Star Trek Fic: A Logical Emotion (3/3)
Part 1
Part 2
~**~
Six Years, Three Months Ago
He had been searching out possible ways to leave the planet despite his father’s inevitable protestations since the moment he had decided, months ago, to leave Vulcan. Eventually he had found an avenue which seemed almost ideal. He would apply to Starfleet. He could follow the science track, graduate out of the academy in three years or less in deference to the work he had completed already in his schooling, that he would continue to complete as though for the VSA.
Starfleet, he was certain, would wish for him to join them. He was the only Vulcan-Human hybrid in existence, and what better way for the federation to show how they valued every life equally than to have him in Starfleet. They would grant him, his child, citizenship for Earth, would fight his father to keep them. And his father would have to concede - he was powerful, that much was true, but could not take on the entirety of Starfleet.
He would not apply until his child had been born, until they were settled and happy with his mother. He would use that time to study and gain qualifications which would assist his Starfleet career, cutting down the time he would spend as a student, the amount of time it would take before his roots were laid down and he could have his child on earth with him permanently.
His mother had agreed with his plan, and so he filled in the application, completed the aptitude tests and required essays, and then stored it on a PADD. It was ready to be sent at the optimal moment, and Spock was aware that he would understand when that moment appeared.
During his completion of his final essay, the first sharp pain had shot across his stomach. He closed his file and stood, moving towards the garden where his mother would be tending her roses. He found her crouched in the dirt, fingers gentle against the bright petals, and cleared his throat.
“I believe it is time,” he said quietly when she turned to look at him, and she stood at once, eyes wide.
“Are you sure?” she asked, and Spock nodded.
“A sharp pain is crossing my stomach every four point seven minutes,” he replied, and it seemed to be the only confirmation she required. She pulled him to the door, picked up the bag which lay next it, neatly packed with all he would require for a short stay at the medical facilities, and ushered him into the car.
She turned the ignition and then looked at him, face bright and excited. “You’re going to be a father, Spock!” she said, and he leant his head back against the seat of the car, closed his eyes and counted the seconds between contractions.
“So it would seem.”
~*~
He did not recall much of the birth itself. He had been numbed from the waist downwards, and a screen had been raised to block the operation from his eyes. His mother stayed at his side as he suffered through the odd sensations, and it was not long until he could feel the child being pulled from his stomach, could feel the wound being stitched together.
He followed the nurse who held his child with his eyes as she moved from the table, cleaned and washed the child, and then swaddled it. No-one spoke a word, until she arrived at his side and offered him the child.
“It is female,” the nurse said. “Genetic composition is 75 percent human. Iron blood, human physiology.” She turned and walked away, obviously content to leave Spock and his human child alone, and Spock looked down at the child in his arms. At his daughter. She was flushed pink, eyes screwed closed, and Spock ran one finger over her eyebrows, which favoured his own more than her human father’s. Her ears were the same, coming to a slight point at the top, and Spock was illogically pleased to have passed along something to her which was so obvious. Something which would mark her as his for her entire life.
“Oh, Spock,” his mother breathed as she leant over his daughter. “She’s beautiful.” She ran one finger across her face, reverent and gentle, and Spock felt his heart swell at the image. “What will you call her?”
He looked down at the bundle in his arms, the tufts of dark hair and the small finger which had wrapped around his own. “Isabelle,” he replied quietly.”Isabelle Grayson.” A human name for his human child, and one which he had spent months deciding.
“Isabelle Grayson,” his mother echoed, her face glowing with her joy as he had hoped it would when he revealed the name. “As beautiful a name as she is.”
Spock smiled then, small and slight and his first since childhood. “Indeed.”
~**~
Spock stood on the bridge of a ship which had recognised him, and looked at the controls. They favoured the Vulcan Science Academy’s technology, and he had no doubt he would be able to fly this ship with ease. What was less certain, however, was if he would return from the attempt. The Narada vastly overpowered this ship, and he had little doubt that he would struggle to gain the upper hand.
He turned to face Jim, saw the man almost bristling with energy. “Jim. The likelihood that we will succeed on this mission is less than 3.4 percent.”
“It’ll work, Spock,” Jim replied, and sounded so certain that for a moment Spock was tempted to believe him. Illogical.
“If I do not return, please advise Isabelle that -”
“Spock,” Jim cut him off, voice firm. “We’ll make it.” Spock was almost relieved by the interruption, unsure what message he would have left his daughter. Unsure how he could have fully expressed all his love for her, his regret that he would be leaving her alone. He nodded at Jim and watched him walk away.
He moved towards the seat and sat in it, feeling something like worry clenching at his stomach. The chair started to turn, the engines turned on and the ship readied itself for lift-off. He took one more moment to picture Isabelle’s face, young and fragile and precious, and then focused his mind on the task ahead.
~**~
Three Years, Seven Months Ago
Isabelle clung to the back of his neck, refusing to release him. “Do not leave, father,” she exclaimed into his ear. “Please don’t leave me.” She pulled back, her dark hair a mess around her face, blue eyes filled with tears. “I will be good, father, I will complete all my lessons...”
“Hush, Isabelle,” he said quietly and ran one hand down her hair. “Do not think that I am leaving because of you. I must go to Starfleet so that one day soon we might live on Earth. I am not going because it is my wish to leave you behind.” He had explained this more than once, but knew her pleading now was not because she had not understood. It was simply that she would miss him, as he would miss her. This was not an ideal solution, he knew, but it was the only one he could think of which would be rewarding to them both, in the long run.
“Honest?” she asked around a sniff, and Spock nodded, let his mouth curl up into the small smile only she ever saw.
“I promise, ko-fu. I can assure you that I will miss you very much.”
She looked at him, considering. “And you’ll come visit all the time?”
He nodded. “I shall endeavour to see you as much as possible,” he replied. “And I expect that Grandmother will bring you to visit me on Earth whenever your schooling allows.”
Her face lit up in a smile. “I want to visit Earth!” she exclaimed. “Can we go right now?” His mother laughed from her position by the door, and then moved to take Isabelle from his arms. He hugged her tightly for a long moment and released her, watched her settle against his mother’s side.
“Not right now, Belle,” she said, laughter still in her voice. “Let your father get there and settled before you arrive to make a mess of his room.” She turned her eyes onto Spock, and the smile faded slightly. “Have a safe trip, Spock,” she said. “And make sure you comm. us as soon as you land.”
“I shall, mother,” he replied. “And I will speak with you both every day, and no doubt return rapidly for a visit.”
Amanda stepped closer to him, and her free hand neatened his collar as she had done the day he turned down his place at the Academy. “Be safe, Spock. And try to be happy.”
He inclined his head. “I shall endeavour to do my best,” he replied, and then pressed a quick, human kiss against her cool cheek. He did the same to Isabelle, let her mind meet his so he could press all his love, his affection for her into her mind, and then stepped back.
“Live long and prosper,” he said quietly, hands raised in the traditional salute, and watched with amusement as Isabelle tried to do the same, her fingers not quite splitting as they should.
“Peace and long life, father,” she said enthusiastically, and he nodded at her. They all stood in silence for a moment, and then Spock moved, picked up his bag, opened the door, and took the first step to his new life. He did not dare look back. He knew if he did, then he would likely never leave at all.
~**~
Jim appeared at the side of his bed, bandaged and healed, although the darkness of bruises still ringed his neck. He smiled, and lifted his hand as though to his Spock on the shoulder, but then thought better of it. Spock appreciated the gesture. He and Jim had managed to defeat Nero and escape the black hole which had devoured the Narada, and he found himself admiring the man he had not known Jim was. Thankful he had been given the opportunity to know him this way - one bright spot against all the devastation this day had wrought.
“Good work, Spock,” he smiled. “Shame we didn’t meet under better circumstances - we could have been a great team from the start.”
Spock looked at him, looked into the same electric blue eyes of their daughter. He is unsure exactly what emotions fill him at that statement. He was tired and wrung out, and wanted nothing more than to go somewhere with what remained of his family and try to find some mental peace. He looked at Jim, considering, and then nodded once. It was illogical not to inform Jim of their history, and indeed of his child. He could not bear the strain of keeping up a lie, not now.
“We have met before,” Spock informed him, and watched as Jim frowned.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I think I’d remember.”
“Based on the rumours regarding your sexual conquests, it is understandable that you do not,” Spock replied and was unable to keep the slight pain from his voice.
Jim’s eyes widened then, becoming the light blue of Isabelle’s as she solved a problem. “Shit, Spock. That must have been -”
“Seven years and five days ago,” he replied and Jim blinked.
“Specific,” he said, and Spock inclined his head.
“Indeed,” he replied and then continued after a slight pause. “It is much easier to be accurate when in possession of physical evidence.”
Jim frowned again, confused. “What?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.
Spock opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by his father appearing within sickbay’s doorway. He glanced around, quickly, and once he locked eyes with Spock he started to move forward. Isabelle pulled her hand from his grip and ran towards him, her long dark hair flowing behind her as she moved. Spock stood, knowing her methods of greeting him after prolonged absences.
“Father!” Isabelle cried, and all but leapt into his arms. Spock closed his eyes at the familiar feel of her, the press of her close against him, small arms wrapped tight around his neck. He took in her smell, her breathing, and could feel nothing but a very un-Vulcan emotion of relief that she had not been lost to him today as well. It pooled with his grief, for his mother and his planet, and he felt his father place a hand on his shoulder. It was warm, steady, and proved his father’s emotions mirrored his own.
They stood for a long moment, a broken family, and then Spock opened his eyes. He found himself looking directly into Jim’s, curious and slightly uncomfortable.
“So, she is your kid then?” Jim asked, voice quiet, and Spock nodded. Sarek’s hand pressed down on his shoulder once and then disappeared. He had obviously decided to leave them alone.
“Yes,” he replied, and felt Isabelle turn in his arms so that she was peering at Jim. He saw the moment it all connected for Jim - he had never thought the man a fool, and her eyes were not Spock’s. They were the bright blue of a Terran summer’s day, and identical to those Jim saw in the mirror every day. That, in addition to their previous conversation, led to only one logical conclusion. His eyes widened and he froze, face pale, and reached one hand out towards them.
“Wha...” he said, voice hoarse.
“I attempted to contact you,” Spock said quietly. “I can only assume that you incorrectly perceived my contact as an attempt to reclaim our physical relationship.”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, still frozen, then cleared his throat and pulled himself back into his usual relaxed posture. “What’s her name?”
“Isabelle,” he said, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and curious. He ran one finger along her face and she smiled up at him. It made his heart swell.
“Who is this, father?” she asked, and sent another shy glance over at Jim.
He looked over at Jim and saw something like pleading in his eyes. He was looking at Isabelle as though she was the answer to his prayers, nothing like anger or fear touching his face, and so Spock was glad to speak the truth.
“He is your other father,” he replied and her eyes widened before she was overcome with another wave of shyness. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head and looked at Jim. He looked worried, unsure, and Spock was about to speak when Isabelle removed one arm from around his neck and held out a hand, all but two fingers curled into her palm.
Jim looked at him, confused, and Spock brushed his fingers against his daughters, just a light touch; a simple demonstration.
“That is how Vulcan’s kiss,” Spock informed Jim, and comprehension dawned on his face before he moved forward and carefully, almost gingerly, touched two of his fingers against hers.
Silence grew between them, and Spock let it. He would not push Jim, had to let the other man draw his own conclusions about how he would deal with this sudden news. He could not change the other man’s opinion, he could only wait.
“I want to be a part of her life,” Jim said firmly, breaking the silence, unable to look away from where her fingers had wrapped around his own, her grip remaining tight even as she succumbed to sleep.
“Naturally,” Spock replied.
“And I didn’t mean it,” he said suddenly, stricken eyes on Spock’s face. “What I said about your mother and her. It’s obvious you do love them, that she’s lucky. I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a better way to gain control of the ship.”
Spock tilted his head, let the words dwell in his mind, weighed them against the ones Jim had spoken before on the bridge. He found he understood them, could not hold a grudge. The apology was sincere, and he nodded his reply.
“I accept your apology, Jim,” he said quietly and Jim slumped slightly. “I too acted rashly when I stranded you on Delta Vega, and attacked you on the bridge.”
Jim waved the hand not touching their daughter through the air. “Already forgotten, Spock,” he replied easily, although his eyes were pained. “After all, you had a lot to worry about.”
Spock opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by the arrival of Doctor McCoy. He looked at Spock first, then Jim, and then Isabelle where she was sleeping in Spock’s arms, Jim’s hand held tightly in her own.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he asked angrily, although he kept his voice quiet. “Jim, why are you out of bed? And Spock, this is a sickbay, not a nursery. Who’s the child, and why’s she here? I need to look over you, and the kid in your arms makes my job harder.”
“She is my daughter, Doctor,” Spock replied, and something in McCoy’s eyes softened at that.
“She alright?” he asked softly, and Spock inclined his head.
“In good health, considering. Exhausted both mentally and physically, but unharmed.”
“Glad to hear it.” He paused for a moment. “What’s her name?”
Jim moved in Spock’s peripheral vision, bouncing on his toes, and Spock nodded at him slightly, aware that he wished to be the one to inform McCoy of what he’d just learnt.
“Bones, meet Isabelle Kirk,” he said, face split in a grin, and McCoy looked dumbly at Jim for a long moment. His gaze moved from Jim, to their joined hands, to Spock’s face and then back to Jim.
“Dammit, Jim!” he exclaimed, and then started a rant which Spock did not attempt to follow. He instead focused on his daughter’s sleep warm body and the illogical, random thought, which appeared as Jim threw back his head and laughed, that perhaps some paths were worth walking after all.
Epilogue