Title: Touching and Touched

Author: Farfalla

Website: http://cosmicduckling.com/spirk

Pairing: Kirk/Spock

Rating: [G]

Beta: Hypatia Kosh

Archive: SBS#10, the All-Ages Kirk/Spock Archive, ASCEM, and nice people who ask first

Disclaimer: Trek isn't mine; no profits for me save for my smiles and your feedback :-) Thank you, Janet, for the idea.

Summary: Spock is trying to put himself together after the fal-tor-pan. Putting the Admiral back together might help.


TOUCHING AND TOUCHED
by Farfalla

A face but two days old looked out at the Vulcan desert through fifty-six year old eyes, relearning every nuance of the golden folds of sand that blanketed his homeworld. They called him Spock, but even his name felt alien; new; not broken-in. He felt like a vessel that didn't know how big it was--only that it wasn't full. Or even close to full. But without knowledge of the depths of the emptiness, he had no alternative but to simply learn, and watch, and absorb. Luckily, he had the soul of a scientist, so that it was almost enjoyable to relearn his entire life and slowly unlock his own memories.

It was late afternoon of the day that had dawned with Spock's rebirth, and the priestesses were letting him rest for a few hours. They needed the break too; it had been ten hours since he'd arisen from the byre on Mt. Seleya and wandered wide-eyed over to that man with the shining eyes. They'd patiently led him away and started his instruction right after that, and hadn't let up for more than five minutes until now.

Sarek had walked in and out of the room during the lessons, studying his son's progress with his perpetually impassive gaze. Those eyes were familiar too. For some reason, Spock found those memories easiest to access, those of the eyes of those most important to him. That scared him a little, because of how strongly his image was of the shining hazel ones--big, resolute, kind, commanding respect. Jim's eyes.

"Who is that man who rescued me?" he had asked the priestesses, hoping to discover more about what he could not remember.

"He is Admiral Kirk of Starfleet, your former commanding officer," they told him quietly, and he accepted this. But he could tell, from their faces but also from inside himself, that there was more to unlock. They were temple crones, old Vulcan matrons of nearly two hundred years, and absolute bastions of tradition. A friendship in human terms was probably something of which they did not approve, or possibly even understand. He didn't even understand it himself, so he decided not to act on it until he felt more sure of himself. If the Vulcan matrons thought it best that he treated all his former comrades with the utmost formality and ceremony, then he would do so because he had not yet remembered any other way.

He paced the sands outside his father's house and entered through the back porch. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust from the blazing sunset to the dimly lit interior. He was alone in the room, save for the sleeping figure on the dark blue sofa.

It was the Admiral. Spock's breath caught in his throat before his Vulcan reflexes woke up and quelled the flutters.

He walked to his side and kneeled. There on the floor, at his side, he studied the relaxed features on the alien face. Hair golden-brown, eyebrows bushy and slightly mussed from activity, cheeks a little puffed. Skin shining but lined, and bruised from whatever had happened back there on what Sarek called the Genesis Planet. His forehead was cut into a wide, ugly gash that had healed into a brush of subdued red; a calmed wound on a calmed, resting soldier. His lips were slightly open, and sometimes came together unconsciously in his sleep.

His body, lying stomach-down with his face turned to one side, took the tenuously unfolded shape of one aching and sore from the fistfight of his life. Spock pushed away the fleeting thought that he had been the cause of the Admiral's pain. The Vulcans had no way of explaining what Kirk had done, but they'd impressed upon Spock how improper it was to display emotion, and shame was an emotion.

But still, he could sense that he needed to alleviate the Admiral's pain, not only for Kirk, but for himself. If he'd been asked, he'd have pointed out that it was only logical to attempt therapeutic treatment on the man who had lost so much on his account.

Shifting position on the floor, Spock placed both his hands gently on the Admiral's back slightly above his shoulder blades and began to move his fingers in nervous, kneading circles. Kirk sighed in his sleep--a sad, sweet, and exhausted little noise. Encouraged, Spock widened the circles, and pressed harder into the sore flesh. His scientifically precise knowledge of anatomy was beginning to awaken, and he used what he remembered about the human musculatory system to efficiently provide the most soothing massage possible.

And forgotten instinct of what Jim liked best...

The thought scared him, because he did not understand it. But he didn't remove his hands from Kirk's body. He did know that the contact was comforting to both of them.

His fingers methodically traced every contour of skin, almost as if searching there for tangible answers. He knew they'd come to him eventually, and hoped that they involved this special person.

But for now, many more concrete concepts waited to be absorbed by his thirsty mind. He left the sleeper and returned to the priestesses without eating or drinking anything. It would be days before he did either without being reminded by his mother.

Sometime late in the evening, Admiral James T. Kirk woozily swung himself off of Amanda's blue sofa and put his feet on the floor. Before he stood up, he tentatively stretched, waiting to feel the soreness and pain he'd gone to sleep with after the fal-tor-pan. He was amazed to discover that most of the pain was gone.

As he stood, he realized he had dreamt of a warmth he'd once thought he had lost forever. An embrace of the heart, two minds wrapping slowly together in counterpoint. He'd had dreams like this before, but they had been emptier than this, somehow. He half-wondered if this had been real, and for one stabbing moment wished beyond all reason that it had.

But, as Sarek had said, only time would tell if Spock would return to his Admiral's arms.


end