Summary: Spock’s awakening after the fal-tor-pan consisted of many stages.
Disclaimer: I don't own TOS. I never have, and I never will. Star Trek and all of its relations are
property of Paramount and Viacom. I only own this story. Anybody who has a problem with the thought of
men in homosexual relationships with each other, please stay away. Flames and feedback are welcome. Please ask before putting
Authors Note: This began as the first part of “Incidents in Aging” but it can be read
separately. After what that story did to be, I deliberately separated them out. Someday, when I have more stamina, I think
I’ll come back and explore this more.
August 31, 2010
I awoke on a stone slab in a hall I had never seen before. The wizened face of a woman whose name I did not know stared
down at me. She then spoke in a language I could not recall hearing before, yet which I comprehended; those four words stay
with me even now, for they are the first words spoken to me. In this life. “The ritual is complete.”
I knew of no ritual, yet I knew that it was complete.
Several other women, younger women, crowded around me then, helping me to sit up. They removed the black garment in
which I was shrouded, replaced it with a heavier white one. This was mine, they said; it was my first possession, my only
An older man came forward
and was introduced to me as my father. I had a father, and his name was Sarek. My name, he said, was Spock.
Over his shoulder, I saw another man, who looked nothing like the others, nothing like myself – as I presumed
I was one of the others as they knew me and spoke my language. I did not know him, did not recognize him, but as with the
others, he appeared to know me. He was unsteady on his feet as he walked toward the only exit, catching himself twice to retain
his balance. Yet before he left, he turned and made eye contact with me, mouthing words I did not understand.
I love you.
The words meant nothing to me. But I remembered the clarity in his eyes, alight with emotion. I did not know him, but
he knew me; I meant a great deal to him, although I could not fathom why or how.
The months after the
fal-tor-pan were spent in rigorous training. I spent long hours relearning everything I had once known, beginning with control
and ending with current events. Everything I had learned in two decades was compressed into a period of three months. When
I was not in training, I was in meditation, or spending that remaining time tending to other personal needs: food, sleep,
I had little time for interaction beyond my tutors and occasionally my parents. My captain occasionally stopped by
for updates, although I was kept under quasi-seclusion. The man with the intense blue eyes – whom I had learned was
named Doctor Leonard McCoy – also stopped by, more frequently than did my captain. While my father or one of the lesser
priestesses spoke with my captain, McCoy was always given great respect, allowed to speak with T’Lar herself. At the
time, I assumed that this was because he was the Keeper, had survived a ritual of legend, and was entitled to greater attention.
I gave the matter no additional thought, as I was often preoccupied, and although I
was undoubtedly the subject of the discussion, it did not involve me.
I possessed few memories
at the beginning of my training; the Vulcans trained me as they would another full-blooded Vulcan. My mother tried to nurture
my human side with limited success, as there was too much to do, and the easiest way to accomplish my tasks was to embrace
the Vulcan Way.
The memories returned
slowly; reviewing the mission logs from my career in Starfleet. These lacked context and my inner thoughts, the “behind
the scenes” information so often described in the media as containing the full truth of any situation. Yet they were
a starting point, as I came to understand how important these men and woman were to me. McCoy continued to hover. He continued
to receive updates from T’Lar, and often when I was engaged in one of my few break periods, I would see him speaking
to my father and mother.
It was not until we
returned to Earth and the present day, after our mission to the 20th Century, that I realized why he hovered. I
remember that he had been pleasantly surprised to see that I would accompany the crew, in a way which differed from how the
captain behaved, although I could not articulate how his reaction differed. It was illogical, but it appeared – it felt
– different; I assumed that this was minor resonance from the period that he held my katra.
Throughout that mission,
he was by my side, asking how I felt, how fully-integrated my memories were, if there remained any residual side-effects.
I responded to his inquiries with the bare facts, which often seemed to upset him, as though he desired more. Once, he asked
me a most personal question, about what my experiences with death had been; I attempted to explain why such a conversation
would be impossible, which appeared to enrage him. Yet he insisted on sitting beside me at every turn. He insisted on speaking
up for me, even when his assessment was less than flattering; he spoke from concern.
Amidst this, I finally
understood, finally realized. He hovered because he cared; more than that, he loved me, as he had told me when I first awoke.
He spoke to me, because he felt that he had a right to do so. We had been a couple. For fifteen years, we had been a couple.
We had celebrated Jim’s
demotion to Captain and everyone else being cleared on all charges by going out to a restaurant. Afterward, Leonard –
he was Leonard, not McCoy – and I walked around the harbor until 0319 hours, discussing the past and the potential for
the future. Although several of my memories were vague at best or absent at worst, I remembered the foundation of our relationship,
and I told him that I was interested in rekindling if he was willing to do so.
Leonard was willing.
He stopped our walk
then, pulling me over by the fence which protected the passersby from potentially falling into the bay. Tentatively, he wrapped
an arm around my shoulders and asked if I remembered our afternoon ritual. Admittedly, I did not. I remembered “bigger”
details, which had flooded my mind during the second slingshot around the sun, when my memories had blended together, casting
outward into the past and drudging up that which had lain dormant. Minute details like what we did on afternoons remained
lost to me, however.
Leonard seemingly did
not mind; he said that he had not expected me to remember but then explained. During his lunch breaks which tended to be later
in the afternoon, and after my office hours, we would go for a walk around the harbor and talk about the day so far. “Peaceful,”
he called it, “familiar.” A meditative exercise we shared. “We did the same thing on the ship,” he
It would be months
before the new Enterprise-A would be in any condition to go
on missions. It would be equally long before I would be medically cleared and considered “secure” to accompany
the crew. Leonard, too, needed to be inspected by Starfleet Medical before being cleared for duty. It seemed that we would
be here for a while with little else to occupy ourselves. “We can resume
at the bay whenever you wish.” It was my attempt to make a pledge.
“Do you remember
how to kiss?” It was not a traditional form of Vulcan intimacy, and the question prompted the realization that no, I
did not, and also a memory. Of Leonard – it had to have been early in our relationship – telling me that my technique
was “terrible,” as I apparently “missed the point.” I had a vague memory of kissing someone before
Leonard who had either not noticed the problem or had failed to correct it.
Rather than pursue
that train of thought, I let it slip away unaddressed. It would not due to think of others when reconnecting with the man
who loved me so.
Instead I shook my
head in the negative to respond to his question, but I immediately added, “However, I am willing to learn.”