Chapter Text
Prompt: “But why is the moon gone?” - Spock
“And Franklin the toad looked up at the sky, searching for the moon that was gone. He looked between the stars, behind the sun and at the edges of the sky where the twilight twinkled, but he couldn’t find it-”
“But why is the moon gone?” The little boy asks.
You sigh softly, looking down into dark questioning eyes.
“Well, Franklin the toad is asking the same thing. Do you want me to read more to find out?”
“Is it New Moon?” The boy asks, “Father explained that during New Moon the Moon isn’t visible from earth.”
“That is true. Do you know why?”
“Sun and Moon have aligned in a way that Earth is on the opposite side of it so that the side of the moon that’s facing Earth is lacking the light of the sun.”
“That’s right. How smart of you.” You push your fingers through his dark hair and watch him blush a proud shade of green.
“Are you going to read me the rest of the story?”
“Do you want me to?” You ask, “Your Dad asked me to stay with you until you fall asleep but we don’t have to read stories for children if you’re so grown up already.”
“Well grandfather told me that grandmother used to read stories to father too, so yes please.”
You smile at that. Who would have thought that Commander Spock has a soft heart for Children’s stories?
“He looked between the stars, behind the sun and at the edges of the sky where the twilight twinkled, but he couldn’t find it and Franklin grew worried. The moon was his friend and as a friend, he had to look out for the moon…”
-
“And Franklin looked up at the sky and waved to his friend, the moon, who waved back, happy to be home again.”
You close the book softly, looking down at the boy who’s sound asleep now. You right the thin blanket around his feet, pulling yourself away from him before you get up and press the panel to open the door.
Commander Spock is waiting right outside.
“He’s asleep,” you tell him, “Franklin the toad can get every child to sleep.”
“How is he?” He asks, touching your shoulder lightly to get a better look on how you’re feeling.
You’re calm, collected and convinced when you answer.
“He is feeling well. He is not afraid of speaking about you or his grandparents, although he hasn’t really spoken about his mother. He does not seem traumatized, nor is he asking about home.”
“Thank you for your assessment.”
He takes his hand back and turns as if he wants to leave. You should leave it at that.
You’re just a communication officer with a degree in psychology. You’re just a crewman he trusts with assessing with his son but not enough to have told you of this son beforehand.
It seems that hardly anyone on board had none of the little boy or his mother, an Ambassador raising their child on Phi13 until she became fatally ill and couldn’t care it anymore.
Commander Spock does not seem to mourn her, but Vulcan’s aren’t really known for showing their emotions openly.
Commander Spock also does not seem to know what to do with the child he could have only seen during short leaves.
You don’t know what has gotten into you if you have a soft spot for the child or the man or both, but you take his elbow, stopping the Commander from getting away.
“I don’t want to push myself onto you, but what are you going to do?”
“What are you referring to?”
“The boy. Your son, commander. Are you going to keep him here or leave the ship to go to New Vulcan or Phi13 with him?”
He raises his eyebrows at you, telling you without words that you’re overstepping unwritten boundaries.
If you want to say anything else about this topic, you have to say it fast.
“I apologize beforehand for my choice of words, but you don’t seem familiar with him. The long time apart might have estranged you from each other. I’d like to help you get to know each other so you can decide wisely, considering his wishes as well as yours.”
You look up at him, almost breathlessly, adding a soft “Please” when he does not respond immediately.
“One week,” he tells you, “To show me progress.”
-
“Hey!” You peek around the corners of Commander Spock’s ready room that has been temporarily turned into the child’s room, “Do you want to play a game?”
The boy sets down the PADD he must have been reading on, looking at you. He looks just like his father, the same eyes, the same hair and haircut, just his nose is a tiny bit different and he has a softer way of talking that he must have learned from his mother.
“What game do you have in mind?”
“I suppose you know chess?” You step into the room, holding up an old-fashioned Terran version of the popular game.
The boy has the audacity to roll his eyes at you.
“There are more advanced versions of this that would be more challenging.”
“Well, I’m sorry, that standard chess is not challenging enough for you,” you tell him, remembering with a smile that he’s still only 8 years old, “Because today’s task is not winning, but teaching. You’ll have to teach me how to play first.”
“You don’t know chess?” He looks utterly surprised at that fact.
“When I was your age,” you tell him, “There used to be a cafe down the street where we went to every day. I helped to serve and learned sentences in as many languages as I could to greet the customers.”
“Your parents have a cafe?” He asks, setting up the game.
“They had. They sold it so they could travel the world before they retire.”
“Are they still alive?” He asks and you smile at him.
“They are. I got a holo message from Mumbai last week. If you want I can show it to you later.”
“Maybe,” he tells you, pointing towards the Chess game, “Let us play first.”
-
You hear the door swish and keep another smile to yourself. Right on time.
“Oh, Commander Spock,” you turn to send him a smile, “Your son is teaching me how to play Chess. Why don’t you take a seat and watch? I think I’m a pretty fast learner.”
“She has managed to make some moves without my help,” your young teacher tells and Spock takes a seat without another word to watch you.
“No,” he speaks up five games later, reaching out his right hand to stop you from moving your knight, “If you do this, he will beat you in at least three moves.”
“Well, thank you for the advice,” you tell him, pulling your hand back, “But we will have to ask my teacher if you’re allowed to help me.”
You both look towards his son, who is clearly enjoying the fact that he’s allowed to decide.
“He may. Maybe you can win at least once with his help.”
“That does sound like a challenge, Commander Spock, don’t you think?”
Twenty minutes later you excuse yourself for a quick toilet break. They tell you they will wait for your return, but when you step back into the room, they’re focused on playing again. You get something to drink and take a seat on the side, not wanting to leave when it’s finally so peaceful.