Summary: Captain Spock records his final messages for Leonard McCoy, Cadet Saavik, and Admiral Kirk.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and company. I have just borrowed them for a while, and will not profit from any of this.

This story was written in response to Jungle Kitty's 'just-in-case' challenge.

Feedback is desired. Feel free to express your opinions, unless in the form of flames.

Lost Words

"...and in closing, I wish to say that I have garnered much satisfaction from our long association, Doctor. Even though we found ourselves often cast as adversaries in our early years, and indeed, always agreed to disagree on certain matters in all of our years together, I wish to state that I have always respected your medical abilities, admired your integrity and compassion, and greatly valued your friendship.

"Live long and prosper, Leonard McCoy. Computer, end recording."

Captain Spock ejected the small data wafer and sat back in his chair with a deep breath. He had saved the three most difficult recordings for last, and now only had two remaining. He labeled the disk, then rose to make himself a cup of tea. He told himself that doing so would give him a moment to prepare his thoughts, and that the tea would help him to relax, but he knew deep down that he was merely finding an excuse to procrastinate, yet again.

He had been the new captain of the Enterprise for 6.3 months now, and the recording of his final messages was long overdue. He actually should have created these promptly upon receiving his promotion, but he had found first one reason and then another to postpone this disagreeable task. He did not wish to look too closely at his motivations.

The fact that he was to take the ship out tomorrow for her first real cruise since she became a training vessel had finally forced the issue. He had great confidence in the abilities of his cadets, and knew that their mission was not to be particularly challenging, but he could not in good conscience leave spacedock with this task uncompleted.

As he heated the water, he occupied himself by attempting to predict the reactions of his cadets to finally being on board the Enterprise. They would be awed and probably intimidated, but he was quite certain that they would comport themselves capably, at least he was reasonably certain that most of them would. He raised an eyebrow in amusement as he remembered his own initial training cruise. He had been quite nervous, and had made a slight error in his calculations the very first time he had been called upon to report from the science station. In retrospect, he knew that his mistake was minor and entirely insignificant, but at the time, he had been appalled and thought that he had failed miserably. Fascinating, the perspective that time and wisdom can bring to the relative unimportance of one's own role in the events of the universe.

He crumbled the herbs into the water. While they steeped, he thought ahead to the training cruises he would take with the next senior class. His face softened as he imagined Saavik, so serious in her cadet uniform, sitting on the bridge of the Enterprise next year. She had heard his tales of the legendary ship and her crew for so long that she could recite the stories as easily as those who had actually lived through the experiences.

One time, years ago, she had begged him to allow her to sit in the captain's chair, and he had indulged her. Her demeanor had been so respectful and reverent as she placed her thin little body in the large chair that he had found it difficult not to react with amusement. As she sat there, however, he had experienced a sense of inevitability, touched with a twinge of sadness, because he knew that someday she would grow up and he would be forced to watch, left behind, as she departed from him on a ship of her own. Illogical, really, because such is the natural order of things, but he could hardly bear to think of the day that she would record a final message for him and fly away on the wings of her own adventure. He sighed, and carried the tea back to his seat.

"Computer, begin recording for Cadet Saavik."

He continued in Vulcan. "Saavik, although I have never believed in fate, I can almost believe that you and I were destined for one another. You came to me at a time in my life when I needed you as much as you needed me."

He paused. "Perhaps you are surprised to hear this, but it is true. All of my life I have, as the humans would say, 'walked a tightrope'. Wishing to follow the Vulcan path, but yet drawn so irresistibly to the human, I have struggled to understand myself and my reason for being. I thought at one time that I could compartmentalize my life, and draw myself neatly into a rigid box that would define all that I am, but then you came along and threw everything that I knew into disarray. You said, 'No,' when I told you, 'Yes.' You asked, 'Why?' when I told you, 'This is so.' You demanded, 'Deal with me now,' when I insisted, 'Later.' At times I despaired, and thought myself inadequate to the task of guiding you, but, somehow, we always found our way through each new challenge. You opened me to the wonders of the universe, Saavikam, and together we grew. Truly, I would not trade the time I had with you for anything, not for the advancements of career nor for the opportunity to be as thoroughly Vulcan as one who is purely born.

"If you are hearing this, I have died. I regret that I shall not be with you to guide you through the remainder of your formative years, but I am confident that you will succeed at anything you attempt, with or without me. Just remember, be true to yourself. Your path will be different than mine; indeed, you are unique in the universe and you must never forget this. Do not lose your curiosity, your drive, or your fire. Remember also that you are as a daughter to me, with all of the ties and, yes, feelings, that such a relationship entails. Live long and prosper, Saavikam, and enjoy your life and the revelations that each new day shall bring.

"Computer, end recording."

He paused for a long moment, struggling to maintain his composure. His voice had been very rough for the last few sentences, but perhaps that was appropriate. He ejected the wafer and labeled it, simply, 'For Saavik.'

Now, he could no longer put off recording the most difficult message. Inserting another wafer, he squared his shoulders.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk."

He did not know where to begin, and could do no more than sit and look stupidly at the computer for a full fifteen seconds. Finally, with a frown, he said, "Computer, end recording and delete."

This would not do. He took a deep breath, steepled his hands, and tried again.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk.

"Admiral, if you are listening to this message, it means that I am no longer alive and that it is time for you to hear my final message. Computer, end recording and delete."

That was highly unintelligent. He could not resist shaking his head slightly at himself before facing the computer again.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk.

"Admiral Kirk, following is my final message for you. Computer, end recording and delete."

Too formal. He tried again.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk.

"Jim, since you are now listening to my final message, it means that I am no longer alive. There is much I wish to say to you that, perhaps, I should have said in life, but was unable. So, in the event of my death, I shall tell you from beyond the grave. Computer, end recording and delete."

Too morbid. Truly, why was this so difficult? He gathered his thoughts, and tried again.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk."

"Jim, you have been my friend for many years."

There, that was better. Simple, direct, and honest.

"Through our first years on the Enterprise, when we were cautiously learning that we were more effective combined as a team than we were alone, through our many chess games, through the missions that were too often dangerous and life-threatening, and through these later years when we have relaxed into an easy and comfortable friendship, there has been one constant: the utmost respect and admiration with which I hold you.

"You are the strongest and most powerfully willful individual that I have ever met. Indeed, I have come to believe that you can almost shape the universe by the force of your wishes, and you have certainly shaped me by my long association with you.

"There was a time when I fled you, for I could not face what you did to me. You brought forth emotions and yearnings that I could not understand. I have never told you why I went to the Kolinahru, but I wish for you to know, now. I wanted... more, from you, than I felt I could ask. Computer, end recording and delete."

Spock sat rigidly, his heart hammering in his side. This was heading in a direction he did not wish to go. He closed his eyes until his pulse and respiration were back to normal, then looked back at the computer.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk."

He liked what he had said before, up to a certain point, so he repeated it.

"Jim, you have been my friend for many years. Through our first years on the Enterprise, when we learned that we were more effective together than apart, through our many chess games, through the missions that were too often nearly our last, and through these later years when we have relaxed into a comfortable friendship, there has been one constant: the respect and admiration with which I hold you. You are strong and powerfully willed; indeed, more so than anyone I have ever met. I have almost come to believe that you can shape the universe by the mere force of your wishes, and you have certainly shaped me by my long association with you.

"I have never been able to express to you how important you are to me. During our first five-year mission, I learned from you something that I never understood before, and that is that one can value a friend merely for the uncomplicated fact of his friendship. I also learned that someone could value *me* for *my* friendship, which is altogether different, and that I was capable of hurting that someone by removing the friendship. The latter was something that I did not realize at the time, however.

"I know now that I hurt you when I went to Vulcan and joined the Kolinahru, but I have never told you that doing so... hurt me badly, too. I was confused, and did not understand why I was there until I was already deeply ensconced in their training. And, when I did finally understand, it was too late."

When he finally understood... He paused, his eyes focused beyond the computer as he remembered the agony of that revelation, so many years ago. He spoke as if to himself, the computer forgotten.

"As I am sure you ascertained, I was due to experience another pon farr during my time there. I was unbonded, and chose to remain unbonded, so began to study the kah-if-fel, or the 'conquering of the Time.' I was quite certain that I could survive my pon farr in this manner; after all, I had survived my first pon farr without having to consummate my bond.

"When I felt the first burning of my blood, I excused myself from my disciplines, and hid away in my small, bare room in the cave of the student-adepts. There was another student-adept with whom I often worked by the name of T'Lina, and even though cold and distant, she was beautiful and intelligent and I was drawn to her. I was afraid that I was not strong enough to resist seeking her out in the height of my insanity. To go to her and possibly force myself upon her would have been unthinkable, but even in the earliest throes of the fever, I was consumed with vulgar thoughts of what I would do with her. So, I barricaded my door, knowing that, when the plak tow came, I would be too weak to remove the obstacles.

"Through the first three days, the meditation was successful, if difficult. Although I had food and water available, I did not eat. My pallet was close, but I did not sleep. But I endured.

"On the fourth day, however, my mind began to become unfocused, and I could not concentrate. I would meditate for a period, but then my serenity would be destroyed by the image of a naked body against mine, a welcoming mind surrounding mine, and my thoughts would drift into a dreamlike state. My body betrayed me repeatedly, but even the... relief... brought by such 'wet dreams,' as you would call them, did not slake my hunger. If I had been rational, I would have seen that the mental disciplines were not going to be sufficient and that I was in very real danger of losing my life, but of course that did not occur to me. All that I knew was lust and frustration.

"On the fifth day, I became as a raging beast. Later, I was ashamed, but at the time I knew no shame. I screamed obscenities, and tore at the barricade. I broke everything that was breakable, and threw myself at the obstacles blocking my door. Although I was unable to release myself from my self-imposed prison, I did shift the barricade sufficiently so that someone pushing from the other side could slide it away just enough to permit entry. I did not discover that, but T'Lina did. Her room was next to mine, and she was aware that I was going to die, so she did what she thought she had to do and she came to me.

"When she squeezed her small frame through the gap in my door, I was so far beyond conscious reason that I truly thought it was an apparition, and I stood, struck dumb, unable to react despite all of the fantasies that had consumed me. She closed the distance between us and touched me lightly on the face, and it was as if the floodgates were opened. I was upon her as a starving beast would fall on a bloody carcass, grasping her head tightly, my mind desperate to unite with hers. Soon, I had brought her into the plak tow with me, and we tore off our clothing and fell to the cold, hard floor, rutting like wild animals."

Spock stopped, and swallowed. "I will be forever grateful to her for rescuing me, but the final... humiliation was what happened when we reached orgasm together. For you see, my friend, the name I cried out was not her own, but yours. In the height of my ecstasy, I was not with her, but with you. It was you I desired, all along, only you.

"When it was over, she turned from me and we never spoke again. Soon, I will face the burning of my blood once more, and I do not know what I shall do. I can only hope that my duties will take me far from you, for I could not bear to think that I would do anything to damage the love I know you feel for me, even if it is only the love of a brother and not the kind of love for which I long."

Spock sat for a long moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed. He was trembling, and he suddenly realized that he had said more, much more, than he ever intended.

His voice shaky, his eyes still closed, he said, "Computer, end recording and delete."

After several minutes, he regained control. Resolutely, he began again.

"Computer, record message for Admiral James T. Kirk.

"My friend, I have valued our long and fruitful relationship. Know that I would have wished it to go on forever, and that I regret that it has been cut short by my untimely death. Live long and prosper.

"Computer, end recording."

There. That was the best he could do. He ejected the disk, labeled it, and gathered up all of the wafers and placed them in his safe.

He was relieved to have completed this arduous task, but felt strangely empty. He was a coward, but better a coward than someone who destroyed a friendship after that friendship had become only a memory.

He exited his quarters to tour the ship, unable to bear his own company another moment. The cadets would be on board tomorrow, and there was much to do in preparation.

* * * * * * * *

Many months later, Admiral Kirk picked up the small wafer and rubbed it absently with his fingers. It was labeled so neatly with Spock's unmistakable precise handwriting that merely looking at it was almost more than he could stand. He took a sudden indrawn, shaky breath, hit once again by the finality of this act. The last words. Spock's last words. All that he would have, finally, of his dear friend.

He had sat here, at his desk, for over twenty minutes, just looking at the disk, but it was time now. He inserted it in the slot.

"Computer, play recording."

He felt his eyes water as he looked at his friend's somber face. The date on the display showed that the Vulcan had made this recording almost exactly a year ago to this day. Spock was handsome in his uniform, and Kirk thought that this was exactly how he wanted to remember his friend, dignified and proper to the end. He realized with a start that he had already missed part of the message.

"... our long and fruitful relationship. Know that I would have wished it to go on forever, and that I regret that it has been cut short by my untimely death. Live long and prosper."

Kirk frowned. He must have missed a *lot* of the message.

"Computer, replay."

"My friend, I have valued our long and fruitful relationship. Know that I would have wished it to go on forever, and that I regret that it has been cut short by my untimely death. Live long and prosper."

He sat back in his chair, dumbfounded, then blinked and looked away from the computer. Talking to himself, he said, "Is that *it*?"

He was startled when the computer responded. "That is the end of the current message."

Kirk tilted his head and wondered what that meant. "Computer, are there other messages on this disk?"

"Negative. There are no other undeleted messages on this disk."

"Are there *deleted* messages on this disk?"

"Affirmative."

Kirk chewed on his lip, thinking. Spock would not have reused an old disk for something as important as this. Plus, he knew his friend well, and knew that Spock was very careful and precise in his work and research. He would not even bother to use a disk in the first place if he didn't intend to keep it, so probably wouldn't have had any old disks around to reuse even if he had wanted to.

"Computer, recover deleted messages and play."

He sat back in his chair and listened to the first few messages, amused. Evidently, Spock didn't find this any easier than he ever did, and he was touched to witness such atypical uncertainty in the Vulcan. As the messages continued, though, his expression changed from amusement to stunned disbelief. His mind whirled. Was he really hearing what he thought he was hearing?

When the messages ended, he stared into space for a long moment, then leaned forward on his elbows and covered his face with his hands.

*Oh, my friend, why didn't you tell me?*

If he had only known, he could have confessed all, he could have told of how he lay awake at night sometimes and dreamed of what it would be like to have hot Vulcan hands caressing him, hot Vulcan lips on his body. How he yearned to feel Spock's ordered thoughts touching his own more random ones, forever. Always touching and yet not touching. Oh God, if only he had known.

He gasped, and from somewhere deep within him, the tears finally came. They had not come when his friend died, they had not come during the funeral, they eluded him when he thought he would crumble under the strain, but they came now, in torrents. He thought that he would die, himself, knowing what he knew now, and thinking of what he had lost. So much more than even *he* had understood.

Gradually, he was able to catch his breath. He wiped his face against his sleeve, then dully looked at the large damp stain, dark against the burgundy of his uniform. He felt a little better, as if the immediate pain had been relieved, but he knew that the bigger wound would take longer to heal. And he would bear the scar forever.

He looked at the computer.

"Computer, display beginning frame of recording and freeze image."

As he gazed at his friend's austere features, he felt a tight pain in his chest, and wondered remotely if his heart were breaking.

"Oh, Spock, my friend, if only I had one more chance, I would tell you *everything*."

He turned off the computer and stood, lost. After a moment, he wandered to the fresher and ran water over a washcloth, then squeezed it out and held it against his face. The cool wetness felt good. When the cloth had warmed to match his body temperature, he folded it slowly and deliberately, and placed it on the rack next to his towel. As he stood there with his hand on the towel rack, gazing unseeing at his reflection in the mirror, he realized that he did not want to be alone. Even though he couldn't talk to Spock, ever again, he felt the sudden need to connect to someone.

He left his quarters in search of Leonard McCoy.

End story

Please respond to wildcat7898@yahoo.com and let me know what you think!