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Author: Jane (jat_sapphire)
 

Contact:  jat_sapphire@yahoo.com
 

Part: 1/1
 

Rating: PG 
 

Codes: K
 

Summary:  Kirk is scuba diving near Hawaii.  Set after STVI:TUC sometime. Response to Istannor's "The boys lead lonely lives" challenge.
 

Archive: Yes
 

Feedback:  Any - good, bad indifferent. 
 

Disclaimer:  Kirk would climb Paramount if it was risky enough, but for him it's not:  they own him.  Scuba diving, they don't own, and I don't either.  No money is being made here.
 

Notes:  T'Aaneli and Islaofhope betaed this and didn't say, "Work on your other story, jat!"  (In fact, they said, "Hmm, that *was* an interesting challenge."  But oh, Istannor, how do you do this?  I was *not* going to write out of my canon for a while.
 
 

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There's no good reason why I should think of you when I'm diving, while my hair waves around me (longer than usual, I'm on vacation) and my breathing is the loudest noise in my ears, and the waterlight, the most distinctly Earth thing I know, is above me.

I'm sure you've never gone scuba diving.  I can remember seeing you wet all over only -- maybe twice?  Three times?  The last was when we brought the whales home.

So maybe that's what reminded me?  It's the same ocean, just the other side of it.

I wonder where George and Gracie are.

The Pacific's a big place, and I bet they don't really want to see me again anyway.  It must be lonely, being the only couple of whales in the world.  Though by now they're not. 

We brought the whales home, and then there was the Klingon thing, and then you just -- went away.  Went home.

And I went on talking to you in my head. 

If you never did dive (and, JT, gotta remember he had a few moments not under my supervision, a whole goddamn life I was not part of) but if you never did, my desert-born friend, I'm sorry, because you'd love this coral, these fish, this light.

This light.  So wet, green/blue/moving/still.

Oh -- there's a shark.  My heart is beeating faster even though I know he'll just go about his business.  I think he will.  These days, the wonders of Federation science have finally managed to create a wetsuit that doesn't say "seal."  "Free lunch here."

I am, of course, if he disregards the suit design, and to be honest that's one of the reasons I'm here.  Now that I'm not beaming down into god-knows-what, I get my risks in other ways.  Climbing El Capitan again.  Caving.  Diving.

Hitting the bars.  A different risk, disguised as relaxation.  Said that to Bones once, but he can't see it -- he's up there now in the boat, getting ready to tear strips off my hide.  I don't know why he comes along when it obviously terrifies him to watch and he never tries anything dangerous.

But I do know.  He's lonely too.

Another reason I do this.  Oh, my God, look, a whole school, the colors, it's like a live nebula, a something, I don't know - they're all around me, beautiful!  Oh, Spock, you're missing this.

I stretch out a hand, and they divide around it, smoothly, as if they knew in advance where it would go.  Bats do that too, when I've been in caves that had them, and when they're startled, they flow past like water.  My guide could even hear them, a little, but not me.  Getting too old for the high sounds, or maybe - well, psi-null, that's me.  You know.

I do this because I can do it alone, or nearly, and even when I'm with other divers it feels alone.  My breathing.  The coral.  The fish.  The light.

The women at the bars, that's what those fish remind me of.  I reach out and they move away.  I've almost stopped fucking them, but when I try for conversation they seem to have someplace else to be.  And when they do stay, I start feeling restless, looking past their shoulders for somebody else.  Rude as hell.  I don't know whether McCoy's the same, but he and I have closed out a good few bars lately, drinking on and on and hardly talking.  To anybody.  Even in my head.

I'm almost out of air.  Tri-ox shot and all, some air you just have to carry, and when it's gone, it's gone.  Time to go, drifting up, where the fish were, where the shark was, the boat a dark shape above me, blocking the light.

I'll remember the shark.  How close it was, how the black eyes gleamed, how it could have eaten me alive in a minute if it had really noticed me.

I'll remember thinking about you, Spock.
 
 
 

**end**
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 Archive: Yes

 Feedback: Both negative and positive feedback is welcome; either post to ASCEM or send to Islaofhope@aol.com. Disclaimer: Spock, Jim, Dr. McCoy, and Mt. Sileya all belong to Paramount. Yosemite belongs to everyone. This is fan fiction and I won't make any money from it.

 Notes: Jat sent me 'Under Water,' and I said, "I can do this, too." Jat looked at this and said, "Yes, please post!" T'Aaneli said, "I'm working on one too," so we can expect something from her very soon. I *think* this is even farther out of my canon than 'The Dohlman's Alternative.' 

My K/S stories (where they live happily ever after) are at my website at: www.oocities.org/Area51/Dunes/7382/
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I pause halfway up the ridge to take a sip of water. My breath is coming more easily now as I adjust to the thinness of the air and the heat of the day. I smile somewhat mockingly at myself. I know that I have spent too many years away from the land of my birth to be completely comfortable here. Not right away. Perhaps I never again will consider it my home. 

 But I have discovered that I can find happiness wherever I go. In truth, it is something that I carry inside of me. I know that it was a gift that Jim gave me. And even if he is no longer in my life, I still have that gift. It was not the only gift that he gave me, but it is the most precious. I regret that he could not let me give back that gift to him when he required it for himself, but you cannot force another to accept a gift.

 I have been back on Vulcan for one Standard year. Yes, I still think in Standard years. As I said, I have been gone too long to immediately adapt. There was a time when I believed that I would never live here again. I found it stifling, and I had to leave. Now that I am back, I am surprised that I can find much to appreciate here. Have conditions improved here? I suspect, rather, that it is I who have improved and can appreciate it with all of its limitations, knowing that it is I who have chosen to live here. And if I choose to live elsewhere, then I am free to leave.

 I turn to enjoy the view behind me. This climb I have made many times. We made it together many of those times. It is pleasant to have a companion to share the load - some supplies can be shared - and to have someone to share the cooking duties at the end of the day. Also, it is pleasing to have someone with whom to talk about the rigors of the day, to share reminisces of other adventures, and to admire the stars at night. 

 But there is much to be said for having silence during the walk, and setting one's own pace without having to consider another person. Particularly when that other person will not admit his own limitations, so that I must monitor his strength instead of trusting him to tell me when he must rest. Also, it is sometimes exhausting to deal with a person who is used to having his own way. Of course, I have never objected to compromising when deciding what activities to pursue with another. Or following gladly someone whom I trust. However, it is pleasant to make my own path today. 

 My years away from Vulcan were busy, productive years. I improved my mind and built a career in Starfleet. I also built a reputation as a scientist. The early years were not happy ones, but I did not learn early to value happiness.

 When I did find friendship, I was, at first, apprehensive. I did not value it. Perhaps I feared how I would survive losing it, so it was easier to push it away. I am glad now that I did accept Jim's friendship. Today, even having lost that friendship, I enjoy the memories and the growth that it inspired in me. The relevant Terran expression states that it is 'better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.' 

 Is it appropriate to apply the word 'love' to that friendship? What others believe does not concern me. What was between us was private. What we had was more satisfying and more intimate than many who shared living quarters or signed a piece of paper stating that they would love one another. We shared our lives for 30 years, serving Starfleet on the same ship for much of that time. I was nominally his subordinate, but we learned to respect each other early in our friendship, and we formed a partnership with complementary roles. It did not matter to us what titles Starfleet conferred on us.

 Our friendship was not without its trials, but my mother told me when I was young that 'whatever does not kill us, makes us stronger.' We grew stronger with trials we faced together. We argued, parted, and came back together again. We had unrealistic expectations of each other and, therefore, disappointed each other on occasion. We also constantly amazed each other with our unexpected strengths.

 Most of those years, I would name as happy ones. Vulcans have excellent memories, but, logically, there are limitations. Since Vulcans are not naturally equipped to experience happiness, it is only logical that my memory may be faulty where happiness is concerned. I may remember only the happiness of those years and may have forgotten pain that we inflicted on each other.

 I will always be grateful that he inspired me to try new experiences. He watched with delight when I tried something new. He listened with rapt attention when I told him about a scientific conference that I attended at his urging. He would not allow me to be discouraged by my occasional failures; instead he helped me to see what I learned and how I could prevent mistakes in the future.

 Perhaps, most importantly, by loving me unstintingly, he taught me to love myself. My childhood is no worse nor better than many others. The confidence that my parents wished to instill in me was shaken by their unthinking errors and by the cruelty of my peers. I have always known that my mind was a good one, but I did not know that I had a value beyond my intelligence until he showed it to me. 

 It surprised me - and pleased me - to discover that even when he took that unstinting love away from me, I continued to enjoy the self-confidence that it inspired in me. Perhaps it is even stronger now. I wonder how many times he served as a crutch. It is delightful to walk freely.

 I pause again to sip some water and eat a piece of fruit - an orange that I brought back from Terra on my last visit. I wish to remain strong for the rest of the climb. Time lost in pausing to drink and eat will be made up later because I will be able to hold a steady pace.

 The last year that we spent together could not be described as happy. He was depressed about his impending retirement, and he began to question the choices that he made in his life. He withdrew the warmth that he had given to me. I thought that he was testing my devotion to him. I refused to argue with him or press him for closeness. I felt certain that he would regain his happiness and our friendship would be unaffected. 

 I know that some of the trust that he had in me was damaged when my half-brother took control of our ship temporarily. He felt betrayed that I chose to wait for a later opportunity for escape rather than kill this brother. He forgave that, but, although he never confessed it, I believe he remained angry that I had never mentioned this brother in spite of my explanation that this brother had been disowned and was, therefore, someone of whom I could not speak.

 I note the angle of the sun. I have two hours of full daylight during which I will climb. It will be more than enough time to reach my planned campsite. After another sip of water, I shoulder my pack again.

 We did not always agree, but we always listened with respect to each other. Although he had the authority to make the decisions, I felt that I was heard. 

 However, there were times that I was required by my conscience to act on my own. Because of the strength of our partnership, I did not have any hesitation in making decisions that affected us both. When I volunteered our ship to escort the Klingon Chancellor to peace negotiations, I never expected that it would mean the end of our friendship. 

 He did not refuse Starfleet's orders to carry out the mission. He acted heroically in preventing an outbreak of war. We beat impossible odds to rescue him from the Klingon penal colony and to prevent an attack at the peace conference.

 But after the peace conference, as we traveled back to Terra to decommission the Enterprise, we argued for the last time. I tried to speak to him of what we would do after retirement. I told him of my appointment as Dean of the Vulcan Science Academy. I wished him to join me on Vulcan for a time. He had called me arrogantly presumptuous for volunteering the ship. When I told him about my plans on Vulcan, he called me arrogantly presumptuous again for making decisions about his life.

 Dr. McCoy told me that he was just scared, and he would calm down soon. I was patient for several months, but soon decided that I was losing respect for myself by trying so hard to please him. I knew that if I did not respect myself, I could not expect him to respect me.

 In truth, the day that I boarded the shuttle for Vulcan was the first day of tranquility that I had known in well over a year. It startled me to discover that I had my entire life ahead of me. I could choose without consulting another what I would do with my career and where I would spend my free time. I no longer had to compromise even on such small things as the temperature at which I set the thermostat in my cabin.

 I am surprised to find that I have reached my intended campsite. I had forgotten to take into account how much more quickly I could travel on my own. I consider whether to make camp as planned or to press on. It is my own choice. This is the best site for camp in several kilometers, so I decide to follow my original plan. 

 We have not spoken since that day we parted at the spaceport. Messages have been exchanged; loose ends of business to be concluded after 30 years of partnership. But he is not always quick to answer my messages. Some are never answered. I have spoken to Dr. McCoy, but he is reluctant to risk Jim's wrath by maintaining a friendship with me. 

 I have been to Terra three times since we parted. When I sent him messages suggesting that we meet to share a meal, those messages were never answered. I went to his door, but there was no answer. Just as well. It is difficult to predict what his reaction would be if he saw me.

 I know that he is unhappy. I also know that he will not allow me to help. I hope that he can find some measure of happiness.

 I do not miss the man who lives in San Francisco and bears his name and wears his face. I miss the man who I knew for so many years. And although I allow myself to miss him, I do not torment myself that I should have stayed on Terra. The man I miss is not there.

 I prepare my evening meal. It is peaceful to eat silently, reading a book that I carried in my pack. After dinner, I clean up and prepare for meditation. My mind settles on my responsibilities at the Vulcan Science Academy and the colleagues that I have found there. The opportunity to exchange ideas with kindred intellects has been most rewarding. 

 I have recently found a new chess opponent. Also, my mother wishes to know if, now that I live on Vulcan, I will be seeking a wife and starting a family. Perhaps it is my duty. However, at this time, I prefer not to share my life or my mind too closely with another. I do not rule it out for the rest of my life, but I do not believe that my life will have been wasted if I choose not to marry. At Gol, I learned other methods for surviving pon farr.

 I am more than content with my scientific and administrative duties at the Academy. I enjoy the contact with my family, the colleagues that I have on Vulcan, and the friends that I have throughout Federation Space.

 Tomorrow will be a long day. I bundle myself into the sleeping bag. The night can be cold in the desert that covers much of Vulcan. As I relax, watching the stars overhead, I decide that a trip back to Terra and some time spent in Yosemite would be a welcome diversion. All that is needed is to find a convenient time to take a break from my duties at the Academy. No one else need be consulted.

 - finis -