Fic: Kitchen Consequential (13/18)
Jan. 23rd, 2010 03:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Kitchen Consequential (13/18)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,165
Pairings/Characters: Spock/Uhura, background Kirk/McCoy and Scotty/Gaila, past Sarek/Amanda, Nero
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon. Includes het and minor character death.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 13: The anniversary of his mother's death gives Spock some fresh perspective on his life and relationships.
A/N: For more information about Jewish bereavement practices, visit the Wikipedia page.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
Spock looks into the mirror and straightens his tie, mulling over his choice of accessory for the fourth or fifth time. It's a simple black silk tie with gray diagonal pinstripes; nothing fancy, as today doesn't call for anything celebratory or festive. Still, he feels awkward in his clothes, despite the fact that he's worn this suit many times before, as well as countless others like it—it's in his job description to wear suits, after all. He supposes he looks as good as he can and that, in essence, no one would blame him if he showed up to the ceremony wearing sweatpants.
Nyota walks into his bedroom, wearing a simple yet elegant navy blue dress, her hair cascading down around her shoulders. Her heels allow her to step behind him and hook her chin over his shoulder, her lithe fingers curling around his biceps. Spock finds her warmth most welcome and he lets out a little sigh, even as he avoids her curious gaze in the mirror.
"You look so handsome," she says, and that makes his eyes flicker up.
"It is not my intention to appear attractive," he says softly, letting out a small breath, "but thank you. You look beautiful, as always."
"It's not my intention to appear beautiful," she replies, smiling knowingly. She gives his arms a squeeze. "I guess we both can't help it."
Spock offers her the faintest of smiles in return and then looks down as he adjusts his cufflinks. "The car is meant to arrive in ten minutes. Are you ready to depart?"
Nyota nods and then moves to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror and running her fingertips over the weave of his tie. She lifts them to touch his chin next, tilting his face forward to erase the space between them and guide him into a gentle kiss, a light graze of their noses. Spock touches her hips instinctively, then moves his fingers toward the gentle dip of her waist, the curves that have always seemed sculpted specifically for his hands. She's so perfect, standing there before him and watching him with her large, sparkling eyes, that he feels a shiver at the mere sight of her.
"Hey," she whispers, keeping her voice stern but soft. "I'm going to be right there with you all day, okay? Holding your hand if you want me to, or...not. Anything you need...I don't care who sees it."
"I'm grateful," he whispers back. "I do not have adequate words to express..."
"Shh." Nyota runs a hand over his cheek, smoothes his dark hair. "Let's go wait for the car, okay? My bag and coat are inside."
"Yes," Spock says. He lets her take his hand in her own and follows her out of the room.
*
They sit beside each other in the backseat of the town car and continue to hold hands during the entire ride from the Lower East Side to the cemetery, out in Flushing, Queens. Spock appreciates the comfortable silence, as it gives him a chance to gaze out the window and collect his thoughts. He wonders just how many people from the restaurant will be in attendance at the unveiling ceremony—Pike, certainly, and perhaps Scotty and Gaila. He knows Jim will be there, too, which means McCoy will likely accompany him. He told Jim about the ceremony about a month ago, and after some initial confusion on Jim's part about the significance of the service and a thorough explanation from Spock, he immediately pulled out his date book with a nod.
"It's a Sunday, right? Eleven o'clock?" he asked, making a note in his calendar. Spock nodded. "Got it. I'll be there."
"It is greatly appreciated, Jim," he responded, pleased with Jim's quick acceptance of the invitation to the ceremony. It appeared, somehow, that he wanted Jim to attend more than anyone he knew, possibly even more than Nyota. He couldn't quite explain the illogical feeling. But, as usual, Jim summed it up in his own concise way.
"We're friends, Spock. I wouldn't miss it."
Spock nodded and found himself at a loss for words. "Indeed," he finally said, for lack of anything more insightful.
Nyota brushes a hand against Spock's leg as the car moves along the Long Island Expressway, when the cemetery comes into view. "Is that it?" she asks. Spock cranes his neck to see out the window on her side of the car.
"Yes. I imagine my father is there already. He usually arrives early to everything."
She nods and gives him a timid little smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm kind of nervous to meet him."
"I'm quite certain he'll be taken with you, Nyota," Spock says, rubbing the inside of her wrist in a reassuring gesture. "I do not envision any alternative outcome. You're fiercely intelligent and shrewd...and, indeed, extremely attractive."
Her smile turns a bit sly as she squeezes on his fingers and strokes them affectionately. "Are you saying your father's going to fall in love with me?"
"Such a result would fail to surprise me."
Nyota laughs brightly at that and Spock allows himself a small smile as well, despite the fact that he's heavily weighed down by the solemnity of this day. She crosses her shapely legs and leans toward him. "How do you think he'll feel about Jim?"
"They have met previously." Spock arches a brow, taking a moment to ponder it as the car shifts lanes and takes the next exit off the expressway. "I sensed he was as perplexed as the rest of us."
*
He was working at Enterprise when it happened. He had just finished showing a couple to their reserved table when the phone by his podium rang with Pike's extension flashing on the display. "Sir," he said as he picked up, his usual way of greeting the man.
"Spock, I've got a phone call for you. It sounds urgent. I'll put it through, okay?"
"Yes, Sir," Spock responded quietly. A chill ran through him at the sound of Pike's tone; he could tell that his boss knew something that he didn't, something potentially terrible. Pike didn't say anything more, just put the other call through, and Spock waited a moment, listening to the person on the other end as they breathed. It took only a moment to recognize that familiar rasp. "Father," he said. "What's happened?"
"Spock," his father answered, hesitating. "There has been an accident."
After those sparse words, Spock's world tilted onto an unfamiliar axis and never quite righted itself again.
The next few minutes went by in a blur. Spock retrieved the information from his father that he needed, staying on the phone as long as necessary and ignoring the growing mass of patrons gathering by the door. He almost left before alerting Pike, but then he was right there, patting his back and telling him to go and get his things, that he would take over for the night. Spock nodded gratefully, out of words for the moment, and went to his office to fetch his coat and briefcase. He didn't notice Jim and Nyota in the corridor, on their breaks and laughing together about something, until Jim stepped forward and blocked his path.
"Hey, Spock. Everything okay? You look a little green."
"I must leave," he said, sounding out of breath even though he wasn't running, just moving quickly. "It is a familial matter. My mother..."
He trailed off, likely looking as grim as he felt, and Jim's face shifted immediately into one of grave concern. Nyota was there then, too, touching Spock's shoulder so gently that he had to force himself not to flinch.
"I'm coming with you," Jim said resolutely. Spock blinked at him in surprise and then shook his head.
"No, Jim. Your duties lie here with the staff. I...I will make do. Please inform everyone that I will return as soon as I am able."
"You sure?" Jim asked, and when Spock nodded, he let it go, squeezing Spock's shoulder and going back to the kitchen. Nyota remained there, and though it would be a few months yet before anything romantic blossomed between them, she looked at him with a tenderness that Spock could recall seeing passed between his mother and father on rare occasions—something he might be compelled, in the right time and place, to label love.
"What do you need?" she whispered. "Tell me." She was so close that her breath fluttered against his cheek, like the beat of a hummingbird's wing. Spock shivered and swallowed, searching for his voice as his lips trembled.
"I need everyone to continue performing admirably," he replied. And whatever that meant—he wasn't quite sure himself—Nyota seemed to understand. She nodded, sympathy brimming in her bright eyes, and stepped back. Spock wanted to thank her but could waste no more time; he went and retrieved his belongings and left, catching a taxi to the hospital where his parents were waiting.
*
There's already a small crowd gathered when their car pulls up by the gravesite. Spock's father Sarek is there, looking impossibly regal as always, as well as a few other family members. Spock spies Pike, Scotty and Gaila, and they all go over to him and Nyota as they exit the car. He shakes hands with Pike and Scotty and exchanges an air kiss with Gaila, who's dressed in what he presumes must be the only black dress she owns.
When Sarek walks up, Spock offers his hand for a shake. His father accepts the gesture and they hold each other's hands a little longer than necessary. Sarek moves with the same impeccable posture as Spock and everyone else in their family. His face has aged somewhat over the past year since his wife's sudden death, but he still carries the same noble air about him that Spock could recognize anywhere.
"Spock, my son," Sarek says, and though it likely sounds bland to anyone else's ears, Spock detects a trace of warmth that he hasn't been accustomed to hearing much throughout the years.
"Father," he replies. He lightly places a hand on Nyota's shoulder, guiding her forward. "This is Nyota Uhura, Enterprise's saucier. Nyota, this is my father, Sarek."
Nyota gives Sarek a small smile and for an odd, fleeting moment, it looks like she might curtsy out of nerves. Spock knows full well that Nyota has heard of his father, likely long before they ever met. His father happens to be a renowned culinary scientist, one who spent most of Spock's formative years guiding him in the same direction, education-wise—that was, until one fateful summer when he took a job as a host in a restaurant to make extra money and decided he loved that aspect of the restaurant business more than he could ever love his existing path. He dropped out of his food science degree program at Cornell and transferred to Starfleet Academy, enrolling in their culinary management track. Sarek never quite looked at him the same way after that. But Starfleet happened to be where Spock crossed paths with Christopher Pike. The rest was Enterprise history.
"Hello, Sir," Nyota says, shaking Sarek's hand, standing as straight as she possibly can. Spock watches her and feels overwhelmed by how radiant and respectful she is—full of pride, too, that he has someone like this on his arm to introduce to his father, and to bring to his mother's service. Nyota tilts her head slightly, her normally lush smile pursed and poised. "Spock has told me so much about you."
Sarek regards her rather coolly but nods all the same. "As he has told me many wonderful things about you, Miss Uhura."
Spock levels his gaze on a focal point in the distance. They're both lying—though he's told Nyota about his mother, he's barely mentioned his father beyond general details, and he's barely spoken to Sarek about her at all—and surely they both know it.
Another town car pulls up on the dirt road then, and Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy come bustling out, looking abnormally dapper in fine suits and ties. Spock feels strangely relieved to see them, especially Jim, who has his I-trained-myself-to-be-suave-and-serious look plastered on his face. McCoy walks beside Jim, a hand curled over his shoulder as if to guide or shield him.
They go up to Sarek first, and Jim launches into some rant about how it's a pleasure to see him again, despite the circumstances, and introduces McCoy as his partner. To Spock's relief, his father only nods and shakes hands with them both without batting an eyelash. Spock doesn't imagine his father is homophobic, but he does find Jim Kirk peculiar, and the knowledge that he has a male significant other will probably only add to that assessment. Not that Spock can disagree with the "peculiar" description.
Jim kisses Nyota's cheek quickly and then pulls Spock into a warm and unexpected hug, which makes Sarek's eyes bug for only a second before he turns and walks back to the gravesite. Spock stiffens at first, caught off guard, but then he relaxes into the embrace, resting a hand on Jim's back and daring to close his eyes.
"Told you I wouldn't miss it," Jim whispers.
After he pulls away, Spock blinks distractedly, nearly missing the sight of McCoy offering his hand for a shake. He takes it and nods slightly. "Chef McCoy."
"Call me Len, Spock," he says quietly, in his warm Southern drawl.
Spock falters, barely knowing what to say in the face of all this kindness. But then the ceremony is about to begin and Nyota tugs on his sleeve, leading him to his mother's grave and the beautiful headstone they're about to unveil.
*
Shiva was held at his father's home in the historic sector of Jackson Heights, out in Queens. Spock had grown up in Manhattan but his parents moved out of the borough once he went away to college, content to be out of the hustle and bustle of the city proper. Though they hadn't lived in this new apartment very long, the place was filled with memories of his mother and, to an extent, his childhood. In every room, he could still detect the scent of his mother's perfume, light and crisp in the air.
Spock tried to be as accommodating to their guests as possible throughout the week but it was extremely difficult. He found himself sitting on his customary cardboard box by the window, looking out at children playing on the street and trying to come to terms with what had happened. His mother—Amanda—was gone, taken away from them in an instant by a drunk driver. The man's surname was Nero; Spock hadn't bothered to learn his given name. In his mind, Nero was a dark and seething entity, a tornado or hurricane that had swept into his life without warning and wiped it clean. Sarek had been in the car as well and escaped with a broken wrist and a mild concussion. The passenger side had taken the full impact of the crash, after the other vehicle went dangerously careening into the intersection without any regard for the red stoplight. Nero himself had walked away, still drunk but with only a cut on his face, otherwise perfectly intact.
In the hospital, Spock watched through a window as medics and doctors tried valiantly to massage his mother's lifeless heart. It was of no use. He watched and watched until he thought his eyes might bleed from the devastation of what he was seeing.
Already there was talk of prosecution, pressing charges against Nero for involuntary manslaughter, mostly from Spock himself. But when he was alone, sitting and taking time to replay what seemed like an unbearably flawed and unfair turn of events, he felt more tired than angry; full of impotence rather than conviction.
One afternoon, Jim Kirk showed up, bearing flowers and a box full of assorted rugelach. Sarek showed him into the living room where Spock sat on his cardboard box, and Jim held up both items with a crooked smile. Standing beside him, Sarek looked incredibly nonplussed as he took the flowers.
"Spock, your colleague Chef Kirk has come to visit."
"Indeed. Thank you, Father."
Spock motioned for Jim to take a seat. He went to an armchair, then noticed where Spock was sitting. "Should I be sitting on a box, too?" he asked curiously.
"On the contrary," Spock replied. "As the primary mourners, the deceased's immediate family is required by custom to sit on low boxes or stools during this period, to signify that they are 'below' others as a result of their grief."
"Oh, okay," Jim said, seemingly content with the answer as he sat down. "I just feel bad that I'm in a comfy chair and you're sitting on a box with no back to lean against."
"As I said, it is customary."
"Right." Jim opened the pastry box and held it out to Spock, lifting his brow. "Have one. I got apricot, raspberry, chocolate... I tried one in the store. They're fucking awesome."
Spock peered into the box and plucked out a raspberry rugelach, taking a bite and remaining quiet until he swallowed. "Quite delicious."
"Yeah. So..." Jim looked around, probably to see if Sarek was there, but there were other guests that he had to attend to in the dining room. Jim and Spock were alone in the living room with the box of rugelach and other previously gifted foodstuffs. Jim ran a hand through his dark blond hair and squinted at him. "How are you and your dad holding up? Pike filled us all in on what happened. I'm so...fuck, I don't know. 'Sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."
"It is a difficult time for me. For us," Spock quietly amended, peering down at the second half of his pastry. "She was a healthy, vibrant woman with many years still ahead of her. It should not have happened."
"It's completely fucked," Jim said simply. Spock almost smiled at his choice of words; he finished the rugelach instead. "I just want you to know that...if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Honest and truly."
Spock swallowed his food with a wince, feeling the burn as it scraped down his throat. "I would not know what to say," he whispered.
"Just say what you're feeling," Jim replied, soft and kind in a way that Spock couldn't recognize. It disarmed him. He looked out the window, feeling his lip tremble the way it had when Nyota kept asking what he needed and what she could do, as if there were anything she could do.
"I feel anger," he began slowly, "for the man who took my mother's life."
"Yeah," Jim answered, his face unmoving.
"And yet...I fear I am helpless to change anything. I feel useless. I feel..." Spock swallowed again, shuddering at the slow, thick contraction of muscles. "I feel there is almost no point in seeking justice because it will not bring my mother back to us. Furthermore, I am in a position where I might confuse justice with revenge. I fear my judgment has become...compromised."
When he looked up again, Jim was leaning forward in the armchair, hands clasped between his parted knees. His face was now soft with understanding, his blue eyes calm with the depths of an ocean. "Spock, you have to give yourself time to mourn," he said. He paused, then, tilting his head. "You know about my dad, right?"
"No," Spock said. Jim's brow shot up in surprise at that.
"Oh. Well...he died the day I was born. He was the exec chef at the Kelvin...got everyone out alive when it burned down, including my extremely pregnant mother, but didn't see fit to get the hell out of there himself." Jim shrugged one shoulder, twisting his mouth. Spock listened and kept his face carefully blank—though deep down, he felt something in his gut twisting on Jim's behalf, as well as his own. Jim continued with a sigh. "They suspected arson, never found the guy. And, you know, I spent most of my life being angry. Hell, I spent all of it being angry, until I met Pike back in Iowa. And then I realized that being so goddamn angry was holding me back—that I wasn't making the most out of my life."
"You're suggesting, perhaps, that I refrain from seeking retribution in regards to the drunk driver that killed my mother."
"No, I'm not suggesting that. The bastard should be locked behind bars forever for what he took from you and your dad, Spock. I'm just saying..." Jim licked his lips and then fixed his eyes on Spock's. "You give yourself some time. Perspective. It's never gonna go away, but it'll get a little easier to cope as time goes on. You don't have to make all your decisions right away. You'll do what needs to be done when the time comes. And you shouldn't—we shouldn't—define ourselves by our tragedies. We still have to live."
Spock gazed at Jim for a while, quietly mulling over his words. "I suppose I should have known that you were born in a kitchen," he finally said. Jim laughed.
"Backseat of a taxi, actually. But came close to it."
"I imagine your father would be extremely proud of the successful young man you have become, Jim."
"And I know your mom was damn proud of you, Spock."
Spock pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, reaching into the box for another rugelach—chocolate this time, his mother's favorite. Jim took one for himself as well, raising it in the air as if making a toast, before popping it whole into his mouth.
*
It feels strange having Nyota in his apartment, as they usually spend their nights together in hers, where they'll be close to the restaurant in the morning. But Spock and Nyota both have the next day off with Pike's tacit instructions to relax after an emotionally charged day. Spock continually finds himself flooded with gratitude for such an understanding superior and coworkers.
Nyota steps up behind him and removes his jacket, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "It was a beautiful ceremony," she whispers. "The headstone was perfect, too. Did you pick it out?"
"I collaborated on the design with my father." Spock removes one of his cufflinks, turning to look at her. "I believe he was extremely impressed with you."
"He's a little intimidating, I admit. But he seems like a very nice man. Now I know where you got your good looks." She grins and Spock does his best to ignore her, though he can't help the light flush that creeps across his cheeks.
"Sarek often seems unapproachable. I have always known him to be most at ease around my mother. I suppose he might be more standoffish in the wake of her passing."
"Who could blame him?" Nyota waits until Spock has the second cufflink off and then undoes the knot of his tie and works slowly on his shirt buttons. She looks up at him as she carefully attends to each one, the waves of her hair shining as they catch the room's dim lighting. "We haven't even been seeing each other for a year and I already don't know what I would do if something ever happened to you."
"Nyota, I am not going anywhere," he murmurs.
"I know that, but..."
When she's done with the last button, Spock folds his hands over hers and leans forward, tipping their foreheads together. He shuts his eyes and recalls her warm breath on his cheek nearly a year ago, the moment when he first learned the depths of her compassion. He hears Jim's voice in the back of his mind, rich with wisdom and steady as it was during the shiva, reminding him, We still have to live. And truly, this is Spock's life: this incredible woman standing before him, the loving memory of a mother who always believed in him and a host of colleagues—friends—who support him.
"Nyota, I can never thank you enough for—"
"Then don't," she whispers. She kisses the corner of his mouth. "It's been a long day. Let's go to bed." Spock agrees with a silent nod, following her lead once again.
In the morning, he's woken by a delivery, which turns out to be a stunning flower arrangement and a box of freshly baked rugelach from one of the local Jewish bakeries in his neighborhood. He puts everything down in his rather small kitchen and takes a look at the card included.
I got extra chocolate. Here's to a life worth living. —JTK
Spock can't help but smile to himself. Jim Kirk has been and always shall be his friend.
Previous: Chapter 12 || Next: Chapter 14
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,165
Pairings/Characters: Spock/Uhura, background Kirk/McCoy and Scotty/Gaila, past Sarek/Amanda, Nero
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon. Includes het and minor character death.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 13: The anniversary of his mother's death gives Spock some fresh perspective on his life and relationships.
A/N: For more information about Jewish bereavement practices, visit the Wikipedia page.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
Spock looks into the mirror and straightens his tie, mulling over his choice of accessory for the fourth or fifth time. It's a simple black silk tie with gray diagonal pinstripes; nothing fancy, as today doesn't call for anything celebratory or festive. Still, he feels awkward in his clothes, despite the fact that he's worn this suit many times before, as well as countless others like it—it's in his job description to wear suits, after all. He supposes he looks as good as he can and that, in essence, no one would blame him if he showed up to the ceremony wearing sweatpants.
Nyota walks into his bedroom, wearing a simple yet elegant navy blue dress, her hair cascading down around her shoulders. Her heels allow her to step behind him and hook her chin over his shoulder, her lithe fingers curling around his biceps. Spock finds her warmth most welcome and he lets out a little sigh, even as he avoids her curious gaze in the mirror.
"You look so handsome," she says, and that makes his eyes flicker up.
"It is not my intention to appear attractive," he says softly, letting out a small breath, "but thank you. You look beautiful, as always."
"It's not my intention to appear beautiful," she replies, smiling knowingly. She gives his arms a squeeze. "I guess we both can't help it."
Spock offers her the faintest of smiles in return and then looks down as he adjusts his cufflinks. "The car is meant to arrive in ten minutes. Are you ready to depart?"
Nyota nods and then moves to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror and running her fingertips over the weave of his tie. She lifts them to touch his chin next, tilting his face forward to erase the space between them and guide him into a gentle kiss, a light graze of their noses. Spock touches her hips instinctively, then moves his fingers toward the gentle dip of her waist, the curves that have always seemed sculpted specifically for his hands. She's so perfect, standing there before him and watching him with her large, sparkling eyes, that he feels a shiver at the mere sight of her.
"Hey," she whispers, keeping her voice stern but soft. "I'm going to be right there with you all day, okay? Holding your hand if you want me to, or...not. Anything you need...I don't care who sees it."
"I'm grateful," he whispers back. "I do not have adequate words to express..."
"Shh." Nyota runs a hand over his cheek, smoothes his dark hair. "Let's go wait for the car, okay? My bag and coat are inside."
"Yes," Spock says. He lets her take his hand in her own and follows her out of the room.
*
They sit beside each other in the backseat of the town car and continue to hold hands during the entire ride from the Lower East Side to the cemetery, out in Flushing, Queens. Spock appreciates the comfortable silence, as it gives him a chance to gaze out the window and collect his thoughts. He wonders just how many people from the restaurant will be in attendance at the unveiling ceremony—Pike, certainly, and perhaps Scotty and Gaila. He knows Jim will be there, too, which means McCoy will likely accompany him. He told Jim about the ceremony about a month ago, and after some initial confusion on Jim's part about the significance of the service and a thorough explanation from Spock, he immediately pulled out his date book with a nod.
"It's a Sunday, right? Eleven o'clock?" he asked, making a note in his calendar. Spock nodded. "Got it. I'll be there."
"It is greatly appreciated, Jim," he responded, pleased with Jim's quick acceptance of the invitation to the ceremony. It appeared, somehow, that he wanted Jim to attend more than anyone he knew, possibly even more than Nyota. He couldn't quite explain the illogical feeling. But, as usual, Jim summed it up in his own concise way.
"We're friends, Spock. I wouldn't miss it."
Spock nodded and found himself at a loss for words. "Indeed," he finally said, for lack of anything more insightful.
Nyota brushes a hand against Spock's leg as the car moves along the Long Island Expressway, when the cemetery comes into view. "Is that it?" she asks. Spock cranes his neck to see out the window on her side of the car.
"Yes. I imagine my father is there already. He usually arrives early to everything."
She nods and gives him a timid little smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm kind of nervous to meet him."
"I'm quite certain he'll be taken with you, Nyota," Spock says, rubbing the inside of her wrist in a reassuring gesture. "I do not envision any alternative outcome. You're fiercely intelligent and shrewd...and, indeed, extremely attractive."
Her smile turns a bit sly as she squeezes on his fingers and strokes them affectionately. "Are you saying your father's going to fall in love with me?"
"Such a result would fail to surprise me."
Nyota laughs brightly at that and Spock allows himself a small smile as well, despite the fact that he's heavily weighed down by the solemnity of this day. She crosses her shapely legs and leans toward him. "How do you think he'll feel about Jim?"
"They have met previously." Spock arches a brow, taking a moment to ponder it as the car shifts lanes and takes the next exit off the expressway. "I sensed he was as perplexed as the rest of us."
*
He was working at Enterprise when it happened. He had just finished showing a couple to their reserved table when the phone by his podium rang with Pike's extension flashing on the display. "Sir," he said as he picked up, his usual way of greeting the man.
"Spock, I've got a phone call for you. It sounds urgent. I'll put it through, okay?"
"Yes, Sir," Spock responded quietly. A chill ran through him at the sound of Pike's tone; he could tell that his boss knew something that he didn't, something potentially terrible. Pike didn't say anything more, just put the other call through, and Spock waited a moment, listening to the person on the other end as they breathed. It took only a moment to recognize that familiar rasp. "Father," he said. "What's happened?"
"Spock," his father answered, hesitating. "There has been an accident."
After those sparse words, Spock's world tilted onto an unfamiliar axis and never quite righted itself again.
The next few minutes went by in a blur. Spock retrieved the information from his father that he needed, staying on the phone as long as necessary and ignoring the growing mass of patrons gathering by the door. He almost left before alerting Pike, but then he was right there, patting his back and telling him to go and get his things, that he would take over for the night. Spock nodded gratefully, out of words for the moment, and went to his office to fetch his coat and briefcase. He didn't notice Jim and Nyota in the corridor, on their breaks and laughing together about something, until Jim stepped forward and blocked his path.
"Hey, Spock. Everything okay? You look a little green."
"I must leave," he said, sounding out of breath even though he wasn't running, just moving quickly. "It is a familial matter. My mother..."
He trailed off, likely looking as grim as he felt, and Jim's face shifted immediately into one of grave concern. Nyota was there then, too, touching Spock's shoulder so gently that he had to force himself not to flinch.
"I'm coming with you," Jim said resolutely. Spock blinked at him in surprise and then shook his head.
"No, Jim. Your duties lie here with the staff. I...I will make do. Please inform everyone that I will return as soon as I am able."
"You sure?" Jim asked, and when Spock nodded, he let it go, squeezing Spock's shoulder and going back to the kitchen. Nyota remained there, and though it would be a few months yet before anything romantic blossomed between them, she looked at him with a tenderness that Spock could recall seeing passed between his mother and father on rare occasions—something he might be compelled, in the right time and place, to label love.
"What do you need?" she whispered. "Tell me." She was so close that her breath fluttered against his cheek, like the beat of a hummingbird's wing. Spock shivered and swallowed, searching for his voice as his lips trembled.
"I need everyone to continue performing admirably," he replied. And whatever that meant—he wasn't quite sure himself—Nyota seemed to understand. She nodded, sympathy brimming in her bright eyes, and stepped back. Spock wanted to thank her but could waste no more time; he went and retrieved his belongings and left, catching a taxi to the hospital where his parents were waiting.
*
There's already a small crowd gathered when their car pulls up by the gravesite. Spock's father Sarek is there, looking impossibly regal as always, as well as a few other family members. Spock spies Pike, Scotty and Gaila, and they all go over to him and Nyota as they exit the car. He shakes hands with Pike and Scotty and exchanges an air kiss with Gaila, who's dressed in what he presumes must be the only black dress she owns.
When Sarek walks up, Spock offers his hand for a shake. His father accepts the gesture and they hold each other's hands a little longer than necessary. Sarek moves with the same impeccable posture as Spock and everyone else in their family. His face has aged somewhat over the past year since his wife's sudden death, but he still carries the same noble air about him that Spock could recognize anywhere.
"Spock, my son," Sarek says, and though it likely sounds bland to anyone else's ears, Spock detects a trace of warmth that he hasn't been accustomed to hearing much throughout the years.
"Father," he replies. He lightly places a hand on Nyota's shoulder, guiding her forward. "This is Nyota Uhura, Enterprise's saucier. Nyota, this is my father, Sarek."
Nyota gives Sarek a small smile and for an odd, fleeting moment, it looks like she might curtsy out of nerves. Spock knows full well that Nyota has heard of his father, likely long before they ever met. His father happens to be a renowned culinary scientist, one who spent most of Spock's formative years guiding him in the same direction, education-wise—that was, until one fateful summer when he took a job as a host in a restaurant to make extra money and decided he loved that aspect of the restaurant business more than he could ever love his existing path. He dropped out of his food science degree program at Cornell and transferred to Starfleet Academy, enrolling in their culinary management track. Sarek never quite looked at him the same way after that. But Starfleet happened to be where Spock crossed paths with Christopher Pike. The rest was Enterprise history.
"Hello, Sir," Nyota says, shaking Sarek's hand, standing as straight as she possibly can. Spock watches her and feels overwhelmed by how radiant and respectful she is—full of pride, too, that he has someone like this on his arm to introduce to his father, and to bring to his mother's service. Nyota tilts her head slightly, her normally lush smile pursed and poised. "Spock has told me so much about you."
Sarek regards her rather coolly but nods all the same. "As he has told me many wonderful things about you, Miss Uhura."
Spock levels his gaze on a focal point in the distance. They're both lying—though he's told Nyota about his mother, he's barely mentioned his father beyond general details, and he's barely spoken to Sarek about her at all—and surely they both know it.
Another town car pulls up on the dirt road then, and Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy come bustling out, looking abnormally dapper in fine suits and ties. Spock feels strangely relieved to see them, especially Jim, who has his I-trained-myself-to-be-suave-and-serious look plastered on his face. McCoy walks beside Jim, a hand curled over his shoulder as if to guide or shield him.
They go up to Sarek first, and Jim launches into some rant about how it's a pleasure to see him again, despite the circumstances, and introduces McCoy as his partner. To Spock's relief, his father only nods and shakes hands with them both without batting an eyelash. Spock doesn't imagine his father is homophobic, but he does find Jim Kirk peculiar, and the knowledge that he has a male significant other will probably only add to that assessment. Not that Spock can disagree with the "peculiar" description.
Jim kisses Nyota's cheek quickly and then pulls Spock into a warm and unexpected hug, which makes Sarek's eyes bug for only a second before he turns and walks back to the gravesite. Spock stiffens at first, caught off guard, but then he relaxes into the embrace, resting a hand on Jim's back and daring to close his eyes.
"Told you I wouldn't miss it," Jim whispers.
After he pulls away, Spock blinks distractedly, nearly missing the sight of McCoy offering his hand for a shake. He takes it and nods slightly. "Chef McCoy."
"Call me Len, Spock," he says quietly, in his warm Southern drawl.
Spock falters, barely knowing what to say in the face of all this kindness. But then the ceremony is about to begin and Nyota tugs on his sleeve, leading him to his mother's grave and the beautiful headstone they're about to unveil.
*
Shiva was held at his father's home in the historic sector of Jackson Heights, out in Queens. Spock had grown up in Manhattan but his parents moved out of the borough once he went away to college, content to be out of the hustle and bustle of the city proper. Though they hadn't lived in this new apartment very long, the place was filled with memories of his mother and, to an extent, his childhood. In every room, he could still detect the scent of his mother's perfume, light and crisp in the air.
Spock tried to be as accommodating to their guests as possible throughout the week but it was extremely difficult. He found himself sitting on his customary cardboard box by the window, looking out at children playing on the street and trying to come to terms with what had happened. His mother—Amanda—was gone, taken away from them in an instant by a drunk driver. The man's surname was Nero; Spock hadn't bothered to learn his given name. In his mind, Nero was a dark and seething entity, a tornado or hurricane that had swept into his life without warning and wiped it clean. Sarek had been in the car as well and escaped with a broken wrist and a mild concussion. The passenger side had taken the full impact of the crash, after the other vehicle went dangerously careening into the intersection without any regard for the red stoplight. Nero himself had walked away, still drunk but with only a cut on his face, otherwise perfectly intact.
In the hospital, Spock watched through a window as medics and doctors tried valiantly to massage his mother's lifeless heart. It was of no use. He watched and watched until he thought his eyes might bleed from the devastation of what he was seeing.
Already there was talk of prosecution, pressing charges against Nero for involuntary manslaughter, mostly from Spock himself. But when he was alone, sitting and taking time to replay what seemed like an unbearably flawed and unfair turn of events, he felt more tired than angry; full of impotence rather than conviction.
One afternoon, Jim Kirk showed up, bearing flowers and a box full of assorted rugelach. Sarek showed him into the living room where Spock sat on his cardboard box, and Jim held up both items with a crooked smile. Standing beside him, Sarek looked incredibly nonplussed as he took the flowers.
"Spock, your colleague Chef Kirk has come to visit."
"Indeed. Thank you, Father."
Spock motioned for Jim to take a seat. He went to an armchair, then noticed where Spock was sitting. "Should I be sitting on a box, too?" he asked curiously.
"On the contrary," Spock replied. "As the primary mourners, the deceased's immediate family is required by custom to sit on low boxes or stools during this period, to signify that they are 'below' others as a result of their grief."
"Oh, okay," Jim said, seemingly content with the answer as he sat down. "I just feel bad that I'm in a comfy chair and you're sitting on a box with no back to lean against."
"As I said, it is customary."
"Right." Jim opened the pastry box and held it out to Spock, lifting his brow. "Have one. I got apricot, raspberry, chocolate... I tried one in the store. They're fucking awesome."
Spock peered into the box and plucked out a raspberry rugelach, taking a bite and remaining quiet until he swallowed. "Quite delicious."
"Yeah. So..." Jim looked around, probably to see if Sarek was there, but there were other guests that he had to attend to in the dining room. Jim and Spock were alone in the living room with the box of rugelach and other previously gifted foodstuffs. Jim ran a hand through his dark blond hair and squinted at him. "How are you and your dad holding up? Pike filled us all in on what happened. I'm so...fuck, I don't know. 'Sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."
"It is a difficult time for me. For us," Spock quietly amended, peering down at the second half of his pastry. "She was a healthy, vibrant woman with many years still ahead of her. It should not have happened."
"It's completely fucked," Jim said simply. Spock almost smiled at his choice of words; he finished the rugelach instead. "I just want you to know that...if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Honest and truly."
Spock swallowed his food with a wince, feeling the burn as it scraped down his throat. "I would not know what to say," he whispered.
"Just say what you're feeling," Jim replied, soft and kind in a way that Spock couldn't recognize. It disarmed him. He looked out the window, feeling his lip tremble the way it had when Nyota kept asking what he needed and what she could do, as if there were anything she could do.
"I feel anger," he began slowly, "for the man who took my mother's life."
"Yeah," Jim answered, his face unmoving.
"And yet...I fear I am helpless to change anything. I feel useless. I feel..." Spock swallowed again, shuddering at the slow, thick contraction of muscles. "I feel there is almost no point in seeking justice because it will not bring my mother back to us. Furthermore, I am in a position where I might confuse justice with revenge. I fear my judgment has become...compromised."
When he looked up again, Jim was leaning forward in the armchair, hands clasped between his parted knees. His face was now soft with understanding, his blue eyes calm with the depths of an ocean. "Spock, you have to give yourself time to mourn," he said. He paused, then, tilting his head. "You know about my dad, right?"
"No," Spock said. Jim's brow shot up in surprise at that.
"Oh. Well...he died the day I was born. He was the exec chef at the Kelvin...got everyone out alive when it burned down, including my extremely pregnant mother, but didn't see fit to get the hell out of there himself." Jim shrugged one shoulder, twisting his mouth. Spock listened and kept his face carefully blank—though deep down, he felt something in his gut twisting on Jim's behalf, as well as his own. Jim continued with a sigh. "They suspected arson, never found the guy. And, you know, I spent most of my life being angry. Hell, I spent all of it being angry, until I met Pike back in Iowa. And then I realized that being so goddamn angry was holding me back—that I wasn't making the most out of my life."
"You're suggesting, perhaps, that I refrain from seeking retribution in regards to the drunk driver that killed my mother."
"No, I'm not suggesting that. The bastard should be locked behind bars forever for what he took from you and your dad, Spock. I'm just saying..." Jim licked his lips and then fixed his eyes on Spock's. "You give yourself some time. Perspective. It's never gonna go away, but it'll get a little easier to cope as time goes on. You don't have to make all your decisions right away. You'll do what needs to be done when the time comes. And you shouldn't—we shouldn't—define ourselves by our tragedies. We still have to live."
Spock gazed at Jim for a while, quietly mulling over his words. "I suppose I should have known that you were born in a kitchen," he finally said. Jim laughed.
"Backseat of a taxi, actually. But came close to it."
"I imagine your father would be extremely proud of the successful young man you have become, Jim."
"And I know your mom was damn proud of you, Spock."
Spock pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, reaching into the box for another rugelach—chocolate this time, his mother's favorite. Jim took one for himself as well, raising it in the air as if making a toast, before popping it whole into his mouth.
*
It feels strange having Nyota in his apartment, as they usually spend their nights together in hers, where they'll be close to the restaurant in the morning. But Spock and Nyota both have the next day off with Pike's tacit instructions to relax after an emotionally charged day. Spock continually finds himself flooded with gratitude for such an understanding superior and coworkers.
Nyota steps up behind him and removes his jacket, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "It was a beautiful ceremony," she whispers. "The headstone was perfect, too. Did you pick it out?"
"I collaborated on the design with my father." Spock removes one of his cufflinks, turning to look at her. "I believe he was extremely impressed with you."
"He's a little intimidating, I admit. But he seems like a very nice man. Now I know where you got your good looks." She grins and Spock does his best to ignore her, though he can't help the light flush that creeps across his cheeks.
"Sarek often seems unapproachable. I have always known him to be most at ease around my mother. I suppose he might be more standoffish in the wake of her passing."
"Who could blame him?" Nyota waits until Spock has the second cufflink off and then undoes the knot of his tie and works slowly on his shirt buttons. She looks up at him as she carefully attends to each one, the waves of her hair shining as they catch the room's dim lighting. "We haven't even been seeing each other for a year and I already don't know what I would do if something ever happened to you."
"Nyota, I am not going anywhere," he murmurs.
"I know that, but..."
When she's done with the last button, Spock folds his hands over hers and leans forward, tipping their foreheads together. He shuts his eyes and recalls her warm breath on his cheek nearly a year ago, the moment when he first learned the depths of her compassion. He hears Jim's voice in the back of his mind, rich with wisdom and steady as it was during the shiva, reminding him, We still have to live. And truly, this is Spock's life: this incredible woman standing before him, the loving memory of a mother who always believed in him and a host of colleagues—friends—who support him.
"Nyota, I can never thank you enough for—"
"Then don't," she whispers. She kisses the corner of his mouth. "It's been a long day. Let's go to bed." Spock agrees with a silent nod, following her lead once again.
In the morning, he's woken by a delivery, which turns out to be a stunning flower arrangement and a box of freshly baked rugelach from one of the local Jewish bakeries in his neighborhood. He puts everything down in his rather small kitchen and takes a look at the card included.
I got extra chocolate. Here's to a life worth living. —JTK
Spock can't help but smile to himself. Jim Kirk has been and always shall be his friend.
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