Chapter Text
Mother,
I miss your letters.
Your words have always been a comfort to me, and I meditate on them in times of doubt. Though you may have believed me inattentive, I still remember clearly the advice you struggled to give me when I was young; that it was no fault of mine my Vulcan peers did not accept me.
I have come to carry my humanity with pride alongside my Vulcan heritage. It seems there is no end to the gifts I inherited from you, and I am immeasurably thankful. It is simple now to recognize the utility of both my Human and my Vulcan traits, as well as the unique abilities and perspective I am allowed as someone who shares equally in both heritages.
My work and my colleagues continue to challenge me, but it is no longer difficult to simply live.
Thank you, mother. I will love and carry you with me always.
Your son.
-
Spock folded the paper into three equal sections, creasing each fold carefully before opening the ornamented box at his feet and placing the letter on top of many others he had left there.
He sensed Jim’s presence before he heard him, asking silently for permission to approach. Spock granted it, and soon felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.
He looked up at him, and Jim smiled, holding out a bouquet of blooming white and yellow daffodils, interspersed with stalks of rosemary and sage flowers. “Thought she might like them,” he mumbled, self-conscious as he placed them at the base of the gravestone.
Spock stood, sliding his arm around Jim to place his hand on the small of his back. “Thank you,” he said.
Jim nodded, and then stepped closer in order to rest his head on Spock’s shoulder.
They stood there a while, silent in each other’s company, but allowing their emotions to flow freely, Spock’s grief settling lightly into the love and comfort Jim offered him, sympathizing with his loss.
Jim righted himself when Spock slowly drew himself back.
“You ready?” he asked.
Spock nodded. “We should return to the ship.”
Jim took his hand, and they went home.