The BLTS Archive - Mastery Of The Unavoidable
by Sethos (unsknownscribler@hotpop.com)

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Saturday
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Really important people apparently cannot afford to take the
whole weekend off, Spock mused. Jim Kirk seemed to consider
himself really important and thus had gone off to Starfleet
HQ to attend some meeting concerning the diplomatic
ramifications about the Federation aid in battling the
Algolian Marsh Fiend Plague. Spock didn't think himself
really important, and found the present meteorological
conditions less than accommodating to his Vulcan physique,
so he'd stayed in bed. Of course he wasn't just lazing
about. He had pulled over his reading screen and was
refreshing his knowledge about socially stigmatising
diseases. Accessing material from the databases at Starfleet
Academy and the San Francisco Public Databases, he had so
far covered the social histories of the Vulcan Bendii's
Disease, plak ran, and the Human disease known as leprosy,
and found himself presently engrossed in the truly
deplorable history of the late 20th/early 21st century Earth
epidemic named AIDS.

Of course he would not have had to stay in bed to do so;
there was an ample amount of viewscreens all over the
apartment, but the bed was special. At first Spock had been
more than sceptical when Jim Kirk replaced their comfortable
contemporary bed with a genuine rococo antique. Illogical to
use something old, delicate and probably uncomfortable for
the purpose of resting and lovemaking. Their first night in
it had convinced him, though. The gently curving head and
foot of the bed, upholstered in pale yellow satin, conveyed
an impression of enveloping, nest-like snugness; and the old
mattress, although in no way sagging or worn, gathered them
up in comfortable relaxation, enhancing their closeness in
repose. And although the rococo bed did cause a faint
creaking noise when they made love, and although the
stuffing of the yellow upholstery had a decidedly dry and
lumpy texture (Jim said it felt like "cabbage leaves and
cutlery", obviously some quote, although Spock couldn't
place the reference), this only served to make the bed more
unique, more theirs.

Sitting crossleggedly on the bed, back against the headrest,
Spock was experiencing more and more uncomfortable
sensations inside, due to the subject matter he was reading
about. This wasn't just information. First-hand sources and
added documentary footage clearly conveyed the passionate
anger and grief people in this very city had felt and vented
about two hundred and fifty years ago. People like himself
and Jim Kirk; there was no denying the possibility for
identification.

The comm-link went. From the tone of the chime Spock could
clearly discern that it was his own. He put the call on hold
and went over into the living room to his personal comm
station to get it. Jim's comm had chimed three times already
during the morning, but of course Spock hadn't answered the
calls. The vast majority of their colleagues and associates
did not know and did not need to know that Jim and he were
living together. For the same reason Spock took his calls
only at his own console which provided a neutral background
for visual transmissions.

The caller was Jim. "I'm finished here and on my way home.
What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What gave you that impression".

"I just wanted to know how you were doing and opened our
link a little, and felt - anguish, sadness. What happened?"

"Again, nothing. I am merely absorbing socio-historical
information of a nature which exposes the weaknesses in my
Mastery of the Unavoidable".

"Meaning, you're reading about all those dreadful illnesses
and feeling pity".

"Correct".

"Which one is it".

"The immune deficiency in humans that was, at the time,
known under the acronym of AIDS".

"It would be. I'm coming home anyway; go back to bed, we can
talk about it".

"I do indeed mean to provide you with an abstract of the
information digested today; however..."

"Spock, cut it out. I'm your bondmate, and sharing such
experiences is exactly what the bond is for and about. And
your perfectly natural compassion for our ancestors in
spirit gives us an angle into a conversation I've been
thinking for some weeks we should have. Meanwhile, I'm
coming home, and I..."

Through the bond, Spock felt a split second before what was
coming, and put a stop to it. "Very well, Admiral. I'm
expecting you".

"Don't you 'Admiral' me! I know you're paranoid what with
your separate comm link and that console I'm not allowed to
touch and so forth, but do you really think anybody at the
HQ would listen in on our private conversation?"

"Even an accidental interception could prove disastrous".

"This paranoia is also part of what I want to talk to you
about. Well, do we still need anything we don't have at home
or the food synthesiser can't provide?"

"If you'd do me the favour of purchasing three middle sized
fresh plomeeks at the Vulcan import shop on..."

"I know where it is, Spock. I've been there often enough.
Plomeek soup? It's that bad?"

Spock didn't answer to the tenderness in Jim's voice
radiating over the comm-link. "Very well; would you like me
to prepare something for your refreshment?"

"If you'd just get the coffee-maker going that would be
great. I'll be with you soon". The comm-link faded out.

Spock went into the kitchen and switched on the electronic
coffee maker, turning it off again at once, before water or
ground coffee started to be piped into their respective
places, when a thought struck him. Instead, he programmed
the servo chef to simply boil water, and got out the
old-fashioned coffee maker Jim sometimes used, into which
coffee and water had to be filled manually to seep for
awhile, then be separated by means of a depressable, purely
mechanical sieve. Spock knew his bondmate preferred this
kind of coffee, but was mostly in too much of a hurry to
prepare it that way.

He went about this task with meditative calm, secretly
dreading the conversation Jim had announced, and very
secretly delighting in the gentle concern the Human showed
for his Vulcan. This was the one remaining bone of
contention between them, and only very rarely spoken of. As
a rule, Jim accepted the difference in the Vulcan's
attitude, having long since understood that Spock's refusal
to publicly acknowledge their relationship was not meant as
a slight to him, not rooted in personal shame about their
kind of love, nor in any fear to confess the fact that
Spock, too, did in fact possess emotions and acted upon
them.

Spock filled ground coffee into the simple device and
rummaged drawers for the battered single chopstick Jim used
to stir the concoction, when he was interrupted by his
comm-link going again. He hurried over to his console and
took the call. It was Saavik.

"I got stuck working out those antimatter equations; I need
to ask you some questions", she simply announced.

Spock knew Jim would be irrationally hurt to find him
engrossed in a conversation about science upon coming home,
so he cut his pupil and surrogate daughter short.

"I am busy at present; please call me again after" -he
calculated quickly how long it would take for Jim to arrive
home, and for them to cover the disputed ground- "two point
three hours so we can set an appointment for tomorrow, if
you can wait till then, Saavikam".

"Of course I can wait. I can memorise command rules in the
meanwhile instead of tomorrow, or go see a museum".

"Do that", Spock said, terminating the connection just
before the servo chef began it typical beep which would have
betrayed to Saavik the nature of his present occupation to
be a domestic one. Going back to the kitchen to stop the
beeping, fill the device with boiling water and continue his
search for the single chopstick, Spock experienced a slight
regret of having to keep Saavik so far at bay. To be
compelled to almost lie to her concerning all his day-to-day
banalities did not sit right with his own standard of
integrity. As far as he could make her out, she assumed that
he occupied some impersonal quarters within the Starfleet
Academy's faculty residence, and he had never disabused her
of that notion. This behaviour was not completely honest,
but it was necessary.

He found the chopstick and stirred the brew with it. Having
waited for an appropriate time, he then depressed the piston
very slowly and carefully and returned the finished coffee
to the servo chef to keep it warm. He took a mug from a
cupboard and carried it over to the living room table, then
returned to the kitchen to prepare some herbal tea for
himself. He mixed the dried herbs from several tins to his
present requirements, then filled them into the servo chef
to prepare his tea in a less old-fashioned way than Jim's
coffee.

While waiting, he checked the logistics board for supplies
and appointments. He needed to ask Jim about his plans for
tomorrow in order to set an appropriate time for his
appointment with Saavik. Jim never used the logistics board
himself; as the device was Vulcan, he considered it to be
too complicated. Spock sometimes teased him about his
reticence, insisting that logistic boards were designed to
be simple, as their main objective was to take care of the
banalities of life in every and any Vulcan household.

He wondered shortly whether to put out milk and sugar for
Jim's coffee, then opted for artificial sweetener, as Jim
was somewhat peculiar about his figure. Spock did not mind
if Jim was a bit stout around the midriff, but Jim minded
enormously, as the extra pounds constantly reminded him of
his mostly desk-bound existence that forced him to lead a
less active life than he had in former years. Spock
sometimes felt tempted to remind Jim how he used to end up
in sickbay with more or less serious injuries at least once
every month, and to tease him whether this kind of a
constantly bruised way of life was so much preferable, but
refrained from doing so as he could feel through the bond
how much that hurt Jim. For the same reason, Spock decided
against chocolate chip cookies and got a plate of oatcakes
from the food synthesiser.

No amount of procrastination, however, could disguise the
fact that it was now well and truly five minutes over the
time Spock had calculated Jim would arrive home. He carried
the oatcakes into the living room, weighing the relative
probabilities of a would-be important personage keeping Jim
at the HQ and a congestion of customers in the Vulcan shop,
when the entrance door to the apartment whooshed and in
walked Jim.

"Hello, Spock", he said, carrying a bag over to the kitchen
while Spock, having put the oatcakes down, went after him to
retrieve tea and coffee from the servo chef. "Oh", Jim said
upon perceiving the antiquated coffee maker, his joy at the
care his bondmate took of him communicating clearly through
their link. "Put that down a second".

He enfolded Spock in his arms and just held him for a
moment, then lifted his head to kiss the Vulcan lightly on
the lips. Spock had long since learned to accept and share
the human need for casual tenderness, and put his arms
around Jim, gratefully kissing him back. Through the bond,
Spock communicated his gladness at having Jim back in his
physical presence, and Jim answered, conveying his joy at
being with his lover, and his concern about the pain Spock
experienced about the subject of his current studies.

As they let go of each other, Jim put the bag into the
stasis container as it was, silently daring Spock to chide
him for expending energy to preserve a receptacle that would
keep perfectly well on its own, while Spock carried tea and
coffee over into the living room. Jim followed him, coming
to stand at the table to fill his mug, drop in two tablets
of artificial sweetener, and pick up the plate of oatcakes.
"Come on, bring your tea. I'd rather lie down on the bed for
our talk".

Complying, Spock followed his bondmate into the bedroom,
putting the tea down on his side of the night stand, then
settling into their accustomed comfortable position for
talking or reviewing data together, half-sitting,
half-reclining against the headrest of the rococo bed,
Spock's left arm loosely around Jim's shoulder. Spock
reached out to switch off the reader screen still showing
the portrait of two very emaciated men, eyes burning, purple
blotches covering the skin of one of them, sitting on a sofa
in a position similar to their own present one. There it was
again, that identification.

"Let it be, we'll probably need it later", Jim stopped him,
adding that's just what I mean through the bond. Spock
pushed back the screen a little and turned to his bondmate.

"Well, then begin with what you have to say". Illogical to
procrastinate any longer.

"I don't know where to begin. This isn't exactly a line of
thought, more like a tangled web".

"Begin at the topic that brought all this about", Spock
helped, conveying acceptance through their link. "You felt,
through the bond, the pain I could not control when I
reviewed those historical facts". He indicated the reader
screen with a gesture of his head. "I perceive this as a
failing of my Mastery of the Unavoidable. I believe you are
familiar with the concept".

You would talk like that, Jim chided through the link. Aloud
he said, "Yes, you mean the control of emotions, mostly pity
and pain, you might feel when something happens or comes to
your notice that you can't help or influence".

"Correct. In this instance, I felt pain at events especially
unavoidable, as they lie almost three hundred years in the
past. The cure against the disease then called AIDS was
discovered two hundred and sixty-two years, the vaccine two
hundred and seventy-four years ago. There was no reason to
feel - pity - for people that would have died long ago in
any event".

"But that wasn't it".

"Yes". Spock was at loss for words for a moment. "Yes. It
wasn't only pity. I did not feel like that about the other
diseases I studied. It was some sort of emotional
identification. Those men that died of that disease - that
were let die by misinformation and silence - were like us,
Jim. I could understand how they felt watching each other
die, I could see the two of us in their place, helplessly
seeing each other wasting away. I could share their grief at
that, and their anger at the knowledge that so much could
have been done to prevent it, but wasn't done, because they
were just - gays". Words failed him again. Sensing Jim's
encouragement through the bond, seeing the concern in the
hazel eyes fixed into his, he continued. "As we are".

"As we are", Jim echoed. "That's the point. You see, I'm
human and you're Vulcan, and we are high brass in Starfleet,
and known throughout the Federation, and blah and hoo. All
this emphasises our uniqueness and makes it easy for us to
forget there are - and were - others like us. Less known,
less visible, more ordinary. We're not two of a kind, we're
part of a community that has its roots in exactly that part
of history you were studying, and especially in the very
city where we are living now. We can live in peace, we could
tell all the world about us if we'd want to without fearing
recriminations because of the enormous and admirable fight
those people put up in the face of death. They are our kind,
our history, our ancestors in spirit, and you were forced to
face that fact when you studied the history of that
disease". He suddenly grinned, mischievously and very
tenderly at once. "Welcome to the real world, Spock".

Spock let his head drop against Jim's, pressed his face
against his bondmate's neck. The emotional show-down had
come with unexpected suddenness. "It is completely
irrational, but it seems so - unfair that we are at liberty
to lead our way of life because they were not, because they
died. On Vulcan, we remember the victims of the endless
bloody wars before Surak's reformation by adding our blood
to theirs, as we know that their deaths finally gave us our
peaceful lives. Being what we are..."

Say it, Jim prompted through the link.

"Being gay men, we owe the same debt to those that died of
this illness, AIDS".

"Yes. You've come a long way today to perceive this, my dear
Spock". Jim slipped his right arm around Spock's hip and
hugged him hard.

Spock felt compelled to qualify this statement. "I have
always known, but I did not accept it - emotionally. And I
am still not at liberty to act upon that knowledge. You know
the Vulcan way. Claiming the right to bond with a person of
one's own sex would mean basing decisions upon emotion, and
would thus ultimately lead to being pronounced vre'kasht,
banished as a heretic against the Way of the Vulcan,
declared non-existent, by the whole planet. Controlling
homosexual tendencies is part and parcel of controlling all
emotion, and mostly only a small part of it. I always
perceived this as a minor issue, just one small piece of
what I needed to control, even following the events at Beta
Antinoi 55, until you came to me after the V'ger incident,
and I found I did not wish to control that part any longer".

Jim hugged him again, turning to Spock, using both arms,
then lifted his head for a kiss.

"Do really want to tell me there are no others, no gay
Vulcans? I mean, I always understood you're hiding from your
family, for your family's sake, even, but do you think
you're really the only one?"

"No. There may be a few hundred, female couples mostly,
living in deep hiding, their relationship never mentioned.
You know those Vulcan silences. You know how Vulcans go on
not mentioning things until they up and die".

"And the men?"

"There's Pon farr. If a male Vulcan finds himself utterly
unable to bond with his allotted female, he just dies. And
even if one finds a bondmate of his own sex, there's only
silence for them, or going offplanet and forfeiting their
home and their families. There is no acceptance for them, no
ritual, no recognition. Just silence until death".

"As you know, it was similar here until the victims of AIDS
began equating silence and death, and passionately
protesting against both".

"So what? Do you want me to take on an entire planet of
stubborn traditionalists and fight for my right to say
aloud, 'I belong with Jim Kirk, I am bonded to him and I
love him'? Jim, that could take up the rest of my life
entirely, and would very likely fall completely flat. I'm
not that important. They'd simply declare me vre'kasht and
be done with me".

Jim smiled. "I always love to hear you declare aloud how you
feel about me, but no, I do not need to hear it pronounced
to all of Vulcan. We found our place together, and can be
content with. As to Vulcan, this custom simply can't
survive. It's diametrically opposed to Federation law, the
IDIC principle, and several other important points of
consideration. Somebody will stand up to fight for his life
and his right to live it in the open and keep his home at
the same time eventually; and somebody will finally stand up
to fight and win. We'll probably live to see it".

Spock steeled himself for the confrontation that must
follow. "So what is it you ask of me, apart that I accept
the history of this city we live in as part of our own
history, and honour the memory of those dead from that
illness as the memory of people who died for us also?"

"That you have already accepted; that's where we began. And
Spock, don't go all defensive on me; I can feel that through
the bond. Just listen".

"I can feel you preparing a list, and I will listen". Spock
was pleased to sense no resentment from Jim at this stark
announcement; he was used to the way of his Vulcan by now,
at least.

"Well, Spock, I can understand that you do not tell your
father about us, that you even don't tell your mother as
she's bonded with him. I can accept, although it still hurts
me, that you will not marry me by law, although we have long
been married by the bond, because that would mean a public
announcement. But do you have to lead the life of a
desperately paranoid closet case? Do you really need all
that business about strictly separate comm-links, about your
personal console I am absolutely forbidden to touch, and all
that? Do you really need to pretend to all our neighbours
you just come here occasionally to visit me, ringing at the
door when somebody's passing, and calling me Admiral? You
don't even answer the door, ever."

"Do you realise that the only persons who know about us are
that Vulcan healer you saw about your foot on Centaurus, of
whom you said she didn't matter as she was sworn to
professional silence, my nephew Peter, Dr. McCoy, Uhura and
Christine Chapel; and when I told Christine you sulked at me
for a week, and not out of consideration for her former
crush on you? I know that if I'd accidentally betray us to
somebody as utterly trustworthy and harmless as Scotty, or
Sulu, or Chekov, you'd throw me the Vulcan equivalent of
tantrum. Now, what's all of that for?"

I don't want to berate you, Jim added through the bond. I
honestly want to discuss this with you. I care. Spock took
it in that spirit.

"About the comm-link, the console and the door, that's
obvious. Having a common comm-code would be tantamount to
admitting to all and sundry we live together. Can you
imaging us being listed under the same comm-code in the
Starfleet database and nobody noticing, apart from us
answering each other's calls all the time? Do you really
want to answer my calls from Vulcan, from the academy, thus
proclaiming me yours? We could just as well marry. Nobody
knows where I live, so people who come here come to see you.
Why should I expose myself to them? And McCoy always knocks
and shouts, 'Hey you-all, open, it's me", so I recognise
him, and Uhura always calls first and suggests some signal
like ringing three times. And Dr. Chapel is the one weak
point among all those who know about us, as her, as you say,
'former crush' for me makes her the most likely candidate to
tell some extraneous friend about us, and then knowledge
spreads. As for the neighbours, we're not exactly just
anybody, and additionally lots of Starfleet big brass live
in this house, and if they notice they'll start to talk
eventually, and finally some Vulcan will hear, and then
all's up".

Jim dropped his head on Spock's chest and snuggled close,
sending a tendril of gentleness through the bond, as if he
needed reassurance of his bondmate's love before continuing
their argument. Spock was touched, and let him feel that.

Jim lifted his head, staying close, and let loose his next
attack. "But then I can't understand how you can be so
perfectly candid and unselfconscious with those who know. I
mean, you tell McCoy things, quite matter-of-factly, that
make my eyes goggle. And when you're in a good mood, you can
camp it along with Uhura like any swish little piece from
our less-than-glorious history, taking the humour, slanging
back. The first time I saw you two at it I thought for a
moment I'd come to the wrong movie, or probably to the wrong
universe". Spock couldn't suppress a smile, but Jim
continued, on a more serious note, "When you're so paranoid
about anyone finding out, how come you live with me at all?
After all, people who come to see me find you here more
often than not. Although you immediately start
'Admiral'-ling me, and going about some business on the
computer, people do notice. And they also notice traces of
your presence all over the place, your ancient Vulcan
weapons on the wall, your fire demon and meditation
paraphernalia in here, and your scientific disarray sitting
in the corners. And don't you dare get up now and put
everything into one cupboard".

Jim ending on that lighter note, Spock smiled again before
answering, tackling the less serious issues first. "People
in general may think what they please as long as they don't
get proof, as a shared comm-link would be. As for McCoy and
Uhura, they needed to know for practical reasons. McCoy is
doctor to both of us, and Uhura was the one person who could
divert my comm-link into our shared system without anyone
taking notice. It would be illogical to pretend to them, as
they already know. Apart from that, they're both very good
friends of ours. We both trust McCoy to the end of the
world, despite the acrid comments he'd make on the way
there, plus it would be illogical to keep knowledge from him
that he needs in order to assess our physical state.

"And I know for a fact that you delight in Uhura's banter as
much as I do. She started not taking me so dreadfully
serious even during the first months of our original
five-year-mission aboard Enterprise, mocking me in songs and
making loose comments about me, while almost everyone else
stood frozen in awe of me. Although I made a show of
protesting, I found it refreshing to be taken not entirely
serious by at least one person on the ship, and we continued
on that note ever since. Why should I not 'camp it along
with her' as you choose to call it, when it absolutely
delights everyone present?"

Spock fell silent, preparing both of them for the serious
part of his answer. Clear and decisive, like the blade of a
lirpa coming down after prodding the opponent with the blunt
end for a while, he stated, "As for the rest, I need to live
with you as we are bonded, and I want to live with you as I
love you. Our present arrangements constitute the utmost
compromise I make to accommodate the rest of my life with my
need and my love for you".

Neither said anything for a while, savouring the deep,
strong feeling of mutual love and devotion seeping through
the link of their bond. Jim moved over to sit between
Spock's legs, leaning his head against his Vulcan's chest.
Both felt like crying, or like crawling into each other, or
both. Finally, with a very small voice, Jim added his last,
most painful items from his list.

"All those other things only get on my nerves more or less
persistently, but some things simply hurt me. Some very
small things, like the way all my old friends and
acquaintances as a matter of course talk about their wives
and kids, and I can never mention who I am going home to.
Like having to brush off tactfully the occasional woman who
considers me fair game, instead of proclaiming once and for
all 'I'm married to Spock'. Like having to lie to my mother
about what I was doing and how I am doing whenever she
calls, not being able to tell her what's foremost on my
mind. Like the way you creep over to my room in the dead of
the night, creeping away again in the small hours, when and
if you see it fit to accompany me to my mother's farm in
Iowa. Spock, she's my mother: I want her to know I am happy
even if you need to keep that knowledge from yours. And I
think she knows anyway. I guess that's talking big things
already".

He stopped, preparing to voice his greatest hurt. Spock
sensed the pain through the bond and projected tenderness,
encouragement, love, to enable him to go on.

"The biggest of them all is your Saavik. She's the one
single most important person in your life apart from me, and
yet you keep us completely separate. You pulled her from
that hellish planet, you raised her from a savage little
animal to an intelligent and impressive young woman, and yet
you tried to hide her very existence from me even during the
first years of our bond. I couldn't help wondering what in
the universe you did during those long leaves of absence you
suddenly started taking, and I was relieved no end when you
finally told me about her. She's your daughter in all but
physical fact, and I so wish her to be part of my life as
well. Last and most important it is intensely painful to me
to share your pain at having to lie to her, at having to
keep her at bay, when you love her so deeply. And it must be
painful for her also, although as the good little Vulcan
you've raised her to be she'd never show it. She must know
there's a very large portion of your life you keep from her,
she must wonder what she's done so you don't trust her. I'd
never accuse you of feeling shame at our relationship, but
sometimes I suspect you feel shame at preaching the Way of
the Vulcan to her and hiding the fact you don't live
strictly according to it; shame at preaching, not at your
way of life, that is. This is unnecessary and must end".

Spock gathered his bondmate even closer, brought his head to
rest on Jim's and almost whispered into his small and gently
rounded ear, "This pains me also, and shall be remedied
sooner or later. She will ask me one day, and I shall answer
truthfully. Meanwhile, give me time. I can't throw off all
my defences at once, and I shall always remain the Vulcan I
have been raised to be in most of my dealings with people.
Most of the unnerving things and some of the hurtful ones
you will have to bear, though, just as I have to. Do you
think it doesn't get on my nerves that I have to jump out of
bed in the middle of the night to get a damn comm call? It
must be borne. Mastery of the Unavoidable. You will have to
bear some things, and as we go along I will truthfully
re-examine on what issues I can relent, in which points that
Mastery demands calm acceptance of facts instead of paranoid
secrecy. But in any event, do tell your mother. Call her
tonight and tell her. I've come to know her as a very
trustworthy and strong woman. I do not intend to cause you
all that needless pain. As for all other things, wait for me
to come out slowly, step by step, not all at once. Will that
serve for you?"

Jim just cuddled closer, not answering. Presently he
murmured, "Yes, more than fine. You are a very generous
person, and I will not trespass on that generosity. I do
want to stay realistic, I don't want you to give up too much
just to appease my emotions. You taught me at least
partially to master the Unavoidably, too. I shall give you
all the time you need".

Spock felt impelled to make some first step out of his
Vulcan "closet". He gathered his Human up and kissed him.
"For a beginning, will you accompany me when I discard my
Mastery for once and continue my journey through the painful
history of our kind? Would you view the material with me,
talk with me about it, share the pain I experience? Would
you honour with me our ancestors in spirit by remembering
their history?"

"Of course I will; I was going to suggest the very same
thing. Perhaps it's not so much a matter of absorbing all
the facts, more of taking one paradigm and letting it sink
in". Jim knelt up between Spock's legs, kissing him back.
"But first, I fear, I need to wax prosaic. I have to eat
something else than oatcakes before we go on". He stood up.
Spock calculated quickly (they had talked for one point two
hours; there was enough time for the meal before Saavik
called about the appointment, so they could return to the
bed and their personal and historical explorations after),
then followed Jim to the kitchen. "Yes, I think I should
have that plomeek soup".

Jim got the bag from the stasis compartment. "Another first
step I ask you for", the human said, almost flippantly.
"Don't give me that cold Vulcan stare when I tell you I was
a bit late this afternoon because I called Christine Chapel
for her recipe for plomeek soup before I left my office. As
you need to have plomeek soup, I thought we can just as well
put all the ingredients into the that thingy fresh instead
of just the plomeeks, having the rest synthesised".

Spock smiled into Jim's eyes. "Yes, I'd probably have
thought you should avoid going on about it, as that would
make her crack only sooner rather than later, but that's
probably paranoid. She's probably glad I'm happy with you
making plomeek soup for me".

"Very probably", Jim answered, kissing him.

Their meal was uneventful, Spock silently spooning down his
plomeek soup while Jim watched him from over his salad. His
Human had long since learned that talking for talk's sake
was unnecessary, even offensive, to the Vulcan. Spock mused
on the infinite care the Human took with him, all the small,
unobtrusive things Jim did to make him feel accepted,
appreciated, loved. Like giving in time and again to his
Vulcan peculiarities, like making plomeek soup for him, like
almost never eating meat in his presence, like telling him
all he needed to know in order to keep his logistics board
up to things. Logistics. Yes. Spock went to the kitchen to
get himself another bowl of soup, bringing three more slices
of toast for Jim, and the board.

"We need to talk logistics for a moment", he ventured into
the silence, "before we continue the evening as intended.
Jim, do you have any appointments tomorrow, and if yes,
when?"

Jim grinned. "For chrissakes, Spock, tomorrow's Sunday".

"The universe won't wait for a holiday customary to the
planet Earth".

"No, but I don't work tomorrow. You're off planet with your
shipload of cadets far too often for my liking anyway, so
when we're both here I'm not so keen on working Sundays. I
could go to a reception at the Andorian consulate if I
wanted, in fact you could come, but there is no" - he
grinned again - "logical reason to go. Nobody there I need
to see, or something".

"Go anyway. Saavik requested my aid with some problem
concerning matter-antimatter physics, and I need to set an
appointment with her for tomorrow".

"Well, the reception's at half past seven, you can enter
that into your thingy; but I really don't know that I want
to go. I can stay at home and read something relaxing while
you work with her, can't I?"

"Of course". Spock entered the date into his device
nevertheless. "I only intended to make sure our schedules
will not clash unnecessarily. As we both occasionally need
to leave earth for assignments, it would be illogical to
make appointments for different times when we have the
chance to be together. As we can help it, that is".

Jim put his fork down and gazed tenderly at his bondmate.
"Logic has nothing to do with that, Spock. It's a question
of love".

"Assuming as given that we made our commitment to one
another, it is only logical that we adjust our logistics to
spend as much time with each other as we can".

"Well, if that's what you call it", Jim smiled, leaving the
sentence unfinished. He stood to carry his empty plate into
the kitchen. "Do you want any more plomeek soup, or can I
take your stuff as well?"

"Yes, thank you; the quantity I consumed was more than
adequate".

Upon returning from the kitchen with a glass of beer for
himself and one of fruit juice for Spock, Jim signalled to
his bondmate to follow him once more to the bedroom. After
putting the glasses down he stretched, groaning, while Spock
settled himself into his customary position on the rococo
bed.

"Where do you want to start reviewing the material, Jim?",
he asked, while deciding he would do something to relax his
lover's aching back.

"I don't think we should review any of your material. I said
one paradigm, didn't I? Well, I'm thinking of one fictional
paradigm from the time of the plague itself".

"Which would be?", Spock asked, less than convinced.

"A movie called 'Philadelphia'. And, while we have the film
piped in from the data bases, could you sit on my back for
some time? It aches a lot from sitting at desks and
conference tables all day, every day".

Spock pulled the reader screen close and entered some
specifications. "We should probably practice our Tai Chi and
our Asumi on a more regular basis to alleviate that problem,
as for example every day instead of every third or fourth".

"In what time, Spock? If I have the choice of fighting you
in public or kissing you in private, I take the second
possibility every day".

"The one does not preclude the other", Spock rejoined. "As
we usually meet for practice during breaks in our duties
anyway, I could easily program the logistics board to find
appointments during our daily schedules".

"If that means getting to see you more often, I'm all for
it". Jim flopped down onto the bed, turning over and
indicating the small of his back by tapping it several times
with his fist. "Come and sit on me, that's a good - Vulcan".

Spock obliged, straddling his bondmate and lowering most of
his weight onto the offending part. "Ouch. That's so good.
Just sit there, don't do anything".

"Aye, Sir", Spock quipped, distributing the rest of his
weight between his thighs. Vulcan muscles being much more
compact than human ones, Spock knew his weight to be
considerably exceeding what his skinny frame suggested; so
he had learned to accommodate that fact in his intimate
dealings with Jim Kirk. He carefully pulled the reader
screen over. The movie finished piping in, but he could feel
that Jim would need to be sat on for some more minutes
before his ache had eased sufficiently.

"Tell me about that movie. Why that particular paradigm?"

"Instead of recounting facts and figures, things you're used
to dealing with, it shows you only one case", Jim murmured
into the cushions. "It was the first movie about AIDS
produced by the mainstream media for a general public at
that time, and it got a lot of praise. And it will encourage
you to identify rather than assimilate information. And I
think that's exactly what..."

Spock's comm-link went. Jim groaned, expecting the
comfortable weight to leave him, and radiated considerable
astonishment when Spock took the call on his bondmate's
terminal beside the bed, voice only, staying put.

"Spock here".

"This is Saavik. I had another try at the equations, but I
can't see how anyone ever arrived at them, although they're
perfectly logical in application. So I call back as agreed
about an appointment for tomorrow".

"If that is so, Saavikam, I shall meet you in your customary
study cubicle at the academy library at 1930 hours, if
you're free at that time".

"It suits me fine. I shall prepare my material and my
questions accordingly".

"Very well; and additionally you could give me an impression
of the exact field you are experiencing difficulties with,
so I might be able to prepare better on my own side".

"It is about the equations used to calculate the increase of
the energy return variable in relation to the size of the
dilithium crystals used".

To his horror, Spock heard a very low gurgling noise
escaping from the cushions Jim was pressing his face into,
accompanied by a violent shaking of the body below him.
Apparently, his bondmate was experiencing a laughing fit.
Impossible that Saavik, with her increased pointy-eared
hearing, did not perceive the sound.

"I shall be prepared to answer your questions adequately.
However, please excuse me now, as I seem to..." - he didn't
want to lie to her - "... be experiencing some problem of a
domestic nature that needs attending to". That, at least,
wasn't a lie. "I shall see you tomorrow". The gurgling and
heaving increased in frequency.

"At 1930 hours, Mr. Spock", Saavik repeated, signing off
just in time to spare him from having to explain away some
major inconsistencies to her, as Jim Kirk now exploded into
a fully roaring laugh.

Spock laid his hands onto Jim's shoulder blades to calm him.
"What is so amusing to you? I would have assumed there was
nothing out of the ordinary in my conversation with Saavik".

In fits and starts, Jim splurted: "You talking to her like
that while sitting on me! I mean, can you picture the way
her eyes would have goggled, Vulcan or no, if she could have
seen us?"

"That is precisely why I chose voice only", Spock replied,
still steadying his lover, hands on his back.

"But can't you see how funny that is? The absurdity of
calmly talking to her about the damn dilithium variable from
that position! And that routine about a problem of a
domestic nature, that was priceless!"

"Actually, that was all I could do to keep from directly
lying to her".

Jim got a grip on himself rather suddenly. "I can appreciate
that, and I know it took you a lot to not compulsively rush
to your console. She got something to wonder about in any
case". He broke out laughing again. "She must think your
bathroom plumbing's gone wrong!" This time, Spock joined in
the laughter.

After finally calming down, Jim groaned and stretched under
his bondmate. "I think that's fine, thank you. Has the movie
finished piping in yet?"

"It has". Spock got off, settling himself into his usual
place and holding out his left arm for Jim to cuddle into.
"I'm still not convinced why a set of fictional characters
should engage my lack of Mastery - or my sympathy, as you
may call it - so much more than the actual victims, but I
shall trust you with that". He pulled the screen around to
enable both of them to see. "You usually know me rather
well". He punched a button for the representation to start.

While preliminary announcement coursed over the screen,
Spock found himself in a rather peculiar situation. Mastery
of the Unavoidable was second nature to him; as a matter of
course he engaged that mental mode when dealing with
whatever tragedy he might encounter. More than once McCoy
had tried to provoke him about that, calling that behaviour
callousness or worse. Now, having decided to deliberately
disengage or override his Mastery, he found he could not do
so consciously. Jim, sensing his uneasiness, made himself
heavier in Spock's arm. Relax. Just let it sink in; don't do
anything on purpose. Give in to it. It'll come.

The movie began, titles running to a muted song over
observations from the everyday life of a late
twentieth-century American city, Philadelphia, which had
given the movie its name; it continued to introduce the main
character, called Andy, a young, successful gay lawyer
suffering from the disease. Still Spock wasn't convinced. It
was only when this Andy's considerate, gentle, brown-eyed
lover started fussing over him in a hospital, disputing a
doctor rather vehemently over the application of a
antiquated and cruel medical procedure that would have had
given McCoy a fit, that the movie finally got at him.
Suddenly he could see himself in that lover's position,
caring for a mate that was certainly going to die, fighting
to make his remaining life as easy as possible, and he felt
the urge to get closer to Jim. Giving in as he'd promised,
he gathered his bondmate up in both his arms. A reassuring
hand laid itself onto a square, bony wrist.

Subsequently, when another character was explored more
thoroughly, a straight, black male lawyer this Andy
succeeded in engaging for a lawsuit against his firm which
had fired him on a pretext, Spock pulled back again, as that
person was clearly intended as a focal point for
identification to the less-than-enlightened general public
of the time. But then there was a scene when the main
character visited his relatives together with that lover,
who was accepted lovingly, matter-of-factly, and asked his
family's permission to go public with his lawsuit, and that
made him get rid of his Mastery for good. His mind
substituted that family first with Jims mother and nephew,
then with his own parents and relatives, and he suddenly
felt an aching, never before experienced sensation of loss,
of being lost, at the emotional realisation that he could
never trust his own family even now as that
twentieth-century ancestor in spirit, even if he was
fictitious, could trust his. Jim felt that aching loss
through the bond, bringing up his second hand to gently rest
on Spock's neck.

Then, several scenes later, there was a party, the main
character dancing with his lover, and the other lawyer
dancing with his wife in the same way; and that was the
point Spock could sense the first actual tears welling up.
When the black lawyer came home and took his tiny daughter
from her cot to reassure himself of the continued security
of his own small world as opposed to that other
relationship, just as serious and valuable as his own, but
facing inevitable extinction, the Vulcan buried his face in
his bondmate's bronze hair and heaved the first, most
painful sobs. The hand on his neck answered by stroking him
lovingly, reassuringly.

Then, at the end, when the lawsuit was temporarily won and
everyone took their leave from the dying Andy in a hospital
room, when, alone with him at last, that pale, emaciated
creature pulled off his oxygen mask to look into his lover's
- his no-less-than-bondmate's - tender brown eyes and
quietly say, "I am ready", they were both lost to crying
outright, emotions amplifying, building themselves up in a
growing spiral, through the bond.

In a short tussle, Jim made them rearrange their position
for Spock's head to rest on his chest, and they went on
crying, clinging to each other, through the scene after the
funeral, with all those children present, children
representing a future which must be better than the now, and
all through the end titles. Jim switched off the screen,
turning his head to kiss his bondmate's damp eyes, and they
remained together, curled up, sharing their feelings through
the bond, calming down slowly, for a long time in the
gathering darkness.

Pulling himself out of that sea of pain the successful
disregard of his Mastery of the Unavoidable had thrown him
into, Spock lifted his head to kiss his bondmate, tenderly
onto dry lips at first, then more passionately, exploring
deeper. He loosened Jim's shirt, slipping his right hand
under it to rest on a warm side. He was answered by a hand
crawling under his sweater, travelling up and down his bony
spine.

It stopped. I just as badly need to have you, but a few more
words first.

"I wonder", Jim said aloud, "have you ever seen the Gay San
Francisco Museum on Castro?"

This was familiar ground. "Jim, I've seen every museum in
this city while still on the academy".

"You would have. And I think every cadet goes to see that
one, as it is so unique. Still, did you ever come back there
after we bonded?"

"I saw no reason to repeat the experience".

"Of course not. You know, I went there again when you took
out the Enterprise for the first time without me. Even when
I'd been as at cadet, the hall were the Quilt panels are
made me cry, as a side effect impressing the girl who'd come
with me with my sensitivity; but now I knew that what the
museum depicts was part of my own history. I saw it all with
new eyes. I think you should also go again one of these
days".

"So I should". A decision formed itself inside Spock, a
large 'first step' to take, a risk to take in order to claim
as his even more fully what had been his already for so
long. The emotional exertion at the decision communicated
itself clearly through the bond, wide open as they were, and
Jim radiated back a growing apprehension.

"I believe you wish us to go together. We shall do so
tomorrow in the morning". Incredulous joy at this plain,
stark announcement spilled over into his mind from Jim, who
palmed on the light, only softly, before beginning to
seriously tug on Spock's sweater. "You are astonishing, my
love, you are generous, you're incredible, you're special,
you're mine", Jim murmured into his bondmate's kisses.

Growing eager, frantic, he added, "I want you. Now!", before
all individual concern was lost in union of mind and body.
They rejoiced in the unfairness of Life and Time, allowing
them to be together so completely, so unchallenged, grateful
and slightly ashamed towards all those countless, faceless
men who'd died, thus building with their very lives the
foundation of what was possible for Spock and Jim today.

Hours later, they finally collapsed in a tangle of limp arms
and legs, like puppets cut from their strings. Spock, still
inside Jim, beating a slow, leisurely retreat, felt his
almost-asleep lover collecting himself to coherent thought
once more. Some painful thought, making him shake at the
sense of absurdity. Say it anyway, Jim.

"You know, they couldn't even do what we did just now. That
was dangerous to them".

"I know".

"But you have to take that in. Imagine, you would have had
to pull over some rather sturdy rubber device before coming
on in. They had to keep their minds on such things when
making love; their lives were never completely free from
that illness. Not like us; not like the freedom we have".

Spock pictured that, not liking it in the least. Slipping
finally free, he reached over to turn out the light, pulling
the covers over them and settling down to sleep, Jim's head
on his chest, as they were used to. Relaxing, the last
remaining tendrils of concern still in one another's mind,
they drifted off.

---
Sunday
---

Standing in the middle of the hall which constituted the
centrepiece of the museum, Spock experienced a chill despite
the heavy, dark Vulcan robes he wore. Trying to adjust his
sense of temperature, he found himself unable to do so, as
the cold came from within him.

The museum sprawled through several old buildings on Castro
Street, left and right from this house, which had been the
beginning. After the plague had finally been over, someone
had donated this former porno theatre as a permanent home
for the many thousand hand crafted quilt panels, each
commemorating one person who'd died of the illness. The
museum people had torn out everything from the disused
cinema, leaving just the four walls and the roof, supported
by iron rafters and pillars. On the brilliant white walls
were mounted the quilt panels, preserved in acrylic glass.
They were rotated every month, and yet it took years to get
through all of them. On a ledge, about one meter above the
floor, there were candles and flowers even now; even now,
after more than two hundred and fifty years, some of the
names were remembered.

"Who was Klaus Nomi?"

"I don't know", Jim answered. "We can look him up in the
computer they have in a room in the next building. There's a
database there with all the names, the quilt panels,
personal stories, photos, if there are any. They wanted no
explanations in here, just the memorial".

"How do you honour the dead, if not with candles and
flowers? We didn't bring any".

"By expressing our emotions", Jim answered, turning to face
his bondmate. He looked up with a small, lopsided smile.
Spock regarded him seriously. He wasn't in uniform today;
today, he was just some middle-aged civilian in a rather
loudly patterned shirt, come with his lover to visit the
holy places of their kind.

"And how do you suggest, how are we expected, to express our
emotion".

Jim smiled again. "We are not expected to do anything. You
know, there's a room about the history of this museum in the
next building. When they first opened this place in the
twenty-first century, there was just this hall. The entrance
was at that dark door which is closed now, and beside that
they had a table with a large book of empty pages into which
visitors would sign their names and write comments of what
they felt seeing the memorial. They have a computer in the
other building now for that, where we can express our
emotions and pay homage".

The familiar paranoia welled up in Spock. If he wrote his
name into the electronic visitors' book with an appropriate
comment, people from the academy, from the Vulcan embassy,
would eventually come, add their comments, browse, and
discover...

Jim had caught that through the bond, and was now grinning
outright. "I don't expect you to expose yourself. Just be
honest. And don't think now about what you're going to write
then. Just let this place sink in".

With that, he turned away to look up once more to the woven,
knitted, patterned monuments on the walls. Spock followed
suit.

He knew that some panels had been made from the victims'
clothing, from their bedding; that most of them had been
made by their lovers, their mothers, sisters, closest
friends. These panels had been exhibited at fund-raising
charities, carried in demonstrations, spread on the ground
to cover whole parks to make people see, notice. They had
been paraded, all of them, in a silent candle-lit march
through the streets of this city on the night when the
announcement had come through that the disease was finally
overcome, when hundreds of thousands of people had gathered
to grieve, and to triumph, at once.

Quiet, mournful music was seeping through the hall from
unseen speakers. Spock knew the piece; it was an adagio by
the Italian baroque composer Albinoni. He thought of the
desert wind which was the only sound at the blood stone of
T'LingShahr, the place where Surak had died and many
thousands before him, of the stark, neglected ruins of the
ancient city around it, and compared it with the well-kept
deliberateness of this place, the environment created to
appeal to the visitors' emotion. And yet he did not find it
in him to despise the human way of remembrance. This was
appropriate to their nature, as was the gigantic
Buddha/Jesus statue of Nagasaki, as was the quiet vastness
of Auschwitz. And all of them carried the same message as
the stone of T'LingShahr: Never forget! They died so we can
live. Their memory will preserve us from the deadly errors
of their time.

Deliberately, he let his controls falter and slip. As once
at T'LingShahr, he could feel the past as a part of his own
being, the painful history of his kind the foundation stone
of his own life; at the blood stone, he had honoured his
history as a Vulcan, here he acknowledged this human history
as a man who loved another man.

He turned his head to look for Jim, who was gazing intently
at a panel of whirling shapes in black and red, a name in
huge white letters running over them, just somebody's first
name and an exclamation mark, as if the maker called after
this lost person, or angrily announced the name to all the
world. Somebody who had been loved, and then missed
bitterly.

Jim turned and came over to him. Spock's acute hearing
assured him that they were still alone in the memorial hall,
and that nobody was approaching from either side. He held
out two fingers of his right hand to his bondmate, and Jim
answered the gesture by touching them with two fingers of
his left hand, the only public show of affection allowed to
Vulcans. They looked deeply into each other's eyes, one of
those long looks they'd given each other even long before
they'd ever been lovers, one of those looks full of concern,
of appreciation, of caring. They let one another feel their
love and tenderness through the bond, and their sorrow for
those people in the past who had not been as privileged as
they, who'd died of what they were.

Yes, this is the right way for you to honour their memory,
Jim told him through their link.

Then, suddenly, Jim's gaze left Spock's eyes to stare at
something behind his shoulder, where some movement must have
caught his attention; and a new, sharp sensation of shock
and exhilaration came over through the bond. Spock turned to
look left, and there was Saavik, standing in the door to the
preceding building, anger and accusation at the betrayal,
and a formidable amusement, breaking through her thin
covering of civilisation and Vulcan-ness.

She had come through the rooms of the museum with her Vulcan
quietness, with her Hellguard stealth; and so Spock had
never heard her approach, until she happened upon them, upon
their private moment in the middle of a public place. She
had not meant to spy on them, to intrude on their privacy;
it were they who'd caused this confrontation. Spock felt his
paranoia returning with a vengeance: he'd been right! But
no, no other person on this planet could have come upon them
unnoticed like this and made sense of what she saw; a highly
unlikely trick of probability had thrown the three of them
into this situation.

Repressing the illogical urge to pull back his fingers from
Jim's now that all was up anyway, Spock addressed Saavik,
who did not stir from the spot where Jim had first seen her.
"Saavikam, I never meant to lie to you, to keep the truth
about myself from you. I intended to tell you - someday. But
it was necessary to keep this aspect of my relationship with
my captain hidden from all outsiders, and I saw no immediate
reason why you should know now. Yet I would have answered
any question you might have asked".

Saavik gave no answer, just took a few steps toward them,
looking from one to the other.

"Ensign Saavik, I can tell you I don't like this secrecy
either, not one bit", Jim Kirk now interfered. "But I could
accept it, as I know just as you must that Vulcan does not
tolerate this kind of relationship".

"I know nothing about those things!", she stormed, turning
to Spock. "Spock, you told me I could find a world of my own
making, I could be just what I am, that I never need be
ashamed of who I am, that I didn't make myself, that I was
as I should be when I was myself; and so why don't you
listen to your own advice?"

"I long ago accepted myself as what I am, Saavikam", he
answered with infinite gentleness. "Otherwise I would not
stand here today with my bondmate, a Human and a male. But I
did not make the world, either; and the secrecy I employed
even toward you is nothing but the utmost compromise between
my bond and the rest of my life; to keep that, I had to keep
my relationship hidden from all the world. It is nothing
personal, Saavik".

She stared at him.

"I quite understand that you disapprove", he continued on
another note. "However, I do not ask your approval, only..."

"You don't understand anything!", she fairly shouted. "I
don't disapprove, I thought I said so. I've always known
that your captain was the single most important person in
your life, the one who stayed where the rest of the world
only passed through. And I'm not so astonished at
discovering the true nature of your relationship; it makes
perfect sense when viewed with the other evidence; I should
have noticed on my own. Only, I can't understand that you
rate me as part of 'all the world'; I always thought I was
special after you saved me and you taught me, and after what
we went through when we went back to Hellguard. I don't care
if Vulcan doesn't tolerate this or that, I'm not Vulcan!"

Spock was at loss of words for a moment; this acceptance
from his almost-daughter warmed him more than he cared to
admit to himself. He could never make her un-know, though,
and tell her again on his own accord; nothing he could say
would ever wipe away that first impression of catching him
at it, of finding on her own what he had meant to hide
forever.

Thankfully, Jim chimed in once more. "Ensign Saavik, please
don't be so harsh. I've been giving him hell about just that
last night, that's why we're here now. We couldn't know
you'd come to just this museum just now; in fact I thought
you'd be probably sweating over those infernal dilithium
equations. Never understood them myself, just pretended I
did and got away with it".

"What do you know about my problems with these equations,
which I mean to solve, not to get away with. Humans have
this thing they call 'woolly thinking', they do it all the
time, it's so illogical".

Jim chuckled. "Quite a fierce Vulcan you are, Ensign.
However, I was there when you called Spock about that
appointment. I think you must have noticed my presence".

"So it was you laughing, not the bathroom plumbing gone
wrong. What was so amusing about the dilithium equations?"

"Nothing; only, we'd just had that discussion and..."

Steps were approaching the door from the building they
hadn't yet seen, several people, humans. Spock took his
fingers away from Jim's and stepped back a little. "This is
not the right place to discuss these things", he said. "We
can talk further tonight after we deduced and solved the
equations".

Jim intervened again. "This is the perfect place, seeing
we've come here to acknowledge what we are. And you don't
need to keep her at bay any more now, Spock. Ensign, I know
all of this must be very strange and new to you, but why
don't you come with us after we all finished with this
museum? We can have some lunch and talk, and then you can
work on your equations while I sit in the other room so I
don't have to hear that stuff?"

"I really don't want to see any more museum after this", she
scowled. "It is strange and new to me, Admiral, but I better
get used to it. I can wait for you at the exit".

"Saavikam, you need to reign in your impatience", Spock
scolded. "This is a very interesting museum of human
history, and it is illogical to forgo its appreciation for
purely emotional reasons. We shall continue through it as
planned, and so should you; we will meet you at the exit".

The group of humans was entering the hall just now. Spock
threaded through them, sensing Jim following him, Saavik
staying alone with her bewilderment.

Jim obviously didn't feel like 'any more museum', either;
they silently and rather quickly made their way through the
final building dedicated to the history of gay men from
after the plague ended to the present, with a room about the
history of the museum itself. Spock looked up some of the
names from the quilt panels in the hall there, but Jim's
mind wasn't in it. So they just went through the next rooms
and only stopped shortly at the room dealing with
homosexuality on other worlds (no mention whatsoever was
made about Vulcan, Spock noted), and finally reached the
exit and the electronic visitors' book.

They were browsing through it, considering what they'd write
themselves, when Saavik came upon them once more. Her visit
had been no less perfunctory than theirs, obviously. "What
is this?" she asked. "Are you ready to go?"

Amazingly, it was again Jim who answered. "Electronic
visitors' book. Just give us a moment to write something".
He turned toward her to let Spock think. "Everyone adds a
few words of their own in remembrance of those who died.
Human custom".

"Vulcan custom also, as I hear", Saavik answered.

Their exchange went on quietly in the background while Spock
searched his mind for a suitable quote from Surak, something
that would be an appropriate comment to make for a rather
prominent Vulcan who'd visited this museum to study a human
history that didn't concern him. But then he wondered about
himself, how quickly and matter-of-factly he'd accepted the
way Jim talked to Saavik, how natural it felt to leave them
to speak to each other while he dealt with other things; and
in the end he just wrote what he had felt in the hall before
Saavik came, what he had felt in T'LingShahr: Never forget!
They died so we can live. Their memory will preserve us from
the deadly errors of their time, and signed it just with his
name, without his rank. Jim turned to see what he'd written,
and to Spock's astonishment just wrote his 'James T. Kirk'
under Spock's signature. "Do you mind? The words are
perfect; I wouldn't know what else I should write".

"It is quite acceptable", Spock answered, suppressing his
paranoia. Yes, paranoia's an emotion, too.

Try controlling that for a change, Jim mocked tenderly
through the bond.

"May I see, or is it private?", Saavik asked from behind
them.

"This is a public visitor's book, Saavikam; it would be
illogical to write something private in it".

She looked. "It appears to be somewhat private, though".

"Personal, not private, Ensign. There's a difference for
humans".

"Not for Vulcans, but also for me. May I write something
personal, but not private as well?"

"This is, as I said, a public visitors' book, Saavikam;
everybody may write something".

They gave her room to use the console. I learned many new
and unexpected things in this place, and found an answer to
an urgent question I never even knew I wanted to ask, she
wrote.

"So, is this in an appropriate way personal, but not
private?" she turned to Spock.

"Quite suitable", he assured her. "Let us go".

So he left this momentous place, Jim to his right, Saavik to
his left; and outside, in the fresh air, he suddenly found
he was happy.

---
Monday
---

At 22:43 hours, Saavik called to announce to Spock she'd
finally solved and understood the last equation. As Spock's
line was busy with a long distance call from Vulcan -- Sarek
talking about some arcane family affair -- she tried Jim
Kirk's number next, matter-of-factly asked him to pass the
message to Spock, adding a polite phrase, and signed off.

Jim felt as if he'd won a major battle, exhilarated and
relieved. He went over into the living room and, grinning
happily, stood just out of range from the camera sensors of
Spock's console to listen to his bondmate speaking Vulcan.

---

The End