Basis: A small piece of insight into Spock's thoughts at the end of the episode Requiem for Methuselah.

AN: This is my first foray into writing for the wonderful world of Star Trek and I hope that I do it justice.

Disclaimer: If I only I owned this beautiful work of art and could manipulate Kirk and Spock for real. Instead I am content with this.

Italics are quotes from the episode.

Requiem for Spock

"A very old and lonely man and a very young and lonely man…we put on a pretty poor show didn't we?"

Those words resonated through his subconscious mind, the weight of weariness and knowledge bearing down upon him regardless of how he tried to counteract them. Those hours upon that planet with the android (because he refused to truly acknowledge her as anything but an android within the private recesses of his mind) and Mr. Flint had broken something within his captain. Jim had sounded so world-weary, so much older than his years when he had spoken those words, and the sight of his friend caused the heart that he had sworn he had mastered years before to clench.

It was illogical of him he knew to hold such emotions within himself. Illogical to ache over a wound dealt to the emotions of another. Logic bade him to impress upon Jim the facts, that the woman was a machine, a highly advanced and functioning machine yes, but a machine nonetheless. To point out to him that it was indeed her own overpowering emotions that had led to her demise; that she would have never truly been human no matter what the others thought. He knew the truth, the girl would experience emotion, but never as deeply or as richly as a truly living being, her death was proof of that.

Yet the sight of Jim had stilled his tongue, had halted the worlds in his throat long enough for Jim to pass into sleep and for McCoy to enter the room. McCoy was an efficient doctor even if he often spoke out to the contrary on the matter. Yes McCoy was a brilliant doctor who prided himself on his medical skill and his emotions and yet the man was unfathomably cruel in his own way.

"Considering his opponent's longevity truly an eternal triangle. You wouldn't understand that, would you Spock?"

'Yes,' he had longed to say, 'yes I understand the concept all too well Doctor.' Yet his Vulcan way had held him silent, a life time of training in the art of logic and repressing emotions keeping the outburst from occurring aloud. Had kept him for exposing the emotions that he swore did not exist. Kept him from exposing his own situation to the ever watchful eyes of the good doctor.

"You wouldn't understand that, would you Spock? You see, I feel sorrier for you than I do for him, because you'll never know the things that love can drive a man to… the ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, and the glorious victories."

'Wrong,' his mind had whispered, his eidetic memory calling to the forefront of his mind images from the past. The wonder and sheer joy that had filled him at the site of Jim behind him after his brush with Pon Farr, the numbing emptiness that was so deep he had been ready to take his own life at the thought he had ended Jim's. His disobedience against Star Fleet in order to locate and recover his captain, his close calls in order to explore every opportunity that presented itself in order to regain what had been taken from him. Dozens of images of things he had done or been willing to do for Jim; things that had failed and things that had succeed.

So he knew well the joys and miseries of it, knew that the actions he had taken in the past and would take in the future were in answer to that emotion within him and not just stemming from the extreme loyalty that he held for his captain as the crew seemed to believe.

"All of these things you'll never know, simply because the word "love" isn't written into your book."

Though in a way he supposed that the doctor was correct, "love" was not written into his book in a manner of speaking. Instead it was tattooed across his soul, stitched into his heart and intertwined within the fabric of his skin. He woke with it each morning, slept with it at night and carried it with him through out the day. It was with him always, keeping him closer to Jim and yet farther than he wished. His human half yearned to offer himself to his friend, to expose his inner being to the other man, while his Vulcan half cautioned him with logic and yet it too called for a connection, a lasting link with Jim.

He found himself often divided when he spoke to his captain, one part of himself always at work, always doing his duties aboard the ship as another piece devoted itself to the current conversation. Yet beneath those pieces there was always that third constant, that primal piece of his heritage that had long ago been buried by logic that whispered through his thoughts.

"Parted from me and never parted." It coaxed him to voice. "Never and always touching and touched." It longed to say them aloud and he longed with it. Wanted to hear the appropriate response from Jim, to know that he would entrust all of his being to him, that their katra would mingle and dance. To quell the loneliness he saw in his friend with his own mind and body. To feel the whisper of the others mind within his own always, to quench the fires of his soul in the cooling balm that was the other man.

Yet something always held him back.

It was not fear of rejection he knew, for he was certain that he would not be rejected, that Jim would welcome him into his mind for always as he had welcomed him in the past during the few melds they had been forced to share. Emotional transference was not an uncommon thing in those situations and as such he knew his captains' thoughts, his emotions better than anyone in the universe and in return Jim knew the same of him. Still he never voiced his thoughts, his desires and emotions that they both knew he possessed. Never spoke to his friend, his brother, the one he wished to be his lover, of them.

Instead he hid himself away, always parted and never touching as he so longed to do in the depths of his hybrid soul. Instead he watched as day by day Jim buried his own feelings, an act that appeared so wrong and almost sickening when performed by his captain, watched as he sought out cheap imitations of the love that he desired, as he lost himself in random women to stem the bleeding of his ruptured heart. He himself had attempted the same on a much smaller level a few times in the past and yet nothing had come from it, he had been unable to forget Jim as Jim had been unable to forget him.

He knew that one day his emotions would overwhelm him, his human side would rise the slightest bit and upset the delicate balance that existed within him and he would undoubtedly corner the other man and tell him exactly what he wished.

That day was however, not today.

Today he had won the battle between his opposing sides, had buried his emotions beneath pure logic and shut down the whispers of his primal beast. Today he bought himself a little bit more time to hide.

"I do wish he could forget her."

McCoy's voice once again range through his thoughts as he stared down at the sleeping form of his commanding officer as he found himself in agreement with the doctor. He too wished for Jim to forget the android. He wished to cradle the broken pieces of his friend to his chest and refit them one by one back into the places they belonged. He wished it and yet he knew that he would do no such thing.

He could not stop himself from striding forward and gently fitting his fingertips into the now familiar pattern needed for the melding of the minds. He barely repressed a shuddering sigh at the sheer beauty of Jim's mind, the vivacious colors of his emotions and the splendidly structured thought patterns. He shifted through them quickly, resisting the urge to lose himself in the fascinatingly complex mind in which he drifted, and when he found the memory and impression the android had left he did not hesitate to wipe it clear, to whisper "Forget" into the ear of the man below him and erase the misery from the mind that he cherished so.

'Forget Jim.' He could not help to think as he slowly withdrew into his own mind. 'Forget because I never will.'

AN: So please tell me what you think of this small introspective piece on Spock. As a new Trek writer I would deeply appreciate the input and feedback.