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Spock had planned to do some supplemental studying, but when his mother had asked for help after their midday meal, he had been unable to refuse.
She and his father would be leaving for Earth in a fortnight while he had asked to stay on Vulcan to participate in a series of experiments organized by the Learning Center. As he had been deemed old and mature enough to stay alone for the duration of his parents’ absence, he had been granted permission as long as he had weekly meetings with T’Pau.
But it would be the first time he would be physically separated from his mother for such an extended period, and Spock had found himself strangely uneasy at the idea. Therefore he had found it increasingly difficult to deny her simple requests like his help to sort out her personal belongings. They both knew that she didn’t actually need him and was using this as an excuse to spend “quality time” with him, but Spock was grateful for this time with her, even if it was illogical to already miss her when they were still living in the same house.
When Spock noticed a small wooden box on the bed next to one of the open luggage, he couldn’t help but frown at the word ‘Memories’ inscribed on the lid. While he was aware of his mother’s human need to keep physical memories of things as she had insisted throughout his childhood for pictures to be printed instead of just displayed digitally, those had always been put into albums later on. Albums that wouldn’t fit into such a box.
“Go on, open it. I can see it intrigues you.” His mother’s voice made him look up to see a soft smile illuminating her face.
He went ahead, and as he opened the box, he sat down on the bed, unbelieving of what it contained even as he took some of the content out to look at it more closely.
“You kept this? Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I have? Those drawings and poems are evidence of your love and precious memories of my little boy. I adored how much care you took in making them and then how cautious you were to ensure that nobody would witness you leaving them hidden under my pillow. Being surprised by a new one was always a wonderful treat, and I will always cherish every single one of them.”
Spock could feel his face flush at the reminder of this emotional childhood habit. He had ceased doing it when he had chosen to embrace his Vulcan side, believing himself too old for such juvenile manifestations of affection.
But the love and fond nostalgia discernible in his mother’s voice made him slightly regret that decision. He could still remember the warmth of her good morning forehead kiss and the stronger-than-usual hug she always gave him after he left one of those gifts for her to find.
Maybe he would make her a new one before she and his father left, just as a reminder that his love for her hadn’t changed and never would.