DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of T'Kuht and is copyright (c) 2001 by T'Kuht. I own no one or nothing. The idea is mine.
Cold Hard Reality
Spock walked along the quiet tree lined street, the autumn leaves rustling beneath his feet. He looked the very image of regality in his finest cloak and attire. His darkness contrasted sharply with bright golden hues that circled around him, as well as with the bouquet of baby pink tea roses he held tightly in his right hand. He had once heard Christine proclaim them to be her favorite when Doctor McCoy had given her some as a birthday present. Why he had never forgotten that Spock did not know. He also could not fathom why it had taken him so long to realize how desperately he loved her.
Somehow, deep within him he felt he had always known. There had never truly been anyone else for him. Even those women to which he had turned had been but mere shadows of her. In that part of his heart, whose existence he had not been able to acknowledge, even to himself, he had always longed for Christine. Even before he had met her, he had sensed her. They were connected, in the way only lovers could be, and he had rejected her for only the reason that she was far too much like him. Reminded him too much of his secret self. That had been intolerable.
There had been times over the years he had almost relented to the torrent of desire which flowed through him. She was his ideal in every way, and the simple thought of her had taken the breath from his lungs. Perhaps that is why he kept himself at such a distance from her. Too close a proximity to those suffocatingly blue eyes, that cool creamy skin, that ethereal smile, that amazing mind as brilliant as any he had ever encountered, and his protests would have been useless. So he had kept his secret, and his distance, and had endured her pain. He had hoped that her seemingly unrequited love would have grown cold for her over the years and that she would have moved on to another, far more worthy of her. It did not. Her affections only grew, and she held him deeper inside her secret places. If only he could have told her sooner.
The rows of ancient brownstones gave way to a quiet wooded path. Spock's stride slowed. Soon he would see her. Christine would be there waiting for him. He would be near to her again. He hoped the roses were appropriate, he had been unsure what to bring. What did one take with them to declare their love?
The wind found a small chill and Spock lifted his head to the few yards that remained before him. There she was, up ahead at the end of his journey. His heart raced a bit at the prospect. He forced it to slow. It would not do to show his Christine such a tumultuous display. It would be an insult to her patient waiting.
Finally, he stood beside her under the shade of an old oak, the shadows cast by the singing branches enfolded her. Her lovely face, he could not see. Instantly his mind went to the images he had saved of her. He saw her laughing, crying, working, and loving him. How could he have denied her, and himself? Oh, how he cherished her. Now, there was but one option left him. Tenderly he bent, gently laying the roses upon the dew moistened grass. "Forgive me, my love. I was a stupid fool," he whispered, his eyes filling with years of unshed tears.
Lightly, carefully, he reached out his trembling hand and swept the fallen leaves away from the cold hard stone that read...
2237 to 2330