#sarek just touches his forehead and senses what he needs/quiets him

[spirk-trek]

imagine amanda watching how mothers on vulcan share a telepathic bond with their children and not being able to do this for spock

imagine how it would break her heart, how she might worry they'll never connect when she sees a mother touching her daughter's face or holding her son's hand with purpose, without words

imagine spock melding with her as soon as he's able, showing her he loves her because he can't say it, he'll never be able to say it

imagine her being so proud of her little boy for researching and teaching himself to meld with a non-telepath just for her, all for her

holding him after when he's so exhausted he goes boneless in her arms and she strokes his hair and thanks him

and he mumbles something about it being illogical to thank him before falling asleep and she holds his little hand and feels the tiniest sparks of love still there, so small she might've imagined them before he's snoring softly

[plaidshirtjimkirk]

Pairings: OMS Kirk/Spock Timeline: Post-TSFS and pre-TVH Rating: T Summary: Spock forgot something important. If only he could...

.*Remember*.

Wooden oars rolled against an onyx ocean littered in stardust, sending gentle ripples toward an infinite horizon. Spock lifted his chin. Stars above, stars below. Stars in the darkness, stars in the sea. Stars and stars, endless and everywhere.

This was...where, though? And how did he come to be in such a place?

Where were the others? Others... Were there others? He could almost remember...

The oars fell limp upon release and Spock sat back, swallowing hard with a furrowed brow and observing the smooth curved floor of the celestial rowboat he inexplicably found himself in. It was made of Shi’Kahrian lumber, a dark and strong wood. And in the air, a distant hint of spice hung—something akin to traditional Vulcan incense, but the scent was also markedly different. Familiar, foreign...everything here was each of these things at the same time.

But he was wearing white. And he never wore white.

Spock lifted his hands, studying the lines creasing slender palms and then curled his fingers into fists three times for good measure. Dark eyes rose to their surroundings once more and slowly, his hands fell back to his sides. He had the sensation of touch, the ability of free thought, and the curse of sentient will, all while surrounded by a prison that had no bars or walls. No guards, no sentences, no exits or endings. He felt no hunger or thirst, no pain.

All there was were stars. Stars above, stars below...

Though there was no real sense of time in this place, a precarious impulse had been imprinting on him for what he’d deemed too long now; it was a notion that he should rest: rest, let his lashes fall, give up on all these questions for the meantime, and simply allow this boat to take him where it willed.

Yet...

Remember.

Over and over, the word reverberated in the depths of his mind.

Remember? Remember what? If it was so important, how could he have forgotten? What he needed was right there however, right there, just beyond the range of recollection. It was so close, and the only thing standing between him and peace.

Spock jerked forward suddenly, reaching for the oars and beginning to row again. To where? Anywhere, or nowhere at all. Anything to keep him moving, because he had a strange, albeit unfounded suspicion that if he did close his eyes, they might never open again.

That was a hunch.

Vulcans didn’t experience hunches.

...

He began rowing faster.

~

It happened without warning.

One star went supernova, a pinprick cracking dawn and setting fire to an endless night. He flinched, held a hand before his face in defense. And in that same moment, air rushed to his lungs, his heart hammered against its ribbed prison, and someone called his name—a familiar voice, a voice that somehow filled him with comfort.

Come home.

When Spock’s eyes slowly opened, it was to a crimson sky: to daybreak over Mount Seleya. He blinked once, then twice. The healer’s hand slipped from his forehead.

He was no longer alone, no longer trapped in a void between life and death...but a place much too silent in his mind insisted that still wasn’t true, no matter how illogical it seemed. Still alone, still trapped, still lost...still facing the mystery of what was forgotten.

Then, a hand touched his shoulder. “I am Sarek." Spock looked up at him from the slab he’d been lain on, as Sarek’s voice became a near whisper. “Welcome back, my son.”

~

The S’chn T’gai abode was fitting for such an influential ambassador, with large open spaces, arching ceilings of Shi’Kahrian lumber, and the hint of spice from that strong and dark wood. The room Spock now stood in was his, he had been told; he’d grown up here, studied here, lived here.

He reached to an antique ornate dresser and touched the polished surface. Suddenly, he felt the urge to speak. “I knew you once, I am certain.”

The admiral had stopped at the doorway and remained there ever since. “Yes.”

“It is one thing to be told you have been my friend,” Spock said and curled his lips, then pulled his hand from the furniture he’d been inspecting and turned to seek eye contact. “But it is another to know it for myself.”

Jim’s chin fell in a nod and he said nothing.

“But somehow, I...” Spock inclined his head and remained silent for a beat. “I believe somewhere I do know it. However, I...” He left that thought hanging with a shake of his head.

“You were very important to me,” Jim said. “You still are.”

“Why?”

All Spock received in reply was a smile at first, one he perceived as pained. “We... Spock, we were friends.”

“Yes, everyone keeps telling me this.”

“And is that hard for you to believe?”

Spock pivoted toward a tinted window framed by stiff, dark drapery and gazed out at nothing for a thoughtful moment. He was familiar, the admiral. Jim. But he was also foreign in a way that was different from the others who had risked everything to save him.

There was something different, something so different. Vulcans might have long ago sworn emotion off, but feelings still ran deep and unrelenting. Spock knew this, and knew that when he looked at Jim, he should have felt. Felt what?

Remember.

Why couldn’t he remember? Why couldn’t he just...?

“No,” Spock finally replied and turned back to him. “It is not unfounded. Perhaps I just need time.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s voice was breathy, erred on shaking. “Yeah, you do.” He raised a hand to gently swipe at one of his eyes and then cleared his throat, straightened his back. “I’m, uh. Amanda, she might need help, I’ll go see...”

Spock’s lashes fell for a beat in confirmation.

“I... Yes.” Just like that, Jim disappeared into the hall and the door swooshed closed behind him. Spock stared at that place for some time, before approaching it. The entrance opened to an empty corridor, and he stood still for long enough that it slid closed again.

He raised a hand and pressed it to the door. This was his room, his family home. And out there: his parents and his friends. All this, and he still felt so, so alone. ...Especially when Admiral Kirk was not around.

Was this what it meant to have such a friend?

Spock kept his hand where it was, the door a metaphorical barrier to finding inner peace. He could almost imagine Jim on the opposite side seeking the same thing.

~

Melancholy weighed down the kitchen like a relentless April rain, and Amanda’s cheeks were rightfully damp.

“I’m so sorry.” The words fell in a choppy whisper as she embraced her son-in-law. “Oh, Jim.” A broken exhale followed when he pulled away.

“He doesn’t remember anything.” Jim slowly sat down on a high stool. “He may never.”

“Oh, no.” Amanda reached for his hand. “No, don’t say that. Please.” Her tongue poked out to wet her lips. “Jim, I raised my son. I know...” She smiled softly. “...how stubborn.” Jim huffed a laugh. “And relentless and hard-headed he can be.” He shook his head. “See, you know it too. These qualities drove my husband mad, though he would never admit it.” A pause. “But I truly believe that they’re also the things that will bring him back to you.”

Jim drew a deep breath and swallowed, composing himself. “Spock is stubborn when he gets something in his head.” They each shared another quiet laugh.

“I know it’s too much to ask of you. But if you can...” Amanda's face tilted and there was a slight squint in her eyes. “Just give him some time. Okay? Gosh, I know it hurts, but...” She didn’t finish that sentence, choosing instead to nod.

“I will,” Jim replied. “I’ll do anything I can for him, no matter how this turns out. He’s alive. That’s what’s most important.”

“You’re a good man, Jim.” Amanda squeezed his hand before letting go. “Too good. I’m proud to have you as my son. You brought him back to us.” Her shoulders raised a touch. “And I will do anything, anything, I possibly can to help him find his way back to you. ”

Melancholy still permeated the kitchen as it still did Jim’s soul, and though he was standing before a mountain, his chest felt just a little lighter after talking with Amanda.

~

Stars above, stars below. Stars in the darkness, stars in the sea. Stars and stars, endless and everywhere.

Spock stared up into the Vulcan night sky. He would remember. He would. He wouldn’t stop reaching for the missing pieces until he found them all.

The door opened then. “Spock.”

He looked over his shoulder to find Jim, and then turned all the way to face him.

“Would you be interested in a game of chess?”

Tilting his head, Spock’s eyes fell to the solar tile walkway for a moment. Chess...was familiar. And welcome, especially with the admiral. He righted himself. “Yes.”

Clasping hands behind his back, Spock followed Jim to the great room and sat opposite of him. As the game was set up, he studied an ivory knight. “We have played this before together.”

Jim’s brows raised as he continued placing the pieces. “Many, many times.”

“...I remember.” Their eyes met and Spock felt as though he had something more to say, but the words failed him.

A soft smile pulled outward to Jim’s cheeks.