In order for their mission to succeed--in order for Earth to have any living future beyond the year 2286 CE--he and James Kirk needed to bring whales back to their own time with them. These whales would do perfectly--they were a male and a female, which led to thoughts of possible repopulation, and they were being held here most conveniently.
However, his fragmented memory retained some factoid about whale intelligence that his telepathic radar was confirming. He had become increasingly aware that no effort to remove the whales from their environment could be made in good conscience with obtaining consent from the beings in question.
He acted alone, somehow sensing that J--, no Admiral Kirk would protest and lose him his moment of escape. As the crowd followed Dr. Taylor back into the building, Spock quickly stripped down to his shorts and undershirt and slipped with barely any splash into the frigid waters.
Instantly miserable, the alien from the desert planet struggled to regulate his body's response to the wet and the cold. Then he swam towards the nearest whale, who was already approaching him.
She radiated peaceful curiosity, even before Spock's hand found the sensitive points on her leviathan face. They shared no common language--this having been the great problem from the beginning, of course--so communication occurred in images and ideas.
A translation of the rapid-fire thought conversation:
"Who are you?" Gracie asked.
"Spock of Vulcan." He showed her the red sands.
"How different!"
"It is quite far."
"You are different from Gillian and Bob. They cannot mind-talk."
"We are different species, as you are with the gray whale or the bowhead."
"Your species lives in the sea sometimes?"
"No. I am incredibly uncomfortable. But it is important that I speak with you."
"Why?"
"Your species is in danger. So is the species of Gillian and Bob. In order to save you both, my mission is to bring you into the future." He showed her his memory of the probe, among other things.
He was almost thrown backwards by the physical shock of feeling her sadness at learning what would happen to her people. All he could transmit was "I am sorry."
"If I can right this wrong by coming with you, I will do so--I and the calf inside my womb. I trust you, Spock, because I can see in your mind. But there is one condition. George must come too."
"Of course," he replied. "We require his ability to sing."
"We will not be separated," Gracie explained. "With him, this tank is my ocean. Without him, the ocean is only a tank. It is as with you and--" and here she mirrored an image she had seen in Spock's mind. It was Admiral Kirk.
Spock contemplated the idea. "Yes," he agreed. "I left my homeworld to come with him back to Earth because of this truth. But what does it mean?"
"You do not know?"
"I am... recuperating and have forgotten many things."
"You have not forgotten. You only think that you have. Is it not time for you to take air now?"
Even Spock's body, bred for the thin oxygen of his homeworld, could run out of the precious gas eventually. "Yes--take me to the surface with you, please."
"We shall come with you. I only regret leaving Gillian behind. We both love her."
Spock's legs frog-kicked as she led him to the surface. His satisfaction in his success sufficed to buoy him through the few moments of conflict that followed. Once he and Jim were alone again, walking back across the Bridge to San Francisco, he began to ponder that which Gracie had said regarding Jim.
She had seen his strange, illogical compulsion not to leave Jim's side--indeed, to cleave unto him and follow him across light-years without reservation--and she had understood it. Understood it, and shared it and approved of it. She and George were a mating pair. But he and Jim were not a mating pair. He didn't know there were details of Human culture that the Vulcan priestesses had left out of his reeducation.
As they stepped off the bridge onto the bay shore, Spock noticed a pair of pedestrians walking in the other direction. They were both male, but they were holding hands. The image shocked him, and set his mind racing.
He thought about holding hands with Admiral Kirk, their fingers entwining, perhaps running one idle thumb across the other's, and decided he liked that idea very much. But the priestesses had taught him that to touch was a great personal invasion, and besides, they were in a public place.
At least now he knew why he had experienced such satisfaction at Jim--Admiral Kirk's closeness on the bus earlier.
Gillian wound up picking them up in her pickup--Spock found the semantics beautifully logical--but the Vulcan begged out of dinner, reluctantly separating himself from Jim for the first time in days. He had research to do.
The Bounty's computer records had quite a time translating 'men holding hands' into 'homosexuality', but with a great creaking of gears it eventually produced a few dry scientific tidbits. Apparently, Spock read, a certain percentage of various species fell prey to this anomaly. But the Klingons didn't have much information besides those bare facts.
He told it to scan the television broadcasts Uhura had been intercepting for relevant data.
Five minutes later, he was sneaking out of the Enterprise on his own, headed for the Castro--whatever that was. (McCoy never would have never let him out on his own, but he didn't want a chaperone.)
He ignored the strange looks his robe earned him on the Muni subway. When he emerged into the supposed "gay district," he headed quickly for the nearest establishment before he could talk himself out of it.
There was a countertop and tables and men were sitting at both of them, eating and drinking. A large black and white artsy photograph of a man's nude backside graced the wall, and a small fountain, in which water flowed from one stone man's erect penis onto another stone man's heliotropic face, splashed serenely in the corner. Spock found the effect a little overwhelming and wandered over to the counter.
As he studied the menu, he sensed the approach of a stranger. "This place has great chili." The man was burly and bearded, with a leather hat and a shirt flimsy enough to show his twin nipple rings. He looked cheerful.
"Does it contain meat?" Spock asked. "I am--vegetarian."
"Too bad."
"I believe I will just have a mineral water."
"Suit yourself. Mind if I sit here? You look new to the area."
"You may sit," Spock agreed, "and yes, I am unfamiliar with my surroundings."
"Just ask me if you need help with anything." The man held out his hand to shake, but luckily for Spock they were both distracted by the bartender before he was forced to either touch him or appear rude.
"I'm Keith," said the man once Spock had ordered his San Pellegrino.
"I am Spock."
"Spock? Did you ever write a book on childcare?"
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind."
"I realize this might be a highly inappropriate inquiry, but would you mind if I asked you a few questions about homosexuality?"
Keith studied him. "Only if you're not going to feed me the religious nut stuff," he said, "considering you're dressed like you think you're some kind of prophet or something."
"I assure you I am no prophet," said Spock demurely, "and I am here on my own behalf, to learn. There is a relationship in my life I wish to better understand."
"What's his name?" Keith's eyes twinkled knowingly.
"Ad-- Jim. His name is Jim."
"Does he know?"
"I do not know. It is difficult to explain."
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"While walking earlier, I observed two men holding hands. Is this done frequently?"
"Yeah, but probably only in San Francisco. Other places, you'll get dirty looks at best and put yourself in physical danger at the worst."
"We are hated?"
Keith gave him a funny look. "What planet are you from?"
Spock almost answered, but instead he asked, "What else can men do together?" He gestured towards the fountain.
Keith grinned. "Well, that's called a facial, but it's a bit advanced. That's where you come on his face--or he comes on your face."
"Come? Ah. Ejaculate."
Keith gave him another funny look. "Um. Not all guys are into that, though. But I haven't met a single one who didn't say yes to a hand job." He mimed the action.
"That should be relatively easy to execute."
"Easy as masturbating!" Keith said bouncily. "Of course, the best thing, in most guys' opinion--myself included--is a blow job." This he imitated with his beer bottle.
Spock's eyebrow--and not only his eyebrow--ascended.
"There's also taking it up the ass," Keith continued merrily.
"Up--"
"Have you heard of the prostate gland?"
Spock rattled off a medical definition that almost caused Keith to choke on his chili with laughter.
"Besides that. Man, you're something else. Well, anyway--it feels good when that gets pounded. And, of course, if you're the one on top, there's the whole pleasure of something tight to push into."
Spock played with his mineral water. "There are a lot of options."
"Yeah--it's up to you--and him--to decide what you want to do on any given night. Or morning. Or lunch-break."
Spock drained the last of his drink and stood. "Thank you. You have been of great assistance."
"Anytime. Leaving already?"
"I must return before my absence causes alarm."
"Sneaking around at home?"
"After a fashion," Spock said cagily.
"I know what you mean," Keith commiserated. "Sometimes I wish it was... oh, three hundred years in the future already and I didn't have anything to worry about. But then I remember that I'm and six feet tall and 280 pounds so I hardly have any problems anyway." He flexed a muscle at random and winked. "You take care of yourself, okay?"
As he Muni'd back to Golden Gate Park, Spock resolved two things--first, to ask if Jim if he would be permitted to hold his hand, and second, to wait until their mission was completed before doing so. He had a sneaking, mysterious confidence that Jim felt as he did--which would explain all the anguished looks and heartfelt pleas for closeness that Spock had not understood--but the last thing he wanted to do was provide distraction. As usual, Spock had his priorities organized logically--save humanity first, cuddle second.
In the whirlwind day that followed, Spock was able to compartmentalize his feelings and concentrate on getting his crew and the whales safely back to 2286. It was only after the Starfleet shuttle had scooped the eight of them up from San Francisco Bay that he allowed himself to resume contemplation.
"Spock's freezing. I need a blanket--now." Jim Kirk would instinctively captain any vessel he entered.
"Whose fault is that?" McCoy teased him. "You're the one who pushed him in the damn water."
"It's the air temperature on the shuttle that's causing the problem." Jim accepted a blanket from the shuttle attendant and wrapped it all the way around Spock's body, casting his sodden outer robe aside. Spock could tell that he didn't want to let go, and he wished Jim knew that he was about to end that solitude. But they were not alone, and his retraining had been strong. Privacy was absolute.
Starfleet gave them all a hero's welcome, with a sumptuous steak dinner for all the humans and a variety of rare and delicious fruits on a bed of perfumed long-grain rice for Spock. Afterwards, however, there was a momentary awkwardness as the Starfleet Commander explained that they still had to remain in custody until the hearing for their earlier mischief. "The best I can do right now is to house you all in VIP accommodations, under guard," he explained. "Please--don't take it personally. We are all very grateful."
"We understand," said Jim solemnly.
"Dr. Taylor, I will escort you to Ambassador Sarek, of the planet Vulcan. He has offered to put you up in the Embassy until you can make your own arrangements."
"Thanks." Gillian grinned. "Wow." She was acting a big overwhelmed but happy, like some kind of Miss Nerdy America.
"If you like, Captain Spock, you may accompany us," Cartwright continued.
"I request that I be permitted to remain here with Admiral Kirk," Spock replied quickly. If their time together was about to be cut short at the court martial, he wanted to waste no further moment.
Cartwright nodded. "Naturally, that is approved. Okay, if nobody has any other concerns, Lieutenant Po will show you to your rooms."
Spock was now convinced that he and Kirk were mates, because of Cartwright's quick approval of his request to remain behind. He couldn't get behind a closed door with Jim fast enough.
The door slid shut, and they were alone.
"Spock," Jim said with a sad warmth in his voice. "Thank you for staying with me."
With him, this tank is my ocean. --Gracie's words/ideas came back to Spock. "My place is with you," said Spock.
Jim, unable to speak or move, simply stared at him.
"Jim," Spock asked, trying out the name tentatively, "may I hold your hand?"
"Yes," Jim breathed, as if he'd been holding it in. For months.
Spock's hand was not content to remain still, but roamed all about Kirk's fingers. It was as if he strove to condense all his sensuality into that one point of contact, that one act.
"Jim, is there something about us I have forgotten?"
"Yes." Like a falling leaf it left his lips.
"Will you share your mind with me?"
"Yes." Jim closed his eyes and died of happiness. They shared a world again, and Spock saw how the Vulcans had warned Jim that Spock needed to recover these important memories on his own, for they did not understand them well enough to interfere and were also concerned that too much pressure from Jim would damage any future expression of that sentiment. //They were right,// Jim knew and Spock heard. //You came back to me on your own. I was afraid to trust them, but I had no choice but to believe. The risk of losing your love--//
//I came back to my Orpheus because he believed.//
//You really are back, aren't you? Saying a thing like that.//
//Your own memories have awakened mine.//
//Touch me.//
That was when, to misquote the eminent Victor Hugo, a Persian rug became a temple.