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“Will you look at that?”
Leonard sat back on his heels and placed the cardboard box gingerly on the ground. It was coated in a fine layer of dust, just like all the other boxes scattered around the room. Some were half open, their contents turned over and examined. A few boxes remained tightly shut, the faded labels on the side detailing contents that Leonard wasn’t ready to see. Those boxes had remained shut for over 30 years, and if he had his way they would never be opened.
But this box was different. He leaned over and blew off the dust before opening the box. “I can’t believe she kept all of these…”
“Leonard?”
He looked up. Spock stood in the doorway with two steaming mugs in his hands. Spock had left Leonard alone most of the day, just letting him sort through all his mother’s old things, only calling him down for supper. Now he stood uncertainly just outside the room.
“I have brought coffee.”
Leonard smiled. “Thank you, darlin’. You can come in, you know.”
Spock did, padding over to him and kneeling on the rug beside him. It was an old rug, handmade by Leonard’s great, great, great grandmother. It was nice not to have to kneel directly on the hardwood with his knees the way they were.
“I see you have made progress,” Spock said as he scanned the room.
Leonard accepted one of the cups of coffee from him and took a long drink before responding. “I’ve made a little headway. But for the most part I’m just taking things out and scattering them around. I look at one thing and before I can decide what to do with it I’m distracted by something else.”
Spock nodded. “There is much to look at.”
“Mm.” He shifted to sit cross legged, cupping the mug in his hands to warm them. “I don’t think I’m going to be getting through everything tonight. Or even this week.”
“Understandable. Perhaps a break?”
Leonard glanced at the chronometer. Although it was well-past dark it was still early evening. Nights got dark fast this late in the winter. But Spock was right; his brain was fried from going through all his mother’s old things. Plus, it meant he’d been neglecting his partner.
“You poor old thing,” Leonard said. He leaned against Spock and Spock wrapped one arm around him. “I’ve been leaving you to your own devices all day. Who knows what kind of trouble you got up to?”
“I suffered through many harrowing adventures.”
He laughed. He kissed Spock’s cheek and then pulled away to rifle through the box he’d just been examining. “If we’re going to take a break, why don’t we do one of these?”
He lifted up another box with a Claude Monet painting on the cover. It was a puzzle proudly declaring itself to be 1,000 pieces.
“A puzzle?”
“I used to do them all the time as a kid.” He ran his hand over the cover, thinking back, way back, to how he had sat hunched over the kitchen table across from his mother, the both of them sorting through pieces together. “It took us days, sometimes. I suppose a puzzle like this is pretty easy for a Vulcan.”
“I have never attempted an Earth-style puzzle of this kind. I would be delighted to assist you.”
Leonard smiled. He rose, his knees creaking, and picked up his coffee and the puzzle. “Let’s get to it, then. These puzzles aren’t going to solve themselves.”
Spock had set up a little workspace on the kitchen table which he dutifully cleared away to make room for the puzzle. Leonard dumped it out haphazardly and began to sort through the pieces.
“I always went from the outside in,” he said, locating a few pieces with straight edges. “It was easier for me that way. And if you can find the corner piece--aha!” He held one up. “These are more valuable than dilithium. Treasure them.”
Spock nodded seriously. He sat beside Leonard and began to sort pieces as well. Spock pushed the edge pieces his way, and the rest he seemed to be sorting by color.
The first few pieces clicked together easily. They filled out two of the corners and started building up the right-hand side. After that, though, the going got tough; much of the image was of the same color with only slight variations from Monet’s brush strokes. Leonard would have left it for last, but Spock was transfixed by the muted yellow-brown. He carefully compared each piece to the other, holding them near what they had already completed and then pulling them away again.
“Mr. Spock, you’re a natural.”
Spock was intent on his task and didn’t look up. “I am attempting to approach the matter through logical means. Sorting the pieces by color should allow us to easily access pieces which fit near each other in the completed puzzle. Then, it is merely a matter of finding likely pieces to fill the gaps. Although, I must admit I am impressed by the manufacturer’s ability to create such similarly shaped pieces that nevertheless do not fit together.”
“It’s a skill.” Leonard found one of the pieces and clicked it into place. They were building a little peninsula of puzzle pieces.
“Tell me: is this act intended to induce frustration?”
Leonard laughed. “Intended? I don’t know about that. But it often does. I was driven to tears more than once as a kid. And a teenager. And an adult.” He smiled at the memory.
“That does not sound enjoyable.”
“It’s like life, Spock. It has its ups and downs. But unlike life, you always know exactly how well you’re doing, and how close you are to being done.”
They worked in silence for a while, connecting pieces. It took nearly an hour to solve the riddle of the right-hand side, and then they got into more interesting territory. Yellow and pale orange pieces clicked together, and Leonard admired Monet’s ability to render reflection in such a bold medium.
“Leonard, I do not mean to alarm you, but I believe we are missing several pieces.”
“That happens. They’re so small they get lost. Hell, some of them are probably still floating around the house somewhere.”
“One of them may be the corner piece.” Spock tapped the lower left-hand corner. “I have not found a piece which fits here.”
Leonard whistled. “That’s a shame. It won’t be complete without it, but maybe it’ll still look nice.”
He’d been right about Spock’s speed. As they wound down, Spock began to click pieces together faster and faster, until all Leonard had to do was sit back and enjoy the show. Spock was completely into it now, utterly focused and intent. He hardly seemed to notice that Leonard was no longer assisting him. Leonard folded his hands together over his stomach and smiled as his partner set the last piece firmly in place.
Spock sat back and surveyed their work critically. “Four pieces are missing. Including the corner. I am sorry, Leonard.” He looked beseechingly at him.
Leonard laughed. “It doesn’t matter, darlin’. I just liked putting it together with you. Shall we admire our handiwork?”
They both leaned over, examining the semi-completed rendition of Monet’s Jar of Peaches. It was a nice, simple painting, Leonard thought. He wondered if Monet had snacked on those peaches after he finished painting them.
“An interesting method of observing fine art,” Spock said.
“Not every day you get to touch the paintings. Even if it is just little cardboard cutouts of it.”
Spock turned to him and offered him a finger kiss, which Leonard happily accepted. “Thank you, Leonard. For introducing me to something new.”
Leonard curled his fingers a bit tighter. “Not exactly new. I think I did this exact puzzle with my mom, oh, sixty years ago now? I think it was fall then, though. I remember I was so excited about the peaches that she cut up a bowl for me. Fresh off the tree.” He was starting to get a little heavy-lidded. He yawned, and had to pull his hand away as his yawn turned into a stretch.
“Perhaps we should retire?”
“Mm, sounds nice.” He gave Spock a kiss on the cheek, and then another, more lingering one on the lips. “You’re precious to me, darlin’.”
“As precious as a corner piece?”
He laughed. “A helluva lot more precious than that, and you know it. Now come on.” He stood and offered Spock his hand. “The bed is cold and I need my Vulcan space heater to warm me.”
Spock rose gracefully and slotted their hands together. They left the puzzle laid out on the table as they walked away, a work of art that wold span generations. Even if, occasionally, a piece or two went missing.