When All is Said and Done
Title: When All is Said and Done
Author: cosmosmariner
Rating: T
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: Kirk thinks of home.
Disclaimer: I'm not affliated with Paramount, Gene Roddenberry or his estate, or anyone else in the Star Trek universe.
Author's Note: I have not seen the reboot yet, so Vulcan still exists.
Riverside had changed an awful lot since the last time I had been home. The corn was fairly green and the grass, too, and there was still that gaudy casino on the outside of town. The highway still cut an ugly grey path within spitting distance. There were a few new buildings, and refurbishment of the old. The farm house I had grown up loving was gone, though, along with the big red barn that I used to jump out of. I remembered the smell of hay and the rustle when I leapt into it, but no more.
The last time I had been here, there was snow up to my hip, and drifts that looked like the sand dunes of Vulcan. Now, that was a planet I had been to time and again since my last visit to Earth. I could count on one hand the times I had been back to Earth, but made frequent trips with Spock to that dry, formidable planet many times in just the past decade alone.
Spock would find Riverside fascinating. It had a nice mix of flora and fauna, which always appealed to his scientific nature. For a man who fought so hard against showing his emotions, he seemed to delight in exploration of worlds not his own. To me, it seemed that Spock's own dualist nature could find solace in alien worlds that had extremes. Of course, James T. Kirk would never actually say that out loud. McCoy and Scotty would laugh themselves silly at the thought, and Spock would just lift an elegant brow and say I was projecting my own faults onto him. And, of course, in private, Spock would look me in the eyes, with that guarded expression on his face, and tell me that I was right.
I wondered if Spock, who had declined to take leave with me, missed me. He would never admit such a thing, as Vulcans would never admit such a weakness. I, on the other hand, would readily admit that I missed Spock desperately, and seemed to be missing an arm, or some other vital part of my body when he was away.
It occured to me that although I had been raised here, in this quaint Iowa town, Riverside was, in all honestly, no longer my home. The stars were my place now, and that beautiful, horrible starship that I bled and nearly died for a hundred times was my home. I missed the Enterprise, that much was true. But it could have been in dry dock for a million years, and I would still have this feeling that I have right now. The feeling that something's missing.
There's that beautiful old tree. I looked at it, seeing my childish scrawl carved into the bark. I run my hands over it. It's smooth and rough, all at the same time. An odd sensation, but pleasant. It rather feels like Spock's hands after a long day of scientific research. No real memories to speak of; my childhood is a page long ago written in this book, and to be honest, I have no intention of re-reading those lines. I have much more to write, and a superb editor who is waiting for me back at Starfleet.
I'm never more happy, and feel more alive, than I do when I am with Spock. Words do not need to be spoken. Slight glances are enough for me. What I mean to him, I truly do not know. He's a Vulcan, after all, and although he has told me and shown me many things, I feel he will never show me everything. That is okay, though. What I have of him is enough for me. It's comfortable. It's...
It's home.
Author: cosmosmariner
Rating: T
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: Kirk thinks of home.
Disclaimer: I'm not affliated with Paramount, Gene Roddenberry or his estate, or anyone else in the Star Trek universe.
Author's Note: I have not seen the reboot yet, so Vulcan still exists.
Riverside had changed an awful lot since the last time I had been home. The corn was fairly green and the grass, too, and there was still that gaudy casino on the outside of town. The highway still cut an ugly grey path within spitting distance. There were a few new buildings, and refurbishment of the old. The farm house I had grown up loving was gone, though, along with the big red barn that I used to jump out of. I remembered the smell of hay and the rustle when I leapt into it, but no more.
The last time I had been here, there was snow up to my hip, and drifts that looked like the sand dunes of Vulcan. Now, that was a planet I had been to time and again since my last visit to Earth. I could count on one hand the times I had been back to Earth, but made frequent trips with Spock to that dry, formidable planet many times in just the past decade alone.
Spock would find Riverside fascinating. It had a nice mix of flora and fauna, which always appealed to his scientific nature. For a man who fought so hard against showing his emotions, he seemed to delight in exploration of worlds not his own. To me, it seemed that Spock's own dualist nature could find solace in alien worlds that had extremes. Of course, James T. Kirk would never actually say that out loud. McCoy and Scotty would laugh themselves silly at the thought, and Spock would just lift an elegant brow and say I was projecting my own faults onto him. And, of course, in private, Spock would look me in the eyes, with that guarded expression on his face, and tell me that I was right.
I wondered if Spock, who had declined to take leave with me, missed me. He would never admit such a thing, as Vulcans would never admit such a weakness. I, on the other hand, would readily admit that I missed Spock desperately, and seemed to be missing an arm, or some other vital part of my body when he was away.
It occured to me that although I had been raised here, in this quaint Iowa town, Riverside was, in all honestly, no longer my home. The stars were my place now, and that beautiful, horrible starship that I bled and nearly died for a hundred times was my home. I missed the Enterprise, that much was true. But it could have been in dry dock for a million years, and I would still have this feeling that I have right now. The feeling that something's missing.
There's that beautiful old tree. I looked at it, seeing my childish scrawl carved into the bark. I run my hands over it. It's smooth and rough, all at the same time. An odd sensation, but pleasant. It rather feels like Spock's hands after a long day of scientific research. No real memories to speak of; my childhood is a page long ago written in this book, and to be honest, I have no intention of re-reading those lines. I have much more to write, and a superb editor who is waiting for me back at Starfleet.
I'm never more happy, and feel more alive, than I do when I am with Spock. Words do not need to be spoken. Slight glances are enough for me. What I mean to him, I truly do not know. He's a Vulcan, after all, and although he has told me and shown me many things, I feel he will never show me everything. That is okay, though. What I have of him is enough for me. It's comfortable. It's...
It's home.