The Way Back

By SpockLovesCats

A/N: "Star Trek," its characters and environments not mine, but are delightful ways to explore the heart and mind. Thanks to Slippery Stone, my encouraging Beta, and to her, TeaOli, BB L, and AquaSoulSis for gentle kicks in the pants.

If there are nautical terms or usages in the story you don't understand, contact me before you criticize, and please know that constructive criticism, comments and feedback are welcome!

Chapter One

Commander Spock stumbled through the corridors of the Enterprise. He hardly knew where he was headed. The staggering knowledge that the entire Bridge crew had witnessed his violence to Kirk pounded through him with every beat of his heart. "Did you see what he did?" Allowing Kirk to goad him: "Tell me, Spock -- what's it like not to feel? Anger. Or heartbreak. Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the woman who gave birth to you?" … Kirk had prodded him intensely and he had given in to savagery … "It must not even compute for you!" … losing control of his thinking, recalling the taunts he had gotten as a child, violating his societal and self-imposed patterns of logical thought … "You never loved her!" then attacking his fellow [vastly junior] officer.

Only Sarek's voice -- and that tiny gasp from a stricken Uhura -- had saved him from his rage, saved him from killing Kirk. He surrendered control of the ship to the acting First Officer, citing Section 619 of Starfleet Regulations to Doctor McCoy in front of the entire Bridge crew.

Every breath was an effort. Movement was an effort, yet somehow mindless.

He had arrived at the Transporter Room. He was standing by the pad that was supposed to have brought his mother safely to the Enterprise. He tried to remember Chekov's apologies -- basically, the Vulcan rock beneath Amanda had dropped out of the planar coordinates at just the wrong time. The boy was horribly overcome with shame for something not his fault; Spock had brushed him off, too coldly, he suspected. In his right mind Spock would have known exactly what the problem was, could have diagnosed it instantly, coolly, scientifically.

If it had been anyone else who was lost.

He was hollowed out with grief. There was no other phrase for it. His mother had loved him, just as he was, unconditionally, with all of herself, and always in her presence he had repaid her with coolness and Vulcan logic and Vulcan discomfort with everything she was. He could not feel her katra now; he sensed that he should, that if he were a good son, he should know she was with him always. If he were a good son he would have kept hold of her arm during transport, would have maintained the closeness with which they had emerged from the Katric Ark, arm in arm. If he were a good son he would not have concerned himself with how that might look to the transporter crew on the Enterprise. If he were a good son she would not have died. He could have held on to her.

His father appeared, soundlessly as usual. "Speak your mind, Spock."

"That would be unwise."

"What is necessary is never unwise. That which is beautiful is magnified when shared with others. That which is painful is often moderated by being shared. Both approaches are equally logical." (*)

Something flashed between them, an acknowledgement of the waste of years that had passed with them not speaking, the years since Spock had turned down the offer of a post at the Vulcan Science Academy and joined Starfleet, with all family communications passed via Amanda, their peacemaker, their liaison.

His father waited.

"I feel as conflicted as I once did as a child. I feel such anger … for the one who took her life. It is an anger I cannot stop."

"I believe she would say -- do not try to. You will always be a child of two worlds, Spock. As such, you will forever be forced to make decisions that partake of both. Your birthright, Spock, should be as much a wonderment to you as it is to me. I am grateful for it. And for you."

Spock met his eyes. His father moved toward him, his eyes warm and open, Sarek's equivalent to an embrace or a touch of his hand. "You asked me once why I married your mother. I married her because I loved her."

He knew, too, how much Spock had loved Amanda. And that Spock had someone else in his life who loved him unconditionally.

Sarek had seen Spock and Uhura relating to one another. He knew of their intimate connection. And if he was not giving outright approval, he was acknowledging Spock's right of choice.

It was over. Nero the Romulan had gone to perdition with his crew and his huge, outlandish, powerful ship. Another black hole must be charted in addition to the one in space formerly known as the Vulcan system.

Spock took no time off duty. The mission was over and he needed to continue working so as not to sink into some emotional netherworld. He finished his second straight watch on the Bridge, ensuring Enterprise was on the most efficient course for Earth and that structural repairs continued to go forward, confirming by subspace that new warp core elements would be ready for installation when they arrived at Starbase 001. Meanwhile, the ship was limping home on impulse power.

Spock called Kirk to relieve him and Kirk stepped onto the Bridge with his usual boundless energy. Spock himself had never felt so tired, nor had he ever previously allowed himself to acknowledge feeling so tired. He allowed it now. He needed rest like a Human needed water. He needed to crawl into his bed and sleep without dreaming, and sleep some more.

As he moved through the passageways, he was peripherally aware of junior crew members and recent Academy cadets glancing sideways at him, sometimes murmuring to one another, as they had been since he stepped down. "…kicked Kirk's ass!" "Almost killed that arrogant peckerhead" "And Kirk's still the Acting Captain, what's that about?" "…may be an arrogant prick but he saved our asses--" "They both did, Commander Spock and Kirky boy." "I heard Spock was almost crying when they beamed up from Vulcan … his mother fell out of the transporter coordinates …" "Nah, it was Chekov almost crying … he's only 17...somebody said he fucked up on the transporter." "No way, he's just a kid but he's almost as smart as Spock" "Speaking of whom, I know his parents raised him right … He was polite to Kirk -- 'step away from me, Mister Kirk' -- right up until he snapped …" "Surprise! Ha-ha, he almost snapped Kirk the Jerk's neck … craakk!" "Don't get him pissed off at you!" "Don't talk to him about his mama, man, simple as that…"

He kept his eyes from them lest they realize he could hear every word. It would be too embarrassing all around. Best to let them gossip and wear out the topic, he had found in his years serving with Captain Pike and other Human crews. They would soon find a new subject.

At the door of his quarters he had some trouble with his entry code. That had never happened. Usually his fingers automatically made the motions and he was in. Tonight they trembled and he entered wrong numbers in error. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. After his second try the door mercifully slid back. He almost stumbled on his way to the bed. He couldn't take off his boots by toeing them off as usual; he had to sit down to do it. He was so impatient to lie horizontal he nearly tore his clothes off, and left them where they fell. He managed to rise enough to remove his trousers, turn back the bedcovers, and tell the computer to shut the lights. He fell headlong into sleep.

Uhura buzzed at the door to Spock's quarters. She did not use his private security code to enter. She was unsure if he would want company.

Spock came to open the door in a hastily-fastened dark blue meditation robe. His face appeared creased, as if he'd been sleeping on his stomach; odd, because he almost always slept on his back or curled to one side. His hair, normally neat, even after resting, was a mess, and he looked quite bleary with sleep. She had never seen him so. Never.

"I wanted to see if you need anything." She had tried to wash away her tears, but they had come back to streak her face anyway, and Spock looked momentarily puzzled by her obvious distress.

He closed his eyes and gestured her in. She hugged him around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, lowering her arms to circle his waist, and gently began rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes, reaching inside his robe to smooth his knotted back muscles. "I was so scared when you went after Nero," she said. "But you came back to me. You came back. My Spock. Oh, why did you stay on duty so long after?"

He felt her emotions washing over him; gratitude, sorrow for his losses, sorrow for the Starfleet members lost at Vulcan, and gratitude again that he was not lost to her.

He tilted his head back, swallowing sudden tears. "My mother … my people …."

"Thee honors me," she said in Vulcan. She kissed his cheek softly, then his mouth. "With thy trust. By allowing me to share thy grief," she whispered. "I grieve with thee."

He leaned into her then, his arms tightening around her upper back, his fingers kneading almost like a kitten's. Uhura heard a deep inward breath and felt his tight chest expand against her breasts. And again. She pulled away slightly to see his face; his eyes were tightly closed and he was fighting for control. Again she kissed his face.

"Mpenzi," she breathed, and led him to his bed. "Darling. Take off your robe and lie down so I can massage your back."

He stripped his robe off and did as she asked, while she got a small bottle of almond oil from the bedside cabinet. It had a faint scent of eucalyptus, which reminded them both of Northern California and the Academy. Spock had always found the scent relaxing. She warmed a little oil in her palms and began stroking him, starting at the nape of his neck, moving out over his extremely tight trapezoidal muscles and over his lean, muscled shoulders, down his arms, down his back, then working gently upward again.

She herself usually got tension right between her shoulder blades but Spock's mostly stayed in his upper and middle back. From holding himself so rigidly straight, she supposed. He had the loveliest posture, but she had sometimes wondered if Vulcan children had to stand for hours with books atop their heads. How many Vulcan children are left now? she wondered as she poured more oil into her palm. She dared not think such a thought while her hands were on him. Instead, as she massaged him, she thought of "their" beach in San Francisco, their long walks in Golden Gate Park, their hikes on Mount Tamalpais and out at Bodega Bay, their week on a beach in Kenya. She ran the German version of the Soprano solo in Brahms's German Requiem, which Spock had heard her sing. I will comfort you as a mother comforteth. I am in a place beyond all Human trials and pains. That evening had been their second dinner out together.

She did a deep-tissue massage using knuckles, fists, the whole gamut; his muscles were so taut they did not relax for a good thirty minutes. Then she softened her strokes, making them longer and longer, until she heard him groan a little.

She lowered her face to see his. His eyes, now glazed with tears, haunted with grief, met hers, and he awkwardly sat up, reaching for her. He gasped for breath and she held him tightly as the breath released itself in silent, jerking sobs.

"I never told her I loved her," he said at last.

"Oh, Spock," she said, tenderly kissing his face, "She knew. I'm sure she knew."

They slept, slightly apart, each exhausted, too weary to make love, but too tired to part.

(*) This line of Sarek's is expanded from the script by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, in the novel by Alan Dean Foster, adapted from "Star Trek."