Chapter Text
The old man walked into the busy coffee shop on Van Ness and even if he didn’t already know who he was looking for, he’d recognize George Kirk immediately. The fair hair, the determined set of the mouth – all hallmarks of the Kirk breed were present and correct.
George sat at a central table with the baby in his arms, fussy and petulant, refusing the bottle his father was attempting to feed him. A blue, terry cloth sehlat fell to the floor and no less than three women vied for the honor of picking it up and returning it to George. He thanked them all politely and returned to feeding his son, who was the sole focus of his attention. The women departed to their separate tables, disappointed.
As the old man approached the table, George looked up at him with polite interest, and then with undisguised curiosity. “Oh, I – I wasn’t expecting a manny.”
“I beg your pardon?” the old man asked.
“Is that what you call a male nanny? Forgive me, I’m still getting used to all the terminology and everything.” George kept trying to get the child to accept the bottle, which he finally did with a disgruntled noise. George beamed, proud of himself.
“I prefer childcare professional.”
“How very descriptive. Can I get you a cup of tea?” George made to rise, but the old man stayed him with a raised hand.
“I require nothing.”
“Thanks for meeting me here,” George continued. “My mom said it would be a bad idea to meet people at the house, though I’m not sure why. Little Jimmy here sure would be better off there.”
“Children often are more comfortable in familiar surroundings, particularly at such a young age.”
“You have a lot of experience with it, then? I suppose you do, since the agency sent you over.”
“I do. It is all in my CV.”
George nodded and took a sip from the lemonade sitting at his elbow. “So, tell me more about yourself – I have to say, it was surprising to find a Vulcan among the applicants for the nanny position. And I didn’t actually catch your name – it came through on your CV in Golic and well, my wife was the one who was good with languages.”
“I understand,” the old man replied. “Vulcan names are also difficult for humans to pronounce.” He pulled out the seat opposite father and child and sat down, the action creating the pause necessary for him to steel himself to deliver his next statement, which would be a lie. He folded his hands on the table.“You may call me Selek.”
“Selek,” George said, trying the name out, then he nodded and smiled. “I’m George. George Kirk. I would shake your hand, but I know that Vulcans aren’t into that. This little fella here is Jim.” He smiled down at the child again, who was now falling asleep while suckling at the bottle.
“He is most aesthetically pleasing,” Spock said, because in all his travels, a universal constant had always been the desire of parents to be complimented on their children’s attractiveness.
“Thank you. So, I think I’m supposed to interview you now. Your education and work history are impressive. Why have you chosen this line of work?”
“I have been retired for some years, but… I believe the appropriate human phrasing is, ‘I was beginning to feel like an old fart.’”
George nearly choked on his lemonade and then his face colored. “You don’t say?” he said with a cough.
“My primary field of study, as you see, was astrophysics, and though I still keep up with the field, I was beginning to feel restive and bored, if those two states are possible to feel simultaneously. For a Vulcan, it was quite disturbing.”
“I can imagine. But there are lots of places you might look for work – a university, for instance. Why this? Why take care of other people’s children?”
Spock settled a reflective expression on his face. “When I look back on my life, I find I derived the most satisfaction – indeed, I was at my most content – when I had a young child of my own to look after. I suppose I am looking to feel that satisfaction again.”
George looked at him shrewdly, as if weighing the truth of his words. “That still doesn’t exactly qualify you as a caregiver.”
“I would not expect you to accept that as the sole basis for my qualifications either. When I determined my goal, I undertook the appropriate course of study independently. I am a fully-certified nanny, and also maintain a certification in basic first aid. As a retired Starfleet officer, I am also adept at hand-to-hand combat, though I doubt that will become a factor.”
“You haven’t met my older son, Sam,” George said, and Spock raised an eyebrow.
The interview lasted another thirty minutes, during which time George asked the types of questions for which Spock had prepared, and Spock exuded the kind of quiet capability and confidence that only Vulcans could. They parted with the agreement that George would be in touch the following day, as he was interested in engaging someone as soon as possible.
“Anybody sitting here?”
Spock looked up at the young woman who’d spoken and shook his head in the negative. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks. Gosh, I’m so nervous – I’ve got an interview inside the coffee shop and I’m, like, twenty minutes early.”
“An interview?”
“Yes – for a nanny position. I sure do hope I get it. I love kids, and I really need the job.”
“I am sure it will be fine,” Spock said companionably. “You look very capable.”
“Thank you – I’ve got my degrees in child development and early childhood education – but I’m just so nervous, though.” She started biting at her fingernails as if to demonstrate.
“You know, I was inside that coffee shop earlier and saw a young man with a baby – I wonder if he is your potential employer?”
She craned her neck to try to look inside the shop. “What’d he seem like – I mean, did he look mean or anything?”
“Not to my eye but then, I am a Vulcan and perhaps not the best qualified to interpret human emotion. I will tell you that he bore a remarkable resemblance to Commander Kirk – you know of him I presume, from the Kelvin incident?”
“What? No way.”
“Do you suppose it might be him?”
“I – I – I – I don’t know. I mean, the agency didn't really give me much to go on, I mean –“ her voice trailed off as she peered in through the window. “Holy cats, it is him.”
“I am confident you will have nothing to be concerned about,” Spock assured her. “Surely the press and paparazzi are already growing tired of the story.”
“S-story?”
“Oh, you know, the brave young hero who saved hundreds of lives on board the Kelvin, only to find that his pregnant wife was one of the unfortunates who did not survive the attack? The story of a young life cut short is not that very interesting to the press these days.”
“Uhhh–“
“I am also sure you will not have to worry about defending the children against unstable citizens obsessed with the Commander's story. What are they called – hunter? Hawker?”
“Stalker? You think he has stalkers?”
Spock made a dismissive noise with his lips. “Of course not – it’s been weeks. These things are not known to fester in the imagination of the less stable members of this society, not at all.”
“Yeah. Um…” The young woman rose from the bench and hefted her bag over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go.”
“What about your interview?”
“I don’t think I’m right for this job – I’m gonna go and call the agency.” With that, the young woman hurried away down the block.
Spock allowed himself a small feeling of self satisfaction – one down, and three to go.
----
Spock sat in a light meditative state in the small efficiency in Pacific Heights he’d found when he arrived on Earth a month ago. It was little more than a closet with a twin bed and a small table, but the view of the Golden Gate Bridge was stunning and reminded him of the apartment he and Jim shared after they were first married. Being back in San Francisco after so many decades was bittersweet for him, indeed more bitter than sweet at times, but he long ago learned how to cope with his personal losses.
As he meditated, he attempted to sort through his feelings on the events of the day, and on the crimes and misdemeanors he’d had to commit to bring him to this point. He regretted hacking George Kirk’s communications account in order to send false cancellation messages to two of the nanny applicants, as well as misleading the young woman outside of the coffee shop. He was ambivalent about the hacking he’d had to do in order to create a false identity for himself in this timeline – for someone with his unique circumstances, it was almost a necessity. He did not, however, lie about his certifications, which he had acquired legitimately, if on an accelerated program compared to humans.
Especially this child.
Still, he had no guarantee that he’d be hired as nanny to the Kirk family – there was one other appointment that he’d been unable to sabotage. He’d seen the young woman, and she appeared capable enough, chatting easily with George and appearing to have an answer to all of this questions. Spock had observed it from his seat outside the coffee shop, though he was not close enough to overhear.
Spock opened his eyes – meditation was doing him no good this evening and the uncertainty he felt was not helping. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he did not secure the position. He just knew that he must. He had to protect them, he had to be there if Nero appeared.
He fingered the locket he wore around his neck thoughtfully. He must not fail.
He was interrupted when his comm chirped. He unfurled his aging limbs from the meditative pose he favored and rose, answering it on the third ring.
“Selek, hello,” George Kirk said, smiling out at him from the handheld unit.
“Greetings, Lieutenant-Commander.”
George looked slightly taken aback to be addressed like that out of uniform, but brushed it off. “Good evening – I hope it’s not too late to call?”
“It is not.”
“Good. I wanted to call as soon as possible, to offer you the job.”
“That is very quick to make a decision – are you certain?”
“Uh, yeah. Funny thing – three of the other people I had lined up to interview just kind of flaked out, and the other one – well, I just liked you better.” He smiled sheepishly.
“That is gratifying.”
“Look, I dunno about your schedule, but do you think you can come by the house tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday and everything, but I need you to start on Monday, and, well, it’d be good if you met the boys on their own turf and all…”
“A sound strategy. What time do the children rise?”
“Sam’s a bit of a slug, but Jimmy’s usually up with the birds.”
“I shall be there at sunrise. It would be most beneficial if I could observe them in the course of a normal day’s events, so that I might be able to maintain consistency. Children do best when a routine is closely observed.”
George rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand. “If you think it’s best.”
“I know it is.”
Stardate 2233.95
The Kirks lived in a townhome near Starfleet Headquarters in an area set aside to provide affordable lodgings to officers with families. The house, which looked to have been built during the Victorian era, was comprised of four stories, the first of which had been taken up by a garage. The home itself was painted a cheerful yellow, decorated with wooden flourishes painted blue, and large windows in the front. A single light burned within, though not in the front room – Spock surmised it originated in the kitchen.
He climbed the steep steps in front and knocked on the front door. The door swung open moments later to show George Kirk standing before Spock wearing sleep pants and a loose t-shirt, yawning.
“Good morning,” Spock said.
“Sorry,” George said, scratching at the growth of beard on his cheeks. “Had a rough night.” He stepped aside and let Spock enter, then led him back to the kitchen. “Can I get you some coffee?”
Spock was not surprised to see an old-fashioned French press in use – Jim had always favored them when they were on-planet – and agreed to a small cup, black no sugar.
“Didn't think Vulcans would be into coffee,” George observed as he poured.
“It is something for which I acquired quite an affinity,” Spock said, “though I normally drink tea.”
“I’ll have to be sure to have some in the house.”
“I can replicate it when necessary,” Spock said, indicating the replicator unit in the corner.
George frowned. “If you like – I guess it’d be OK to put the thing to use for once. My wife never liked to use it when we were dirtside.”
Spock noticed that, indeed, the dispenser area of the replicator currently housed a pot of geraniums. “So I see,” he said, amused.
They drank coffee in silence for a few moments, but were interrupted by the sound of a baby stirring. George set his cup down and moved over to the house’s internal communications system, checking on his son on the small vidscreen. “Looks like it’s go-time,” he said to Spock before leading the way out of the room.
The nursery was on the third floor, a tidy and bright space whose ceiling was slanted at the far wall along the roof line. George went immediately over to the crib, where he stood smiling down at the squirming body lying inside it. “Well, good morning,” he said fondly, his voice raising almost a full octave.
The baby kicked his tiny legs and waved his arms excitedly until his father picked him up. George carried him over to the changing table, where he quickly (and rather expertly Spock noted approvingly) changed his nighttime diaper, demonstrating where Spock would find all of the supplies when it was up to him to do it. He next got the baby dressed in a tiny pair of denim pants and a command-gold My Daddy’s in Starfleet t-shirt and handed him off to Spock.
“You mind taking him? I’m just going to grab the laundry.” He shoved the baby at Spock then went about removing the linens from the crib.
Spock held Jim under his arms and stared into his tiny face. He was, simply put, perfect, with smooth, chubby cheeks, a bow-like mouth, bright eyes that sparkled with constant mirth, and a head covered with downy hair so pale and fine he appeared to be bald.
“Hello, James, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Spock said, and swung him from side to side gently. The baby’s head leaned to the side and he regarded Spock with open-mouthed awe. They stared at each other for several beats until Jim smiled, then laughed, then began kicking his short legs.
“I think he likes you,” George said approvingly as he walked past with a basket full of soiled laundry.
Spock held the baby close against himself and followed George down the stairs, where the latter demonstrated the preparation of a bottle of formula and handed it over to Spock. Spock took a seat at the kitchen table and cradled Jim against himself, offering him the bottle. The boy drank hungrily, making soft and eager noises as he did, his eyes never leaving Spock’s.
“So how’s it feel, Selek?” George asked, having returned from starting a cycle on the clothes cleaner to stand in front of Spock. He handed Spock a burping cloth.
“Not at all strange,” Spock answered, to George’s delighted laughter.
“Daddy?” a sleepy voice said from the door to the dining room, and Spock turned his head to see a young boy standing there, clad in footed pajamas and rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“Hey, Sammy!” George said cheerfully, and went over to him.
“Who’th that?” the boy lisped, regarding Spock with suspicion.
George got down on one knee to address his son. “That’s Mr. Selek, your new nanny. You remember, I told you all about him? He’s going to look after you guys when I go back to work next week.”
“I thought you thaid he’th coming Monday?”
“Yeah, well, today’s like a training exercise, you know?”
Sam nodded solemnly, but kept his eyes on Spock. “Ith he gonna be here all day?”
“Probably until lunchtime or so. Why don’t you go on over and say hi?”
Sam’s response was to hide himself from Spock’s line of sight behind his father’s shoulder. “Sammy, come on,” George said, trying to coax the boy into the open, but he would not be budged.
“Do not worry, Commander,” Spock said. “There will be ample time for us to become acquainted with one another.” He looked over at Sam, who began to peek out from behind his father. “A distrust of strangers is prudent and necessary, young man. You have good instincts.”
“Well, who wants breakfast?” George fixed them all eggs and toast with butter and jam, and made a fresh pot of coffee. When they were done, he sent Sam up to his room to get dressed while Spock insisted on doing the washing up in an old-fashioned farm sink that had actual running water in it.
“Sorry about earlier,” George said. He was seated at the kitchen island with Jim in a small baby seat, dangling a set of large plastic beads before his face. “Ever since the Kelvin… well, Sam was staying with my folks out in Iowa, and when the ship was destroyed, there was no word about any of us, and the admiralty jumped the gun. They sent someone to inform the family, and now Sammy is really distrustful of strangers.”
“It is understandable,” Spock said, turning the water off and drying his hands on a towel.
“I’ve been talking about the fact we’ll have a nanny around for weeks now, to get him used to the idea, but it’s like he thinks if he pretends it’s not going to happen it just won’t.”
“He will come to accept it in time – how much time may be variable, however. Vulcans, luckily, are possessed of an innate patience when it comes to dealing with small children.”
“Well, here’s hoping some of that will rub off on me,” George said ruefully.
“From all appearances, you make a fine father.”
“I’m glad you think so, but you hardly know me yet. Winnie – my wife – she was the real nurturer in the family.” He glanced sadly at the wedding ring he still wore, then rose to take his cup to the dishwasher, leaving Spock and Jim to stare at each other.
“Do not rebuke yourself,” Spock told George when he returned. “I am a child of mixed parentage – with a Vulcan father and Human mother – and I have grown not only to acknowledge their contributions to my personality and sense of identity, but to appreciate them.”
“Did you ever have children?”
“I was married, but we never chose to be parents – we did not feel we had the time or space in our lives, and it is something I have come to regret.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be. My work as a childcare provider has been rewarding, and proves to be an adequate substitute, Commander.”
“Please call me George, Selek.”
“Very well. George – I spied a lovely park on my way over this morning – shall I take the boys out for a walk while you have the morning to yourself? I am sure there are many errands you have that will be made easier if undertaken alone.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice, Selek,” George said eagerly and headed for the stairs.
----
The trip to the park was uneventful, and though Sam was quiet and withdrawn at first, he became more accepting of Spock’s presence when presented with the opportunity to play on a swing. Spock had used a length of cloth he’d found in the Kirk house to fashion a sling for the baby and held him close to his torso. Jim seemed comfortable and remained quiet until mid-morning when he became restive. Due to Spock’s touch telepathy, he was able to intuit that the child was hungry, so he called a temporary halt to the morning’s activities and they decamped to a park bench where he fed Jim a bottle and gave Sam a snack of sliced apples. Afterwards, they made a slow circuit of the park, then returned to the Kirk home by noon.
He prepared lunch for Sam and another bottle for Jim, then sat down to feed the baby. When he was about half done with the bottle, an unmistakable rumbling in Jim’s bottom told Spock that attention must be paid to an urgent matter.
“Jim, I believe you have soiled yourself,” he informed the baby, who grinned up at him while formula streamed out of his mouth. Spock dabbed at his face and stood up.
“Sam, Jim has produced a bowel movement. I must take him upstairs to be changed. Will you be all right if I leave you alone here?”
Sam looked up at him, having jammed fully half his hotdog into his mouth, and gave him a muffled, “’m OK, Thelek!”
Spock stared at him for a beat, envisioning the boy choking on his lunch before Spock had even started this job properly. “Perhaps you had better come with me. Will you please masticate whatever food is in your mouth?”
“What’th mathticate?”
“Chew.”
Sam grinned, treating Spock to a view of the half-eaten hotdog; he suppressed a shudder.
Once upstairs, Sam played with a toy aircar while Spock took Jim to the changing table and unfastened his pants, then the one-piece t-shirt he wore as an undergarment. Undoing the baby’s diaper, he peeked inside and immediately covered him back up. “Captain, we have a Level 2 biohazard to contend with,” he remarked, amusing himself. He then took up some disposable wipes and cleaned Jim’s tiny bottom. He disposed of the soiled diaper and chose a fresh one, then searched around the workspace for the baby powder. Suddenly, Jim made a gurgling sound and Spock felt warm wetness on his wrist. Looking over, Spock saw an arc of yellow issue forth.
“Have you urinated on yourself and on me?” Spock asked him seriously.
“He doeth that all the time! Lookth like you’ve been chrithened, Thelek! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Sam rolled around on the floor, clutching at his belly comically.
“So I have.”
“I’m home!” came a voice from the front hall as George arrived.
Sam scampered out of the room and pounded down the stairs, shouting. “Daaaad! Jimmy peed on Thelek!”
Spock looked at Jim, who was making a game attempt at inserting his entire fist into his mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “When I vowed to stick by you in sickness and in health, this was not what I had in mind,” he murmured wryly. Jim grinned around his saliva-soaked fist.
Spock proceeded to remove the baby’s wet clothes and find him new ones, then left him in his crib while he went to the fresher to clean off his sleeve.
“So he got you, I hear,” George said to him, looking apprehensive.
“Collateral damage,” Spock replied, drying his hands.
“Next time, try laying a wipe or another diaper over him – I think the cold air has an encouraging effect.”
“That is sound advice.”
“Hey, thanks for sticking around today, Selek – I got a lot more done than I normally would have.”
“It was my pleasure, George. Young Sam was quite well-behaved, and Jim has a serene quality to him that makes caring for him quite easy.”
“So that means you’ll stay with us?”
“I was not aware there was a question.”
George looked relieved. “Not so much a question as my own insecurity – I thought for sure you’d back out when you experienced the reality of two young boys, and I like you. I mean, I feel like we could get along well, and it can’t hurt to have a Vulcan for a nanny – you guys are all so smart.” He smiled and his cheeks colored, reminding Spock of a much older James Kirk; he was relieved to feel nothing but nostalgia at the thought.
“What time shall I report for duty on Monday?” Spock asked, changing the subject.
----
Spock returned to his small apartment after spending the remainder of the afternoon walking in Golden Gate Park. It was warm for early May, and he found the play of the sunlight on the waters of the bay to be calming, even for a Vulcan. After consuming a plain dinner of broth and kreyla, he lit a stick of incense and settled in to meditate in front of the window.
Inserting himself into the lives of the Kirk family was not something he undertook lightly, and he was not without some misgivings over the entire thing. Indeed, his younger self would have been appalled at his several breaches of temporal ethics. He rationalized it by telling himself he was an old man now, and given to far too much sentimentality.
This was not “his Jim,” this much was easy to accept and to compartmentalize. The baby’s blue eyes made it even easier for him to separate his feelings for his husband from those he felt for this child. And he did feel for this child, surprisingly, despite having only just begun caring for him and his brother. Spock supposed that was natural, though he would allow that he had not expected it to happen so quickly – almost from the moment he first laid eyes on George Kirk and his sons some weeks ago, when he’d decided to go through with this plan of his. Until that point, he had thought to merely hover just beyond their periphery, to be sure there were no threats to them, to protect them if necessary.
He must protect them – they were his family.
His thoughts strayed then, unwanted, to the reasons for his present circumstances.
Stardate 2387.65
Spock watched with more hope than was prudent as the missile holding the payload of red matter shot into the star in supernova, watched its progress until the brightness of the star became too much. It didn't take him long to realize that the speed at which the star was expanding had been underestimated – the red matter would not be enough, and Romulus would perish.
The star’s light was too bright for him to see and he was forced to black all viewports to protect his vision. His instruments recorded it, though – the planet, which had barely been half evacuated, falling victim to the star’s inexorable expansion. Romulus shuddered. It shuddered under the stress of being drawn out of its gravitational orbit, all its atmosphere burning off with shocking swiftness as the star grew and, finally, the planet cracked in half and was consumed. Spock bore silent witness, tears falling down his cheeks, the regret of his failure burning cold within him.
A sensor on his instrument panel flared and he glanced at it. If he did not act again, the star would continue to expand, and though the red matter he’d shot into it would eventually speed the process of its death and make it collapse in on itself, it would not do it nearly quickly enough. It would threaten other worlds and other nearby systems.
Rising, he rushed to the vessel that held the remaining red matter and prepared another missile. As he loaded the red matter payload within its warhead, he heard the red alert sound throughout the Jellyfish, and stumbled as the ship took a hit from some unknown force. Keeping his focus on the job at hand, he armed the torpedo, loaded it into its channel, and sent it down to one of the bays.
Rushing back to the Jellyfish’s bridge, Spock addressed several issues at once. First, he checked his shield’s integrity – holding at 90%, though still taking hits from an unseen opponent. Next, he ensured the torpedo was loaded and ready to be fired. Finally, he glanced at his ship’s external sensors to see who or what was the source of the attack, switching their outputs to his viewscreen.
The ship beyond was massive, and Spock recognized it as one of the newer Romulan mining vessels, designed to extract ore and other resources from asteroids and moons that lacked a breathable atmosphere. Spock wondered what it was doing here – such an operation would be impractical from space for Romulus. Perhaps it had been called home to assist with the planetary evacuation. Whatever the reason, it was now attacking the Jellyfish.
Spock opened a hailing frequency and soon an image of a Romulan swam into view. “This is Ambassador Spock of Vulcan – I am here on a peaceful mission. Please explain the reasons for your attack on my ship.”
“I am Nero captain of the Narada, and I refute your claim of peaceful intent. What did you shoot into our sun?”
“It was meant to slow down the expansion of the star, but it has failed, much to my regret.”
“Regret? REGRET?!?” Nero shouted. “You made matters worse – the star consumed the planet after you intervened.”
Spock maintained as peaceful a calm as he could, despite the fact he was badly shaken by what he had witnessed, and by his own failure. “I understand that from a certain perspective – “
“Perspective nothing, Ambassador,” Nero replied coldly, “you’re responsible for the demise of Romulus and you will be held accountable.” He turned his head and gestured. “Lock phasers and fire on my command.”
Spock saw that reasoning with a man who’d just witnessed the destruction of his home world would be fruitless, and he frankly did not care. What he did care about was dealing with rapidly expanding star that needed to be taken care of before it led to a chain reaction in neighboring systems. With time running out – he and the Narada would be subject to the gravity of the star very soon – and with his torpedo already loaded with red matter and locked in, he fired it.
The Narada was well-defended for a mining vessel, with a full array of phasers that began to target Spock’s tiny ship with surprising precision. The Jellyfish, however, was far more maneuverable, and Spock easily avoided them, dropping beneath the larger ship and flying out through her trailing tentacles in a burst of near-warp speed that caught the Narada off guard. Before they could react, he was behind the ship and away. He laid in a course on a parallel trajectory from Narada’s and turned about, intent on recording what happened when the second torpedo hit the star.
The star began to collapse, as he’d thought – much to his distress, his original calculations had clearly been wrong and he’d not used enough red matter. He watched the star for many minutes, but was soon spotted by Narada, which approached at alarming speed. With the remnants of Romulus at his back and the Narada before him, Spock took a chance and shot off in the direction of the newly-forming black hole that now lay at the center of the Romulan system. An exploding photon torpedo just in front of him made Spock swerve to avoid it, slowing him down. Narada was in hot pursuit, as Spock’s instruments and computer told him very patiently. Spock adjusted course but it was too late – he was caught and was being pulled backwards into the black hole’s gravity.
Spock barely had the opportunity to process what was happening. The intense gravitational forces around the black hole would surely crush his ship before he even got close to it. He glanced at his screen and saw that the Narada, too, was falling to the same fate as he.
Spock blanked his mind, preparing himself for death. He thought briefly of Jim, and reached up to finger the locket he kept in a chain around his neck, the one that contained Jim’s last message to him within on a holographic recording. It was his hope that soon his katra might be joined with his spouse’s of the rest of eternity, though of course he had no assurance of that. The thought did offer him some comfort.
The Jellyfish’s lights began to flicker, the computer warning Spock of his imminent destruction in calm, unaffected tones. He switched it off of audio and fixed his eyes on the stars arrayed before him; if this was going to be his last moment, he thought it fitting it should be spent in sight of them.
The space around him lit up, and Spock could see great bolts of what appeared to be lightning arcing across the heavens and around him. The bolts flashed silently but constantly, some of them so intense they caused Spock’s vestigial eyelid to close itself protectively over his eyes.
Suddenly, the Jellyfish seemed to shudder to a stop, then just as suddenly flipped itself over. Spock sprang back into action, trying to right the ship as, with one more bolt of lightning, he felt the ship propelled forward again. A quick check of instruments told him the black hole was no longer as close as he thought it was. He looked around himself – these were not the same stars he had left. He switched the computer back to active mode.
“Computer, what is our location?” he asked
The coordinates the computer provided indicated the ship had somehow been transported to the other side of the galaxy, near the Klingon Neutral Zone, but well inside Federation space. A flash of something off on his starboard side caught Spock’s attention. He turned the Jellyfish and had a look, then magnified the viewscreen to investigate.
There, several hundreds of kilometers away, was the Narada. She, too, had come through what Spock now realized must have been a wormhole created by the nascent black hole – though how long she had been here he did not know. Long enough to now be squared off with a Starfleet vessel that appeared to be of a configuration that Spock had thought was long decommissioned in favor of ships with more efficient warp engines. It occurred to Spock that, given what he already knew about the weaponry the Narada was outfitted with, the Starship would not stand a chance.
Spock quickly laid in a course to intercept, opening his comm frequencies to monitor what was going on. What he overheard from the Starship – identified in its communications packets as the USS Kelvin – was that there was a warp core meltdown imminent and that its commanding officer had already ordered an evacuation of all personnel.
“The Kelvin?” Spock said aloud. “She was decommissioned in 2250. Computer, please ping the nearest Federation outpost and report the star date.”
“Working… The current stardate is 2233.4.”
Spock’s mind reeled – not only had the wormhole taken him and the Narada across the galaxy, it had sent him nearly 130 years into the past. Looking up, he saw the Kelvin’s crew begin to abandon the ship; first shuttles, then as they petered out, there were a number of escape pods that traveled in their wake. He realized that once the ship’s engines inevitably exploded, the survivors would be helpless before the Romulan vessel.
Spock quickly brought the Jellyfish about and sped towards the two ships, opening a hailing frequency.
“Spock, you bastard!” Nero said as soon as he came into view. “What have you done? Where the hell are we.”
“Nero, I believe the singularity that created the black hole also generated a wormhole in space-time. We were caught in its event horizon and have emerged near the Klingon Neutral Zone more than a century in the past. You must stop what you are doing or you risk altering the timeline from which we came.”
Nero looked to his second in command, who confirmed, “Sensors indicate he’s telling the truth, Captain.”
“You think I care about that? You think I care about anything but your destruction? I just saw my planet destroyed. Billions are dead, Spock, billions. I will never forget that pain, nor the man I hold responsible for causing it.”
“Captain Nero, the Federation ship has laid in a collision course,” the Romulan Second reported.
A quick check of his instruments confirmed that to Spock as well.
“Sir, if its warp core explodes this close to our position, we’ll be crippled –“
“Let them come, they cannot hope to destroy us.”
“Brace for impact!” the Romulan Second’s voice could be heard calling out to his crew.
Spock glanced at his display – the Kelvin was fifteen seconds from impact, fourteen. Suddenly, there was a flash of light from the starboard side as a lone, remaining escape pod was shot off into space.
Nine seconds. Seven. At three seconds from impact, the Kelvin’s warp engines were finally overtaxed, and the ship exploded within the long, trailing tentacles of the Narada, severing many of them. The explosion wracked the huge ship, and its shock waves propelled the straggling shuttles and escape pods from the Federation ship before it, scattering as if they were toys.
Spock longed to offer aid to them, but he was leery of affecting the timeline any more than the actions here today already had. Reluctantly, he turned the Jellyfish away, laying in a course and preparing to go to warp, to put as much space between him and the Narada as possible.
Before he could engage the engines, the channel to the Romulans sputtered back to life. There were red alert lights and smoke pouring from somewhere on the bridge, but still Captain Nero sat in his command chair, staring menacingly at Spock.
“Spock,” he said, his voice a rasp from the smoke on the bridge, “I swear I will hurt you for this. I will find you, and I will take you apart piece by piece.”
“I am not afraid of what you will do to me, Nero.”
“Aren’t you? Then what about everything you love? I will strip it all from you as you have done to me. Who do you love, Spock? Who would you protect? Who is vulnerable one hundred years in your past? Your planet? Your friends? Your family?” Spock flinched at his words, and Nero picked up on that. “Your family, that’s it. Well, I’ve got one hundred years to track them all down, Spock, maybe starting with that famous Captain bondmate of yours. Think of your life without him, Spock, then think of how your life will be without ever having met him.”
“You would not dare.” The concept was so abhorrent to Spock he could barely speak.
“Perhaps not. Is he even born yet? Perhaps his mother will meet an untimely end, who can say – the galaxy’s a dangerous place.”
An explosion cut off the communication, leaving Spock shaking and with his hands on the controls of the Jellyfish.
Spock emerged from his meditative trance feeling more unsteady than he had going into it. The experience with Nero was not one he was comfortable reliving, but it was natural that he should reflect on it given the events of the day. Being close to the Kirk family brought it all to the forefront of his mind.
After the incident with the Narada, Spock hid the Jellyfish away and had decided that he would remove himself to one of the outlying Federation colonies, when news of the Kelvin disaster broke through on the wider media. Spock, of course, would have had no reason to know that the heroic commander who’d sent the ship on its collision course with the Narada before escaping at the last second was George Kirk. Nor would he have known that Winona Kirk, seven months pregnant, was also on board the ship. The tragic story was almost all the media latched onto in those first days – young couple cut down in their prime, the only survivor the prematurely-born baby that was the product of their love. And when the news broke that George had survived, it turned into an even larger circus.
Spock did not believe in fate, but he did believe in consequences, and he believed himself to be responsible for the turn the Kirk family’s lives had taken. With Nero’s words still fresh in his memory as well, he’d been seized with an illogical need to protect the young family, and made his way instead to Earth.
He arrived perhaps a day after George had, and watched news coverage of the shell-shocked young father emerging from the shuttleport with his newborn son cradled protectively in his arms, a Starfleet blanket covering the baby’s face. It did not take him long to determine where in the city the Kirks lived, and soon Spock was a near-constant fixture in the background. If Nero was going to make a move, or send an assassin, Spock was going to be there to intercept. This plan was far from ideal, but until a better one presented itself, Spock would keep it up. And then one did, when he overheard George asking a young Andorian woman if she was a nanny, and how he might go about securing one.
From there, it was quite easy for Spock to proceed. The falsified background was simple enough to invent, or at least most of it was. Falsifying a Starfleet career and documenting it was slightly more challenging, but not impossible. Perhaps the most taxing thing had been securing the nanny certification. The program required a minimum of four months’ coursework – time Spock did not have – but he was able to talk them into allowing him to take the course online, owing to his Vulcan intellect. He finished in less than two weeks and scored a perfect score on the examination. He then hacked into the nanny agency’s database to ensure his would be among the names and CVs presented to George when the young man was ready to go back to work at Starfleet HQ.
He would pause to be appalled at the lies and manipulation he was apparently capable of, except that the urgency he felt to protect the Kirks helped him to justify his behavior. He’d meditate on it if he thought it would do him any good.
Stardate 2233.97
Spock arrived at the Kirk residence as agreed at 07:00 Monday morning to find all lights in the house were already on. Once inside, he found a chaotic tableau set in the kitchen. Sam was shrieking incomprehensibly into a bowl of oatmeal, his small face even ruddier than usual. Jim, disturbed by the noise, was whimpering against his father’s shoulder. George, already dressed for the office in his Starfleet dress uniform, tried to console the baby while reasoning with his other son that he needed to eat his breakfast.
“Nam'uh ralash-fam!” Spock said in a loud voice.
Three sets of blue eyes looked at him, shocked – though to be fair, the baby was already facing in his direction.
Spock straightened the front of his tunic and raised his chin. “May I be of assistance?”
“Thank God you’re here, Selek, this morning has been so crazy,” George answered breathlessly. “I can’t get Sammy to eat his breakfast, and my meeting with Captain Royles was moved up to 7:30 from 9:30, and if I don’t leave in the next ten minutes, I’ll be late and now I have to ask you to take Sam to school, is that OK?”
Spock blinked. “Affirmative.”
Relieved, George deposited Jim into Spock’s arms and walked past him towards the front room.
“George, you may want to reconsider this uniform,” Spock told him, turning.
George looked uneasy. “Why, does it not fit right? I didn’t think I lost that much weight..”
“The fit is adequate. I was referring to the stream of baby vomit cascading down your back.”
George groaned in frustration and ran up the stairs to change.
Spock next turned to Sam, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “Is that your breakfast?” he asked the child.
“Yeth.”
“Have you finished it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’th yucky.”
Spock looked at the bowl of now-congealed oatmeal with distaste. “I see. Was it ‘yucky’ when your father prepared it for you?”
“No.”
“What has changed?”
“It’th yucky.”
Spock stared at the boy uncomprehendingly. “Would rewarming it render it less ‘yucky.’?”
Sam stared back at him.
“That question should not pose quite such a quandary, Sam.”
Sam continued to stare.
“What if I prepared you cinnamon toast?”
“Ith it yucky?”
“I assure you it is anything but.” Cinnamon toast was a childhood favorite of Spock’s, and his mother would go to great lengths to import the spice from Earth.
Sam nodded, and Spock went about preparing it for him, after first setting Jim down in the baby seat on the kitchen island. By the time George came back downstairs, Sam was munching happily on the toast and Spock was distracting Jim with a colorful set of plastic circus animals that had been strung together arm-to-arm like a chain.
“So that’s what a peaceful family breakfast looks like,” George observed. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen with his hat under his arm, looking every inch the Starfleet officer.
“One of many more soon to come,” Spock replied.
“Daddy?” Sam said.
“Yeah champ?”
“You got to go?” Spock took note of the tears in the child’s eyes, and the way his chin quivered.
George knelt down in front of his son’s chair and ruffled his hair, and spoke in a quiet voice, “Sorry, kiddo, I do. But so do you, soon – to go to school. And before you know it, it’ll be the end of the day, and you’ll be home, and I’ll be home, and we’ll be right here.”
“How thoon?”
George removed the chrono he wore on his wrist, set something, then handed it to Sam. “See that timer there? I’ll be home before the time runs down to zero. You have my word. OK?”
Sam nodded wordlessly, staring at the thing he held in his sticky-buttery hands. George rose and kissed him on his head, then went and did the same to Jim. Looking up at Spock, he smiled in a lopsided way that reminded Spock so much of his own Jim he felt a pain in his stomach.
“Guess I’d better be going,” George said, backing out of the room through the door that led down to the garage and the aircar he kept there, looking like this separation from his family hurt him more than he would be willing to admit.
“Sam, what have you there?” Spock asked conversationally, having come to the table to clear away the breakfast dishes.
“My daddy’th chrono. It thayth when he’ll come home,” Sam said in a small voice.
“Ah. You must wear it, then, so that you do not lose it.” He reached out for the chrono and helped Sam fasten it to his small wrist. Even on the last fastener, it was too large, swinging around loosely, so Spock found a bit of twine in a kitchen drawer and made it more secure. “There, now you may look at it all day and know when you will see your father again.”
Sam’s smile was bright and proud and happy as he ran up the stairs to get dressed for school.
----
Spock returned to the Kirk house with Jim after dropping Sam off at school to find the kitchen looked like a whirlwind had hit it. “Was this how we left it?” he asked the baby in his arms, who merely stared up at him with wide blue eyes and grinned. “As evasive as ever, I see, Jim,” Spock said, then set about cleaning up.
Once he’d done that and set Jim down on the floor to play beneath a suitably stimulating mobile, he went to the computer terminal that was set into an antique desk in the living room. Turning it on, he bypassed the login that George had set up for him and inserted a data chip that installed a security subroutine of his own devising. It tapped into security vidfeeds in the surrounding neighborhood, and Spock had programmed it to alert him on his personal comm device if anyone who might pose a threat to the Kirks came close to the house, within a half mile radius. If Nero dared to send an assassin here, Spock would know of it, although since the local security systems could only scan for Vulcanoid lifeforms, he was sure he’d be hit with a number of false positives in a city with such an interplanetary population as San Francisco.
The next thing he did was to hack into George’s account on the terminal, being careful to backdate the logs so that it looked like the access had happened when George was at home. He’d set up a number of news and information feeds on his own PADD and the terminal in his home, scanning for any reference to alien ships or mysterious disappearances and attacks out in the galaxy, hoping to be forewarned of any movements by the Romulan ship. He hadn’t had much hope that anything concrete would come through, but with access now to the resources afforded a Lieutenant Commander with a Level 2 security clearance in Starfleet, he would be able to keep better track.
He should not have been surprised that George had already set such a query up. It was logical that the man who’d last commanded the Kelvin before it was destroyed, and who had lost his wife in the process, would be interested in news of the ship that was the culprit. Spock made a few tweaks to the search parameters to ensure a more accurate result and then ran them, sifting through intelligence reports and long range scans for clues of the whereabouts of Nero and his ship. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or frustrated by the fact that Nero had apparently disappeared without a trace.
Spock realized the room was now silent and, glancing over, saw that Jim was asleep, his tiny fists curled up around his head. Going to him, he lifted him gently and took him up the stairs to his crib. He stirred briefly, but then drifted back to sleep. Spock stared down at him, allowing the fingers of one hand to trail lightly upon the child’s belly. In his sleep, Jim’s face became animated, mouth sucking and eyebrows rising as if in astonishment. Spock felt a stab of fondness well up within him and turned away.
----
Crying babies were illogical.
Spock held Jim at arm’s length briefly, wondering what to do next. Thanks to his touch telepathy, he knew the baby was neither hungry nor wet. He was not in pain or any other kind of discomfort, yet he was crying.
“There is no logical reason for you to be crying, Jim,” Spock said reasonably to even louder cries.
When Spock held Jim closer against his body, one tiny fist grabbed hold of his robes. Spock slid one hand lower to support Jim’s bottom, which resulted in a lessening of Jim’s distress. Finally, Spock began to sway back and forth, and the rocking motion seemed to do the trick - Jim's cries lessened further to mere whimpers.
Somewhere from the depths of Spock’s brain, came a snippet of memory long forgotten – nothing more than an impulse, an impression. He heard his mother’s calm voice, singing to him as a child, the words almost a sense memory. He sang them out, his voice off-key and too deep for the song, but he was alone here and did not think the baby would mind.
“La, la, loo
La, la, loo
Oh my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you.”
The words were nonsense, but Jim quieted completely, rubbed his tear-stained little face into Spock’s neck, and was silent.
Spock resolved to find a better lullaby for future use, but this one would have to do for now.
----
Spock replaced the lid on the pot of potato leek soup he’d prepared for the Kirks’ dinner and glanced over at Sam in the living room. He’d left him watching a holo of a children’s program – he was allowed one hour of video entertainment per evening – but he lay on this stomach on the sofa, ignoring the program and staring at something cradled in his hands.
“Sam, do you not wish to watch your program?” Spock asked, walking through from the kitchen. As he got closer, he saw that the boy was staring at this father’s chrono. He’d taken it off of his wrist and was watching the time count down – if George’s estimation of his returning time was accurate, he had under fifteen minutes to arrive. “Your father will arrive on time, Sam,” Spock said gently.
“What – what if he doethn’t?” Sam asked in a small voice.
“If he is going to be late, he would call to explain,” Spock pointed out reasonably.
“But… what if he doethn’t, Thelek?”
Spock sighed, knowing this line of conversation would be getting him nowhere. Fortunately, at that moment, the sound of the door to the garage opening could be heard from beneath the house, signaling George’s return.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Sam cried happily, running through the door that led down to the basement garage with a loud clamor.
Moments later, father and son emerged, Sam sitting perched upon his father’s shoulders, chattering happily about his day at school.
“Good evening,” Spock greeted George, having returned to the kitchen.
“Hey, Selek,” George said with a tired smile. “How was your day?”
“Uneventful. I have prepared a pot of soup for your dinner – there is a green salad in the refrigerator. The children have been fed, and Jim has had his bath.”
“Really?” George said, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He reached up and disengaged from the child that had wrapped himself around his head, setting Sam down on the floor; Sam scampered into the living room.“You didn't have to make dinner.”
“It was no trouble.”
“Will you join us?”
“Thank you, no, my duties here are done.”
George smiled that lopsided Kirk smile and Spock took his leave.
Stardate 2233.123
Spock soon fell into a routine with the Kirk family, arriving quietly at 06:00 each day to prepare breakfast, then making his way to Jim’s room with a warm bottle as the baby rose for the day. Spock would dress him, then cross the hall to wake Sam, ensuring the child was up and out of the bed before returning to the kitchen – he only had to make that error once, as Sam was a heavy sleeper and not at all what George termed “a morning person.”
George would leave with Sam by 7:45 – he insisted on taking the boy to school when time and schedule permitted – and Spock would spend an hour playing with Jim, who now as ever was at his most charming when he was well-rested and well-fed. When Jim went down for his morning nap, Spock would spend the time looking for any clue that Nero was about in the galaxy, so far without results.
The weeks turned into months, marked by the usual developmental milestones. Jim’s first foray into eating semi-solid food was quite memorable.
“Jim, this is a sort of rice-based cereal, mixed with your typical formula to make it palatable. I believe you will find it more satisfying than the formula that typified your diet in your first five months of life.”
“Ba,” Jim replied. He then grinned and shoved his hand into his mouth.
“I will take that as your signal of readiness to begin.” Spock gathered a small amount of the rice cereal on the tip of the tiny, baby-sized spoon and held it out to Jim. “Will you not take it?” Spock asked.
Jim flailed his arms, knocking them against the spoon, spilling the food onto his highchair’s tray.
“I may have underestimated your ability to intuit this simple process, ashayam.”
“Gheeeee.”
Spock refilled the spoon and held it out again, this time right against the child’s lips.
“Muh-muh-muuhhhh,” Jim said, still not realizing the significance of the spoon that had been placed against his lips. Spock took the opportunity when the baby’s mouth was open, however, to push the spoon past his lips and toothless gums, depositing a small amount of cereal upon his tongue.
“Muh-MAPHHH!” Jim said, clearly affronted.
“My apologies,” Spock said, but watched the baby’s reaction more carefully.
Jim’s mouth moved and he eventually became aware that the material in his mouth had a taste and that it was one in which he was interested. The fact that he ought to swallow it came several moments later and nearly by accident. They repeated the process for as long as Jim would tolerate it, but Spock calculated an acceptable statistical probability that some of the cereal had made it into his stomach.
“We will count that as progress,” Spock said before cleaning off Jim’s face and giving him a bottle.
Stardate 2233.189
Spock carried Jim and his stroller up to the front porch of the Kirk house and was surprised to discover that the usual security protocols other than the door locks had been disengaged while they’d been gone. He left a sleeping Jim in his stroller in the front vestibule while he investigated, Vulcan senses on high alert. When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to find that it was because George was home.
He was even more surprised to see the man was slumped down in a chair at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand.
“You are home early,” Spock observed carefully. He walked back to the front of the house to retrieve the baby.
“I couldn’t stay there another goddamned minute,” was the reply as soon as Spock rejoined him, Jim still asleep in the stroller. George drained his glass and winced at the taste before adding, “I thought it was a better idea if I came home before I said or did anything insubordinate.”
Spock raised an eyebrow and George set the glass down on the table. “May I inquire what has angered you?”
George looked at him as if weighing what his next words would be. “Selek, you were in Starfleet, right?”
He seemed to be looking for an answer, one Spock was willing to give. “I worked in Sciences on an exploratory mission,” he answered – not a lie, but not the full truth either, even if his falsified personal history backed it up.
“Some of those missions… were of a sensitive nature?”
It was a question, Spock was sure, but it felt like a plea. “I was afforded Level 2 security whilst I served, if that is your question.”
George looked mildly impressed with his elderly nanny. “Oh, OK then. OK.” He clutched at his glass, raised it to his lips, but it was empty. He stared at it. Spock took it from him and filled it with water from the tap. George grimaced, though Spock thought it was supposed to be a smile. “How much do you know about the Kelvin?” George asked at last, staring at the table.
“Only what was reported in the news at the time. The ship was attacked by an unknown enemy, the Captain killed, leaving you in command. You set the ship on a collision course to cover the retreat of most of the crew before taking an escape pod yourself.”
George nodded, his face pale. When he looked up, Spock knew he wasn’t really seeing him. “What they didn't say was that there was only the one ship – one massive ship. They didn't say that their weapons were so advanced, they tore through our shields and hull like a hot knife through butter. What they didn't say was that they were Romulan.”
Spock raised an eyebrow, relieved that, as a Vulcan, that would be the extent of his expected reaction. “Romulan? Did they give a reason for their attack?”
“They were looking for someone – an Ambassador Spock, a Vulcan. You’re from Vulcan – have you ever heard of this man?”
“I have not.”
“Neither had we. When that became clear, when Nero didn't get what he was looking for, he killed the Captain, just like that.” George snapped his fingers. “It was brutal – horrible. We were a Science vessel, Selek, we weren't expecting combat. We had students on board – children. My wife.”
“You do not have to relate the rest of the story,” Spock said, but George went on.
“She was an astrophysicist, did you know? We were looking at this strange phenomenon – like a lightning storm, but in space. When the Romulan vessel attacked, the section she was working in took heavy fire. She made it out on a medevac shuttle, but she was hurt too bad. She… she begged the docs to save the baby, to save Jimmy, so they did. He was two months premature.
“I got out, but the comms on the escape pod were fried. I drifted in space five days before a passing Ferengi freighter found me. Took another two days before they could get me to a Starbase, before I got any news. She was dead a week before I even knew.” When George blinked, the tears in his eyes fell.
“And they told you you had a new son,” Spock said.
George smiled. “Yeah, that’s right. He saved my life, I think, because I had to see him, I had to make sure her son grew up, both her sons. I named him after her dad.”
They remained silent for several moments while George composed himself. He drank his water, took a deep breath, and continued. “They made me take compassionate leave when I got back – then gave me a desk job in Fleet Ops, which is when I hired you. And ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to get them to pay attention to what happened, to take it all seriously. We were attacked by a Romulan ship on the edge of Klingon space – what the hell does that even mean? And where’d they get that kind of weaponry? It’s unlike anything our intelligence has seen, and I know because I’ve got a buddy in the Intel service. But they’re ignoring me, all of ‘em. It’s like they believe their own PR or something.”
“Surely they are aware of the risks.”
“There are some who say it was a fluke, that the real target is the Klingons, that the Romulans are more interested in dilithium deposits on the home worlds than attacking the Federation. They say there’s intelligence about that too.”
“You do not believe them, then?”
“I don’t think we can afford not to!” George exclaimed, standing up. He looked self-conscious at his outburst, and both of them looked down at Jim, who still slept soundly in his stroller. “What’s all over his face?”
“Blackberries. I will bathe him later.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, I think they’ve got their heads in the sand, and it feels like I’m banging my own head on a wall trying to get them to listen. Lord knows what will happen if that ship attacks another starship, or hell, even a Starbase.”
“Or a planet?” Spock added thoughtfully.
“Exactly. The threat’s too great for us to sit around on our hands. We’ve got to do something.”
“What do you propose?”
The simple question left George speechless. “We have to do something – not just Starfleet, but the Federation. Shore up planetary defensive grids, study what little we know about the technology, improve our intelligence-gathering capabilities.”
Spock observed him silently, fingers steepled in front of his face. “Then you will fail.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Selek.”
“It is too large a response to what many have already written off as a one-off. They will never fund it.”
George wilted visibly. “I can’t just give this up.”
“I am not suggesting that you do. However, there is a time and a place for emotional pleas, as well as for diplomacy. Might I suggest you adopt the latter tactic?”
“How?”
“I know a thing or two. But you must be prepared – these things take time and patience. Will you be able to persevere, even if it takes years, George?”
“Besides the captain and my wife, there were 115 people who died on the Kelvin, Selek. I can’t let them down.”
They were interrupted by a very audible fart from the baby, who’d awakened and was grinning up at them both, blackberry seeds decorating his bottom teeth.
“But I guess first I’ve got a diaper to change, eh?” George went over to Jim and bundled him out of his stroller, heading for the stairs as he babbled nonsense to the child.
Spock watched him go thoughtfully before moving off to start dinner. He regretted that he could not share his knowledge about the nature of Nero’s appearance in this timeline, but of course to do so would be disastrous in so many ways. Spock had already breached temporal ethics too many ways – he wasn’t about to let anyone know about Nero’s (and his own) origins. On a more selfish note, though it was eminently illogical, he would not deny that he had played a part in causing Winona’s death, and he had no doubt that George would think that, if he knew the truth. Over the last months, Spock had grown quite fond of the man and his family, and he would regret causing George pain.
He also didn't think George would be very successful in convincing Starfleet to invest resources in upgrading planetary security – he’d spent too many years wrestling with that bureaucracy to think where would be a chance. But he did think that George seeking his advice would make his own inquiries into Nero’s whereabouts a bit easier.
Stardate 2234.3
Spock flicked on the sonic floor cleaner and felt its vibrations travel up his arm. They were the only indication that it functioned, as it did so completely soundlessly. He pushed it forward along the pitted tiles of the Kirk family’s kitchen floor, the low-level magnetic field it was propelled upon making the action almost effortless. Spock liked doing housework, liked the way it filled his days with quiet purpose. His bondmate might have said he’d found his Zen there once upon a time, and it made him smile.
Presently, the reason the floors needed to remain spotless entered the room.
“Sa-pah! Sa-pah!” Jim babbled excitedly, his way of pronouncing the name Selek thus far resisting all attempts at correction (and sounding too close to Spock’s actual name for comfort). He stopped crawling, rocking back on his knees and tilting his head up at Spock. He pointed at the windows and stared at Spock intently, drool making his chin shine nearly as brightly as his blue eyes.
Spock glanced over and saw that a cardinal had alighted on the birdfeeder that hung from a hook under the eaves, and was calmly pecking away at the rich seed it found there. Spock switched off the floor cleaner and bent to pick Jim up, carrying him slowly over to the window seat beneath the window. It was a bright sunny day outside, and so Spock was certain that the bird could not see inside the house; nevertheless, he approached slowly. Jim wriggled excitedly in Spock’s arms as they got closer, his bare feet beating a slight tattoo on Spock’s hip. Spock allowed the joy rolling off of him to fill his mind momentarily before he raised his shields, more out of habit than anything else.
“Do you see the cardinal, Jim? Cardinalis cardinalis - can you say that? Can you say cardinal?”
“Bok-bok,” Jim replied in an awed tone, his generic word for bird. He strained more against Spock’s hold on him, arms outstretched as if he could float up to meet the tiny creature. As if on cue, the cardinal chirped, exciting Jim even more. Spock brought his other arm up to control Jim, but got as close to the window as possible so he could still see. A moment later, the bird flew away, and Jim waved. “Bye-bye. Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye,” Spock echoed and waved himself. Suddenly, Jim turned to him and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his nose.
“Was that entirely called-for?” he asked Jim, taking note of the string of saliva currently joining Jim’s mouth with his own nose.
Jim nodded, surprising Spock enough to cause him to bark out a single laugh. “Do you know how much happiness you bring me, my boy?” he asked as he turned his face to the side to wipe his wet nose on the shoulder of his robes.
Jim nodded his head yes; it was a game the entire family played with Jim – asking complicated questions which he answered in the positive or negative. Spock assumed Jim did it because he enjoyed the reactions he got from them, but he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.
Spock kissed Jim on the forehead then bent over once more, setting him back down on the floor. Jim sat back on his knees and looked up at him, then crawled over to the window seat, where he pulled himself to a standing position, his hands bracing himself on the seat.
“Sa-pah!” he said, holding one arm out and keeping the other one on the seat for balance.
“I will not pick you up again, I have work to do,” Spock informed him. Jim made a whine of protest, but Spock shook his head. “We have your birthday party to get ready for tomorrow, Jim, and that can’t happen until the floors are seen to. If you will excuse me?” Spock turned around and went back to the floor cleaner.
“Sa-pah. Sa. Pah. Saaa. Paaaahh!”
Spock could hear Jim muttering to him from behind him, his voice low, almost grunting, and not unlike the sounds he made as he produced a bowel movement. Expecting he would soon be in need of a diaper change, Spock glanced back at him…
To find Jim standing in the middle of the floor on wobbly legs, a look of utter determination on his face as he made his unsteady way over to Spock. Surprised, Spock whirled around to watch. Jim took one more uncertain step – one made no less difficult by the fact the baby was walking on the outer edges of his bare feet – and then swayed as if he might fall. Spock stepped forward to swoop him up, lifting him over his head before hugging him close. “Jim, you have just taken your first steps,” Spock said.
Jim giggled and squirmed to get down.
“Yes, it is a momentous occasion. However, I advise we do not inform your father, for it will disappoint him to learn he was not present to witness this. We will therefore orchestrate a minor deception so that your father might think he is witnessing this development milestone himself. No one but we two were here to witness this – do I have your agreement?”
“Sa paaaahhh!”
“Indeed.”
----
Spock spent the remainder of the day preparing the house for the birthday celebration before leaving with Jim to pick Sam up from school. He spared a moment to reflect on how strange it was to be celebrating this day in January and not March, but he did not feel a stab of sadness due to such thoughts. Since he’d started in his position as caregiver to the Kirk children, he had had little difficulty separating the people he once knew – and were forever gone to him – from the ones he now interacted with daily. How ironic that the reason he had come here – to protect those he considered to be family and to whom he owed protection – had become the reason he could never leave. He loved them more than he thought possible, and would lay down his life to safeguard them, of that he was certain.
He was supervising Sam’s frosting of the birthday cake that the family would enjoy after dinner tonight – there would be a bakery-bought one for the guests the next day – when a small sound behind Spock got his attention.
“Sa-pah, Sa-pah, Sa-pah!”
“Hey, Jimmy! You’re walkin’! Thelek, Jimmy’th walkin’!” Sam exclaimed. He discarded the offset spatula he’d been using to spread the chocolate frosting on the cake – though he’d managed to get nearly as much on himself as on the cake – and hopped down from his stool to dance excitedly around the kitchen. “He’th walkin’! He’th walkin’!”
Delighted with the attention, Jim clapped his hands together and promptly fell to the floor on his bottom, a joyful expression on his face.
Spock sighed – so much for his intention to keep Jim’s first steps under wraps until George could come home. “Sam, might I have a word?” Spock called.
Sam returned to the kitchen island and climbed back onto his stool. He looked up at Spock attentively, a ring of chocolate frosting adorning his mouth. Spock wordlessly wiped his face with a kitchen towel before speaking.,“Sam, tell me what you have witnessed here today.”
“Jimmy’th walkin’.”
“He is not.”
“He’th not?” Of course the boy looked confused, and Spock did not blame him.
“Allow me to explain: the taking of first steps is a momentous occasion, one that families often commemorate by taking holos. It is an important occasion. I would like to arrange it so that your father is a witness to it.”
“But he’th not, Thelek, he’th thtill at work.”
“Yes, but you see, if we do not tell him what we have seen, later when Jim takes another step, he will be convinced that it is his first.”
“But that’th lyin’, Thelek, and that’th wrong, you thaid.”
“I know what I said,” Spock replied, recalling the lectures on the subject he’d impressed upon young Sam on numerous occasions. “However, this is a small lie, what is known as a ‘white lie.’”
“Wordth can’t have colorth, Thelek.”
“I suppose they cannot, you are right. What I am referring to is the use of a falsehood to, as in this case, allow another person to feel good about something. It is not unlike your own belief in the fairy tale figure known as Santa Claus.”
“Wait, what?”
“That is unimportant. What is important at the moment is that your father believes he is seeing Jim’s first steps, do you understand?”
Sam regarded Spock solemnly for a long moment. “I do. But Thelek?”
“Yes?”
“He’th doin’ it again.”
Sam pointed across the room where Jim was once more on his feet, making his unsteady way across the floor towards the dining room.
That evening, Spock stood in the Kirk family kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. He had long since agreed to George’s wish that he take his evening meal with them, and the family had accepted the preponderance of vegetarian dishes he prepared as well. Sam, in particular, had a very adventurous palate, and surprisingly ate even the spiciest dishes, making Spock proud.
Spock had accumulated an array of Jim’s favorite toys on the kitchen island and, when George wasn’t looking, would waggle them where Jim would see, or “accidentally” jostle them so that they’d crinkle or squeak or make whatever noises they were designed to. Alas, it was in vain – at one point, Jim crawled over to Spock and began to pull on the hem of his robes, pointing at the toy he wanted. Spock motioned his hands at him, trying to encourage him to stand on his own, but George, happening by, lifted his younger son up so that he could snatch the toy up for himself.
Spock sighed.
After dinner, Spock sat at the kitchen table with Sam as he practiced writing short words with a stylus on a battered old PADD. George sat at the other end of the table reading. A movement in his peripheral vision got Spock’s attention – Jim was standing in the doorway to the dining room, one hand clutching at the jamb. He did not appear to have noticed that he was the subject of Spock’s scrutiny. After a moment of standing – still balancing his weight illogically on the outer edges of his feet – he removed his steadying hand from the door and stood, unsupported, on his own two feet. Spock held his breath watching; Jim had the pink tip of his tongue sticking out in his concentration. He took a step, wavered, steadied. His center of gravity shifted and he ventured forward with another foot, swinging it forward slowly and with determination. He was wobbly – Spock didn't think he could sustain it, really – but soon he took another step, and another.
Finally Spock thought he could speak up. “Will you look at that – Jim is taking his first steps, George.”
George glanced over at Jim and smiled. “Cool, huh? He did it for the first time yesterday morning, as I was trying to get him dressed before you got here. Didn’t I tell you?”
Spock straightened his back in his seat. “No. You did not,” he said slowly.
George shrugged. “I meant to.”
“It is a momentous occasion for a parent, is it not?”
George looked at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you, Selek. And I’m sorry you missed it.” He turned in his seat, plucked Jim from the floor, and settled him in his lap. “But now you’ve seen his second steps – that’s just as important!”
Spock relaxed, somewhat mollified. He had no call to be disappointed, none at all.
----
After dinner and pre-birthday cake – more of which wound up on Jim’s face than in his stomach – Spock emerged from Sam’s room, where he’d just put the boy to sleep after reading him two stories. Sam favored stories that anthropomorphized aircars and other types of vehicles, a preference Spock found most illogical, but if they engaged the child’s imagination, then so be it.
He crossed the hallway to look in on Jim before leaving for the night and found George standing over his crib. His face was illuminated from below by the dim light of the glowing star chart that was being projected onto the ceiling from the nearby dresser. As Spock drew closer, he saw that Jim lay on his back, the well-chewed ear of his favorite stuffed sehlat still in his mouth.
“Has he defeated Mr. Tufty, then?” Spock asked, allowing the fondness he felt for the child to creep into his voice.
George sniffled, and at once Spock sensed the sorrow coming from him.
“You are experiencing emotional distress.”
“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Get all morbid when this day came.”
Spock understood immediately. “It is one year since your wife’s death.”
“Yeah, but it’s also Jimmy’s birthday. He – this should be a special and happy day for him.”
“It is a day of great importance, regardless. It is not wrong to remember those we have lost. It is how we do it that matters, George.”
“Still, it’s not fair that he’s always reminded that the day he was born was the day his mother died.”
“Then do not dwell upon her death. You must honor her life.”
More tears welled up in George’s eyes and he nodded his head. “I know, it’s just a little… hard. So soon after…” he turned away as he attempted to compose himself.
Spock shored up his shields before reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I grieve with thee,” he said simply, keeping his hand where it was until George had composed himself.
“Thanks, Selek,” George said, wiping his eyes on his shirt cuffs as he turned around. “Does it ever get better?”
“Easier.”
“How long has it been for you?”
“Many decades.” Spock glanced at the baby as he spoke. “But I am reminded daily of him, and it has been a long time since that has caused me pain.”
“So long? I thought Vulcans lived a lot longer?”
Spock paused before answering, weighing how much truth to tell – he’d been successful at stepping around this topic until this moment. “My bondmate was human.”
“Really?” George cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That explains a lot actually.”
“Oh?”
“Well, you’re a lot more patient with us than any other Vulcan I ever met would be, and you show your emotions. Clearly you’ve been around a lot of humans.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I remind you I was in Starfleet for many years.”
“Yeah, but one of us has clearly rubbed off on you.” George took a deep breath and walked from the room. Spock lingered behind to make sure Jim was properly covered up and then left, pulling the door shut behind him. When he arrived in the kitchen, George was clearing out the dishwasher.
“It’s late Selek – why don’t you take the aircar home tonight – you’ll be back before I need it in the morning.”
“I thank you, but no. I have consumed chocolate this evening. I will walk as I customarily do.”
“Chocolate, really? So it’s true what they say about Vulcans?”
“I presume you refer to reports that chocolate causes inebriation in Vulcans and not one of a host of other assumptions about my race.”
Spock’s PADD made a familiar, chiming noise, one it had not made in quite some time. Suddenly alert, he crossed the room to where it sat in a recharging cradle as George replied, “Naturally.”
“Then yes, it is true. Like any indulgence, it is best enjoyed in in moderation, but it has been quite some time and I am what you might term a ‘lightweight.’”
George laughed then, a happy sound after the upset of a few minutes ago. “Then stay in the guest room – it’ll be empty until my folks get here in the morning.”
“At any rate, I must be going – I believe that 40 Eridani A will be visible after midnight, and I am keen to view it with my telescope at home.”
George smiled. “Of course – you’ll want to see your home star. I’ll see you in the morning, then?”
“You can count on it.”
Spock left soon afterwards, convinced George didn't really believe his assertions that he was going to be stargazing, but with little other alternative. The alarm was probably nothing, but he would leave nothing to chance when it came to this family.
He didn't have to travel far before finding the person who had set off his alert – there was a man dressed in the traditional hooded garb found at Gol standing at the corner mere blocks away. He was clearly Vulcan, and Spock would have thought him a visitor in the neighborhood but for two things: it was after 11:00 pm in a traditionally quiet, residential neighborhood, and the Vulcan was staring directly at Spock from the moment he left the Kirk house.
Spock stopped on the corner, across the street and regarded the Vulcan quietly. He felt a light brush against his consciousness suddenly and frowned. If the man was truly a Kolinahr adept, Spock would have felt nothing. Unless he was meant to.
Spock walked across the street and stood before the man. “A fine evening,” he commented.
“Surely a man of your age is beyond the use of banalities as a form of conversation,” the man said.
“And a man of your apparent stature is beyond using insults by way of introduction,” Spock countered.
“You are of the house of Surak.”
Spock made no reaction – the man could tell as much when his brain had touched Spock’s. “You are a V’Shar operative,” Spock said instead. It was a guess, but an involuntary twitch in the small muscles around the man’s left eye told him he was correct. Spock had not ever heard that the Vulcan intelligence services had employed Kolinahr mind adepts, but then again, he’d never had occasion to find it out directly.
A brief inclination of the head was all the response Spock would get. He moved closer and realized he knew this man, nearly said his name aloud. Sakkhet, his father’s third cousin, who Spock had met on more than one occasion. Much later in life, he would be appointed head of the V’Shar.
He must have betrayed some small reaction, because Sakkhet’s eyes narrowed. “We share a family bond. Yet I do not know you.”
Spock knew better than to try to lie to this man, who would read it off of him nonetheless. “We are skann, we are just not acquainted yet.”
“You are not of his timeline,” Sakkhet guessed after a moment’s thought.
“Indeed.”
“Your presence here would alter events.”
“My presence here already has.”
“You must not remain here. The Bureau of Temporal Ethics strictly prohibits it.”
“I stay to prevent larger harm to the timeline, which I am certain the Bureau would object to, believe me. I stay here to provide needed protection, and that is all I will say.”
Sakkhet regarded him expressionlessly for a moment. “That is insufficient to convince me.”
“And speaking to you here on the street is not very comfortable, either. My own domicile is not far, I you will accompany me.” Seeing the other man made no objection, Spock turned and led the way to his tiny apartment.
Once there, Spock stood inside the doorway and indicated the small couch in the sitting room, “You have traveled far. Will you take your ease?” The words were rote, uttered whenever Vulcans entertained, and Spock took no comfort from them. He moved into the tiny kitchenette and prepared a pot of tea.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” Sakkhet said as he accepted a small cup. Bowing his head to Spock in thanks, he inhaled the aroma of the brew but did not drink.
Spock indicated he could set it on the coffee table and sat himself down on the edge of a nearby chair. He had not brought a cup for himself. Without preamble – for they did not really need it any longer – Spock shared with Sakkhet those portions of this story that were relevant to his presence here: that he and Nero were swept through the wormhole at the same time, that the Romulan was bent on revenge, and that the target of that revenge was a part of the Kirk family.
“You believe this Romulan poses a threat to the Federation?”
“His actions against the Kelvin are proof of it. He is maddened by his need for vengeance.”
“You believe he would risk coming here.”
“His is a very personal vendetta. At any rate, I could not return to Vulcan, where my true origin would have been discovered. You have easily proven this. I could not risk polluting the timeline further.”
“Yet you came here.”
“I merely explain my actions, I will not defend them to you.”
“Your access to information is limited.”
“I must be satisfied with what I can glean from Commander Kirk.”
“Your placement within the family of a high-ranking Starfleet officer, however, can be of use to the interests of Vulcan.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I would not have expected you to be quite so mercenary, Sakkhet.”
“You do not know me.”
Spock was inclined to agree. He sighed inwardly, resigned to whatever role he must play. “I will do whatever is needed, but on one condition. You must share everything you learn, everything you know about Nero’s movements in this quadrant, even if they are unsubstantiated reports. I would know what you know.”
“I am certain arrangements can be made,” Sakkhet said, finally reaching for his tea.