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Story Notes:

TOS characters and relationships, but set in the reboot timeline; i.e. Spock!Prime and Kirk!Prime. Mentions of/reflections on a canon character death, though the death itself is not described.

Written for a prompt at comment_fic: "pining for a lost love."  More of a mood piece than a full-fledged fic. 


It has been well documented among medical and scientific communities that, under ideal conditions, the Vulcan memory is capable of recreating the exact circumstances of any observance. Total sensory recall; true edetic memory.

Jim fell asleep directly following their intercourse the previous night, and on his waking this morning his skin maintains the pungent smell of dried sweat. His face is lax and sleepy, his skin warm against Spock's own, and in the early morning sunlight the strands of grey are easily visible in his tangled hair. His mouth tastes sour when Spock kisses him, his murmured 'good morning' is rough and low, and surges of contentment move all around them both, shared through the contact of their skin and through their bond.

That was ninety-six years, two months, and three days previously. Spock remembers, and remembers, and remembers, and never is it anywhere close to enough.



According to the teachings of Surak, "To experience loss in inevitable, but to dwell on loss is deplorable.  Acknowledge thy grief and repress its expression, for to dwell in one's grief is to dwell in one's past and thus to stray from the path of logic.  Calm thy mind that thee may progress."


Oh, Spock. You're still awake.

Are you well, Ambassador?

I can't sleep either... we could play chess. Or talk. Or anything, really; why waste the night?

Ambassador? Are you indeed well?

Did anyone ever tell you you're wonderful company, Mr. Spock?

No, Ambassador, it merely took you a longer time than expected to respond to our hales. The Vulcan colony consulate would like your opinion on some geological oddities.

Haven't I? Then I'll tell you now. You're wonderful company, Mr. Spock.

There are concerns regarding the placement of the southernmost settlement... Ambassador?

In fact, I might even venture to say I prefer your company to anyone else's.

Are you quite sure you are well, Ambassador?




The theory of special relativity states that simultaneity is not absolute. The motion of time is relative, and the perception of any two events cannot be said with any certainty to occur at the same time. Simultaneity, or the lack thereof, is based entirely on the reference frame of the events' observer.

Perhaps somewhere, in some distant space or time, there exists an impartial observer.  Perhaps, according to this observer's reference frame, they have not yet been separated; Jim has not entered the nexus, and Spock has not doomed himself to exile in this strange, altered timeline. To this observer Spock would even yet be standing by Jim's side, on the bridge of the Enterprise, on some unexplored planet, in their apartment in San Francisco, on the red sands of Spock's ancestors, anywhere, together. To that hypothetical, distant observer, Spock does not pine for Jim, is not crushed beneath the very weight of his longing, and above all, to this observer, Spock is not alone. 

Indeed, the existence of such an observer is not impossible.  The sheer magnitude of the statistics involved give the possibility at least some factor of credence.  After all, the universe is vast beyond all ability of mortal perception.  Spock considers this, and holds the holomessage pendant tightly in one hand.

He envies that theoretical observer.



The new Vulcan colony planet is very warm, even at night, and it is illogical that to Spock, now lying alone in bed, it should seem so cold. It is illogical that after so long a time to sleep alone should yet feel strange. It is illogical to wish for what cannot be.

And yet; he does.


...His face is so dear.

Spock? What is it?

I find myself... ill at ease. Unsettled. ...Unhappy. I am most decidedly unhappy, Jim.

...His eyes are so warm.

Oh, Spock. How can I help?

I... I merely wish your presence. Is it permissible for me to—

...His voice is so gentle.

Of course. Come here.

...His mouth is so sweet.

Any better?

Affirmative, Jim. Exponentially.


But none of this is real, and thus the comfort is thin and fleeting. To Spock, the night still seems very cold.



It has been well documented among medical and scientific communities that, under ideal conditions, the Vulcan memory is capable of recreating the exact circumstances of any observance. Total sensory recall; true edetic memory.

Taste and touch. Smell and sight. The thrum of psychic energy and the ethereal connection of their bond. The sound of his voice and the warmth of his body, the light in his eyes and the touch of his mind.

I do love you, Spock he whispers, for the first time, and uncountable times since. I have for a very long time.

How strange a thing is memory. To perceive so clearly, and yet to miss so much.

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