The Gift

Disclaimer. All Characters owned by Paramount/Viacom and I'm not making any money. Contents otherwise copyright Starshadow Productions, Ltd. 2005. Archival--contact me starshadow@starshadow.net NC-17 rated. Don't read if you don't like male to male sex.


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One.

It was over. The interminable memorial had seemed never ending, and
had been the most grueling trial of Spock's life. The crush of bodies,
of arms grasping his, the pain, the grief, that had washed over him,
unbidden, from his friends, whose touch he could not deny, not after
all they'd been through. Surprisingly, Sarek had stood by, quiet and
calming, seeming to understand his son's turmoil, carefully hidden,
and not disapproving. A quiet touch on his arm, a whisper like dry
leaves in autumn,"I grieve with thee," and Spock was able to keep his
mask on, and somehow get through the hours of speeches and eulogies.
His, he kept short, and though he hardly trusted himself to speak,
somehow did. In later years, seeing the vids of that day, he was
always surprised that the raw emotions he felt were not on the
surface, as he'd felt they were.

But it had come to an end at last. The others moved on to a wake.
That, Spock approved of, but could not participate in. He managed to
convey both his approval and his need to be absent, and alone, for the
storm he feared he'd have to ride soon.

It came. He sagged against the door of the apartment they'd shared, as
it had hissed shut, and tears ran, unabashed, down his cheeks. He
staggered through the apartment, for the first time, feeling its
emptiness, and undressed as he went, uncharacteristically uncaring
about the garments he left in his wake. Somehow he found himself
sprawled on their bed, and gathered the bedclothes about him. They
were scented with his beloved's musky smell, and the scent of their
last lovemaking. Their last. Sobbing, he somehow fell into sleep.


Two.


He was dreaming. He knew with crystal clarity that although the scene
appeared real, it was yet a dream. He did not want to wake. He was
lying in his childhood bed on Shi'Kahr, which somehow had grown large,
and his mother and his husband were seated on the edge of the bed.
Without speaking, somehow, Amanda spoke to him. She looked as she'd
looked when he was a child, not the frail woman he'd come to know in
her last years. *Spock, son, darling, we wanted you to know that we
are all right.*

Spock half sat up. *Mother? Jim? How?*

*Sssh* His mother brushed his bangs with her hand, in the ages old
intimacy between child and mother. *We don't have long. I love you,
son. Always remember that.*

*I love you, too, Mother* Somehow the words he'd never said in her
life came easily to him.

She rose. *You two need time alone. Do not grieve overly much, my son.
Love is eternal. Remember that.*

*Jim*...his beloved lay beside him, and suddenly, was unclothed. It
did not seem unusual, just another dream aspect. Spock drank in his
husband's beauty. *You were gone..and..*

*Not now, Spock. We don't have much time. I needed to see you again.
My husband. My Vulcan lover. My own.* Jim's lips caressed Spock's neck
and his hands gently touched Spock's sensitive palms, then roved over
the slim body. *Spock, husband, remember what Lady Amanda said. I will
always love you, even though I can't be with you.I'm sorry to have to
leave you, but we have now, let's not waste it.*

*Yessss* the sibilant hiss may have come from either of them, for
their minds were once again forged into the One, as their bodies
responded to each others caresses. Dimly, Spock pushed the knowlege
that he was dreaming into the recesses of his mind. He did not want to
wake.

Then his husband's lips were on his shaft, glistening and hard as it
emerged from the sheath, and a hot tongue was running over his double
ridges, and tasting the pre-ejaculate beginning to lubricate it.
Spock's own hands were not idle, and he used them to build his love's
desire, now tangling in the curls around his shell-like ears, now
tweaking the hard nipples on the warm body arced above his own. Lips
released their hold on his burgeoning sex, and quested upward, meeting
the Vulcan's mouth and devouring it. * I need you inside me, Spock*
The shaft was at the doorway, and with a quick thrust, gained entrance
to the depths within, while Jim's rock hard penis strained in turn at
the Vulcan's belly hollows. Spock wrapped his hand around the
shaft,glistening with the slickness of the fluids they both leaked.
And the old rhythm asserted itself, as they rocked together, helpless,
in its need.

They came to the precipice at the same time, and drowned in its
depths. And collapsing on each other's torsos, stayed, the quiet after
the storm. But all too soon, Jim pulled himself away. *Let me look at
you one last time* A touch on his face, and a quiet whisper,
*Remember. Do not grieve over much, my love. Somehow, know that I will
always be with thee. Never and always, touching and touched.Remarry
when you must. The new love will not deny the old. Be happy, for my sake*

And he was gone. And Spock woke, to the late afternoon sun, slanting
into the room, and somehow, it was all right.

Three.


The apartment was nearly empty. A box or two, destined for Peter,
Jim's nephew, and that would be picked up by courier after Spock's
shuttle had come and gone.

"Leonard. I cannot express to you my gratitute for your help." The
Vulcan stood, austere as always, in his robes, ready for his journey.
His eyes were, for once, unhooded, as they turned to his old friend.

"Ah, Spock. What are friends for? Besides, you would have wasted that
good Saurian brandy in your cabinet.Probably poured it down the sink
or something." McCoy's eyes misted.

"Negative, old friend. He wished you to make use of the contents of
our liquor cabinet. And there is one box that was sent to your home,
in Georgia. I advise you to be alone when you open it. Or at
least--have no Federation agents present."

"Were you keeping something from your old country doctor, Spock?"
McCoy's voice was teasing, though his hands yet trembled, as they
touched the Vulcan's sleeve. Spock not only allowed the touch, he, in
turn, grasped McCoy's arm, briefly.

"Old friend. Yes. No, you've shared similar ...gifts...many times,
over the years. This last is for you. From us." His voice, up to now
warm, turned serious. "Do not grieve overly much, my friend. And,
further, my home is your home. Come and visit whenever you will."

"You, too, Spock. I'll be at my granddaughter's place--well, I suppose
it's really mine, but she's lived in it most of her life, and it'll be
her's someday...anyway, it's a big place. I'll keep a room for you. Do
you have to go?"

"I need to walk the sands of my home again, Leonard. Bones. Do not be
concerned. I am not running from life. We...knew this day would come.
Vulcans live so much longer than humans. Every day...was a gift. I
shall not waste the ones remaining.I had to sell the apartment,
though. Perhaps it is illogical, but there were too many ...ghosts, if
you will."

McCoy chuckled. "I always knew you were a romantic at heart, Spock."

"Indeed. It's another ..gift...from my t'hy'la. And his
...human...friends."

"Your friends, too, Spock. Never forget."

"That, Leonard," Spock sighed, almost wistfully, "I shall never do."
He forbore to add that as a Vulcan, his eidetic memory woud not allow
forgetfulness. It did not seem the right moment.

Spock took one last turn around the apartment. Taking a small velvet
box from his robe, he slipped it into the built in cupboard in what
had been their den. Illogically, he wanted to leave a gift to those
who had bought the place, who would soon fill it with their own memories.

Then he and McCoy took their leave of one another, and were gone.


Four.

"Mama, Mama, look what I found! Can I keep it? Can I?" The small girl
had already claimed her bedroom, and furniture and boxes had been
placed within. She'd gone through it, claiming every nook and cranny,
and found the small velvet box. She handed it reluctantly to her mother.

"It may have to be returned to its owner, Nan. Let me see." She
touched the clasp, and the box opened. A slip of paper fell out, with
ordered, precise script in both Standard and Vulcan. The Vulcan she
could not read, though she recognized it, but the Standard read, "This
belongs to the person finding it. It is a housewarming gift. Do with
it as you will."

Inside was a dazzling medallion. "Nan, this is quite valuable. It's a
Vulcan IDIC. It means...well, look it up, tomorrow, when your tutor
program is set up. I think it's yours, darling. Take good care of it."

"I will, Mama. Do you think I'll ever visit Vulcan?"

"Nan, darling, one day you'll go where ever you wish. But for now, you
must tidy your room." The mother turned back to her unpacking. She'd
already located one play center within a half block of the place, and
from the terrace, the view was spectacular. Nan and she would love it
here. And when Alex came home, he'd find the place warm and as
inviting as she knew how to make it. This would be home for many years
to come. She sighed happily.

And somewhere, an austere Vulcan breathed in the scents of the desert,
and allowed himself a half smile. Life would go on.