Having taken my morning meal and still on forced medical leave, I will resume this journal. McCoy seems pleased, as if placing the details will somehow alleviate any lingering distress. He does not accept that there is none. But enough. Once again, I delve into my eidetic memory and relive what has been.
I recall the weeks that merge into seasons. Spring has given way to summer, not quite warm enough to my preference, and I experience winter in this place. I see snow, a thing I am not used to, and indeed experienced for the first time as a child when my mother had taken me to visit her relatives—and mine—in Minnesota for the Christmas she often spent on Earth, though I was not taken every year. My father saw the necessity for my human relatives to be involved in my life, but wished to mitigate the damage they might do to my Vulcan training. The adults were kind to me, and I comported myself with dignity as a representative of the clan of my fathers. The children were less kind, but I was used to that. I had seen the beauty of snow when perceived from a warm indoor setting, but disliked going out in it.
Fortunately, here, the distance between house and quarters is small, and they are both kept warm. Even the humans prefer warmth in the winter. I am issued warm underthings, too, which also aid in keeping me from getting ill. It's never quite enough, but I am used to human temperature preference after many years of living among them.
So winter passes into spring and one day T'Pel and I are both summoned before our owners. This is my first meeting with the man who actually owns me, though my young master has power over my day to day life. This is the man who determines my existence, here and now. He is summoning us to inform us that we are to be mated. I cannot refuse this; I bow deeply as if I am honored to be given thus, but T'Pel sees my reticence as we pass into the back stair area.
She is confused. "Do you not want me, Spock? I have hoped for this day."
I sigh. "T'Pel. What happens if I cannot remain here? Would you be bonded to one who does not know where he belongs? Who cannot protect you as a bondmate should? I cannot be other than who I am. I cannot give you the love of a spouse. Can you live with that? I do admire you. I would be your friend. Will this be enough for you when the Bond becomes onerous and I enter my Time?"
T'Pel holds herself erect and pushes her hair back, unbound as all slave women's hair is, from her face. She is beautiful. But I do not love her. Perhaps it is illogical. I know that a bonded pair do, as a rule, find affection beyond that governed by the Need. I was aware of my parents' Bond, though it was not spoken of often even in private. I could not help but be aware, as a touch telepath. My own mother had some ability in that area—enough to have been taught to shield from casual touch—yet, even so, the undercurrent of my parents' affection for one another was apparent to me, though my father denied it.
Would T'Pel be able to accept that this might never happen between us?
"Spock," she says, and holds her two fingers out to mine."You have seen my mind. You know that I love you. For me there is no other. Can I not have what happiness I may? It is not logical. But I am not ruled wholly by logic. Should I deny this; deny who I am? I have no wish to force you. We can live the lie to our owners, if you will. But know that I want this."
I touch my two fingers to hers, in surrender. "Then, T'Pel, I accept this Bond. I shall give what I can, if you are certain you can accept this."
We proceed down to the kitchen and find word has preceded us. We are seated at what appear to be "places of honor" and someone places wreaths of flowers on our heads. She looks radiant, though I feel I have succumbed to indignity.
There is a feast laid and most of the household servants attend. Someone has found a bottle of wine, perhaps donated by our owners, and we each have a small cup. I politely sip at mine when a toast is raised to our union, then pretend to eat. I am simply not hungry, but it is difficult to disappoint Regul who has labored long to make this meal, or the others who are enjoying it. So I sit and allow my dignity to be compromised in order to give some small pleasure to these beings who get so little of it.
After a time, Qol signals to us and we make our excuses and follow him—he takes us to the third building of slave quarters which has private rooms for mated couples. There are others, but not so many, and they are all gone to the fields, so when we are taken to our new room, we have a modicum of privacy.Our things have been brought to this room, which has a closable door and a bed, table, and small shelf for our belongings. Someone has made a quilt for our bed from carefully preserved leftover cloth, though I do not know where they got it nor how long they might have been working on it.
I do not pretend to understand it, but I believe these people are showing feelings of friendship toward us. Perhaps it is only for T'Pel, as they have known her all of her life.
In any case, they leave us alone and I can remove the ridiculous floral wreath without fear of causing unnecessary hurt. T'Pel removes hers as well and places it and mine, on the outside of our door, and sits, drawing me down next to her.