do is to say I love you, and that I want to be with you again. Let me know your decision soon, will you, my dear? Thoughts of Risa's sun shining on your hair keep filling my head . . . --C. --- The End