ST: AOS Fic: Dead Letter Office
Title: Dead Letter Office
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Spoilers: Star Trek: Into Darkness
Content Notice: Hurt/comfort, grief, smutty humor
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Five letters Spock never sent to James Kirk and one he did. This is a sequel to Letter Never Sent
A/N: This is for amiss/museattack, and damn her evil powers! Title is a name of an REM album this time - call me buttah, I’m on a roll.
----
~1~
Jim,
My mother, to help her sort through her thoughts and emotions, would often write letters she never intended to send. She found it helpful to
I find this exercise utterly without merit, but you are de--
This is illogical.
I have begun this missive many times, and discarded many pieces of paper. Yes, paper is wasteful, but I find employing it for this purpose effectively slows down my thought processes. And my thoughts need to be slowed.
You are dead, and McCoy thinks the serum made from Khan’s blood will bring you back to me, but even so, my thoughts and emotions will not be quieted, so perhaps this will work.
You are dead. You are dead, and I curse my eidetic memory, for all I see, all I can remember of you is your eyes staring, staring at me, at nothing. At me. Lifeless.
I cannot recall a single, other thing about you, Jim, and it horrifies me. To be left with only that feels like a curse, or a punishment.
Please survive this. I have desired no other thing more in my life than to see you again. I, a man who has lost everything. What does that say about my character? I am bereft in every sense of the word, not least of which is the fact that you will never know my true regard for you.
Please do not make my sparing of Khan’s life be for nothing.
~2~
TO: List:Enterprise_Command_Staff
FROM: Commander_Spock@Enterprise.NCC1701.mil
STARDATE: 2261.54
SUBJECT: Protocols for the current shore leave roster
Jim,
You will note that I entitled this communique something innocuous, in order to fool you into believing it to be business-related, when in fact I am writing something wholly inappropriate that I hope will titillate or even shock you.
The chocolate you gifted me with still makes my head spin as I write this, but I find I enjoy the sensation. It makes my lips feel slightly numb, as they do when you kiss me, and it is most pleasant. (I feel it is important to note at this time that your kisses are nearly as intoxicating as the chocolate, though I am speaking metaphorically, of course, as there are not stimulants, to my knowledge, in the chemical composition of human saliva, at least those that might affect a Vulcan’s physiology.)
I can imagine your lips upon my body now. They are soft on my skin as they move along my jaw, down my neck and throat, pausing at my clavicle (I must point out I realize the fanciful nature of these assertions; indeed, it would be most disturbing (and, in fact, quite messy) were your disembodied lips to move about of their own volition upon my person), and then traveling down my torso with maddening slowness to their ultimate object, the fellating of my turgid penis.
Jim, I hasten to add that I enjoy the precursors to your fellating me nearly as much as the act itself; that is the point of the above exposition, in case there was any doubt in your mind.
This chocolate is producing in me a somnolent reaction; it is perhaps prudent that I continue this message in the morning…
~3~
Captain James T. Kirk
USS Enterprise
Probable Stardate 2262.12
Captain,
This morning, I came upon this rudimentary personal communications device and while I was unable to modify it to receive or send any kind of signal, its note-taking application appears to be functional.
The Lycasian terrorists have begun to move me repeatedly and at random, so I must therefore resign myself to the fact that an extraction at this time will be nearly impossible. It is a hard conclusion to have come to, primarily because I did not deduce its inevitability earlier in my ordeal. The sleep deprivation and physical torture have left me disoriented and, at times, I find I have lost significant slices of time. I have, in addition, been unable to meditate, and I believe that all of these factors may have contributed to this lapse in my ability to use my reasoning in an effective manner.
Yesterday, I was forced to record a diatribe against Starfleet that had been scripted for me; it was most regrettable, for nothing I said reflects my true thoughts or opinions. However, my captors had been threatening the life of young Ensign Palermo at the time, and I would have done anything to spare him any further suffering. As it was, he succumbed to the fever that afflicted him this morning. I do not know where they have left his body.
Jim, I must conclude at this point that there can be no hope of rescue; nevertheless, because of my regard for you, I will endeavor to “keep fighting” for as long as I can. When things are at their worst, I find myself focusing on your kind eyes, ashayam, and I find comfort in them. I know that such a notion is sentimental and illogical, but logic has failed to help me here.
Should the inavoidable happen and I die here, there is a pre-recorded message to you that I have left among my personal files. My only regret is that I could not deliver the content of it to you in person. It has been my honor and privilege to call you Captain, friend, and lover.
~4~
Captain James T. Kirk
USS Enterprise
Stardate 2263.37
Jim,
I write this with the highest degree of regret a sentient being can manage, for I have done you a great disservice. But as I now realize that my recent incongruous behavior can only be attributed to the onset of my Time - an eventuality I had illogically hoped, as a half-Human, half-Vulcan, never to have to experience - it has now become a necessity that I share a vital piece of my personal history with you.
I feel the blood fever swiftly approaching, so I will dispense with the lesson in Vulcan biology (please refer to the attached treatise, which I have already forwarded to Doctor McCoy) in order to focus on certain more important facts.
First, since the age of seven, I have shared a pre-marital bond with a female Vulcan named T’Pring. Understand that this tradition was and is a standard practice among Vulcans, and though I was just a child at the time of its inception, the existence of my betrothed - and of her survival of the destruction of Vulcan - is nevertheless a fact that I kept from you. I do not love her, and she has always made it plain that she cannot love me. Nevertheless, she is in my life and I must now go to her, to fulfill the ancient covenant that Vulcans have made since the time of Surak.
Second, I am ashamed of the hurt my reticence on this matter will inflict on you, and I regret it deeply. I am sorry for misleading you and for the betrayal you will most likely feel once this has been revealed to you.
Finally, I love you.
The Time is upon me, even as I type this message. I must now devote whatever time I may to meditation, which may lessen the effects of the pon farr until such time that I can arrange transport to the Vulcan colony.
I am most sincerely sorry.
~5~
Captain James T. Kirk
Riverside, Iowa
Stardate 2263.5
Jim,
It is the eve of the wedding ceremony that will join us as husbands in the eyes of your family and friends, and I am meant to be penning the vows which I will recite to you before the officiant in the morning, but find I am at a loss for words.
We are already bonded, and perhaps you have already felt, through that bond, some misgivings on my part. I suspect you have, as you have been unusually quiet and restrained when we are together. You have assured me it is not a reaction to the bond, so I must therefore conclude you are picking something up from my end of it, despite my attempts to shield you from them. Know that these are as a result of my own illogical self-doubts and do not reflect upon your behavior or character.
I fear that I do not deserve the happiness I feel at being with you, that the circumstances of my pon farr - the fact you stepped in to be bonded to me when T’Pring invoked the kal-if-fee - have trapped you in a union for which you were unprepared.
I fear you will someday come to resent me.
I fear outliving you.
I fear.
That is perhaps the heaviest burden, for I would not have you know it.
~+1~
James Christopher Kirk cha’Spock
Riverside, Iowa
Stardate 2290.76
My son,
On the eve of your disembarking to begin your first semester at Starfleet Academy, your father thought it would be welcome if we sent some favored personal items and foodstuffs ahead, as a sort of surprise upon your arrival. He spent many hours poring over the list of what we might send, and I spent many subsequent minutes editing it back. You will therefore find enclosed with this note a not-as-exhaustive array of items, as sending everything would have been prohibitively expensive and, as I pointed out to Jim, there must be something left over for future “care packages,” do you not agree?
Note that the chocolate enclosed herein is, naturally, of a lower concentration (only 23% cocoa solids), but also manufactured by a most excellent Parisian chocolatier. This ought to be enough for you for the occasional, recreational use. As you are now a legal adult, I cannot forbid you to consume it; but as a parent I must ask you to exercise prudence. Your father wanted me to send you Hershey bars; I scoffed at the very idea - you will at least be exposed to “the good stuff.” Please promise me you will eat responsibly.
I have packed some of your warmer sweaters to guard against the San Francisco chill, as well as a new, blue one knitted by your Aunt Nyota. She claims it is the exact shade of your eyes, though I disagree, as they are clearly more cerulean than turquoise.
Upon reflection of what I have already written, this letter is perhaps getting overlong. However, my mother used to say that no one resented a long letter, just short words. She was a very big letter writer - someday I will share hers to me with you when I myself was at the Academy. I could never send a single letter to your father, and I still do not know why. It was not for a lack of trying - but I was never able to fully articulate my thoughts in written form and, I found over the years, he always knew what I was thinking anyway. This was not always due to our marital bond, mind you; I have never been able to work it out. But I would not do that with you, I think, as I know the joy you would take in receiving a letter.
I will conclude shortly, but not after one more sentiment. To say your father and I are proud of you, somehow seems to undersell the meaning of the word. We are both delirious with it at times and, as you know your father’s tendency towards flights of fancy, he’s already foreseen your invention of trans-warp technologies as well as the author of peace with Romulus. I suppose these outcomes are not to be unexpected - you are our son, after all.
Yours most sincerely,
Dad
----
Thank you for your time.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Spoilers: Star Trek: Into Darkness
Content Notice: Hurt/comfort, grief, smutty humor
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Five letters Spock never sent to James Kirk and one he did. This is a sequel to Letter Never Sent
A/N: This is for amiss/museattack, and damn her evil powers! Title is a name of an REM album this time - call me buttah, I’m on a roll.
----
~1~
Jim,
My mother, to help her sort through her thoughts and emotions, would often write letters she never intended to send. She found it helpful to
I find this exercise utterly without merit, but you are de--
This is illogical.
I have begun this missive many times, and discarded many pieces of paper. Yes, paper is wasteful, but I find employing it for this purpose effectively slows down my thought processes. And my thoughts need to be slowed.
You are dead, and McCoy thinks the serum made from Khan’s blood will bring you back to me, but even so, my thoughts and emotions will not be quieted, so perhaps this will work.
You are dead. You are dead, and I curse my eidetic memory, for all I see, all I can remember of you is your eyes staring, staring at me, at nothing. At me. Lifeless.
I cannot recall a single, other thing about you, Jim, and it horrifies me. To be left with only that feels like a curse, or a punishment.
Please survive this. I have desired no other thing more in my life than to see you again. I, a man who has lost everything. What does that say about my character? I am bereft in every sense of the word, not least of which is the fact that you will never know my true regard for you.
Please do not make my sparing of Khan’s life be for nothing.
~2~
TO: List:Enterprise_Command_Staff
FROM: Commander_Spock@Enterprise.NCC1701.mil
STARDATE: 2261.54
SUBJECT: Protocols for the current shore leave roster
Jim,
You will note that I entitled this communique something innocuous, in order to fool you into believing it to be business-related, when in fact I am writing something wholly inappropriate that I hope will titillate or even shock you.
The chocolate you gifted me with still makes my head spin as I write this, but I find I enjoy the sensation. It makes my lips feel slightly numb, as they do when you kiss me, and it is most pleasant. (I feel it is important to note at this time that your kisses are nearly as intoxicating as the chocolate, though I am speaking metaphorically, of course, as there are not stimulants, to my knowledge, in the chemical composition of human saliva, at least those that might affect a Vulcan’s physiology.)
I can imagine your lips upon my body now. They are soft on my skin as they move along my jaw, down my neck and throat, pausing at my clavicle (I must point out I realize the fanciful nature of these assertions; indeed, it would be most disturbing (and, in fact, quite messy) were your disembodied lips to move about of their own volition upon my person), and then traveling down my torso with maddening slowness to their ultimate object, the fellating of my turgid penis.
Jim, I hasten to add that I enjoy the precursors to your fellating me nearly as much as the act itself; that is the point of the above exposition, in case there was any doubt in your mind.
This chocolate is producing in me a somnolent reaction; it is perhaps prudent that I continue this message in the morning…
~3~
Captain James T. Kirk
USS Enterprise
Probable Stardate 2262.12
Captain,
This morning, I came upon this rudimentary personal communications device and while I was unable to modify it to receive or send any kind of signal, its note-taking application appears to be functional.
The Lycasian terrorists have begun to move me repeatedly and at random, so I must therefore resign myself to the fact that an extraction at this time will be nearly impossible. It is a hard conclusion to have come to, primarily because I did not deduce its inevitability earlier in my ordeal. The sleep deprivation and physical torture have left me disoriented and, at times, I find I have lost significant slices of time. I have, in addition, been unable to meditate, and I believe that all of these factors may have contributed to this lapse in my ability to use my reasoning in an effective manner.
Yesterday, I was forced to record a diatribe against Starfleet that had been scripted for me; it was most regrettable, for nothing I said reflects my true thoughts or opinions. However, my captors had been threatening the life of young Ensign Palermo at the time, and I would have done anything to spare him any further suffering. As it was, he succumbed to the fever that afflicted him this morning. I do not know where they have left his body.
Jim, I must conclude at this point that there can be no hope of rescue; nevertheless, because of my regard for you, I will endeavor to “keep fighting” for as long as I can. When things are at their worst, I find myself focusing on your kind eyes, ashayam, and I find comfort in them. I know that such a notion is sentimental and illogical, but logic has failed to help me here.
Should the inavoidable happen and I die here, there is a pre-recorded message to you that I have left among my personal files. My only regret is that I could not deliver the content of it to you in person. It has been my honor and privilege to call you Captain, friend, and lover.
~4~
Captain James T. Kirk
USS Enterprise
Stardate 2263.37
Jim,
I write this with the highest degree of regret a sentient being can manage, for I have done you a great disservice. But as I now realize that my recent incongruous behavior can only be attributed to the onset of my Time - an eventuality I had illogically hoped, as a half-Human, half-Vulcan, never to have to experience - it has now become a necessity that I share a vital piece of my personal history with you.
I feel the blood fever swiftly approaching, so I will dispense with the lesson in Vulcan biology (please refer to the attached treatise, which I have already forwarded to Doctor McCoy) in order to focus on certain more important facts.
First, since the age of seven, I have shared a pre-marital bond with a female Vulcan named T’Pring. Understand that this tradition was and is a standard practice among Vulcans, and though I was just a child at the time of its inception, the existence of my betrothed - and of her survival of the destruction of Vulcan - is nevertheless a fact that I kept from you. I do not love her, and she has always made it plain that she cannot love me. Nevertheless, she is in my life and I must now go to her, to fulfill the ancient covenant that Vulcans have made since the time of Surak.
Second, I am ashamed of the hurt my reticence on this matter will inflict on you, and I regret it deeply. I am sorry for misleading you and for the betrayal you will most likely feel once this has been revealed to you.
Finally, I love you.
The Time is upon me, even as I type this message. I must now devote whatever time I may to meditation, which may lessen the effects of the pon farr until such time that I can arrange transport to the Vulcan colony.
I am most sincerely sorry.
~5~
Captain James T. Kirk
Riverside, Iowa
Stardate 2263.5
Jim,
It is the eve of the wedding ceremony that will join us as husbands in the eyes of your family and friends, and I am meant to be penning the vows which I will recite to you before the officiant in the morning, but find I am at a loss for words.
We are already bonded, and perhaps you have already felt, through that bond, some misgivings on my part. I suspect you have, as you have been unusually quiet and restrained when we are together. You have assured me it is not a reaction to the bond, so I must therefore conclude you are picking something up from my end of it, despite my attempts to shield you from them. Know that these are as a result of my own illogical self-doubts and do not reflect upon your behavior or character.
I fear that I do not deserve the happiness I feel at being with you, that the circumstances of my pon farr - the fact you stepped in to be bonded to me when T’Pring invoked the kal-if-fee - have trapped you in a union for which you were unprepared.
I fear you will someday come to resent me.
I fear outliving you.
I fear.
That is perhaps the heaviest burden, for I would not have you know it.
~+1~
James Christopher Kirk cha’Spock
Riverside, Iowa
Stardate 2290.76
My son,
On the eve of your disembarking to begin your first semester at Starfleet Academy, your father thought it would be welcome if we sent some favored personal items and foodstuffs ahead, as a sort of surprise upon your arrival. He spent many hours poring over the list of what we might send, and I spent many subsequent minutes editing it back. You will therefore find enclosed with this note a not-as-exhaustive array of items, as sending everything would have been prohibitively expensive and, as I pointed out to Jim, there must be something left over for future “care packages,” do you not agree?
Note that the chocolate enclosed herein is, naturally, of a lower concentration (only 23% cocoa solids), but also manufactured by a most excellent Parisian chocolatier. This ought to be enough for you for the occasional, recreational use. As you are now a legal adult, I cannot forbid you to consume it; but as a parent I must ask you to exercise prudence. Your father wanted me to send you Hershey bars; I scoffed at the very idea - you will at least be exposed to “the good stuff.” Please promise me you will eat responsibly.
I have packed some of your warmer sweaters to guard against the San Francisco chill, as well as a new, blue one knitted by your Aunt Nyota. She claims it is the exact shade of your eyes, though I disagree, as they are clearly more cerulean than turquoise.
Upon reflection of what I have already written, this letter is perhaps getting overlong. However, my mother used to say that no one resented a long letter, just short words. She was a very big letter writer - someday I will share hers to me with you when I myself was at the Academy. I could never send a single letter to your father, and I still do not know why. It was not for a lack of trying - but I was never able to fully articulate my thoughts in written form and, I found over the years, he always knew what I was thinking anyway. This was not always due to our marital bond, mind you; I have never been able to work it out. But I would not do that with you, I think, as I know the joy you would take in receiving a letter.
I will conclude shortly, but not after one more sentiment. To say your father and I are proud of you, somehow seems to undersell the meaning of the word. We are both delirious with it at times and, as you know your father’s tendency towards flights of fancy, he’s already foreseen your invention of trans-warp technologies as well as the author of peace with Romulus. I suppose these outcomes are not to be unexpected - you are our son, after all.
Yours most sincerely,
Dad
----
Thank you for your time.