What the Heart Remembers by Killa, Commentary by watergal 1/2

[watergal]

Title: What the Heart Remembers
[This speaks to me of the title of one of my favorite books, What the Body Remembers by Shauna Singh Baldwin. It has a theme that is similar in some ways, and I've been meaning to ask Killa if the allusion is intentional.]
Author: Killa   (killabeez)
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Commentator: watergal



Author's notes:Written for the June 2002 Kirk/Spock Online Festival, [Killa was fairly inactive in Trek at this time, but came back to write this story. I've always considered it a special gift to the Trek fandom.] and rewritten fairly heavily for the zine CyberDreams 1.[Oh! I hadn't realized there were two versions. This is the more recent one; I hadn't read it before.This will be fun!]

This story doesn't fit perfectly with Vonda McIntyre's movie novelizations, but I liked the Deltan characters she created for all three books, and decided to borrow them. She also made up the atrium in the Vulcan embassy. [One of my (many) favorite things about Killa's fanfiction is how she is careful to never contradict canon. Trek is a screen fandom, and so novelizations don't count-- IMVHO *g*]

Thanks to kira-nerys for hosting the Fest, to Jenna for prodding me into playing, Ivy for encouragement, elyn for insightful beta help and encouragement, and most especially to T. Jonesy for talking through the whole thing with me and getting me jazzed up to write it. I really hope she likes it. :-)

* * *

Spock woke in a room he did not know, the pale light of a yellow sun at the windows and long afternoon shadows falling across the bed. He half-expected the soft vibration of ship's engines. When he realized why the silence felt wrong, why the slanting light disoriented him, he knew that he had been dreaming again. [Silence…felt--slanting…disoriented. Only the first paragraph and already so gorgeous.]

Earth. The Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. Sarek had brought him here, and he had been surprised by how weary he felt, how swiftly sleep had come for him. He had barely retained the presence of mind to pull up the coverlet; he still wore the regulation pants and tunic they'd given him at Fleet Headquarters. His once-white robe had been torn and stiff with seawater, and they had let him change before the debriefings [change before debriefings  *g*] began. [It's a nice way of mixing exposition with new information on the state Spock to make sure nothing is trite or dull.]

The day had proved a long one indeed for the crew of the Bounty. When at last they'd been granted a few hours leave, even Spock had been more than ready to accept. Sarek seemed to materialize at his side, and within moments had arranged transport for them to the Vulcan embassy; Spock did not believe he had ever been so grateful for his father's presence. [An interesting line considering that this story hinges on the presumption of large gaps in Spock's memory of personal relationships and emotion. Maybe foreshadowing of the twist?]

His time-sense told him that he must soon rise and dress for the reception, though he could easily have slept another six hours. [Interesting given the canon of Spock having stayed awake for three months straight during the 5YM. A move to highlight the shift to more human characteristics and to make it a physiologic change, not just a choice to accept his emotions?]   In the chaos at Headquarters, he had been separated from his shipmates. He did not know what had become of Admiral Kirk, or whether he had been given leave with the rest of them. If so, Spock hoped he, too, had been able to sleep for a few hours. The admiral would not have let himself rest during that last long night on the Bounty, not with one of his crewmen missing, and they had been told in no uncertain terms that their attendance at the evening's festivities was not optional.

Aware of the minutes passing as the shadows lengthened across the floor, Spock rose at last. He shed the clothes he'd slept in and stepped into the fresher, letting its sonics rapidly clean and invigorate his hair and skin. There was some gratification to be found in its swift efficiency, and he realized to his surprise that it was a simple luxury he had missed. [Again, interesting considering the basis of the story. Despite the impassivity of this scene, Spock's showing some definite predilection for both emotion and sensual appreciation. Clues for the reader?] The bird of prey had offered precious few luxuries of any kind.

Bare-skinned, [A nice word choice for this scene. She's got Spock nekiid and "invigorated" on the first page--a fangirl's wet dream--yet describes it in matter-of-fact terms in as we are in Spock's POV] he returned to the outer room and was unsurprised to find an impeccably pressed dress uniform awaiting him in the wardrobe. His father's doing, and that of an equally efficient embassy staff, presumably.

His fingertips brushed the sleeve of the uniform he had not worn in this lifetime [lovely], closing his eyes to let the memories stir within him. He remembered standing on a marble portico while a misty rain fell and young people talked in animated voices. There had been music...Terran music. A string quartet. When? He pressed himself to recall, and at last the memory came: Saavik's graduation. He remembered, too, the scent of brandy, a scent he associated with Kirk. A formal dinner on the Enterprise. A diplomat...but he could not remember when, or who. He remembered trying to straighten his uniform, to make himself presentable, wanting his captain to remember that he had died with dignity. [Such writing! In a couple sentences, she has demonstrated the state of Spock's memory--spotty, based on sensation, including his mindset but missing obvious facts--without "telling" us a thing. ]

Spock opened his eyes. It seemed an illogical thought, and the man who would have cared so deeply about such an unimportant detail a stranger. But in the days since they had left Vulcan, he had stopped trying to find logical explanations for his responses where Admiral Kirk was concerned. Somehow, he suspected this was not the first time he had arrived at such a decision, and that James Kirk had ever defied logical analysis. [Both foreshadowing and reflective of the end of ST III when Spock gives up on Kirk's non-explanation of, "Why would you do this?"]

Spock waved the lamp on and began to dress, his thoughts returning to the troubling disorientation he had felt upon waking. Vulcans did not dream, not in the way that humans dreamed, but Spock knew that he had, indeed, experienced the dreaming state in the past, if infrequently. Dreams were manifestations of the human subconscious, driven largely by emotion. Like many other aspects of his human heritage, his ability to dream had been something that had at first shamed him, but that he had grown to accept, and even learned to find useful. [One of the things I love about Killa's writing is that she leaves things ambiguous, not forcing the reader to accept a non-canonical premise to have the story work. No matter what one believes about Vulcans and dreams, all bets are off here as it is pointed out that Spock isn't "really" Vulcan.]

All this he knew, though he could not have described what his dreams had been like before, in that other lifetime. [More parallel foreshadowing here with this muddle of dream, partial memory, history, reality and analysis.] Like so many things, the memories remained but the details were unclear, seen as if through a curtain of silk, if he could see them at all. [No one else uses words like Killa. I've seen thousands of pictures that were neither as beautiful nor as visual as some of her sentences.] This aspect of his humanity was something new to him, and he was not certain what it signified, that he should have begun experiencing the sudden emergence of this human trait.

This afternoon's incidence had been milder than the first, leaving him with only a vague impression of images and feelings, though probing at the memory convinced him he was fortunate to remember nothing more. The previous occurrence, during their last night on earth of the past, might well have been what humans would have called a "nightmare," and he had no wish to repeat the experience. [Subtle h/c here: Spock is undergoing something very distressing, although he suppresses his response.]

If he had ever been prone to nightmares in the past, he could not recall it. [A clue that something is not as it should be about these dreams? Or just his imperfect memory. We don't know, and neither does Spock.]

He finished dressing and checked his reflection in the glass to make certain his collar and insignia were in order. Satisfied that they were, he closed the cabinet; turning, his eye was caught by a package that rested on the small table by the door.

He recognized his mother's handwriting on the wrapping. Sarek must have left it. Spock broke the adhesive seal, and the intricately folded paper fell away, revealing Amanda's teak puzzle box.

Spock knew this box well. Amanda had brought it from Earth and kept it on her desk when he was a child; he had found it in the same place a few days after his shipmates had brought him to Vulcan. She must have seen him with it. Her elegant script suggested he should keep it, with her love and good wishes.

While "good wishes" were not something in which he placed much faith, the thoughtfulness of her gesture did not fail to touch him. He turned the smooth weight over in his hand; a new memory surfaced, of finding himself fascinated by the box's intricate construction as a child, the warm smoothness of the wood pieces, the way it only allowed him to remove one piece at a time. As he removed each piece, more interlocking pieces were revealed inside, until he removed enough pieces and the remaining ones fell apart easily in his hand. It was a true memory, and for that alone he was grateful for the gift.

His memories had been like that, returning slowly, each one that came free revealing more pieces of the puzzle that made up his previous life, the first ones difficult to unlock, the later ones sliding free more easily. During the long weeks of his recovery, the box had seemed to draw him, its mathematical and aesthetic beauty reassuring in some way. [Hmm…this seems a little…unsubtle. I think I preferred the first version where the later analogy was allowed to fall more lightly upon the readers' awareness.]

Perhaps the dreams were simply another piece of that puzzle. Perhaps they would trouble him less, in time. Perhaps they would not be filled with pain, and fear, and the taste of his own failure.

Images flashed then through his thoughts, and with them an assault of remembered feelings, sensations. There was no denying the figure at their center, the voice he struggled to hear in his dreams. [::jelly::] Kirk was at the heart of this, too, as in so many things -- as he was the reason for the uncertainty Spock felt so much of the time.

He had been aware for some time that there was something Kirk wanted from him, something in his eyes that waited, expectant, when he looked at Spock, questions unspoken that Spock did not understand, that demanded a response Spock did not know how to give. Kirk was good at hiding those questions most of the time, but Spock had become increasingly aware of them. Perhaps more disconcerting was his own nearly overwhelming need to respond to that unspoken demand. Kirk had allowed his frustration to get the better of him only once, on the Bounty, but Spock found it impossible to forget that momentary flash of anger, masking deeper hurt that had cut Spock to the quick. You're half human. Haven't you got any goddamn feelings about that? [Nice.  Most viewers had a hard time with that line, too.  Attributing the same reaction to the characters lends a sense of reality to the film and the players.] His own hurt had been swift and unexpected, a sense of betrayal he couldn't have explained. [Again, I don't know about this. I think I preferred the more delicate first version where she trusted us to "get it" later on. Or I could just be biased from having read and loved the first version for so long.]

Half human. Half-breed. [Through the series these terms were used in a negative sense, and in this scene they read that way. But later they alter to be a good thing. There is a continual theme through here of same but different (or vice-versa), and this brief reference fits into that.]

Is that your best recommendation?

Spock found he was holding his breath. [Oh dear.] Memory danced at the edge of awareness. [So pretty. I could just read that line over and over.]

Someone knocked at the door then, and the memory slipped away, eluding his grasp. "Come," Spock called, setting aside the puzzle box and smoothing his jacket. Sarek appeared in the doorway, elegant and imposing in an embroidered suit of black linen.

"Are you ready, Spock?"

"I am," he said, and followed his father out into the corridor.

[This whole section is new. While I like a lot of things about it--not the least being that it yields more Killa words in which to revel--including the illustration of Spock's baseline pre-dream condition, the way it tightens up the story structure, and the way it ties up a couple loose ends (can a beginning tie up loose ends that don't appear until later?) I don't think I like it as a first scene. I can see it as a movie opener with the titles scrolling over it, but as a story opening it seems too slow. Four pages and there's no "grab" (yes, I have a short attention span) as opposed to the original beginning that opened with noisy chaos drawing one in to wonder what was up, then rapidly funneled down to a main character.]

* * *
[Speaking of…]
Starfleet held the reception at the Academy Club, though the crowd soon spilled out into the courtyard, the auxiliary banquet rooms, and across what seemed like half the campus.[When the celebrants are all sentient beings on Earth, paring down the guest list must be a bear.]  Kirk caught sight of Spock and his father not long after he arrived, but it took him nearly an hour to work his way through the crowd to pay his respects. Everyone and his brother wanted to shake his hand, and he couldn't exactly protest; it was what he was there for, after all. That much had been made very clear to him. Besides, he didn't have it in him to begrudge any of them their night of celebration.

They were calling him a hero, of course. How many times had he heard that word over the years? Enough to know that it wouldn't win him any points with the Federation tribunal they'd be facing in two days. The sentiment was sincere enough, but sounded hollow after all they'd been through. Spock had been a hero, in that engine room. David had, when he'd bought the lives of Saavik and Spock with his own. Jim Kirk was no hero, he was just riding the tail end of a lucky streak that had somehow, miraculously, brought them home and in one piece. [Interesting. I don't tend to think of Kirk as lacking professional self-esteem. I think Killa is really trying to strip him bare of absolutely everything, even that which is usually his to keep within his head.]

Not all of them, though. The one he'd failed was foremost in his thoughts now, on this night of homecoming and celebration. Though he knew too well that the human heart had ways of letting a man forget, he'd been ashamed to realize that he'd barely thought of his own son in days. [Another thing I love about Killa's writing is the maturity of both author and characters. She doesn't flinch from the dislikable parts of the heroes' personae--even heroes are only human--but makes them more palatable by having the characters react with similar distaste as the reader.]

Even Sarek seemed to be sharing in the spirit, sipping cognac and observing the proceedings from a comfortable chair with the closest thing to benevolent tolerance Kirk could have imagined on that hawkish visage. [Heh! Sarek as Sherlock Holmes? ]  His eyes had been kind whenever they came to rest on Kirk, but for some reason, Kirk found that acknowledgment more difficult to bear than the praise and thanks of a dozen Starfleet admirals. By the time Kirk made it over to him, Spock had vanished into the crush, and he was glad that the noise level prohibited him from making more than a cordial greeting. Gillian appeared before long, and he was more than happy to let her take his arm and give him the full update. She, along with most of the population of Earth, was still jazzed on adrenaline; apparently she had not wasted any time since setting foot in the twenty-third century, and she had a lot to tell him.

It was nearly midnight by the time he was able to slip away from the party, leaving Gillian under McCoy's dubious guardianship. Like the probe, the Starfleet reception seemed to be running on some limitless source of power and showed no signs of winding down. He was glad for his crew. They deserved a party, if anyone did, and he was glad to see them making the most of it.

Watching Spock with his father had awakened too many responses in Kirk to sort out, the knot in his chest both glad and bittersweet. Maybe Carol was right; maybe it had been presumptuous of him to think he could have had a place in David's life. Maybe she was right to refuse his calls. Maybe he was a fool to think that they could find some kind of solace in each other, or make any kind of sense of it.

[Most of this scene is the same as the original but the paragraphs are re-ordered. It gives it a much improved flow and transition narrowing the reader's attention down from the party, to Kirk's contacts, to Kirk's ruminations and pain.]

He hadn't gotten this far by taking no for an answer [Understatement of the millennium.], though, and he wasn't about to start. He couldn't do anything about the political forces that would demand a reckoning for the fear Genesis had left in its wake, couldn't protect his friends from the consequences of the choices they'd made, couldn't keep David from dying, or bring the Enterprise back. He couldn't turn back time and force Spock to be the man he'd known, the friend who'd understood him like no one else ever had. This bitter thing between him and Carol, though -- this, he might be able to do something about. [So male: what can I fix and let me at it…even if it's not meant to be fixable.]

He found a public comm station two levels up. The cool, darkened room housed four terminals, each tucked into a three-sided alcove to provide at least a measure of privacy, all currently empty. He took a seat at the one closest to the door, rubbing his hands once on his thighs as the terminal scanned his retinal pattern and logged it. [Again, Killa fixes canon. Retina scans for identification make no sense as retinal microvasculature is continuously changing…but this isn't ID, it's just being "logged."] "Good evening, Admiral," the computer said pleasantly. "What is the termination point of your call?"

"Delta Four," he said, and found he had to clear his throat. "Terminal code theta epsilon, three-oh-seven-seven-two." The computer thanked him, and there was the slightest hesitation as the signal was relayed.

A few moments later, the Starfleet insignia disappeared from the screen, replaced by the inquisitive face of Verai Dva-Payjh. Even insulated by light years and prepared as he was, Kirk couldn't help the flush of response he felt, her mahogany skin and amber-colored eyes as breathtaking as he remembered, his body involuntarily remembering what it was like to serve with a Deltan. [I like that Killa doesn't try to negate Kirk's sexual responses aside from Spock.  Sometimes fanfic stretches my credulity in pushing the 1 tru luv of an OTP] Something that might have been compassion touched her expressive face when she saw him. "Welcome home, Admiral," she said in her deep, musical voice.

"Thank you, Madame Verai. Please forgive the intrusion."

"It is no intrusion. Many would forfeit a prince's ransom for the chance to speak with you today."

"And a few would be glad to feed me to the Klingons, I imagine."[*g* Not for the first time.]

She didn't return his wry smile. Her eyes were kind as she said, "She is not ready, Admiral. You must give it more time."

Something heavy came to rest in the pit of his stomach. [One of the ways to know you are reading a Killa story is the intangible nouns that are forever collecting in peoples' innards. Sometimes I think if we were to cut open one of her characters, it would be like the shark in Jaws with various knots, grips, balls, pains, lumps, weights, wrenches, pressures, etc. spilling out all over the floor.   Look for it.]  "It's been three months."

"She has asked me to tell you to please stop calling her."

His hand clenched into a fist on the edge of the console. "Let me talk to her."

"Admiral--"

"Please, Verai." Hearing the frustration in his own voice, he pressed finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and forced himself to get it under control. He knew he was putting her in a tough spot, but he was tired of playing the waiting game. Anything could happen at the tribunal. For all he knew, this might be the last chance he'd have to talk to Carol privately for a good long while. [Even when he's being an alpha-male boor, he's still magnificently selfless in a way. Imprisonment, eh, it happens, but give me a chance to do this first.]

He leaned forward, imploring with all the persuasive force he could muster. [Ah, can't you see it? That's a shitload for sure!]  "I know she doesn't want to talk to me. I'm asking you as her friend to please put her on. We can help each other, if she'll just talk to me." [Perfect.  Ask someone to help a friend. Kirk has such a keen knack with words and people that it takes a fine mind to create crafty dialogue for him.]

The Deltan woman regarded him so impassively, it was a struggle to hold her liquid gaze; at last, one pale eyebrow flickered upward, and she inclined her head. "I will see what I can do," she said, and the screen switched to a lazy, swirling pattern of color. [The way Killa puts words together, sometimes I don't even care what she's writing about. I just want to sit and listen to the cadence rise and fall and feel the shape of the words roll around in my mouth.]

His heart seemed to beat too loudly as he waited, a heavy numbness settling in the rest of his body. He didn't know what he was hoping for. Carol's silence and refusal to take his calls should have made her feelings about him clear enough. If he hoped to hear her say she didn't blame him, he probably had a long wait ahead of him. [Another think I love is the way she takes larger than life characters who do magical, mystical things and makes them real. Kirk might fly a starship and save the galaxy, but he's still flummoxed by an ex. ]

Kirk rubbed his hands over his face, seeing the Genesis planet so clearly in his mind's eye, feeling the wind whipping his hair and clothes as he knelt beside his son's body, dead leaves blowing cool against his face, like tears. [In two places this treads the fine line of man tears. You want to think Kirk was moved to tears? Clearly he was. Kirk's a man who never cries? Clearly. Despite the intensely maudlin feel, it's never written that he's crying. Really, really clever to make it work for both sides.]   For a moment, perception shifted, and everything that had happened in the past year ran together like a dream upon waking, an unbelievable tale that had happened to someone else a long time ago. He could wish for that to be true, for someone to come and tell him that it had all been a mistake, but it was all tangled together, the good and the bad, and to deny any of it was to spit in the face of Lady Luck, who had surely been with them the last few days. Could it be only this morning they'd crashed down in San Francisco Bay? Somehow, in some crazy way, everything that had happened since the training cruise had gotten them to the right place at the right time, and life on Earth went on because of it.

Better not to think about that kind of thing too much, if he wanted to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He must have planned what he was going to say, but when the screen finally cleared and Carol appeared, it all seemed clumsy, inadequate. [Saves a world time and time again, but just a man with a woman and still helpless in the face of loss and pain. So real. ] She'd been twenty-three when they'd met. Before she'd turned twenty-four, their friendly affair had been a memory. She hadn't told him about David until almost ten years later, and by then there had been so many turns in the road between them, there'd been no way to go back. [Terrific exposition! Just two concise sentences positioned so they don't impede conversational flow. She tosses them in a place where things are supposed to be awkward and convoluted. Brilliant.]

Her clear blue gaze hadn't changed. [More of that repeating theme throughout of observation of things that change…or do not.]

"You look good," he said at last, meaning it.

The guarded set of her shoulders didn't relax, but her expression warmed a little, as if she had resigned herself to the inevitable. [A pretty sensible tactic with Kirk.] "You look tired."

"Been kind of a long couple of days," he admitted.

That brought the hint of a smile to her lips. "It's a rough life, saving the world. Long hours, no vacation time...." [I liked this not only on the level of a no-longer-a-couple making awkward small talk, but also on the level of the movies being substantially more "real" than the series. Less magical stuff, more aftereffects of past happenings being evident, more loss, no inexplicable regeneration from week to week. This is a nice reminder of that.]

"The pay stinks, too, don't let them fool you."

"And here I thought you military guys got all the perks."

He smiled, too, and they just looked at each other for a long moment, feeling the regrets, and the affection, and all the reasons why it would never have worked between them. The one thing, the best thing, they'd had in common was gone.

"Why wouldn't you take my calls?" he asked at last.

"What were you going to say that would do either of us any good?" she countered, not accusing, just infinitely weary. [Still maturity here, but straining civility. There's a difference.]

"I just wanted to know if you're okay."

"I'm okay. It's peaceful here. Verai and Kirim have been good friends to me, and I think it helps them to have me here, too. [We aren't allowed to forget that our characters aren't the only ones who lost loved ones in the massacre. No unidimensionality here even in this relatively short story.] To have someone to talk with. The feds seized all my research, of course, but so far, they're not denying me access to the data."

"Carol, I--" he began, but she shook her head.

"Don't, Jim. Don't say you're sorry." Her eyes shone unexpectedly. "Don't you think I know that?" [A reprise of one of the most painful lines in Trek thrown back at him yet again.]

An ache rose in his throat, and his own eyes burned. He fought it, drawing a deep breath. "I just thought maybe it would help if we could talk." She looked down, shaking her head and smiling ironically to herself, as if he'd said something predictably obtuse. [No matter how many planets or galaxies they save, they're still just big, over grown boys.  He felt it like a slap. Struggling to hold on to his temper, he persisted. "Look, I did what you asked. I stayed away, like you asked. But he was my son, too."

"Why? Because you had DNA rights?" Her eyes flashed. "Don't pretend to yourself that you know anything about what it's like to lose a child, because you know nothing about it! Not like I do."

A dangerous fury twisted deep within in him, unexpected and unforgiving. [I adore this about Killa's characters. They aren't perfect. They aren't selfless. Often they aren't even intrinsically great. They have the same petty demons as all of us, but they struggle past them because they have something important to do, so they have to be better than they are. That is so much more admirable than someone who doesn't have to work to be noble or impressive.] Things he hadn't known he wanted to say burned on his tongue, demanding to be said. I let him live in your world, like you wanted, and look where it got us. If I hadn't, if you and your friends hadn't tried to play God, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe he'd be alive right now. But he couldn't say those things -- was ashamed for even thinking them. She was right, he realized. It was still too soon. If he was angry with her, how much more rage must she feel, at a world that could take the boy she'd nurtured with her own body, who'd been the biggest part of her life for a quarter of a century? Most especially, at him, for letting it happen? Despair gripped him, and the truth came home, that he'd been a fool to think there would be anything here he could fix with words. [He cheated death with Spock, but not David. I'm hoping that is real to him, at least. As much as I wanted Spock back, that one more cheat did seem like he might not learn the lesson.]

He realized he was shaking, and Carol was angrily wiping tears away with the back of her hand. [An allusion back to Kirk wiping his face with his hand? A suggestion of tears without saying it in Kirk's case…] "Dammit. See why I knew this was a bad idea?"

"You were right. I shouldn't have pushed it."

"I didn't mean that. What I said."

"No, it's okay. You're right. I don't know about it, not like you do. But I did love him, Carol."

"I know you did."

His fingers were pressing against the edge of the console, so hard they ached. Painful pressure had risen in his chest. "I tried--"

She looked up then, the lines of her face sharply drawn. "Jim, I know you did. Don't say any more, okay?"

He swallowed hard. "Right." [The parallelism of this scene with the end never fails to awe me with the planning and the structure. It's phenomenally precise what she chose to include to echo events maximally.]

She drew a deep breath, then let it out. "I just...I don't think I can talk to you about this. I wish I could help you. I know you should be the one person I can talk to, but I'm too angry right now, about everything."

"I understand."

"Maybe, one day, things will be different."

"Maybe they will." He knew what she was really saying was goodbye. [Aw. Kirk is really down to having lost everything here.] In the awkward silence that followed, he tried to find something else to say; in the end, he just settled for, "Look after yourself, all right?" In another moment, she had gone, her image replaced by the fleet insignia, [Curious that his reunion with Carol began and ended the same way. More of the "same but different" motif?]  and he couldn't help wondering when he would have finished paying the price for the mistakes he had made with Khan so many years before. Funny thing was, it seemed as though he was never the one who ended up footing the bill, not directly; instead, it came due for the people he cared about, and they were the ones who ended up paying. [Isn't this about what Kirk yelled at Khan but not with as much obvious guilt? I'm glad it sunk in.]

Kirk leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face again, knowing he should get back to the party. Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get him anywhere, and the least he could do was put a good face on it for the others.

He checked the chronometer and was just pushing himself to his feet when he realized that he wasn't alone in the room; someone was standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the corridor. The figure was tall, angular: Spock.

Kirk felt his face grow warm. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Forgive me, Admiral. It was not my intention to eavesdrop."

So he had heard, at least some of it. There had been a time when that wouldn't have bothered him. [Ouch!] "No, of course it wasn't." Kirk ran his fingers along the edge of the console, glancing involuntarily at the darkened screen. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Spock hesitated a moment, then came into the room, stopping a few paces away. "My mother says that time heals a great many things."

Kirk looked up, unreasonably touched by the earnest attempt at comfort. [One of my favorite things about watching Spock with Kirk--always. ] Watching Spock's growing pains as he tried so hard to understand and connect with his human shipmates made him feel things he couldn't articulate, made him smile and hope and hurt all at the same time. "Your mother is a wise woman. I hope she's right."

"With remarkable frequency," Spock confessed.

Kirk found himself smiling in spite of himself. "You know, I've noticed that about her." With a sigh, he checked his chronometer. "Cartwright looking for me?"

"Affirmative. Regrettably, I suspect he wishes to introduce you to the Kendaii Council delegate and his attaché." [Killa usually sticks to canonical references, but I don't recognize Kendaii/Kendar/Kendarii, and Google is giving my ISP a DoS tonight. Hrrpmph! I guess that makes me a bad Trekkie.]

"You know, all those months on Vulcan, I'd forgotten how much I love Starfleet politics." Spock frowned slightly in puzzlement, and the faint, familiar ache settled in Kirk's chest again. "A little joke, Spock. I just find it ironic that tonight, Starfleet needs heroes to win them points with the Council, and we fit the bill. It'll be a different story in front of the tribunal, I bet."  [Foreshadowing of the little celebratory party at the "unexpected" verdict in the movie?]

"My father anticipates much the same thing," Spock admitted. "He says the Klingon delegation has threatened to end peace talks if the Genesis inquiry does not go forward immediately."

It was no more than Kirk had expected, and he found himself curiously unconnected from the thought of what it would mean. They'd made their choices, and with the Enterprise gone, it was hard to care too much whether they busted him down to ensign, or worse. [Always that ship of his… *eyeroll*]

"Well, the good news is, I think we've already met and schmoozed with just about everyone who's ever seen the inside of the Council chamber. Maybe we can plead exhaustion and bow out of this party before too much longer." He straightened up and turned toward the door. "Shall we?" [*g* I wonder if Spock gets it?]

He led the way back, and Spock fell into step beside him as effortlessly as breathing. Sometimes Kirk thought that the hardest things were those that hadn't changed, because they made him forget for a while. He would catch himself falling back into old patterns, thinking of this man beside him as the old Spock, until the next time he was reminded, and the breath-stealing weight returned to rest against his heart. [One of the best parts of fanfic is when it makes me think about familiar things in new ways. Like this--not just Spock being different or incomplete at the end of ST III as I had thought of him, but an entirely different person. I'd never thought of it that way until now, or the kind of sickening, mixed reaction that would have instilled in Kirk. The way Killa illustrates the pain of this complex dilemma so succinctly in this one paragraph is mind-boggling.]

Back on the ground floor, he stopped abruptly in the breezeway outside the reception hall. "Listen, I haven't said anything to the crew about the tribunal. I wanted them to have one night of fun. God knows, they've earned it."

"I understand, Admiral."

It occurred to Kirk that maybe being busted right out of the fleet might have its advantages, if it meant that Spock might actually remember now and then that he had a first name. "I'm not in command at the moment," he said gently. "You could call me Jim, and the world wouldn't end."

Japanese lanterns swung gently between pillars and trees, gilding Spock's angular face in red and gold. [I can't decide if that is supposed to be significant or just pretty.  Red and gold seem like Vulcan desert colors.] "Jim," he conceded, the hint of a question in it.

Their eyes held, and after a moment, Kirk realized he was doing it again -- searching for something he couldn't even have named. This Spock was real and alive and at his side, and to ask for more than that miracle was ingratitude of the highest order. [I love that Kirk's muddle is every bit as huge as Spock's muddle is.] "You okay?" he asked impulsively, seeing faint lines of strain in his friend's face that he hadn't noticed before. "You look tired." [c.f the conversation with Carol. Same…different…parallels.]

"I am somewhat fatigued," Spock agreed, "but well."

"They haven't been hassling you, have they?"

"They?"

"The media sharks. Starfleet. Every biologist, geneticist, and medical doctor within four parsecs who'd probably kill to get their hands on you." [I like that finally someone coming back from the dead in Star Trek isn't being treated as ho-hum!]

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Negative. The security at the Vulcan embassy is exemplary."

Relieved, Kirk nodded. "Good." He hated the thought of Spock having to deal with the piranhas after all that he'd been through. The protection of the Vulcans had insulated them more than he'd realized, and the media frenzy that had greeted him at his apartment that afternoon had come as a rude awakening.

Voices, laughter, and music washed out into the breezeway. Someone had opened the French doors to let more air into the hall. [Look at that wording: "washed out into the breezeway." Sigh.]

"You would be welcome, of course," Spock said.

Momentarily distracted, Kirk didn't immediately follow. "What's that?"

"At the Vulcan embassy," Spock clarified. "My father and I would be honored to offer you a quiet refuge, should you so desire." He hesitated, then added, "I believe you would find it restful."

The offer was so unexpected, for a moment Kirk didn't know what to say. He wasn't the kind of man to let a bunch of reporters drive him into hiding, but he couldn't deny that it was tempting to take Spock up on his offer. That afternoon, his own apartment had felt alien to him, and despite his fatigue, he'd been unable to sleep there. He'd gotten used to Sarek's house and Vulcan.

More than that, in spite of the complex, bittersweet jumble of feelings this Spock awoke in him, being near him was still better than the alternative; after the confrontation with Carol, it seemed the most remarkable of kindnesses. [Did I mention how much I loved the disparate jumbles and how they help each other though them?    That's another mark of a Killa story: two characters each with an easily recognizable (what would otherwise be a) tragic flaw, but who are perfectly suited to fill in where the other is lacking and always, always do just that. And the fact that the perfect fit leads to a sexual coupling is a nice bonus. *g*]

"Thank you," he said at last, and had to clear his throat. "I'll think about it."

Spock inclined his head. "As you wish, Admiral. The offer stands."

Feeling better than he had all night, Kirk smiled up at him and cast a glance toward the festive noise and lights. "Once more into the breach, old friend?" [Whether by Klingon or Human, Shakespeare quoted in the twenty-third century never fails to make me gleeful]  He didn't wait for an answer, but felt Spock at his shoulder as he led them back to the party.

* * *

The Kendar homeworld boasted a sulfurous atmosphere that most oxygen-nitrogen species found quite vile, but that was essential to the survival and well-being of its many and varied life forms. Small talk with a Kendarii was therefore not Kirk's idea of fun at the best of times, never mind at one o'clock in the morning, and by the time the Councilor and his aide at last excused themselves to go replenish their tanks, he was more than ready for the evening to end. Nothing had ever sounded better than the serene beauty and privacy of the Vulcan embassy. [I like this intervening scene; it adds to the emotional rollercoaster, if not to the K/S story per se.]

He went looking for Spock, but it was McCoy who found him. "Now, what you need, my friend, is a drink." Kirk could tell the good doctor was feeling no pain by the friendly arm McCoy draped around him, and the degree of drawl in his voice. [So nice to see McCoy in a K/S story not as a yenta, sounding board, gay sex manual, or a safety device.  I'm a little, erm, over-identified with McCoy and hate to see him as a stock character.]

"What I need is twelve hours sleep, a two-week vacation somewhere on a boat with sails, and a new career track." [Another possible out so the story can work for more readers: don't like Kirk this weak and needy? He's exhausted…not himself. It's brill how she tosses these optional interpretations in.]

"All true," McCoy conceded, "but a drink won't hurt. A good Irish whiskey ought to do the trick. Come on, I'm buyin'."

As usual, the doctor gave sound medical advice; Kirk did feel better with a little good whiskey warming his insides. He'd learned years ago that any party was more fun if you went with McCoy. Somehow, Bones always seemed to know the most interesting people at any given function, and Kirk was more than willing to let the doctor steer him around by the elbow for a while, introducing him to friends from his years in the relief corps, from medical school, from bars he'd once frequented -- Kirk lost track early on, and just smiled and went along for the ride. At last they spotted Spock and Gillian standing near one of the skylit reflecting pools and made their way over. [Kirk has always been able to put everything else aside and live in whatever moment is called for. It's a wonderful strength, but it also costs him, I think, as we see later.]

From what Kirk could see, Gillian didn't seem to be winding down in the least. [We're back in the world that they've saved. Where the problems are bigger than those of two individual people. It's a nice sense of perspective so we don't get sucked into reading this as a sad story. Dude, they saved the world and brought Spock back from the dead! It reminds us that K/S doesn't exist in a vacuum.]  She was still talking a mile a minute -- about the whales, he'd bet his right arm -- and Spock couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if he'd tried. He seemed to be listening with interest, though, and it suddenly occurred to Kirk that after the tribunal, Spock might very well remain on Earth. It made sense, that he might want to stay and work with the scientists to help solve the immense challenge of repopulating the humpbacks. It would be right up his alley, and Kirk knew he had achieved a real rapport with Gracie in particular. The project would need someone to communicate with the whales -- and who better? Kirk had been second-guessing his decision to let Gillian come with them ever since he'd made it, but this was the first time he'd realized how much it might end up costing him.

"...what we need is some kind of surrogate, to teach George and Gracie the things that whales would learn from each other in the wild," she was saying as they came within earshot. "I don't know how we could do it, but I'll bet there's a way, with all the technology you've got. Some kind of an android, or maybe even a hologram--" [Erm, okay, so they've saved the world for now, but our responsibility isn't over yet. Yep, no easy answers here.]

"This guy talking your ear off?" McCoy asked Gillian with an insouciant grin. [*g*]

"Hey, look who's here! I was wondering what happened to you two." She kissed Kirk on the cheek, and he chuckled, pleased that she seemed happy to see him.

"Having fun, Alice?"

She grinned back. "You bet. You guys have parties like this all the time?"

"Nope, only when the new kid saves the world."

Blushing bright red, she laughed. "Oh, like I did anything!"

"Hey, Spock," said McCoy. "Grab us a couple of those glasses there, and let's have a toast. You too, don't argue with me." Spock obliged him, retrieving two glasses of champagne from a nearby tray for Kirk and McCoy, then two more, giving one to Gillian and keeping one for himself. He eyed the fizzing liquid warily.

"I am not actually required to drink this...substance, am I?" [And yet another potential out: Don't think Spock would lose control like that? Maybe it was the booze?]

"Shut up and toast, Spock, it won't kill you." McCoy raised his own glass, and waited for the other three to follow suit. "To the lovely Doctor Taylor," he said with a gallant flourish -- but Gillian stopped him before he could drink.

"To George and Gracie," she said. "If anyone gets credit for saving the world, they do."

She looked to Kirk, and he held her gaze as he said, "To George and Gracie." Spock and McCoy echoed him, and they all drank. Kirk could feel the champagne go straight to his head, and he knew he was running on fumes. [And with that, we're back in Kirk's head and body and on with the main story] He set the glass aside and shook his head. "Okay, kids, that's it for me. Much as I'd like to stay, I think I've had enough." He caught Spock's questioning gaze. "That offer still open, Spock?"

"It is," Spock said. "In fact, I believe I will accompany you."

Kirk kissed Gillian on the cheek and took her hand in his. "Don't turn into a pumpkin. And you," he said to McCoy, "don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"What he don't know won't hurt him," he heard Bones say sotto voce as he and Spock turned away. [I hope McCoy gets the girl this time, but again, I love how Killa lets the reader decide what will happen off screen.]

Together, they found Sarek and took their leave, the elder Vulcan approving of Kirk's decision to stay with them. Uhura was dancing with a strikingly handsome civilian and waved from the dance floor when she saw them; their other comrades were nowhere in evidence, and at last they made for the door. Kirk caught one last glance of McCoy and Gillian across the room, watching them, their heads together. He smiled and waved, but was troubled by the cat-got-the-cream look on McCoy's face and the speculative look Gillian was giving them. She smiled and waved back, but...was that a wink? Had she just winked at him?

Kirk turned to Spock, frowning. "Did you see that?"

"Did I see what, Admiral?" Spock followed the line of his gaze towards the pair across the room.

"What do you think he's telling her?"

Spock considered. "I am certain I do not wish to know," he said at last.

"Sound advice, if ever I heard it," Kirk said, and put his suspicions firmly out of his mind. [Yet more ambiguousness on the does Bones know/suspect/care/match-make/misunderstand issue. Killa is soooo good at this. It's like a CYOA fic: insert whatever whispering you believe. Or maybe it has nothing to do with that at all.]

Outside, a row of idling air taxis wound down the hill. They climbed into the nearest one; the moment Kirk sank into the comfortable seat, he felt exhaustion he'd held at bay for too many hours settle over him like a two-gee gravity field. [She's careful with her similes: they are always specific to the characters' mindset and doled out sparingly throughout the fic for maximum effect.]  He closed his eyes, letting Spock set the autopilot, [Even newly reborn and never having been here before in this life, Spock always pilots, and Kirk trusts him to, natch] grateful beyond measure that this night was finally over. For long moments he just drifted, the motion of the car's lift-off smooth and effortless.

When he felt the car reach gliding altitude, he opened his eyes and watched the bay fall away beneath them. They curved out and away from the Presidio before turning back towards the city; [the real world details seem to make this SF seem, well, real.] in a moment, San Francisco lay before them, glittering against the night. [such pretty wording] So close to being dark forever, he thought, and it really hit him how near Earth's brush with death had really been. "Sulu was right," he said quietly. "It's doesn't look that different, does it?" [More of the "is it the same or isn't it?" theme.]

Spock steepled his fingers before him, and the familiar gesture made it hard to breathe for a second. "There is something organic about the nature of cities," Spock said, "and like all living things, they continue to grow according to the patterns that shape them."

Heat closed Kirk's throat, gathering behind his eyes, and he had to take a deep, careful breath to get it under control. God, he must be tired -- he was starting to lose it. The questions he couldn't ask were a tangled knot inside of him, one he didn't dare look at too closely. "What about you, Spock?" [Everything in this story is so tightly woven into point--cities reborn restored to their previous pattern...] he asked at last, still watching the lights below.

"Admiral?"

"There's no pattern for you to follow, is there? Nobody's ever gone through what you have. You're on your own, without a star chart."

The figure beside him was silent a moment, considering. "Doctor McCoy said much the same thing. Curious. Perhaps it is because I have been a unique being all of my life, in more ways than one, but I am not troubled by the idea of finding my own path." [Terrific this, that the same mixed heritage that was an anathema to him during the series is now something to be embraced.]

Kirk couldn't help smiling at that. "You certainly are a unique being."

Spock met his gaze, and though he didn't smile back the way he once might have -- that subtle shift of expression Kirk had so long coveted and, at the same time, so long taken for granted -- Kirk thought maybe Spock was right, and some patterns persisted.

Yes, but he left you once before, too, he reminded himself harshly. Don't forget that. [Not bitter, just resigned and trying not to be broken. I love Kirk so much more for everything he isn't than for everything he is.]

And in a rush, he knew that he'd been even more of a fool than he'd realized, thinking that pushing things with Carol had been more than an exercise in futility. He'd been trying so hard to find something he could fix, some way to distract himself from the things he couldn't. Every day that went by made the war between hope and despair harder to bear, and the weight on his heart was his own fear, held at bay by pure force of will. He shied away from it, even that brief glimpse more than he wanted to face. Easier by far not to question, not to let himself think about anything beyond the here and now, the surface of things. [This is new, and again, maybe a bit too heavy-handed?  I understand that she wants Kirk to be as adrift as Spock, but I think I got it already. ] Bluffing his way through had gotten him this far. If he could keep doing it long enough, maybe he'd stop feeling like the bottom was going to drop out on him any second. [Wyle E. Coyote running out over the cliff edge? It's worked for Kirk before.]

The aircar began its descent, and Kirk looked out to see the ornate lines of the embassy's elegant roofline, the steep hillside falling away towards the water, and the winking lights of the grounds beyond the house. [Honestly, these words are prettier than any video image of this I could envision.] He could feel the concern, the uncertainty, in Spock's gaze. It hurt, like gravity sickness. "I can't remember the last time I was so tired," he said, keeping his voice light with effort. "I hope you don't mind if I just go straight to bed."

"As you wish, Admiral."

Silence fell between them, the soft hum of the engines the only accompaniment to Kirk's circling [great word choice to accompany a plane landing] thoughts.

continued in part 2 (adult content)