English is not my native language, please forgive me my Errors. For the feedback mail me at arachne@geocities.com. I accept the challenge to write an alternative story to the and-they-have-lived-happy-for-ever stuff. But folks, after Killa's Turning Point and Ghost In The Machine, and besides the fact, that Startrek series is in its attitude sooooooo horrible positive and political correct -- I must honestly confess, this was really, really difficult. Disclaimer: The characters of the Startrek universe belong to Paramount Pictures, but I'm using them, 'cos I make no money off it. Dear reader, if you are shocked by the idea about two men in love, then this story is nothing for you. Many thanks to my editor: Greywolf the Wanderer ...But The Memories Remain. (TNG/TOS, challenge, m/m, NC-17) Written by Arachnethe2 "You and me are destined You'll agree To spend the rest of our lives with each other The rest of our days like two lovers For ever-yeah-for ever My bijou..." Bijou, song written by Queen. An unsmiling Rihannsu brought me here and said I must wait for him. And then he left me alone in a dark corridor, both ends of which were somewhere out of my focus. In an empty corridor with walls made of some metal (which kind? I don't know), and a stone floor which reminded me of ones I'd seen elsewhere. In an anonymous corridor, somewhere deep under the Capital City of ch'Rihan. The only source of light here is the lamp I'm sitting by. I also have some food and water, and some blankets too, to keep myself warm. Because, as the man told me, I could wait here a long time for him. "But how long?" "Until he comes," the Rihannsu answered back, and then he vanished into the darkness. Sitting there, being lonely in the silence, the lighted spot about me the only thing I can hold on to, I felt any awareness of time or space slipping away from me, and with them vanished any sense of discipline and control. For many years, as a Starfleet officer, and finally as the captain of the Federation flagship, both these things were part of me, as natural as breathing, walking or sleeping. They always helped me to manage situations which seemed to be hopeless, to solve difficult problems, when other people had already given up. I never thought there would be a time when I would not need them. But now, it seems, I don't miss them. So much happened, during two days, to me and to my crew. I hardly believe I could be the same again. During those days I have lost my closest family, met a legend, and again saved so many lives. But the price for this was not only the ship. The price for this was also the knowledge that one most treasured life has gone for good and no matter how much I do for the Federation, for the universe and for the billions of anonymous living beings there, the one I have loved so much will never come back. But there are no tears in me anymore, they have all left me. I left Will and the others by the wreck which was once the Enterprise. Somehow I should grieve for her, but there was something else in me. Something bigger, more sad, scarring and painful. But I had to do it. It was my duty to my dead brother, whom I never liked much. But he was the only person who was able to show me my limits so clearly. I almost hated him for that, because I knew that he was always right. I felt sympathy for Marie, his wife, the most lovely woman I ever met, and I never understood how my arrogant brother Robert had managed to marry this angel-like being and make her happy. I felt great love for their son Rene, my only nephew -- a beautiful child, whose eyes were full of dreams about the stars. And when I looked in those dreaming eyes, I always saw myself. I still can't talk about the funeral. Only that the day was the hottest and most beautiful I can remember. The summer sky was deep blue, the air smelled like flowers and the trees were green ... so green... The bell of the church could have been heard in the whole country as we followed the priest to the cemetery. As I carried the child's white coffin on my shoulder. And nothing in my life ever seemed to be so heavy. But I was still able to move, to set my feet onto the dusky path over and over on this last way through the green vineyards. And with every step toward the cemetery, a piece of me died. For the first time in the whole world there was no place for me to return to. During the last few years it was always my ship. And although I have called her my home, there inside of my mind I kept a secret longing for an old house surrounded by a big garden -- the house of my parents, the place of my childhood. I could always come back, and feel I belonged here. But now this beloved place exists no more. Only black ruins-- that's all that was left after the fire. Next day, after the funeral, I left my village and went to Paris. It was better so. For me and for Marie. To leave, to go away, to try to calm the pain in more anonymous places, among strangers. This wish I saw in her eyes too, as I said goodbye to her. I hope secretly we will perhaps meet each other in the future. When our wounds have changed into scars. The town welcomed me with music, flags and enormous crowds of people. At first I was stunned and could not remember the occasion. But then it hit me: the 14th of July. The fall of the Bastille-- the day every Frenchman learns to know perhaps as the first big thing in his life. I left my bag in an hotel and went to the streets. But although I was surrounded by so many people, I remained lonely in the crowd. For the first time, I could not share their feelings, their joy about the day in the most magic town on the Earth, whose streets have changed into one big party today. But I stayed. I didn't want to return to this room in this hotel, whose walls seemed about to fall upon me at any moment. It was already night, but the town didn't sleep. I stood on the bridge and watched the Seine, the lights dancing on its surface. The wind brought some music from a cafe, small groups of people entered the entrance to spend the rest of the night there. Some meters away from me a drunk man tumbled, trying with effort to keep his balance, but still he held the bottle of wine in the right, and the blue - white - and - red flag in the left hand, growling frequently his liberté‚ égalité‚ fraternité‚ over and over, visibly unable to understand anything else. But I paid no attention to him. I kept my eyes focused on the lights dancing in the river. Like the lights of stars in space, when the Enterprise was moving at warp speed, like the colourful spots on the bridge consoles, like the eyes of a boy who is sitting in the evening under a tree in the garden of his parents, his look focused somewhere beyond the horizon, dreaming. Rene. This pain hit me again with full force, but I was already used to these unexpected attacks. I have had them daily, since the fire. He will never see the night sky again. He will never take the books in his hands, never paint more pictures, never listen to the stories, his head slightly cocked, his face deep in concentration. The old town around me reminded me painfully how long it took until such a child could be born, how much had to happen until the constellation of the circumstances in the past brought my parents to the world, me, my brother, Marie. Our ancestors came from sea to the continent, to develop themselves farther to higher more complicated lifeforms, until finally first humans were there -- hunters and gatherers at first, then farmers keeping their herds and bringing their seed to their fields. First towns appeared on the rivers Euphrates and Tigris and Nile, to grow together over the millennia to form empires, which legends are still vivid in the memories of mankind. Hellas blossomed out and the Romans reigned over the Mediterranean from their eternal town for centuries until their downfall came together with the new religion, about the sacrifice and redemption. French were formed during the Middle Ages piece by piece, and the knights were sent out to the holy country to cleanse it of the Saracens. There was a war against England, one hundred years long. We built large ships and discovered new continents and new nations to turn them into our slaves. There was a period of King Sun and his shiny court in Versailles, and his unhappy descendant, who was executed by his own folk one century later. We have declared the rights of the human and the citizen to bathe themselves in the blood of our enemies from without and within, and later let Napoleon carry them through the whole of Europe. Two world wars brought us to the edge of ruin, but we have survived. Europe has formed an union although no one believed in the success of this project. New wars came upon the Earth. We built new ships, larger this time, destined for the travels among the stars, and then we flew to them to discover what remained undiscovered for us. And we met new people, but this time we proposed co-operation and friendship to them. The Federation was born. There were first encounters with the Romulans and Klingons, but the only outcome was the Neutral Zone between us. Then the peace with the Klingons and remained cold relationship with the Rihannsu... And so on... And for what, all of this? After so much happened, a child is born into the world, carrying a soul of a dreamer, with the attitude of someone special -- and then comes a catastrophe and it is death, without even the slight possibility to taste life in its bitter/sweet composure. Rene...! Jean-Luc, stop it, you can do nothing any more... The sky on the horizon paled, morning returned to Paris. People went to sleep, even my anonymous drunk companion snored on the stones. In the light of the first rays I left the town. How long am I sitting now, in this tunnel deep under the busy streets of the Capital City? Hours, or perhaps the whole day? I don't know. They said 'wait' to me, so I'm waiting. But I'm defenceless against the thoughts and images which come upon me in this very lonely place. Three day ago I arrived secretly in Romulan space. Don't ask me how I managed that. The one who brought me to the planet was aware of the risk he took, allowing me to come on board his ship. He requested a large amount of money, and I paid it. I was like a madman, fully possessed with the urge to reach my destination. Finally I was here. On ch'Rihan. Immediately after my arrival I contacted the underground organisation, which he became the leader of, some years ago. Yes, I have told them I want to see him -- Spock of Vulcan, former Starfleet member, former Federation ambassador. They asked me the reason, but I refused to tell it someone else, only to the Vulcan himself. And it was not only the message about the death of James T. Kirk I have brought. The maize fields in Iowa filled the country's surface from my point of view, reaching to the horizon. And seeing something like this for the first time, I wondered if there could be something else instead of the endless sea of green plants. But finally there was the guide telling me I have reached the museum of James Kirk. This small institution was opened some years ago as the government of the state of Iowa bought the old farm, which once belonged to the family of Kirks, where the captain had spent his childhood. This project was sponsored by the governor, the Starfleet, and one anonymous source, which came possibly from the Vulcan homeworld. I went through the rooms of the old farm building, looking at the collection of photos, logbooks, personal possessions. I was the only visitor there that day. The wooden floor creaked softly under my shoes. The evening sun shone through the windows, revealing the dust particles in the air. It was a calm place there. An opposite to the bombastic sales in the historic section of the Starfleet Academy. This museum here has had nothing epic in its attitude -- only impressions, gently forcing the visitor to remain silent in the middle of the room and think about the person behind the legend. I have met this human in Nexus and have seen, what no biography would be able to describe. What only all the things here around me could say: about the man, whose destination was the stars, whose home was a ship, whose job was to remain calm in the middle of the worst storm, to make decisions in the glint of a second, because a split second later it would be too late for the whole crew. As a small boy I never got enough of storytelling about the adventures of captain Kirk. Later on at the Academy I learned to understand more of this man, who himself became an instructor, teaching only the first classes. Many people have wondered about his decision, but he responded only, it was necessary to make the students understand just right in the beginning, what it means to join Starfleet. One of his most famous lectures was the one about the ship: ~...the ship is essential for your survival in space. Once you are there the whole universe is parted into two halves: the one within the hull, the other out of it. The first one is your element. There you can walk, breathe, live. The other half -- the universe with all the stars is the dangerous one. Beautiful yes, but deadly. It is the ship, which is carrying us through. It guarantees that you will reach your destiny, that you will manage all your crises. Without the ship you get nowhere. Without the ship you are lost, in space. So be careful of it, because without the ship you will die. ~ How long did I spend in the museum? It was some long, peaceful hours. And during this time I walked from one room to another, hanging around, remembering and memorising all that I know about James Kirk -- the captain I had learned about in the Academy, and the man I met in the Nexus. The man who told me I should never let them to take my ship away, to manipulate my life. He has known exactly what that was like. Finally I stood in the front of the shelves with the old books. I watched the rows of dark leather with gold letters and perhaps, for the first time in many days, I smiled. If there could be nothing else, then perhaps in this one case we were equal to each other. Carefully I touched them with my fingertips. Books. A rare thing today in the time of file storage and datapadds, where information is transported from one side of Federation space to the other. But however beautiful the thoughts might be, once formed in sentences and then written in the computer, they will never look as magic as when they are folded in an envelope made of dark leather. I moved my palms along the row and every time they touched a name it was so known to me: Verne, Kipling, Byron, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Balzac, Scott, Dumas, Hugo, Neruda, Dickens. I could not resist. I took the book of the last author in my hands and opened it. The feeling was familiar to me, like something that could have been done no other way. That was right. I have no other explanation for it. I turned the pages one by one and went through the chapters. Then suddenly the book opened itself in a place further on, and then I saw it: A letter. A small envelope, turning yellow over all the years. 'For Spock' was written there, in an unmistakable handwriting. For a moment I didn't think anything. I only stood there, the book in my hand, until I began slowly to understand, what I was staring at. And before I was even able to ask myself what I was doing now, I put the letter into my pocket, closed the book, and then went out to my car. Later in the maize field I stopped the engine, and then at last I became fully aware of this unexpected discovery. The sky above my head was already dark, and I saw the stars. And so I'm here still, waiting for him, letting my memories pass in front of my eyes like a review. Remembering my first and still last encounter with the Vulcan. A friend of mine had met him, during a diplomatic mission on Talon V. And later, as we both were sitting in an cafe on starbase seven, he told me a lot during that evening. "Every time you are with him in a room," he said, "or somewhere else, you have this odd feeling he is not only watching you. No. You can be sure he knows exactly what you have in your stomach right this moment. He is brilliant in his job, always serene, always logical and exact in his analysis. He knows humans well, he is the best expert on our race a Vulcan could ever be. "He is also the most lonely being I have ever met. You can literally feel this aura around him. But he never lets you get close. The distance between you both is always larger than the one you must keep to any other Vulcan. You can be sure he wants to remain alone, with all his secrets, god knows what they are about." For some while my friend looked thoughtfully at a spot somewhere behind my right shoulder and then he added: "The most amazing thing is, Jean-Luc, that he has never played chess. All the Vulcans I have ever met were fascinated by this game. But not him. I have tried to get his attention for this, but he has refused." But first I met his father. Twice. And both encounters left memories in me, filled with respect and honour for this man, whose whole life belonged to his work, his duty for the Federation. Our meld on board the Enterprise was something I hardly could describe. But if I even could I never would do it, for these were also my most intimate moments in my life. I have shared them only one time -- with Sarek's son Spock. Perhaps because I wanted to tell him more about his father. Perhaps I secretly hoped he would return with me, back to the Federation. But he remained among the Romulans. The meld with Spock was so different. No, it was not like the one with Sarek. This was more like a scan. He entered my mind, but his remained closed to me. "I have never understood my son," Sarek said to me before he died. Neither have I, Sarek. My friend was right. This Vulcan, the most Vulcan of all Vulcans, wanted to be alone in his distance. Why? You could ask yourself over and over again, but you will never figure out the answer. I drifted so deep in my memories, that I did not hear him coming. From one moment to another, I lifted my head and he stood in front of me, as if he simply separated himself from the darkness around me. The same tall figure with slender arms and straight shoulders, black eyes in an expressive ascetic face, the severe attitude like a veil around him. Only the lines around his mouth seemed to become deeper through the years of life in the underground. There was some silver in his hair that was not there the last time I saw him. "Greetings, Ambassador." "Not any more," he responded to me, "but welcome, captain. Although I must consider your presence here is illogical, when I think about the effort and risk to get here." Illogical I thought, of course, how else would a Vulcan call my presence here. "There are some reasons for it." I gestured a little nervously toward the blankets, "please, sit down." He took the place opposite me. And for the first moment there was only silence between us, for I had no idea how to begin. I looked into the light of the lamp between us as if I could find the words right there. "I grieve with thee." He said finally. What? For some seconds I was not able to understand what he was saying. Then it hit me: the Vulcan traditional condolence. "How did you know?" "The communication barriers are strong, but sometimes we get information from the other side of the Neutral Zone." "Then you perhaps know why I'm here." He lifted his eyebrow: "No, captain I don't. And if I may say, I wonder that the Federation still needs something from me. Finally I have broken all connections to them." Yes, you have, I thought again, and all people wondered why. Aloud I said: "It was not the Federation that sent me. I have come alone." Nothing in response. Only a question in his eyes. Then I reached under my shirt and pulled out the reason for my arrival: an old envelope, getting yellow through the years, two words written on it... He took it in his fingers, looked at it, and then his face froze even more as he recognised the handwriting on it. "Where did you find that?" His voice was icy. "In Iowa." Was there something wrong? "In the farm house. It was hidden in a book." He turned this piece of paper in his hand, then finally he put it carefully onto the blanket. And then he looked at me. "Why have you done that?" "It belongs to you." Definitely something wrong. He stood up. "You could have spared yourself this delivery. The risk for that was illogical." He turned to leave. "My people will pick you up later." I stood up too. "Wait." I simply couldn't believe what he was doing. "You don't want to read a letter from your friend, after you know he has died?" He turned back and in the tone he spoke with I recognised that his patience was slowly running out: "Captain Picard, he has been dead now for over eighty years." He didn't know. Oh my god, he didn't know. The whole Federation has talked about it, it was send through all channels -- and he has no idea. "M... Spock," I couldn't use the Mr., "Captain Kirk died two weeks ago." Finally it was spoken. And now I stood in front of him, the bringer of bad messages, knowing this last one will give the rest to his legendary serenity. Disbelief, his face was one big disbelief. But it lasted only a glint of second. So long it took for him to regain his control again. He made a step toward me, two... until he stood so close to me, that I could feel the characteristic heat his body was radiating. "Explain." This voice of a man, who once commanded a starship, voice of a leader, who demands nothing less than obedience. No one, not even an admiral has ever used this tone of command toward me. I got angry. The pain in me, my weariness, my loneliness, that all melted in my anger. But then I looked in his eyes and saw all this being mirrored in him. And my own excitement vanished again. "He was in the Nexus...", I tried to explain, gesturing nervously with my hand. "All the time, he lived in the Nexus... Then I asked him to help me to save my crew and my ship, and then he died..." He didn't interrupt my chaotic monologue. He stared into the darkness. A minute ago I finished, but still he remained calm. "Spock?" He stirred. "Why you don't want to read his letter?" I asked him, as softly as I could. But I have known already his that's-not-your-business-response. "I fear the answer in it." What? He looked down at his feet. "There is perhaps an answer," he repeated but more to himself, "and I fear to know it." If he were a human I would put my hand on his shoulder, to comfort him, and simultaneously to encourage him to speak farther. But he was a Vulcan, I had to remind myself. But in this moment he seemed to forget me. He stepped aside, turned his back to me, then made some steps toward the wall. Yes, he was a Vulcan, but in this moment a damned uncertain one. Perhaps because of the message, perhaps of my confusing explanation, perhaps because of the fact that he has said too much, perhaps all of it and some more. He stood there, his back still to me, his forehead touching the cold metal of the wall. I stepped toward him and stood close there. I think so close to him was no human before. Perhaps only *him*. "What has happened?" No, Jean-Luc don't touch him, he is a Vulcan... Slowly he turned his face to me. Grief, his face was one big grief, and this time he didn't make any effort to hide it. "There is perhaps something written there I never hoped to know, because as I remembered, it was already too late for us both." He leaned himself against the wall, his gaze focused on an invisible spot in the darkness. "There was a time when I forgot all and then had to restore my past piece by piece." Yes -- I know the story, surrounding a legend about the proof of a friendship, when one is sacrificing all -- the future, the carreer, the ship, for one purpose: to save a friend's life. "But I did not remember all." He went on. "Some memories never came back, especially the younger ones. Some I remembered years later. The last one, five years ago..." He sighed, his hands clenched in fists. Then he opened them. Was it the Vulcan way to let go? I tried to understand. Slowly, his back still leaned against the wall, he sank down to the bottom. I got on my knees next to him. "I had to marry, and we were just forming our bond as she touched something in my mind -- and then the memory came...back..." Nothing. I could say nothing in this moment. Only to kneel beside him, and listen. "He was to marry and then he left..." Sarek, desperately trying to understand his son's sudden departure. As many of us did. Spock sighed. Our breathing was the only sound in the stillness of this lost corridor. Then very gently and carefully I tried to ask: "Spock, what did you remember?" And then he said it in a whisper barely loud enough to hear: "That my friendship with Jim had gone beyond the limit... that we had both agreed to it during this night on the Enterprise... because it was right. Then the next day..." Oh no! "...the next day, I died." And suddenly I understand this loneliness, of a man who was burying his friends one by one, to remain finally the last one living, remembering. There was at last a secret Jim Kirk had been carrying his whole life. No, not entirely. He left a letter, perhaps to try to explain. I looked toward the yellow piece of paper, still placed near the lamp. 'For Spock.' "Jean-Luc..." Not Captain Picard. "...what is the Nexus?" I sighed at this memory and then looked at him. His black eyes were so near. "The Nexus is a place out of our dimension and time. All your dreams you have, get fulfilled there." "Would you show me, please? Again those hot fingers on my face. Again a couple of black eyes seizing me by the force of their gaze. Again those words, the beginning of an old ritual so strange for us humans: the meld. For the last time I returned in my memories to that place on a rocky planet. Remembering the heat of that day, the blue sky, a mad man whose only wish was to get back to the place where his wife and children were living as formed imaginations of his memories. He wanted back at any cost, unable to deal with reality. At the cost of all living beings in this planetary system, at the cost of my ship and my crew. Yes he wanted them back, unable to deal with the reality. I remembered Guinan, in her quarters full of candles, telling me the story about Nexus, the most magic place in the universe. There I have a wife and children. There was Rene, and I could say goodbye to him. There was the image of Guinan. Because, as she told me, you might leave this paradise of ultimate wishes, but the memory of you will always remain there, as if you have never left. I have seen this man. James Kirk. The captain and hero, willing to help me to save my ship, willing to leave freely this place, where all things were not real. "Call me Jim," were the last words he said to me. And then he died. But his death had a purpose, a sense. He had fun... Slowly, very gently slipped this Vulcan mental force out of my mind. And then came the familiar feeling of emotional weariness and emptiness I always felt after the meld. My head sank on his shoulder and he let me. I can't tell how it happened. The last thing I could remember was my head still leaning against his shoulder, and in the next moment his hands were on me. Hot, strong, irresistible, they stroked my back upwards until they reached my neck, gently forcing me to lift my face. And then he kissed me... ...and I responded to his tongue with my own. I pressed myself closer to his hot body, getting hungry with my sudden need to be warm without and within. And we kissed each other hungrily, fiercely. His skin was so soft, his hair like black silk. His hands one hot magic, moving under my shirt. He laid me down on the bottom, opening my clothes, putting all my garments aside until I was naked in front of him, trembling under the gaze of those black eyes, desperately trying to strip his body, to get more of his hot skin, to warm myself. It was cold in me for so long. He was beautiful. He had the most soft skin I have ever touched, and the grip of his arms was so strong. as he held me, as we kissed again. As I drank the warmth of his lips, not getting enough. I was never with a man. But as soon as the thought appeared, it vanished, under the waves of hot pleasure his hot mouth gave to me. To my throat, to my nipples... Never... ...he moved down toward my stomach, the hot wet traces on my skin damping away... ...with... ...sharp white teeth squeezing the delicate spots on my hipbones. My erection pressing against his throat... ...a man. My breathing got faster, my hands clenched into fists, as he took me in his mouth. I came... As I opened my eyes he was still kneeling between my legs, still hard, his fingers in my seed and a question in his gaze. And I spread my legs more apart, let him touch me, felt his fingers gently penetrating my body. The one at first, then the second, then the third... They eased my tightness, making me prepared for him. In a quick thrust he entered me and there it was back again-this painful/sweet agony. He bent himself down to kiss me again. His movements in me got faster, his breath against my throat was ragged. I pressed myself closer to his body, my legs around his waist, my hands on his back, the fingernails digging into his skin. He was close to coming inside of me. "Jim..." The name was more breathed than spoken out. But he was aware of it. He rolled off me and remained lying on his stomach, his face hidden in his arms. At first I had to return from the place in my mind, that was far away from reality, before I could recognise what had happened. We were still lying on the stone floor, both naked, both wet from sweat and my semen -- unmistakable sign of our lovemaking. And then there was a soft sound, coming from somewhere. I listened carefully until I realised it was coming from him. My heart froze in shock: He was crying. Panic arose in me. How to comfort a Vulcan? How to comfort a member of a race, which evidently suppress its feelings? What should I do, for a man, whom they have told me about, he would never cry? I'm a human. There was never a Vulcan under my command. But I was sure I should do something. If nothing else, then to try to do all I can. I reached my hand toward his shoulder, unsteady at first, for I was not sure how he would react, and then I touched him, knowing this touch could be more intimate now, than all the fierce hugs some moments before. But he let me do it. He let me to take him in my arms. I held him tight, feeling with relief his face burning somewhere between my throat and shoulder. I did not look at him. I wanted to give him the last chance for privacy. I felt his tears on my skin anyway. My fingers caressed slightly his silky hair, my lips kissed him there. I reached down and took him in my hand and started to stroke him gently. And he let me guide him to his orgasms. He trembled as he came in my hand, a soft sob of relief escaping him. Still stroking his hair, my mouth still buried in this black/silver smoothness, I finally calmed him down. He fell asleep. With his head on my shoulder, he let me guard his peace. I could not blame him for this name. We both might be captains, our ships might carry the same names, but I was never him. I will never be. And Spock knew it. But I could not blame him for holding onto an illusion for a short moment. How could I? I'm a human. I have done it many times. The last time, in the Nexus. I fell asleep, wrapped in the heat of his body. There is nothing more to tell. When I awoke I was covered with a blanket. I sat up, but then I saw him. Yes, he was still there, fully dressed again, in his clothes and in his control too. Our eyes met and for a short moment I found a calm gratitude in his gaze. There was nothing more to say. Finally we stood in front of each other. Soon he will vanish into the darkness behind him. Perhaps it is for the last time I see him. He nodded in response. Somehow we understand each other, without words. He reached under his shirt and pulled out the letter. "Take it with you. One day they will catch me. I don't want them to find it and read it." Unsteady, I took the yellow envelope in my hand. It was open. Our eyes met. "I remember every word, that is written there." "What...what will you do now?" His eyebrow lifted up. "I will continue my work here." Light puzzlement in his face. Then he understood my question. Or was my disappointment written so clear in my face? He shook his head: "No, I will not go to the Nexus." "Why? He is still there." He made a step toward me. And then again his hands were on my face, his eyes so close. "Jean-Luc," he took a breath, "he is not there any more. Only the image of our memory. But such memory is also in me. Because I remember all that happened and I will never forget, because this all was real. "All things here are real, our pain is real, our tears are real, our joy is real. Because we are real too. And also our memories are real." He stood back from me. "Why did you come back? You were there, you had a wife and children there. Why have you returned from the Nexus, when Rene was there?" "But Kirk...," but he interrupted me. "Jim was never made for paradise and neither am I. He is not there any more. Jean-Luc, Jim is dead. All that remains of him is in my memory." He was right. I nodded, giving up. "One last thing. I'm grateful you did not leave him to die alone. I thank you for that." He lifted his hand in the Vulcan greeting: "Live long and prosper." He turned to leave, but at last he stopped in the middle of the movement, and gestured toward the letter in my hand. "You may." And then he vanished into the darkness. The same Rihannsu who had brought me here, picked me up some hours later. I followed him in the direction, where I thought the exit should be. The sound of a busy street could be already heard. As we started to leave I looked again toward the place, where so much happened in so short a time. A grey spot in the semidarkness. Was it really here? Our dialogue, his revelation, our lovemaking, his grief? Now it seemed to be somehow surreal to me. But I still remembered the silk of his skin, the smell of him, the sound of his voice as he came. And yes, there was the letter, hidden under my skirt, its contents have etched itself into my mind, sentence by sentence: ~ Spock, I love you. There are no other words which could describe what I feel toward you. But I'm giving up, my friend. Please forgive me, but I can't any more. They have warned me, that you wouldn't remember all. And you didn't. But I can't blame you, that you have forgotten that night as we both stepped over the limit of our friendship, knowing this was right. I have waited for years, hoping, your memory will return. But no such thing has happened. Perhaps this is at last the price for your rescue. Not my ship, not my rank, not my son. No -- it was your love to me. But I accept it, I surrender. Because I got old during this night on Genesis, and now I am tired... So I bend my head for the first time in my life. You are here around me. You come to me to play chess, to talk to me, and I'm grateful to have you alive. And I'm not forcing more. Because if I do it, I could perhaps lose you again and that thought scares me to death. I will never forget what happened, I will never forget holding you in my arms for the first and last time. You will always remain there, in my heart, in my memories...~ EPILOGUE I have seen it, we all have seen it. It came from the Romulan space and was sent on all channels in the Alpha Quadrant. We were shocked at first, not able to believe it, but it was at last nothing else but a horrible truth: Spock of Vulcan, former Starfleet officer, former Federation Ambassador, was executed by the members of Rihannsu Imperial Security. In front of our eyes he spread out his arms like two broken wings, his body shuddered, penetrated by shots of the execution guns -- and then he sank to the grey floor of an anonymous room. There will be nothing the same anymore. Because in this horrible moment a piece of us died with him, there in that execution chamber. But I have seen it, for his fall repeated itself in my head over and over. I have seen his lips, parting, whispering the name of *him*. There was grief among the Vulcans and for the first time they haven't denied their feelings. There were protests from the side of the Klingons, even Cardassians spoke out their disagreement. There was silence from the Rihannsu. But the Federation undercover agents reported about riots in all large cities on both Romulan home planets, about protests in the rows of the senate, about arrests and persecutions among the people. A short time thereafter, the first Romulan fugitives arrived in Federation space and asked for sanctuary. And the exodus of the Rihannsu to the Federation continues until today. We try to protect them against their imperial fleet, but sometimes their ships are not able to reach the Neutral Zone and then they are executed in front of our eyes. The new Enterprise was there as we rescued the first ship. There were all members of Spock's secret organisation on board. And they have spoken a lot about him and about Vulcan. They have also rescued his body... Many ships followed us behind as we brought him home to Vulcan. It was an honour for my ship to carry him on his last journey through the universe. He is gone, like the black pieces of Kirk's letter I burned a long time ago, on an anonymous planet near the Neutral Zone. Only the stars were my witnesses as the wind took away the ashes off my hands. People we love might go for good one day, leaving us behind, taking with them the pieces of our hearts... ...but the memories remain. End of the whole story. ----------------------------------------------------------------- "We are star stuff." Delenn to Sheridan.