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Chapter Text

Jim knew it was a mistake before Spock disappeared from the transport pad. He was at the wall panel shouting orders at the intercom so fast that Spock was still there enough to cock his head at the sound of them. They needed to launch a shuttle, now, to get Spock and the elders from their sacred mountain. He wondered if Spock would realize his blunder now that he’d heard Jim compensating for it and hoped that worrying about it wouldn’t slow the Commander down. He turned to the young Russian man operating the transporter once the orders about the shuttle were confirmed.

“Chekov, you know what you did with me and Sulu? I want you to try again, find a large group of Vulcans and just start grabbing people, especially pairs that are touching so we can double our numbers. We’ll be heavy on the high school sweetheart demographic, but that’ll just give the species a ready breeding stock.” Jim winced a bit at the reference to animal husbandry. He’d been switching over from using the wall panel to talk with the shuttle bay to using his hand held comm to talk to the bridge and the cargo transporter while he spoke with Chekov, and Lieutenant Uhura was sure to have something to say about the insensitive phrasing. It was accurate, though, this was more about saving the species as a whole than any individual and everyone needed to have their head in the game. Vulcans were uniquely reluctant to create fully functional colony worlds, and only had small outposts with no permanent residents or children. A handful of older kids might visit family on a space station in any given year, but from what Kirk understood Vulcan kids stayed on their home planet as a cultural rule. Chekov was already operating the transporter screen, locking onto a group from Shi’kar according to the readout as Jim started a new set of orders.

“This is an evacuation operation as of now. If we have one, we need a map with the schools and major labs marked on it down in the main transporter bay. Cargo Transporter: I want you to play this as safe as possible. Your system down there is optimized for things, not people, so remember that and go for solid locks on strong Vulcan life signs. The main transporter is going to get a lot of kids, you focus on adults. Over 1.6 meters if you need a hard statistic, but that’s not an order. Get beaming, don’t stop, use your discretion to keep the speed up. We don’t have time for fiddling with weak or fuzzy signals. Any Vulcan you can catch, we aren’t asking permission and I’ll handle any apologies later. Security, we need escorts to bring our guests to the Gymnasium, and the ship’s quartermaster needs to organize incidentals like people pulled out of a shower and enough warm blankets to go around. If it starts getting cramped, move on to the observation decks and recreation room. Let’s use the meeting room across the hall from Sickbay to triage minor wounds so they aren’t overrun.”

“A map of schools, hospitals, and the main VSA laboratories and libraries has been transmitted to the transporter bays,” Uhura said when Jim took a breath.

“Hospital… On my authority I’m telling you to target strong life signs only,” Jim ordered. “God forgive me.” Sickbay had been shot to hell, and Bones was still slammed treating their own patients. They were one banged-up ship, they just couldn’t afford to be too generous with their limited resources.

James Tiberius Kirk was a modern-day jack of all trades. That was why Pike wanted him in the ‘fleet so badly he came to Riverside looking for him. He’d managed enough advanced class credits to get a Liberal Arts BA when he left high school, blew the top off the aptitude tests, finished up a Mechanical Engineering master’s degree while working at the shipyard, tinkered with all sorts of things, and read a small library’s worth of non-fiction books out of simple curiosity. It helped a lot in his mixed-track training missions because he understood the Red-shirt engineers and the Blue-shirt specialists were talking about when they dropped into technical vernacular well enough to give them efficient orders without needing them to rephrase in more detail or with smaller words. That pissed off some instructors because it meant they weren’t getting practice dumbing down their words for less well-read superiors, but Jim didn’t think that was his problem.

Relevant to the current moment: Jim knew the ballpark capabilities of the transporters, both the expected routine function and their theoretical limits. That kid Chekov was able to push into some of that theoretical territory when he caught Jim and Sulu on the same pad with pure skill and a total lack of knowing better than to try it. Spock probably thought that the kid could compensate for the gravitational fluctuations the singularity was causing without any problem, which was a great complement to the Ensign, but Jim wouldn’t bet Spock’s life on the Commander having factored in Mount Seleya - Salya? the Sacred Vulcan Mountain - and what it would do to the transporter signals. It was possible Spock figured Jim was an asshole who thought that if he couldn’t do something nobody could and wouldn’t be distracted by worrying about it.

“How’s that shuttle coming?” Jim asked when he jogged onto the bridge.

“It’ll be cutting it close,” Sulu said, returning to his station so Jim could take the captain’s chair. “Nielson’s a racer at heart, won some competitions back home. If anyone can do it, he will.”

“Why are we sending a shuttle for Spock instead of just using the transporter?” Uhura asked. It was a fair question, but he could do without the glare or hostile tone. Jim straightened himself and faced her with all the authority he could muster. She didn’t seem terribly busy at the moment, though the department she was running was hard at work trying to re-establish subspace communications. Probably waiting on more detailed damage reports before she could give the next round of orders, which was fine. Avoiding micro-management and using waiting time to get an explanation was probably the best thing for her department right now. A look around confirmed she wasn't the only one who wanted to know.

“To oversimplify certain elements of Commander Spock’s religion to the extreme: Vulcan’s Forge is sacred ground because that’s where they dropped bombs until even the most violent asshole on the planet was willing to go pacifist. That mountain he’s going into is sacred because it is a natural bomb shelter. The rock is mostly heavy metals that will absorb or refract any radiant energy thrown at it, and so dense that it’s a wonder of geology. The whole area is dusted with a layer of two- millennia- old radioactive fallout. All that distorts transporter beams on a good day. The chances of bringing up the entire Vulcan Council through that distortion and the gravitational fluctuations of the unstable singularity currently eating the planet aren’t great, and we can use our tractor beam to help the shuttle escape if we must. By that point… Well, we won’t need to divert so much power to the transporters anymore. In the worst case, if the shuttle starts falling, the tractor beam can hold them steady enough so that we can beam them from the shuttle once they are clear of the mountain’s distortion.”

“I… I understand, sir,” Uhura said respectfully, something a little haunted in her eyes. Jim turned away to check the data streaming across the main screens.

“If Chekov can pull up pairs on the main transporter pad, that’s the best use of of it. It’s a high chance of betrothed pairs or siblings, so they won’t be completely alone in the world. If it breaks, or overloads, or anything else goes sideways because we’re pushing the limits…” Jim shrugged. “At least we tried, and we’ve got the cargo transporter and that shuttle on the way. Now, engineering, how’s the damage control coming?”

Chapter Text

“We need a map with the schools and major labs marked on it down in the main transporter bay… Security, we need escorts to bring our guests to the Gymnasium… use the meeting room across the hall from Sickbay to triage minor wounds.”

Spock heard Cadet Kirk’s voice coming from the com clipped to his belt. Nyota had opened a channel after the newly appointed First Officer Kirk ‘talked about Vulcans like livestock, so I think you should hear this.’ So far, he hadn’t heard anything objectionable. If anything, it was an efficient use of time to save the largest number of people they could.

“Hosp… On my authority I’m telling you to target strong life signs only,” Jim ordered. “God forgive me.”

Kirk’s tenacity and the attitude that had him hack the Kobiashi Maru test rather than accept that the ship was doomed was looking more and more like an asset in the field. Someone willing to try anything, to consider even distasteful choices to preserve the greatest amount of life in the face of total… of an extinction level… Spock couldn’t think about that right now. It would serve no purpose but to wallow in emotion. Enterprise’s Sickbay was damaged, it was logical to avoid intentionally overtaxing their limited resources. If Kirk used some impolite phrasing that was hardly material so long as everyone was performing optimally.

Spock focused on the climb. He’d appeared further away than expected and had to climb quite a bit of Mount Seleya to get to the entrance. Going up along the switchback trail would take far too long, so he scrambled up the cliff side in as straight a line as he could manage and hoped that his physical training routine would prove sufficient to the task despite how long he had lived and worked in Terra’s lighter gravity and richer air. Simple mathematics were always effective to calm the mind in a crisis. The transporters could cycle as quickly as every 45 seconds in ideal conditions. There were twelve pads in the main transporter and eight in the cargo transporter. All twenty pads cycling at optimal speed for the 15 minutes Spock believed the planet had before total collapse - a terribly vague estimate of time, but he would have to make do given the unprecedented situation - meant at best Kirk could save 400 Vulcan lives with his orders. He was prioritizing children and those working in places indicating they have some specialist knowledge. Estimating the current starbase and research outpost populations and adding the crews of science vessels on exploratory missions… The population of Vulcans not on the planet was above 9,500 and below 10,000 total. If they brought 400 to safety, Enterprise would be responsible for saving a statistically significant number of the surviving population.

Spock was, thankfully, distracted from calculating the precise decimation of his species by the continued chatter. Kirk was sending a shuttle down to retrieve him and the Elders. That was an odd choice. What possible reason would he risk a shuttle falling into the singularity when…

“The rock is mostly heavy metals… so dense that it’s a wonder of geology… radioactive fallout. All that distorts transporter beams on a good day.”

He’d forgotten. Unacceptable. Spock had assumed there would be no issue in beaming himself and the Elders up to the ship if he could get them fully outside and use his communicator signal to facilitate a solid lock. The particle wave reflections and refractions the mountain caused were a key feature of the sacred space within - no harmful radiation could penetrate Seleya. It was a natural sanctuary and that was exactly why Spock had to go in person. There was no other way to contact the people inside. Even telepathy between bondmates had difficulty penetrating the mountain.

“If Chekov can pull up pairs on the main transporter pad, that’s the best use of it. It’s a high chance of betrothed pairs or siblings, so…”

The signal cut out as Spock threw himself up the mountain, not returning at all for 1.34 minutes. The open line crackled as it reconnected in the middle of a flurry of technical engineering talk that Spock couldn’t spare enough concentration to follow. The positive parts of Kirk’s personnel file came to mind: his Engineering degree and years of practical experience working at the Riverside shipyard. Kirk had helped build the Enterprise. He likely knew the systems better than the current head of the Engineering department. As Spock focused on the repetitive action of pulling himself ever higher, finding solid hand holds while fighting against the quaking ground and high gravity that no longer felt as familiar as it should, the intermittent babble in the background about relays and redirected systems washed over him. Re-routed ventilation, the most efficient versus the most stable way to reconnect power to Sickbay’s lighting, an abysmal assessment of the medical laboratory and orders for the science team to make room to synthesize the needed drugs and supplies in their lab space crackled in and out as the comm unit struggled against the Mountain’s refraction.

It was reassuring in a way, the reassurance of things being fixed and good decisions being made that he didn’t have to handle. Command had never been Spock’s goal, he was a scientist first and he wanted to explore and make new discoveries, not captain a ship and join in the political dance of the higher ranks. He was technically prepared for command, and Captain Pike praised his leadership in the capacity of First Officer, but that was as high as he wanted to go for a long time yet. The XO of any ship of sufficient size must have superior organizational and leadership skills, and he could say without arrogance that he was fully qualified. Yet, Spock would admit that he found it uncomfortable when Captain Pike declared him the Acting Captain. He would do what was necessary, of course, but perhaps in this sacred place on the last time he would ever tread this ground, he could admit he would be glad if someone else was in the captain’s chair for very selfish reasons related to his personal insecurities.

Spock didn’t think he was in the wrong for acknowledging the bare facts of his own limited ambition and his personal faults. He was fairly certain that, had Kirk been in good standing and not on probation, Pike would have had Kirk on the bridge from the start and put Kirk in command when he went to Nero’s ship. The captain clearly held Kirk in very high regard. The supposedly flippant and unreliable felon Spock had been warned about by Nyota and others certainly sounded capable, serious, and comfortable with command. Even with his periodic difficulty identifying human emotional states, given how emotionally transparent Jim Kirk was Spock was sure he’d read him correctly. It was refreshing, if also frustrating due to their opposition, to deal with someone so clear about his stance. Pike had made Jim First Officer because nothing else would be accepted at the time and had made it clear in earlier conversation that he found Kirk to be well suited to command. Now that he’d heard Kirk in action, Spock had to wonder how accurate the man’s reputation as a drunken, womanizing reprobate really was. He briefly wonders what Kirk’s previous attempts at the Kobayashi Maru test were like as he hauled himself over the last ridge. He’d gone to observe that last time because no other cadet had tried more than twice before, and perhaps not reviewing his previous attempts had been a decision made more from Kirk’s nebulous reputation than any verifiable or accurate information Spock had.

The cool shadow of the interior of Mount Seleya fell over him as he raced through the entrance and deep into the mountain, cutting off the weak comm signal just after the shuttle pilot confirmed he had a visual on Spock. Shouting as soon as he could see the council, the Vulcan words felt pulled out of his very soul. The resonance of so many Katra and such powerful telepaths all in one place moved through him as if they were all physically touching, and far more information was pulled from him than the few words he said. He was glad for his mother’s actual touch as they sprinted toward the exit, finding his focus again in the task at hand. The tremors had become so strong that it slowed their progress, the tilting and jumping ground difficult to keep their balance on while running full speed. If he thought he could, he would scoop up his human mother and carry her out, but in truth he wasn’t fairing much better than she was after his exhausting scramble up the mountain. The tunnel collapsed behind them, and he felt the echo of surprise and pain before it suddenly cut out as one of the elders was crushed. A vibration up his spine told him that another had been trapped by a falling statue. To feel such strong emotion, even tightly leashed, radiate off one of the elders was something that Spock could have lived his life without ever experiencing.

The shuttle was there, not set down but hovering just above the shaking ground. The five surviving Elders moved with agility beyond their age to get into the shuttle, Sarek hanging back to ensure his wife and son made it in time. After giving his mother a hand up, the public clasping of hands would have to be forgiven just this once since Spock and Sarek each grasped one of Amanda’s small hands to lift her into the shuttle together, Spock paused a moment to watch the ground fall away from where she was just standing before closing the door. Would there have been enough time to safely beam up, even if Chekov could make sure the transporter functioned properly?

“… we absolutely certain that Nero is heading for Earth next. If we are, then we must go after Captain Pike.”

Spock’s comm crackled back to life as the shuttle climbed and the mountain fell. Communications had managed to send something through subspace, but they weren’t certain it would come through clearly, and even though no answer and no orders could come for hours they weren’t sure they could repair enough of their systems to receive a transmission if it came. It had taken four hours to reach Vulcan from Earth and with the damage to the ship engineering wasn’t sure that they could make the same time back. Estimates for how long it would take Nero’s drill to do the same to Earth were made, and while Spock could criticize the figures for some inaccuracies or perhaps forgotten variables, the base conclusion Kirk was leading the command team toward was accurate enough. If they tried to rally the fleet in the Laurentian system first, then even in the best-case scenario Earth would be lost and Mars or Venus would be in severe danger. The possibility that Earth would be lost, Nero gone elsewhere with a weapon that may or may not have limited capacity, and no way of tracking him until another planet was destroyed was almost unimaginable. Spock focused on his breathing. What could drive any creature to such insanity and violence?

“Keep the tractor beam steady on them. As soon as we get that shuttle on board, we’re moving back toward the debris field. There could be people in air pockets trapped behind bulkheads,” Kirk says, and Spock notices for the first time that his voice is a bit muffled. Odd. Spock should speak up, take command again. He should comment or correct. Their estimate of how long it took the Narada to drill into Vulcan’s core is too low, there is more time before Earth meets the same fate, but it wouldn’t be enough of a difference to be meaningful. The correction feels pedantic in his own mind, and while he usually doesn’t mind that - enjoys it, on occasion - the presence of the entire surviving Vulcan council and his mother stills his tongue. It seems irreverent to speak of something trivial amid so much grief.

“Pull them in and get me a headcount. On a day like today, hearing that we don’t have enough beds to go around is going to have to count as good news.”

Spock pulled the communicator off his belt and stared at it, willing the number to be supplied faster.

“Transporter room reporting,” Ensign Chekov’s thickly accented voice sounded like it came from some distance, and Spock realized that he was looking at Nyota’s personal comm ID on his communicator screen. He wonders if Uhura informed Kirk that she was keeping a line open and can’t remember her mentioning it. “426 individuals beamed from the surface using the main transporter bay. 148 brought aboard using the cargo transporter. A total of 574 Vulcans aboard, sir!”

“There was only fourteen point two minutes between when I beamed down and total collapse. There are twenty transporter pads on the Enterprise. The most we could beam up during that time, operating a perfect efficiency, would be 378.” Spock didn’t realize he’d spoken until T’Pau replied.

“I would like to meet those responsible for saving an additional one-hundred-and-ninety-six Vulcan lives, above what should have been possible.”

“Lieutenant Uhura, do we have an open channel to the shuttle?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, sir, I kept an open line with Commander Spock throughout, so he would know what was happening in his absence. It lost signal soon after he beamed down, but reconnected once he was in the shuttle.” That was improper, and not fully accurate. She should have informed Kirk of the open channel immediately, and it was her own comm and not through the communications systems so a much weaker encryption. Spock would have to mention it to Captain Pike. He’d reported that his TA wanted to initiate a romantic relationship with him, and after a long conversation where Pike misunderstood his mention of her persistence as a harassment complaint Spock realized that the regulations concerning fraternization were so human in design that he had misunderstood them. Being her superior officer, far from being inherently prohibitive, was only a problem if it became a problem - specifically due to misuse of his authority or biased misconduct of some kind - and he didn’t need to write up a formal report on the subject unless he wanted help with such a problem. Spock thought that this might actually count, and the great empty hole in the telepathic center of his brain yawned wider. Spock reached for stability and only found more emptiness. Oh, T’Pring. She had blocked him out after he asked how often Stonn was in their home fifteen days ago, and that argument was unresolved, but now the bond wasn’t blocked with deliberate silence. It was gone, ripped out at the root by her sudden death.

“Should save some time in the debrief. May I ask who else I’m speaking to?”

“This is T’Pau.” There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, even the background chatter going silent. The comm clicked and the static cleared; when Kirk next spoke, there was no distortion. Uhura must have properly routed it through the communications console.

“First Officer J. T. Kirk, and it’s a genuine pleasure, ma’am,” Kirk said respectfully. “I look forward to a time when we aren’t doing fifty things at once and we all can sit down over tea and chat.”

“I appreciate the intent of your words,” T’Pau said, her words measured. She sat back slowly, seeming slightly more at ease than before. “We all look forward to when attention can be spared for trivial pleasures.”

“You’ll have the choice of sickbay if you need it, joining one of the groups of refugees, or a room to discuss things in private as a Council when you get here. Can’t promise what kind of council room, might have to be somebody’s quarters or a supply closet in the short term. We’ve got everyone from the planet organized roughly by province of origin, but it was a quick sort and I’m about certain that some of the kids have wandered off somewhere private to unpack their trauma or try to find a cousin.”

“You targeted the schools,” Spock said, his voice so flat and hollow he almost didn’t recognize it.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“I only mean to inform the council that there is likely a disproportionate number of youths aboard.” There was a chill in him, a coldness creeping up. Mother touched Spock’s shoulder. When he looked toward her, he could see Sarek had crossed his arms so tightly he could discreetly stroke her arm on the other side. The telepathic field that radiated out from Vulcan, humming low in the back of his mind all his life, was gone. T’Pring was dead, and he didn’t know if it had been so sudden that she didn’t have time to call out to him or if his focus made him miss the moment of p’pil’lay. His 42-day-old relationship with Nyota may be ended by their superiors due to her conduct. His clan was reduced to only himself and three others as far as he could sense.

“Spock?” Sarek said quietly. It was the first time his father had spoken to him directly since he joined Starfleet. He heard the rest of his father’s question through his mother’s touch and was sure they both knew the answer the same way. T’Pring was dead, and Spock wasn’t certain why it hurt so much. Why did his mind keep reaching for her now, even after he was sure she was gone, when their relationship had been so distant since he began teaching at the Academy?

“We are now members of an endangered species,” Spock said to his father instead.

“You look very pale, sweetheart,” Mother said plainly.

“Pushau,” was all he could say before the cold reached past his throat and froze his tongue. He was alone alone alone even with his parents and clan matriarch within his sight.

“Esteemed Elders, I think you all deserve some privacy while you can have some. Enterprise out.”

Spock appreciated that he could not further publicly humiliate himself by blurting out the intrusive thoughts he couldn’t put from his mind. Sarek moved to put his arm behind his wife as soon as she moved to do the same for Spock, both offering him the grounding comfort of their presence as his mind howled at the unimaginably large loss. The broken bond with T’Pring was small enough for him to conceptualize, he would deal with that for now. He measured his breaths and tried to use their support to help him acknowledge and set aside his pain. It wasn’t true meditation, but it would help him stabilize the broken bond temporarily so he could function more efficiently until he could find the time for proper meditation. Spock would need to refocus on the task at hand when he reached Enterprise.

He knew he still cherished T’Pring when he agreed to date Nyota; he was her husband and he took pride in meeting all obligations placed on him, but he also had needs and it seemed only fair that if their relationship was to be open in that way that he could also seek comfort in another. It was complicated. Now that the bond was broken, he faced the many thoughts and feelings he had set aside for later in relation to his marital bond. Spock realized that he had been setting aside far more than he should have, and the mental container he’d packed his negative thoughts about T’Pring into went far deeper than he’d estimated. It had now sprung open, mixing and mingling with the incomprehensible loss of most of his species. Being a good husband to his ambitious wife was sometimes difficult, and she disliked his fascination with Terran arts and literature as well as his choice to join Starfleet, but he had enjoyed her company and attention whenever he had it. She was a good woman, for all that it seemed she was always with Stonn when he contacted her in the last two standard years. She had continued to contact him with the same frequency that she always had, and they met at various starbases to renew their connection mentally and physically plenty of times since he chose Starfleet over the VSA, but there was a certain falseness lately that had him looking elsewhere for comfort.

Still, he cherished and wanted T’Pring. While Stonn’s undeniably ubiquitous presence upset Spock, the man was not terribly intelligent. Spock doubted that whatever physical pleasures he might be giving T’Pring would be enough to replace the intellectual stimulus Spock provided. T’Pring would certainly grow bored with Stonn’s bulging muscles, and perhaps she would eventually find some other toy to occupy her leisure time when she grew bored of Spock’s lithe body type again. He’d expected them to come back together after every parting just the same. It was not, perhaps, the sort of relationship one held up as an ideal or wrote poetry about, but it was functional. The pain he felt meant the bond had still been strong, much stronger than he expected it to be.

He had told himself that whatever dalliance he had with Nyota, most humans her age were fickle and the relationship would likely reach a natural end. He was not an easy mate to keep: he came with his wanderlust, his bluntness, his insatiable curiosity, his periodic hyper-focus, his stubbornness, his dual nature, and his otherness. There were few hybrids in the galaxy, and never being fully one thing or the other meant he was unique in ways that were difficult for others to understand and accommodate for. T’Pring had made accommodations for him, and even tried to research his human needs to better anticipate things he hadn’t yet discovered for himself. As the shuttle docked, Spock had barely sorted out any of his thoughts and feelings, but he had at least acknowledged his pain and set it aside with all the other things he’d have to meditate on when Nero was taken care of.

Chapter Text

Jim decided to go down to meet the shuttle. Things were moving along without the need for too much micromanagement at the moment and he had the Captain’s PADD in hand so he could keep an eye on everything just the same as if he was in the command chair. Commander Spock sounded odd on the comm. It was true that Jim couldn’t speak well in any form of Vulcanshu, but that had more to do with his medical history and physical ability to pronounce some of the phonemes than anything else. He could read simplified Golic and understand a decent amount when other people spoke. Jim knew the word Spock used meant broken, and the second woman sounded very worried - even by human standards - when she mentioned how pale Spock was. Anything could have happened while Spock was dirtside, the man had needed to climb a mountain during an earthquake. A broken bone wasn’t out of the question.

“James T. Kirk,” the voice of an elder man pulled his attention from the PADD as he walked into the shuttle bay. He spotted someone in an alcove and cautiously approached. “It is good to see you.”

“Have we met?” Jim asked. The Vulcan was old enough to have fully silver hair and was dressed in a gray coat that blended rather well into the walls.

“We have, in a way. I have vital information about Nero that you will need if you hope to prevent further tragedy,” the elder said with a nod.

“You’re the old man from the outpost on Delta Vega?” Jim asked. “The one with the engineer who started picking people up?”

“Yes, Scotty was most impressive in scanning for local comms and beaming up those on either end of the conversation. An action inspired by overhearing your command to beam up anyone who was touching, he tried to save those who were reaching out. Though, from that distance, he needed the comm signals to get a lock on anyone. For myself, I and my ship were captured by Nero, and I was placed on Delta Vega to watch the destruction of my people. I have vital information about him and his ship; however, there is too much I need to tell you and very little time.” He reached out toward Jim’s face. “Please allow me, it will be faster this way.”

“Woah, what?” Jim asked, backing up a step. The old man’s soft hand cradled the side of Jim’s face. “Wait just a minute…”

“My mind, to your mind.”

The world fell away into a kaleidoscope of images, fading after a moment into a view of space. Streams of information spiraled at him in fractal patterns, like peering through a spyglass that was faceted instead of properly convex, echoing into Kirk’s mind. He had little choice but to pay attention and try his best to absorb the fast-paced flow of information.

Chapter Text

Spock stepped out of the shuttle behind the elders. T’Pau touched his mind briefly as they were coming in, both offering and taking some reassurance. His remaining clan assuring him that his reaction to his grief was both normal and shared, even with his obvious emotional outburst, meant a great deal to him. T’Pau’s touch specifically reminded him that Vulcan instincts in this matter were impossible to fully repress without going through kolinar, and that he was young enough that he hadn’t gone through his first Pon Farr or had a child to reduce their intensity. The death of a bondmate would be especially distressing for all those in his situation. He would have to accept that fact in himself and prepare to interact with others who are similarly unstable. She also communicated that the greater loss they all experienced was unsettling even to those with the most disciplined minds. The k’war’ma’khon, the web of mental connections that connected all Vulcans to all other Vulcans through twelve degrees of separation or less, was shattered. The background psychic awareness that their ‘extended family’ created was gone, and they all grieved that unimaginably large loss. The mental touch provided T’Pau with stability was well, something that surprised him enough she noticed and scolded him for childishly narrow thoughts. She was also grieving and took comfort in the connection with her remaining clan just as he did.

When this was over, Spock would see if his father would meld with him. They hadn’t in far too long, not since Spock was first learning how, and T’Pau noticed that straight away when she touched Spock’s mind. She was very displeased by their lack of communication. There was no further point to their disagreement in any case, so continued hostilities would be illogical, and Spock was sure she would say similar things to Sarek as soon as she had the opportunity.

A Yeoman was waiting for them with a wheelchair in case it was needed. She greeted him as “Acting Captain” and he found his voice enough to tell her that the elders wished to be with the largest group of survivors for now. She started to lead them to the turbolift, apologizing because First Officer Kirk said he was coming down to meet them, but she didn’t know what held him up. As Spock scanned the room, taking comfort in the efficiency on display, he saw someone stumbling backwards. The blond in black thermals fell to the deck on their back and lay still. Spock rushed over to see what caused the accident and found Kirk groaning on the ground, the command PADD in hand. He crouched down as bright blue eyes blinked open.

“Holy fuck, you don’t just grab at somebody’s brain like that!” Kirk exclaimed. Spock looked up and caught a bit of movement, someone rushing off along the catwalk. They were already too distant for Spock to catch them, but security should be able to find them quickly enough once Kirk gave a description and the cameras were scanned. Behind him, he heard the approach of multiple feet.

“You have been assaulted.” Spock observed.

“Spock?” Kirk asked, his tone much too familiar for their adversarial acquaintance, though that could simply be because he was dazed.

“Affirmative. What symptoms are you experiencing?” Spock asked, following an easy enough script.

“I should be asking you that, sounded like you had a bad time of it down there when we talked over the comm,” Kirk said. Contrary to his words, the blond man sat up and tested his motor control and perception by shifting his limbs and looking around. He didn’t try to rise. “I’m dizzy. I feel… well, a lot like I did on the day I lost my brother, but that’s not important. We have to get Pike back as soon as possible.”

“A case of kae'at k'lasa,” Sarek said, his tone severe. “Shameful, that one who has helped our people would be attacked in…”

“He helped all right, just dumped everything in my brain! I know everything there is to know about Nero, now, and it isn’t good news. Spock, um, I mean commander.” Kirk cut himself off and shook himself violently, as if he could physically dislodge the aftereffects of the forced meld. He reached out and Spock grasped his clothed arm to help him stand. Kirk’s mind, still wide open from the meld, reached out to Spock’s in a way that a psi-null person shouldn’t be able to accomplish even with direct skin contact. Spock’s own mental walls let the connection in either due to damage, loneliness, or curiosity. Spock got a clear impression of Kirk’s mental state, solid and confident with a clear goal and the outline of a plan forming that pushed all other concerns to the side. It was grounding, and he kept the contact as Kirk started speaking rapidly.

“The singularities can cause distortions in time. Nero and the man who just melded with me, who was briefly Nero’s prisoner, are from the future when Romulus’ Star goes nova and the VSA invents this red matter substance that can create singularities to try and save the inhabited worlds that would otherwise be destroyed. It all went wrong, and he’s out to destroy all the Federation home worlds because he lost his home. Which isn’t gone yet because he’s in the past. Completely insane, but we knew that. He absolutely does have enough ammo to take out every inhabited planet in the Alpha quadrant and then some. He also has Klingon torture devices taken from that prison planet, and he’s not shy about using them. We have to get Pike back before he breaks and gives up the security codes, and under those conditions it’s only a matter of time.” Spock followed along with the mental images he was receiving. It was extraordinary, really, that he could pick up Kirk’s thoughts so clearly. The images and memories hadn’t fully integrated into Kirk’s mind, but he could still project them in a way Spock could absorb. “That Scottish engineer knows a thing or twenty that can come in handy, we’ll need him.”

“You are agitated after the kae'at k'lasa,” Sarek dismissed.

“I recognize the word rape, and I’m going to object to that. He didn’t take anything from me, just pushed a bunch of things I need and want to know at me in a way I didn’t expect and wasn’t ready for. Mind harassment, at best,” Kirk argued. “I can take the rude delivery, and we have better things to be doing than quibbling over manners.”

“Kirk seems both focused and present,” Spock observed, dropping Kirk’s arm. “We should return to the bridge at once. We can discuss what to do about the assault when the more pressing situation is resolved.”

The elders parted ways with Kirk and Spock, headed for the gymnasium. Kirk said there were some communications staff cataloging names, professions, and other basic identifying information to help with the aftermath. Whatever medical professionals had been beamed aboard that were willing to aid with triage and first aid were sent to Dr. McCoy’s domain. On the command PADD, Spock reviewed the activity of the 29.2 minutes he was off the ship and made a judgment of Kirk’s efficiency. Kirk gave him a rapid verbal rundown at the same time, mentioning that the open comm line Spock had had with Nyota was overheard by the Delta Vega engineer, which prompted the researcher to use his own experimental transporter technology to save a few more people.

“You are capable of command,” Spock said.

“Thanks, we’re all doing our best.”

“It was an observation of currently being able to perform in a certain role. You have had to make dozens of priority-based decisions about the repairs, successfully expedited many tasks that will stabilize our most vital systems quickly, and you remain sure and focused,” Spock declared as clearly as he could. By comparison, Spock felt he had made poor choices and his mind was murky and unsettled.

“The, um, other guy, from the meld.” Kirk spoke gently, and Spock recognized the tone as that of a human about to say something that could be distressing or angering to the listener.

“Do you know his name?” Spock asked.

“I do and I really don’t want to use it for very good reasons. He told me - well, thought at me - there isn’t a true Vulcan alive who wouldn’t be emotionally compromised by the destruction of the planet. You saw it up close. I have to ask if you are fit for command, or if you need some time to yourself. There are a things we still need to do before we go after Nero. You can take an hour to yourself, decide if you need to invoke regulation 619.”

“My wife is dead,” Spock said, and winced as the thought of it renewed the pain. Kirk pat his shoulder lightly, and Spock took the grounding touch like it was a glass of water after vigorous exercise - refreshing and restoring. “I am fortunate, both of my parents and my clan matriarch came aboard with me in the shuttle.”

“It’s still hard to lose someone you loved.” Kirk’s words stirred the complicated miasma of conflicting thoughts and feelings Spock had about T’Pring. He hadn’t even thought of trying to save her, though he had leapt into action to save his immediate family. He could rationalize that the council members were more valuable than others for many reasons, and those logical arguments were valid, but in truth he knew his father and mother would be there. It was a selfish act as much as an altruistic one.

Any reply Spock would have made was cut off by the turbolift doors opening. The bridge crew turned toward him, and Kirk posted up near the tactical station at parade rest. Spock reached the captain’s chair but did not sit down. He collected reports and completed a full evaluation of their current status. It seemed that Spock understood incorrectly when he thought that they had successfully repaired subspace communications. An attempt at transmission was made that might be received clearly, but it could not be confirmed anything at all was sent due to the critical loss of communications infrastructure in the Vulcan system and current damage to the Enterprise.

The data confirmed the initial indications and the information Kirk received from the forced mind meld was not contradicted. Nero, with technology from the future, was headed toward Earth with a mind to destroy all the core Federation planets. Security pinged the command PADD, informing Spock that ‘your cousin that fought with Kirk in the shuttle bay is in the custody of the elders in the aft observation deck and regrets his outburst - we’ve had a few of those, but no serious injuries.’ He took that to mean that the Vulcan who assaulted Kirk was found or peacefully surrendered, and they were keeping the mind rape quiet for now. Spock wondered if it was Sybok, given the family connection implied. His brother wouldn’t technically be violating his banishment by peeking in on Vulcan from Delta Vega, though this would mean that Sybok had time traveled with a rabid Romulan if Kirk’s information was accurate.

“We’re dealing with people who are upset about Romulus being destroyed when Romulus is perfectly fine. If they don’t have enough of a firm grasp of logical cause and effect to see they have the wrong end of the stick, we need to accept that their choices aren’t going to be completely sensible,” Kirk said when Lieutenants Chekov and Sulu questioned the motives of Nero’s attack.

“How is any of this even possible?” Doctor McCoy asked.

“The engineering capability to manufacture a black hole could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through spacetime,” Spock explained, backing up Kirk’s assertion that the Narada was from the future.

“Dammit man, I’m a doctor not a physicist,” McCoy said, clearly disturbed by the implications, “are you actually suggesting they are from the future?”

“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Spock said.

“How poetic,” McCoy scoffed.

“Alright, Sherlock, so we go after Pike as fast as we can,” Kirk said. “Try to get the red matter away from them before they cause any more damage, destroy it if we can.”

“We are technologically outmatched,” Spock said.

“There must be a way. If we can be unpredictable, we might gain an advantage somehow. We’re in some alternate reality now, the universe fundamentally changed from how it should be by this asshole coming back in time on a murder spree,” Kirk argued. Spock looked at Kirk and saw a man ready and willing to chase down the Narada despite the odds.

“I would rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.” It was his initial inclination, but he was becoming less and less sure of himself. He had never had command of any ship before.

“We don’t have enough time! You’ll doom billions more to death.” Kirk shouted immediately, his posture shifting, indicating he expected a violent outburst from Spock’s person.

“I am aware of the timetable, and there are radiation leaks in the lower decks that still need to be sealed.”

“Pike ordered us to bring him back,” Kirk had continued speaking over Spock.

“I am aware of Pike’s orders, and of Starfleet regulations that govern this situation. One of which I seem to be violating.” Kirk stepped back in surprise, tilting his head curiously at Spock’s words. He pressed the sequence of buttons on the arm of the chair to start a new log.

“Acting Captain's Log, Stardate 2258.42. Commander Spock reporting. We have had no word from Captain Pike. I've therefore classified him a hostage of the war criminal known as Nero. Nero, who has destroyed my home planet and most of its six billion inhabitants. While the essence of our culture has been saved in the elders who now reside upon this ship, and those saved by the efforts of the Enterprise crew ensure some kind of future for the Vulcan people, I estimate little more than 10,000 have survived. I am now a member of an endangered species.” Spock paused, looking around at the sympathy on display around him. “As a telepathic species, all remaining Vulcans have suffered a deep and painful trauma as we felt our world die. My flawed plan to retrieve the Elders from Mount Seleya is evidence of this. In the face of this disaster, I acted emotionally and selfishly. I transported myself to the planet’s surface to save the lives of my close family members, their utility and status in relation to my culture secondary to their relationship to myself, abandoning my post and giving orders that possibly would have resulted in my certain death if First Officer Kirk had not intervened to correct my error. Furthermore, the chain of command broke down shortly thereafter, with both First Officer Kirk and Sulu just returned from an away mission and still in their exosuits and Ensign Chekhov needed to operate the transporter, there was, for a few moments, no one officially available to command this ship at all. For these reasons, after evaluating my actions, I must temporarily relieve myself of command in accordance with Starfleet regulation 619.” Spock ended the recording and stepped back toward the turbolift.

“Come back if you’re ready,” Kirk said, with clear confidence that Spock would be before they caught up with Nero. He kept his voice low, but the bridge was quiet enough that everyone would hear it anyway.

Nyota followed him into the turbolift and almost immediately hit the emergency stop. She embraced him in the ensured privacy of the stopped lift, radiating compassion that he leaned into greedily. Her embrace was comforting, but also conflicting. He flinched away from the kiss, guilt and shame curling in his gut and spoiling his peace.

“What is it?” she asked, all compassion and concern as her hands drifted down from the back of his neck. “What do you need?”

“I need everyone to continue performing optimally,” Spock said. She looked at him, holding his arms firmly just above the elbow, and nodded expressively. She clearly had many things she might say, but held them for another time for his sake. “You deserve to know… T’Pring did not survive.”

“Who is T’Pring?” she asked. Spock thought back to their many conversations, both before and after the New Year’s Eve party where he accepted her advances. He’d mentioned his wife, specifically how they were separated, but he wasn’t certain he had mentioned her name.

“She who was my wife. I am sorry, I may have understated certain…” Spock trailed off, Nyota’s concern twisting into a new shape, thoughts flying behind her expressive eyes. “If I’d had my choice, we would not have been parted in the first place. I grieve her loss deeply.”

“You still loved her.”

“I have not been dishonest with you,” Spock insisted, unsure if Nyota’s words were an accusation or a simple statement of fact.

“No, you… you did tell me. Is there anything I can do for you?” Nyota dropped her hold on him but remained close enough to re-initiate the embrace or kiss.

“I appreciate the offer, but I do not find your affection comforting at this time. I am shamed, that we will never reconcile our disagreement and that… I matched her infidelity with similar misconduct of my own. It was unworthy of me to act in such a way.” Spock put some distance between them. “Further, the open comm line you maintained with me, without the knowledge of the other bridge crew, was improper. Since it was intercepted, even though the listener was friendly, there will likely be an inquiry.”

“I understand,” Nyota said, and restarted the turbolift. “Take care of yourself, Spock.”

“I shall.” Spock thought of one more direction that certain members of the command crew might need to hear. “My acquaintance with Kirk has been short, but I have found that my initial opinion of him, formed by his alteration of my program and the reports given to me about his character, was inaccurate. Thus far Kirk has been observant, intuitive, and correct in his interpretation of available data. I would not ask you to abandon your discretion or follow him blindly, but I will ask that you re-evaluate your opinion of him. His reputation, like many minor celebrities, may not be rooted in fact.”

“I’ll be more careful.” That didn’t seem like an appropriate response, but the doors opened, and Spock stepped out to find his parents.

Chapter Text

They did it. Nero and the Narada were gone, sucked into a black hole with the red matter so no other planets were at risk. Pike came through the preliminary surgery stable and less one Klingon torture slug, but he would need a lot more work and at least two specialists to get back on his feet properly. The future-tech of both ships was lost to the brand-new black hole the red matter made and they avoided falling in with them, which was both a loss for the scientific community and probably for the best. Just knowing that it was possible to make such a devastating tool that could so easily be used in depraved ways as a weapon was terrifying enough without a ship full of the stuff hanging around. The older Spock was slinking around under the name Selek, doing his best not to cross paths with his younger self in the hope that he can avoid tying causality into knots. Jim met with him in what he thought amounted to a trial arraignment where the remaining Vulcan Elders asked them about the involuntary meld. They offered to check Jim for mental damage and mentioned rather pointedly that improper melds can lead to sort of telepathic STD, but Jim cited the fifty critical issues he needed to go through before the end of his shift and put them off for another time, promising to keep an eye out for odd symptoms and mention it to Bones. They seemed rather relieved and if the reports coming up from medical were any indication their mental healing abilities were triple booked already.

Unfortunately, they were now two light-months away from Earth with no warp core. Jim sat in the captain’s ready room leading yet another meeting, trying to work through all their logistical issues with the department heads for the long slow crawl back home. So far, they had a workable duty roster, a temporary ration system so the synthesizers and kitchen wouldn’t be too overworked with more than double the expected number of mouths to feed before a better solution could be found, and somewhere for everyone to sleep. There was going to be a lot of hot-racking in shared quarters, but they’d managed to keep it to two shifts per bed between the bonded pairs of Vulcans and setting up a couple nursery-style rooms for the younger kids. Spock made it very clear that the human sleepover style of piling kids into sleeping bags on the floor was going to be a novel concept for any Vulcan, including himself, but there really wasn’t another way to make the numbers work. At least they had enough materials on hand for the quartermaster’s staff to jinn up enough foam pallets and soft blankets so that the kids’ rooms weren’t just laying sheets out on bare metal decking. Enterprise hadn’t had all the carpets and other cosmetics installed yet, with everything gleaming white primer or bare metal in most of the crew quarters.

“Dr. McCoy to Kirk,” the intercom chirped. Montgomery Scott and Hikaru Sulu paused their discussion about using their limited resources to either increase air flow or rig up some hydroponics to help the carbon dioxide scrubbers do their jobs. Jim flipped the switch on the table so the intercom would come from the table’s central speaker instead of the wall console.

“Kirk here,” Jim said. “What do you need, doctor?”

“Your butt in a biobed,” McCoy said. He sounded like he was in a better mood, his voice coming through as the playful sort of cranky that meant he wasn’t juggling too many critical patients anymore.

“Oh, right. I’ll be right down. It’s about time for what ought to be alpha shift to get some rest, anyway,” Jim said, aiming the latter at the table full of people around him. He clicked off the intercom. “Since we won’t have the manpower to alter the ventilation systems until morning at the earliest and the situation won’t be critical for another four days, I say we sleep on it. We’re probably all nearing the wall for decision fatigue anyway. I’ve got a date with a medical scanner and after that I plan to examine the inside of my eyelids for a few hours.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sulu and Scott said, not quite in unison. The rest of the table nodded along and gathered their PADDs and data chips. As they left the room, Spock stepped up beside Jim. They went a little way down the hall before Spock spoke up, ensuring that the only other member of the command team that could hear them was Lieutenant Uhura, who was also headed in the same direction. Everyone else went for the forward turbolift, which serviced fewer areas and would likely get them to their quarters faster.

“Is there some injury that was not fully treated when we returned from the Narada?” Spock’s voice was low and measured.

“No, just follow-up for what got me on Enterprise in the first place,” Jim said with a shrug. “Nothing major, just checking in before the hypo wears off in case twelve hours of time-release drugs wasn’t enough to sort it out.”

“Then I hope you suffer no lingering effects and bid you good evening.”

“Thanks. Um, as the First Officer…” Jim took a moment to figure out how he wanted to phrase this. Spock looked at him expectantly and Uhura kept a polite distance. She’d been absolutely essential throughout with her skills at organizing people and ensuring that everyone understood their orders. The crew was slightly more than half Cadets and many were doing these jobs for the first time outside of highly controlled simulations or training. There were a fair number of miscommunications or misunderstandings that Lieutenant Uhura and her team sorted out. Sometimes Jim or Spock needed to step in and motivate or focus a department, but Uhura had it covered for most issues. The Communications department contained Human Resources as a subdivision after the species-specific name was retired in favor of Personnel Management, with the PM Lead and the Quartermaster from the Operations department working together to furnish the ship with people in the right places and the needs and wants of those people respectively. Regulations only demanded he tell the First Officer, but realistically the basic delegation of duties meant the XO would ensure it got passed down the line to the PM division and the Quartermaster. “It shouldn’t be a continuing problem, but if it is I’ll make sure you’re aware of whatever limits I have.”

“You have a chronic condition that will impact your duties?” Spock guessed, and he wasn’t wrong.

“Look, I wasn’t supposed to be on this ship today, so the computer didn’t pull my medical records, but I’m certain that it would pop on the crew manifest if I had been assigned here normally. You and Lieutenant Uhura would already know about it in that case. I really hate talking about it, and I’ll make sure that if it’s relevant McCoy will send up the necessary paperwork to fill in the gap. He’s been my GP since I got to the academy, so it isn’t like I’ll be lacking anything because my records aren’t in the system. With very few exceptions it’s not a problem unless it’s an immediate, obvious emergency - and I usually carry emergency medication, though it got used this morning and I’m waiting on a refill. There’s not much middle ground to speak of for sneaky symptoms,” Jim said with a shrug. “Which is why I’m fairly certain that Bones will have me in and out of Sickbay inside of ten minutes, but you should know there is a very slight possibility that I might be out completely tomorrow.” Jim pressed the call button, to give the conversation an unnatural end if he needed one.

“Understood, Acting Captain Kirk. I will look for any messages before the start of my next shift,” Spock said, all formality and stiffness and stating the obvious. Belatedly, Jim remembered that Vulcans found any discussion about personal medical issues to be rather intimate. He probably came off offensively defensive in his effort to avoid any questions, as if he expected Spock to pry. In fairness to himself, he did expect Spock to pry because he was too tired to factor in cultural differences right now. Spock would have probably been satisfied if Jim answered his question with ‘I may be out tomorrow; medical will send you anything if it becomes relevant’ and left it at that. Well, too late to avoid making himself look like an awkward dick who never cracked a book about Vulcans.

The three of them stood in silence as they rode the turbolift, Uhura stepping out beside Spock on the way to deck 5’s crew quarters. There was something going on there that Jim wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole and a hazmat suit. Their moment on the transporter was rough, and Jim had just been the third wheel stuck watching it happen. A kiss that seemed more awkward than sensual, for all that Spock did seem to appreciate Uhura’s affection and worry. Spock had said he was grieving his wife when he first came back from rescuing the High Council, and Uhura jumping on Spock when he was freshly single was something Jim was trying not to judge. At least not so long as Spock wasn’t protesting the behavior, and who knew what the back story was? Jim knew absolutely nothing about either of their private lives before today and wasn’t keen on speculation right now. Jim had enough on his plate without adding a soap opera.

Sickbay was still busy. Many of the older Vulcans had mental side effects from losing so many bonds at once, and they needed to get well as quickly as possible so they could effectively care for the youth. From what Jim understood, there were a few medications that helped prevent violent outbursts or brain damage, but mostly it was down to counseling and the hard work of getting over their trauma without their telepathy becoming self-destructive. Logical or not, they couldn’t rationalize away all their emotional pain from a trauma this large as casually as they did for smaller things. It seemed to physically hurt the younger Vulcan doctor who admitted that about three meetings ago, and Spock acted like the woman said something horribly vulgar when she did so, but facts were facts. Jim watched the rota of Vulcans coming through to a set of biobeds that seemed set aside for exactly that, scanners ready to go for brain imaging to check for any trauma before the Vulcan nurse wrote a prescription. An Andoran nurse he didn’t know came to start his own bio-scan and he did his best to lay perfectly still while various stats populated the screens around him. Jim didn’t have long to wait and watch after that before Dr. McCoy came up to him, trailing a device that Jim really hoped wasn’t for him.

“I’ve got bad news and worse news, which do you want first?” McCoy asked in place of any greeting.

“I’m still reacting to the vaccine,” Jim guessed. He’d seen his own vital scans enough times to know which of the yellow readouts ought to be green even if he couldn’t read all of the Federation standard medical logograms on the displays.

“Yep, that’s the bad news. I knew you’d be allergic to the base, because you’re biologically inclined to be a pain in the ass, but the vaccine itself is kicking like a mule and I hadn’t counted on that. It’s made to linger in the body a few days, and we can’t keep you on this level of anti-anaphylactic drugs that long. Your immune system is delicate enough without that much stress.”

“It’s alright, you couldn’t have known, and it isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with long term bullshit,” Jim said, blowing out a long sigh. “We talking two days, or?”

“Four days to a week, depending on how well your liver and kidneys process it out of your system. I’ve got the lab brewing up something to fix it that will be ready in the AM. That should get your immune system to stand down without leaving you open to every stray bug on this ship, but I’ll have to monitor you a couple hours to be sure.”

“So, for now I just get more of that emergency-grade epinephrine to carry around and the slightly risky time release drugs that tell my immune system to take a nap, right?”

“That’s where we get to the worse news,” Bones said, shutting down some of the unnecessary screens to give Jim his full attention.

“What? Why can’t I just treat it like that perfume we couldn’t track down? Come on, Bones, I thought swimming in epi worked on everything.”

“Well it does, but you’re still allergic to the standard hypo base and you can’t take that much epi without having a heart attack. I ordered your usual meds for you before, and it got made just fine, but then it got blown up with the medical lab and half of Sickbay.” Bones gestured dramatically toward the destroyed part of the deck, currently hidden by temporary room dividers. Jim saw the shadows of engineers at work playing across the curtains. “Obviously I put it back in the queue, but I had to notice first, and it wasn’t my top priority with the place on fire and then all the other patients. I’m sorry Jim, it’s been a hell of a day.”

“So… I’m out of luck until the new stuff gets made,” Jim guessed. That meant a very uncomfortable night.

“Pretty much going back to basics until the lab can brew up something properly modern. Sometimes chemistry just takes a certain amount of time, and since I have to treat you before it’s even possible for it to be ready or you’ll start flopping around like a fish I’m going to give you what I’ve got. No hypos, no fancy time-release medications, just a good old fashioned IV drip.” McCoy gestured to the machine on a pole he’d arrived with, then started to load it up while he explained. “At least it’ll have some positive side effects. I’m using a nutrient enriched base because that’s pretty much all we have spare for this thing, so the skipped meals won’t matter so much. Don’t even try to argue about that, I know things.”

“I’m getting fed through the IV?” Jim asked, incredulous. He didn’t like the gauge of that needle, either. At least Bones had a thin cotton hospital robe and soft bottoms for him to change into, ENT stamped in small letters down the seams of both items and larger across the back of the robe.

“It’s really the only thing I have for the drip,” McCoy said as he fiddled with the readouts and studied Jim’s vitals. “Our supplies got a one-two punch down here between the battle damage and treating a lot of injuries. I’ve got to keep the standard hydration bags for people with more delicate issues, at least for the next couple hours before the overnight staff can spare the time to cook more up, and the Vulcans wouldn’t tolerate this ratio at all. That green blood runs sweeter with a lot less sodium. A nurse will change the bags in a few hours, and it should be back to regular old sterile saline by then, not that you can’t use the calories.” Bones gave Jim a look that was half smile and half worry as he slid the needle into him. Jim was glad it wasn’t in his hand, he hated it when his hands were restricted like that and Bones knew it, but the canula hurt like a bitch going in. “I know you, and I’m telling you it’s alright if you aren’t hungry. This isn’t as good as a full meal, not by a country mile, but it is some calories and electrolytes you’re running short on. I get it, especially with the ration order you had to give, but I expect to see you eating a balanced breakfast come morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said, covering his nerves with humor as usual.

“The med I’m giving you should make it a lot easier to sleep, too. The slow release is almost gone and that adrenaline high you’ve been on is going to crash hard as soon as you settle down, so it’s going to hit you hard all at once in less than an hour,” McCoy warned. “It does compromise your immune system a little, but it’s this or the landed fish impression.”

“Anything I can do while I’m still buzzing, or am I confined to the bed for when this old school medicine knocks me flat?” Jim asked.

“Actually, yes. You shouldn’t need to take up a biobed all night, this system has all the basic vitals monitoring built in and sends the data to the main terminal here, so I’ve got you sleeping across the hall,” McCoy explained while he fit actions to the words. The doctor swiped some sensors through a slot on the machine before sticking them on Jim. More of the lights on the display came on, yellow and green.

“Really?” Jim sat up when the last sensor was in place, glad to hear he wouldn’t be spending the night in sickbay proper. He hated knowing that someone could walk up to him at any time while he was asleep, and it was always a fight to get enough rest with all the activity going on around him. “I get a real bed?”

“You get a cot in one of the kid’s rooms, Mr. Chaperone. Sickbay’s conference room is housing the quote ‘true orphans’ under the age of thirteen. No family, no bondmate, no best friend, no bonds of any kind. We’ve tried to keep a responsible adult in there, but the average Vulcan adult finds them… well the closest I can tell is they are freaked out by them. They keep falling back into Vulcanshu when they explain, and I don’t have a sensible translation for the terms they use. They also keep leaving without a word to any of us over here.” Bones’ voice had been rising steadily, and now he huffed out an irritated noise and shook his head. He continued his rant at a lower volume.

“Seems like the kid’s sadness is contagious, at least according to some combination of superstition and science, and they don’t want to interact with these particular kids because they have it so bad. That’s how they got sent here in the first place, nobody wanted them mixed in with their own group. Now, I don’t mean to sound xenophobic or anything, but that rubs my sensibilities the wrong way. We can’t really spare a nurse to sit in there all night and they are too young to be left alone between check-ins. We’ve got patients stacked to the ceiling and none of them had any physical injuries.”

“You want me to sleep in there so the kids have at least one responsible adult on hand if they need something in the middle of the night,” Jim summarized. “I know you know I understand their language, but I can’t speak it very well.”

“It’s better than someone who has to use a PADD with the universal translator loaded up. Speaking their language at all is a surprisingly rare skill,” McCoy argued, and Jim saw his point. “Maybe it’s finally time to prioritize that surgery. Not being able to get all throaty with guttural phonemes or execute an alveolar trill without nearly choking to death isn’t the only consequence of that scar tissue, you know.”

“I’d be mute for a couple weeks, and that’s hard to work into my schedule.” Jim waved a hand at the doctor. He’d been on the advanced track, with classes and training exercises stacked to the limit of what he was allowed to take even during the summer breaks.

“Just saying, it should happen eventually, and we should get a nice chunk of leave after our hero’s welcome home. You really just need to finish your thesis and there is accommodation that can be made for losing your voice. It’s worth thinking about. Anyway, the big red button is an emergency call, in case you need a nurse to come running. Make sure the kids know it isn’t just in case your stupid immune system decides to throw another fit, but for them too.”

Jim left sickbay with a smile, a wave, and an IV stand rolling behind him. It clipped to a soft belt with a retractable wire that let him bend down to put his medical-brand grippy socks on without tipping it over or ripping the line out, giving him a decent amount of freedom of movement. Even better, the belt meant he could move around without micromanaging it, which made it nicer than a lot of the medical tech he’d had to deal with over the years. Enterprise had the latest technology and the best of everything, and it seemed that applied even to old fashioned IV drips. The conference room turned dorm was right across the hall, so it took no time at all before he stepped inside to meet the kids and settle down to sleep.

The sight that greeted Jim Kirk was shocking. He’d expected sad kids bundled into blankets, trying to hide tears or stoically bearing their grief. He knew that the adult that was supposed to be here might be gone, but he thought he’d at least have kids reasonably ready for the night. Instead, the bedding was all neatly folded off to the side and the kids were laid out in two neat rows, feet toward the walls, stripped down to thin sleeveless shirts and shorts that Kirk assumed were the kid’s undergarments. It looked like a morgue. Worried, Jim crouched down on the floor to try and wake the kid closest to the door. As soon as he made physical contact, he was overwhelmed with the despair radiating off the kid, and Jim stated shaking what looked like a seven year old corpse until their eyes blinked open.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked, speaking slowly hoping his accent didn’t sound too nasally or slurred for the kid to understand. Simplified Golic wasn’t commonly spoken by Vulcans among themselves. Just as FSE was less like traditional English and more like Esperanto it was a constructed language made to facilitate communication with other species. It was the only dialect of Vulcanshu Jim could speak relatively clearly in, the ‘simplified’ part of Simplified Golic was the removal of some of the throaty phonemes that the first few sentient species Vulcans encountered couldn’t easily mimic. “You should all be snuggled into those warm blankets, not laid out like this.”

“We have been left to die,” the kid said. “We are empty.”

“No, no. You were put in here to get some rest after a big scary day,” Jim said, and he felt tears spilling down his face from the kid’s emotions even though none showed on their face. “We want you all healthy and well in the morning, ready to play games and start healing. Help me wake the other kids, you’ll all be too cold in here without blankets.”

Jim started shaking the next kid awake. This one, clearly a boy and significantly older, didn’t speak aloud, but the more intentional touch-telepathy gave Jim a clearer impression of what the kids were doing. They were suicidal, and they had laid down in the cold of the conference room to end their suffering as peacefully as possible. Their telepathy would eventually lobotomize them, a painless end to their suffering.

Jim hit the emergency button on the IV stand so quickly it almost tipped over. In short order, McCoy was there scanning the kids to make sure nobody successfully gave themselves brain damage while some nurses helped Jim comfort the children, make up the piles of blankets and foam pads into beds, and tuck the traumatized kids in. None of the adults said it, but none of them needed to have telepathy to know that they were all internally cursing to hell the last pair of Vulcan women that were in here with the kids. The kids themselves were confused and didn’t seem to understand that the staff wanted them to remain alive but didn’t want to adopt them personally right this second. As if an adult wouldn’t care if they lived or died unless they stood to gain something from them. Jim caught a whispered comment about very old clan traditions for conquered foes from the exhausted-looking Vulcan nurse. Saying something was ‘made obsolete by Surak’ was usually derogatory, but the tone of voice carried it just this side of profanity. They had enough patients with brain damage to take care of and someone was over here making over two dozen more of them.

“You don’t want us, but you want us. That is illogical,” a little boy who couldn’t be more than ten said to Jim. “We are too empty, we have nothing to contribute, food is being rationed, and we will just make others sick if we stay as we are.”

“Every life is precious,” Jim argued, raising his voice to be heard across the room. “You don’t have to have value to us individually right now, this in an emergency and we are working as a collective. Being a child is enough for us to want you to be safe, warm, and healthy. If any of you still do not understand, then accept that your elders know better than you and do as we ask.”

Jim was hitting his wall, the last of his usual medication leaving his system as the new drug - one that was more of a downer than an upper - entered his system. He did his best to reassure the kids, but with everything going on his mind kept slipping back to memories of Tarsus IV. He didn’t want the kids picking up on anything that wasn’t a carefully curated memory intentionally shared to help them feel better. He needed to contact Spock about his medical restrictions anyway, so he used his Captain’s privileges to ping the First Officer’s PADD with a text message. If Spock wasn’t up, he’d get it in the morning, but Jim selfishly hoped that he hadn’t gone straight to bed.

“Bad news from medical, and not just about my personal health. We’ve got 27 orphan Vulcan kids with no bonds of any kind actively attempting suicide. Can you find someone to confirm if suicidal ideation is properly contagious for Vulcan children or if that’s metaphorical? McCoy’s gotten some terrible and conflicting information from the minders sent to watch the kids and neither Dr. M’Benga nor Nurse Skojum knows anything about pediatrics.”

“Spock to Kirk.” Jim’s comm chirped almost immediately, and he stepped out into the hall to take the call where he wouldn’t be overheard.

“Kirk here,” Jim answered, still speaking in his terribly accented simplified Golic, “I was supposed to sleep in with the children, but I found them laid out in their underclothes in a cold room. Whatever irresponsible adult helped them get ready for suicide instead of helping them with their grief needs to be given a stern lesson in how to ask for help when a task is beyond them.”

“My father is here with me,” Spock said in Federation Standard English. “We can confirm that a severe mental state can be contagious in some ways, especially among very young children.”

“Among humans, those who volunteer to work with high-risk kids generally get put up on some kind of murder charges if they help the kids end their lives, depending on the details,” Jim replied in FSE. “McCoy put me in there for the night because I have relevant experience, but I’m not certified for anything this serious and…” Jim took two deep breaths, “and I’m on a new medication that’s kicking my ass. If I don’t lay down soon, I’ll fall down. Can you find someone who can step up and sleep in with the kids through the night? I think the nursing staff will settle for any warm body that won’t make things worse.” Jim leaned heavily on the wall, far enough from the door to be out of sight and hopefully out of earshot. Kids always heard more than they should, and those pointy Vulcan ears were particularly sensitive.

“I’m certain there was some misunderstanding, and the responsible party will be questioned about their actions,” Ambassador Sarek said, which was about what Jim would expect from a politician.

“We will find a willing adult to supervise the sick children and make certain they understand their task is to ensure each other’s recovery,” Spock added.

“Thanks,” Jim said, running his hand through his hair. “They aren’t physically ill, or not from the neck down anyway. McCoy’s confirming with brain scans. The best I could do off the top of my head to wake them up from their trance, and I know this might have some consequences later, was to give the kids a memory of mine. Making a very long story short, it has most of them thinking that they are all meant to be brothers and sisters now - a brand new clan of orphans, which like I said probably isn’t ideal. It’s working, at least for the purposes of not being so alone in their own heads that they just lay back down and stop living.”

“Any unintended consequences will no doubt be preferable to the loss of so many young lives,” Sarek said.

“There are maybe five or six of them left waiting for brain scans, and some of them did manage to damage themselves before I got here,” Jim explained. The floor felt like it tilted under him, and then he was suddenly getting a close-up look at the seam between the wall and the floor. He picked up the comm from where it had clattered onto the deck. “God, I’m… Fuck. Spock, that chronic issue I mentioned? I’m officially on my ass in a hallway unable to stand back up. My normal medication got burnt up when deck six took a hit, so I’m on this other stuff. McCoy gave me less than an hour before I had to lie down, and it’s been way more than that because of all this.”

“Where are you?” Spock asked.

“Main hallway of deck six, just far enough down the curve that I’m out of sight of the people rushing between the kids’ room and the main entrance to sickbay. I should be fine here until someone notices I’ve gone down, it’s no emergency,” Jim said, and he recognized that his voice had gone a little thready from trying to force it to produce understandable Vulcan words, which probably sounded like he was in worse shape than he was. “Only thing hurt is my pride, and that can stand a few hits.”

“The medication you have is not sufficient?” Spock asked, and Jim thought he sounded alarmed.

“You’re the head of the science department,” Jim said around a yawn. “You know the lab staff is slammed with drugs and other essentials that need making. It’s good enough to do the job, just has some powerful side effects. I should be asleep anyway, and ideally the kids would have been ready for bed too, so what’s the harm if it makes me drowsy, right? We’d all be sleeping, except for any nightmares that needed a pat on the head and some comforting words. We really…” Jim heaved a sigh. “We really weren’t expecting a whole room of semicolon kids.”

“I will go to find a responsible adult to monitor the at-risk children,” Sarek said. The background noise changed, though Jim couldn’t quite place what that meant.

“Please keep the comm line open until I arrive,” Spock said. Ah, they must have left Spock’s quarters. “You are disoriented and incapacitated.”

“Not like anything is going to happen to me here. Couldn’t be in a safer place for it.”

“Nevertheless,” Spock said.

“Really, I’m just tired.”

“If you cannot stand, it is a significant issue.”

“Not compared to what else is going on, and I’ve slept in more uncomfortable places. It won’t be too long until I’m found this close to Sickbay.”

“Please try not to lose consciousness.”

“Not sure how much choice I have on that front. I’m basically out of adrenaline and on a sedative.”

“All the more reason to remain conscious until assistance arrives.”

“Do you think I should go back in with the kids?” Jim asked. “I said that I’d be staying with them, and I shouldn’t go back on my word with what they’ve been through, but if I have to be carried and tucked in like an invalid that might not be great for their mental health either. I’m not sure there is a free bed elsewhere.”

“You are assigned to a bed in quarters on deck five, sharing with one of the engineers working Gamma shift,” Spock said. “Though you were moved to the list of persons that require medical monitoring by Doctor McCoy after the room assignments were made, that bed assignment was not changed.”

“So, there is a bed for me. That’s good, but that doesn’t directly answer the question.”

“I would need to assess your physical state in person and take a medical scan to make such a judgment. It may be prudent to make a brief appearance to tell the children that you must rest elsewhere for reasons beyond your control and take your leave when my father sends relief.”

“That sounds like a good backup plan.”

“I have reached deck six.”

“I’m just starboard of the conference room.”

Spock strode into view, moving with purpose. His explorer’s model tricorder wasn’t medical grade, but he could still use it to take the most basic medical measurements. Jim watched the efficient movements silently.

“Your blood pressure and heart rate are quite low.”

“I’m effectively on a sedative, and I’m crashing off an adrenaline high. If my vitals weren’t on the low side, I’d be in real trouble,” Jim reminded him.

“I will assist you back to the bed you are expected to sleep in and confer with the medical staff. It may not be wise to put you in a room alone, or so far from Sickbay,” Spock narrated his actions, lifting Jim easily in a bridal carry so he wouldn’t disrupt the IV or sensors. Jim put his arms around Spock’s shoulder and neck to help hold himself steady, and the retractable belt clip made sure the IV stand followed. There was a bit of skin on the back of Spock’s neck under one of Jim’s hands, but it would be far more awkward to hang limply from Spock’s arms, so he didn’t move it.

Jim was far too sleepy to regulate his thoughts enough to be polite, so he intentionally kept his mind on events from when he first opened the door and saw the kids to keep his mind from wandering to anything more personal. He remembered the mad panic of waking all the kids, cradling little ones against his chest while shaking the bigger ones. Trying to make sure they all knew that he cared - that at least one person cared that they lived, so they would stop trying to die.

Twelve orphaned kids huddled in a small cave that smelled of sea spray and dead fish, swearing that they would be each other’s family now. Three would die before help arrived, but at least they weren’t all alone. Jim shivered, pulling himself from the memory. He shouldn’t be thinking that when touching Spock, it was too strong and too personal. They were still in the hallway.

“Perhaps it would be best if you did not rejoin the children,” Spock said quietly. “For your own mental health.”

“I’ve been through therapy for it,” Jim said just as quietly. “Not when I needed it, politicians and their nonsense classified everything so it seemed like I never left Riverside for so much as a day trip until I was fifteen and that made getting help harder than it should have been, but still. It’s better together, I promise, and how many people have lived through anything like their world ending? Just knowing that someone else knows your pain can be so valuable.”

“T’Pring’s profession was that of a counselor offering rehabilitation to those who had lost their way and committed crimes,” Spock said stiffly.

“Is she available? Because that’s how I got my therapy. If I couldn’t get it legitimately, I figured, I’d just break some petty laws until I got in front of a counselor. It worked out alright, got me the help I needed even if it left a bit of a dark stain on my record.” Jim tried to keep his tone light, but he was feeling something from Spock. Aside from the fact that as far as Jim understood how Vulcans worked, he shouldn’t be feeling anything from Spock if Spock was well and in control of his telepathy, the sensation running up Jim’s arm from that little patch of skin was rather desolate.

“If my wife survived, she would be perfect for this task.” Oh, well, shit. T’Pring was the dead wife, and she’d been a therapist. That explained why Spock had frozen outside of a room full of kids that needed therapy.

“We’ve lost, but that doesn’t mean we are lost,” Jim said seriously. “Let me limp in with you instead of carrying me, and let’s cuddle some kids. It helps sometimes, to help someone else, and it’s something to do that’s productive. Heck, I’m living proof that giving up doesn’t make the bad things better, and sometimes you need to fight your way through.”

Spock let Jim’s feet touch the ground but kept most of his weight supported with a one-armed hold. McCoy scanned Jim for himself and declared that nothing was wrong with him that wasn’t always wrong. In short order, Jim and Spock were firmly pinned in place by the pile of purring children they were comforting, all of them under the (highly discouraged) impression that they had a chance to be adopted by Spock or Jim (or in the case of a few confused younger kids, the both of them together) when they reached Earth. Jim was sleepy enough that dozing off on Spock’s shoulder was going to happen even if he did care about it, and it was apparently a common thing for Vulcans to sit down to meditate and end up sleeping in a sitting position. The elder man who showed up to monitor the children briefly touched each of the kid’s minds before settling in the opposite corner for the night. Some of the children migrated over to him from the main cuddle pile or put themselves back into a separate bed. Vulcans generally don’t sleep as long as humans, so Jim ended up being gently moved to a palate to finish his rest when most of them woke up, but other than the expected nightmares and a crick in his neck it was an uneventful night.

Chapter Text

Spock sat still and meditated. The presence of James Kirk remained a grounding influence that aided Spock in finding his equilibrium just as it had been in the shuttle bay. The human method of piling children together on the floor ‘sleepover style’ was an effective use of space, but the benefits to the true orphans could not have been predicted. Weak bonds were forming between the children with all the physical contact, creating a fragile web of connections to support one another. While it wasn’t proper by Vulcan standards, Spock couldn’t argue the effectiveness in preventing a tragedy in the short term. With time, he suspected some of them might pair up on their own in a natural, weak sort of betrothal bond. They were truly desperate to build new family connections, their minds calling out for lost family much the same as Spock’s mind had been screaming out for his lost bondmate.

The short meditation he’d performed with his father and mother gave him enough clarity to return to the bridge to function as First Officer during the battle with Nero, but with the immediate danger gone his emotional disturbance resurfaced. He would not bond with the children, he was not prepared for fatherhood and his mind was too unsettled, but Kirk had been right about shared pain and understanding being a mutual comfort. Being with the children helped him, as his acknowledgment of their pain helped them.

Nyota also wanted to help him. She offered compassion and comfort that should have aided in his recovery. However, all he could think of when she touched him were the many efforts T’Pring made to improve their relationship. The books she read about human sexuality, trying to ensure that he was well satisfied with their time together. The visits, as frequent as her profession allowed. She tried so much, reached so much for him, and he had reached as well. He had also visited T’Pring when his commitment to Starfleet allowed. Yes, she spent more time with Stonn than was proper recently, and he was jealous - he had to admit that it was jealousy, there was no point in obfuscating the truth from himself when they were both dead - but then he took on Nyota as a lover. Two wrongs did not make anything right. Perhaps their relationship, strained as his marriage had always been, was finally failing. It had not yet failed, their bond was still strong, but given a few more years perhaps, with each of them finding comfort in another they could either have ended things or settled into a properly open relationship with everyone’s consent.

There was no point to such speculation. Any comfort it gave him would be hollow and false, based on things that had not come to pass. Spock had cheated on his wife, and now she was dead and there could be no resolution of their conflict. He needed to face that fact. Nyota tried again to comfort him before they retired for the evening, but it had still felt wrong. He grieved, and he was not ready for the intimacy she offered. Here with the children, what was wanted from him was so much less invasive. He didn’t even have to fully meld with them, just a surface level touch was enough.

Kirk was also no burden on his mind, and demanded nothing at all in return for the steady support he radiated to those around him. The constant, steady reassurance of ‘I understand your pain’ and ‘it will get better, have hope’ required only their acknowledgment. The human was pleased enough just by the children ceasing to actively pursue their own end, and if Spock benefited as well that was simply the way of things. The children did not even have to claim to be well for Kirk to be pleased with them. Such a small and easy task to receive praise for, to refrain from self-destruction, that the children almost couldn’t help but obey. He did not even require a promise not to do so in future, it was only for this moment.

“Make the choice just for today,” Kirk had said, his pronunciation terrible but his words eloquent, “just for this hour, if a full day is too much. It is hard to think about a whole life or even just a full year right now, so don’t. Just think about this moment. What is the right thing to do in this moment? That’s not so big, is it? We can all make the decision to keep living and be good people just for now.”

It was good advice. Kirk clearly wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had experience with children in this context, though it was also true that he was not officially certified. Kirk had some small experience in many fields and benefited from a very broad knowledge base, though his main area of expertise according to his records was engineering. Spock had not dug deeply into Kirk’s records, only reading the summary, and he regretted that he had not been more thorough. It was likely that Pike had been right to advocate against a disciplinary hearing, when Spock talked to the captain about the hacking incident. Spock could have, and probably should have, taken the captain’s advice and met with Kirk for the purpose of fact-finding before calling for a full hearing. Pike insisted that Kirk would have a sensible explanation for his actions that might be acceptable, but Spock was swayed by the younger man’s social reputation and criminal record. A cadet that went out to party every weekend, slept with multiple people (Spock’s hypocrisy stung, but he had to work through the pain his error caused or it would consume him,) committed multiple crimes before enlisting, and used his influence as a minor celebrity to skip classes.

That careless person did not match well with the steady presence that, despite being fully asleep, still radiated comfort. Kirk’s admission that he’d broken laws to obtain rehabilitation after a trauma that had been denied to him for political reasons was, if true, massively important to the understanding of his character. His medical condition, whatever it was, would account for periodic absences. His promiscuity wasn’t evidence of great moral failing on its own, and certainly not if all participants had the same expectations. The seaside cave that Spock glimpsed from contact with Kirk’s mind was a mystery, it fit nowhere in Kirk’s record. It was clearly a significant moment from his past, and at least part of what he had shown the children in the initial rush to wake them from their destructive meditation. The person who was actually James Kirk, whoever that was, had an inherently reassuring presence.

At least Spock found comfort in Jim’s mind, as did some of the children. Not all of them were equally affected. The resonance between Spock and Kirk’s minds was curious. Spock had not experienced such a thing before. It was not the satisfying resonance that occurred when two like-minded individuals discussed a topic they agreed on, but something more fundamental unrelated to the topic of discussion. It was a harmonious connection, and one that made it easy for thoughts to flow between them in a soothing spiral of comradery. He would have to ask someone about it, when the elders had time for lesser concerns. The children responded to that resonance strongly, and that was how Spock came to be used as a pillow by one human and a dozen of the smallest children.

The man sent to help supervise the orphans, an elder man named Stoli, fixed Spock with a knowing look in the morning. He likely thought that Spock was eager for fatherhood, or that indulging in the attention of so many children was some treat for him. Stoli certainly thought that Spock would adopt one or more of them. It was no matter, Spock might enjoy the easy give and take of the moment, but caring for the children beyond these simple comforts was not a task Spock desired or was prepared for in any capacity.

Most of Spock’s day was spent coordinating his science staff with Engineering and Sickbay. The labs were busy creating various materials needed for repairs and keeping the medical supplies stocked. He had known that those departments were scratching for materials and coming up short in some cases, but seeing the specific example of Kirk going from an energetic man fighting at Spock’s back to an invalid unable to stand made it clear that the chemists and material scientists under his command needed to keep their labs running at maximum efficiency. Kirk reappeared after the lunch break, looking as bright and ready for action as he ever was. Some of the bridge crew were curious about his absence, but Kirk vaguely said he’d been held up by Dr. McCoy and started asking them about current tasks in a way that demonstrated he had been keeping up with the day’s events despite not being present on the bridge without any hint that he had been kept in medical for observation as his proper medication took effect.

Near the end of alpha shift, the door to the bridge opened. Spock looked over and saw one of the orphan children, their school uniform freshly cleaned, looking around curiously.

“Well hello,” Kirk said in FSE before he switched to the heavily accented Simplified Golic he’d used last evening. “I assume something must be wrong if you came up here alone.”

“I was selected as representative,” the child said. They looked meaningfully between Spock and Kirk. “We wish to know when you will be finished with your tasks and join us for the evening meal.” Kirk gave Spock a significant look, but Spock didn’t know what he was trying to signal.

“What is your name?” Kirk asked.

“I am empty,” the child said.

“What was your name?” Kirk rephrased, clearly struggling to pronounce the different question.

“I was T’nira, but that clan is gone.” She looked down, and Spock could feel her sadness from where he sat at the science station.

“That is who you will have to be for a while yet,” Kirk said gently, avoiding mispronouncing the child’s name. It was interesting that Kirk obviously knew what the sounds ought to be, but still spoke as if he had learned Simplified Golic from a textbook without ever hearing it spoken. “I won’t be finished my tasks until very late, but I wouldn’t mind joining you and the other children for an evening meal.” Spock received another significant look. This time he could at least guess the intent.

“Is Elder Stoli insufficient for your needs?” Spock asked.

“Elder Stoli is not you,” T’nira said boldly, straining her already fine posture to stand as tall as she could. “It was suggested that you would not be returning to us at all. We found that unacceptable.”

“I’m sure that a predictable time to visit with you can be arranged, so that you aren’t so worried that you come all the way up to the bridge and disrupt the command team’s work,” Kirk said. T’nira dipped her head a little, acknowledging the reprimand. “Right now, your focus should be yourself and the other children in your group. You will be starting some simple lessons soon, to return you to something more normal and familiar, but before then you will have to regain enough equilibrium to focus in those lessons.”

“Understood,” the child said, clearly well chastised.

“It did show good judgment that only one of you came to ask, but I would guess that Elder Stoli doesn’t know you are up here,” Kirk said. The child wilted further. “As I thought. Commander Spock?”

“I can escort the child back to deck six,” Spock said. Kirk’s open expression showed a little surprise, so that clearly wasn’t what Kirk had expected Spock to say.

“If you want,” Kirk said in FSE, waving his hand to show that whatever Spock wanted to do was fine with him. “Have fun with the kids.”

Spock stood and stepped up to the child. She stepped directly behind him, as if he was a proctor in a school, and they left the bridge. Lieutenant Sulu started to say something before the doors cut off the sound. T’nira followed silently and obediently. When they reached the privacy of the turbolift, Spock spoke to her.

“What should you have done differently?” Spock asked. It was a question his own father asked him often, and seemed appropriate.

“I do not know,” she replied, looking up at him.

“What did you try, other than coming to the bridge?” Spock prompted.

“We asked Elder Stoli if you would stay with us again tonight. He said you may have already selected which of us you wanted for yourself but would not say if or when you would return to collect your choice.” That was, unfortunately, what Spock expected the elder to assume. He had not anticipated that the children would be misled in such a way, but perhaps it was his own error for not correcting the assumption.

“I am still too young, and not in a suitable part of my career, to take on the task of raising a child.” Waves of sheer devastation emanated from the child, making Spock blink in surprise. “I did enjoy spending the night with all of you, and I will certainly visit again, but as an unbonded young man you must understand that I am not well suited to the task, and that there are many others that can care for you far better than I ever could.”

“You are not bonded to Jim?” the child asked.

“Negative. In fact, I only met Acting Captain Kirk a few hours before the battle against Nero began,” Spock said firmly. “I lost my bondmate when you lost your parents.”

“The captain wants us, though.”

“He is a Human, and Human ways are different,” Spock said. The turbolift opened and he continued to explain as he led the child. “We are on a majority human ship, and because of circumstances and necessity we are using some of their customs. They have a system of assigning temporary guardians, often those like Acting Captain Kirk or myself who are not prepared to take a child permanently, to watch over children in need until a more suitable place can be made ready for them. Captain Kirk has some prior experience in this, and so long as you are thriving the elders see no harm in it.”

“So, we have not been chosen?” T’Nira asked.

“It has been 1.1 days since the destruction of Vulcan,” Spock said, turning sharply to face the young girl when they reached the door to the Sickbay conference room. “It is unreasonable to assume that because you have not been chosen in such a short time, that you will never be. Many of your elders are suffering as much as you are, or even more, from broken bonds with their children and grandchildren. They must recover enough from their losses and then make plans for their own care before they can think of caring for another. None of us has a home to welcome you into that is better appointed than the accommodations you have here on deck six.”

“So, we will not be chosen before we reach Earth?” The girl looked like she was nearing an emotional outburst.

“That is… not necessarily true.” Spock said carefully. “At the current moment, we are unable to travel at warp, and we are approximately two light months from Earth. Until another vessel comes to tow us or delivers a replacement core we are limited to impulse power - below light speeds. If our current repairs fail, it would be a 125-day journey. If they are successful, which is likely, we will be able to maintain maximum impulse and it will be only a little more than seventy days. There is a good chance that some of the bonded adults will have recovered enough to plan an adoption even if we do receive assistance and reach Earth in fourteen days - the soonest we could possibly arrive in our current condition considering the availability of ships with the ability to tow a ship as large as the Enterprise through warp. Our actual travel time will be somewhere within those extremes, and the crew is very busy trying to shorten it as much as possible.”

“We are being impatient,” the child concluded.

“Affirmative.” Spock said firmly.

“I will inform the others that we have many days before we reach Earth.” T’nira seemed satisfied, standing straight and steady once more.

“That would be appreciated. You may also inform them that accommodation for each of you will be provided when we arrive on Earth if you are not chosen before then, and even if it is not optimal it will be sufficient. I must return to the bridge and perform my tasks as First Officer,” Spock said. When she nodded he pressed the control to open the door. Spock met Stoli’s eyes and nodded once before closing the door behind the girl. If he went into the room he was unsure how long it would take to extricate himself, and that was not a gamble he wanted to take.

Back on the bridge, all eyes followed him when he walked to his station.

“Everything work out?” Kirk asked.

“I explained the variability of the timetable for our arrival at Earth and T’Nira correctly deduced for herself that she and the other orphaned children were being impatient. I also made it clear that their elders were also grieving losses.”

“Kids can be pretty self-centered,” Kirk said. “That’s just how they’re made, then they learn empathy.”

“That’s a little unfair,” Lieutenant Sulu said. “They’ve been through hell.”

“It’s nothing against these kids in particular. That’s just how all kids are. A baby doesn’t notice if its parents are exhausted, it wants food or to be changed right at that moment. It has to be that way, for evolutionary reasons,” Kirk argued. He swung around to face Spock. “How bad was it?”

“Under normal circumstances, they would have meetings with a dozen adults seeking to adopt scheduled by now for them to look forward to so they would know they would not be alone for long. It is similar to the arranged marriages in our culture. Clan elders evaluate any orphaned child to place them with new parents, looking to match them with a mentally compatible family unit. They did not understand the delay in the adoption process was no fault or failing of theirs,” Spock explained.

“Were we headed back to where we were last night, or not?” Kirk asked, setting aside the PADD he’d been working on and giving the issue his full attention.

“Affirmative,” Spock had to admit. “I believe setting more reasonable expectations for the timetable involved will have rectified the issue in the short term. However, they do seem to have unreasonable expectations of the two of us in particular, based on their perceptions. I did my best to clarify.” It was slightly embarrassing to think about, but he forced that feeling away. None of the other bridge crew would understand from such a vague statement.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Kirk said with a chuckle. “The youngest of them aren’t old enough to really understand that sort of thing. It’s cute, and I let it pass because we were still scanning the kids for brain damage when they did it to me, but I’ll be sure to clear it up if any of them say something like that again. We’ve got a Cadet Kevin Riley on board, first year engineering student pulled from an air pocket in the wreckage of one of the other ships. He’s only just turned eighteen, and he’s on Gamma as part of the janitorial staff right now, but he’s good for a shift entertaining the kids. Great singer, knows a ton of songs in a range of languages - one of them might be Golic but I’m not sure. Relevant experience of course, and all that. Met him at the seaside when I was thirteen.” Kirk winked at Spock, and it took a second for Spock to understand what Kirk wasn’t saying. Cadet Riley was one of the other children in the cave. The age difference of seven years was significant, and whatever trauma they lived through it was unlikely the Cadet could contribute much at age six compared to Kirk’s thirteen years. Riley’s experience was therefore on the other side of the spectrum from Kirk’s: a young child being cared for by elder children during an emergency when adults were unavailable. Spock nodded sharply to indicate his understanding.

“I will inform the elders of his availability and relevant talents,” Spock said. Kirk smiled and swung back around to scan the information scrolling across the main screen, going back to whatever administrative tasks were on his PADD. On the side of Spock’s station, an icon blinked. He tapped it and a chat message opened from Nyota.

“Was there some emergency with children last night?” the message said.

“Kirk alerted me to an attempted suicide. As I was with my father, the Council was immediately informed and a more suitable elder assigned to mind the children, as well as an investigation pending for the two women who failed to prevent it.” Spock heard a short intake of breath just after he sent the message.

“A child?” Nyota’s reply came swiftly.

“Twenty-seven of them made the attempt as a group. Four of them now have minor brain damage. The rest are expecting Kirk and myself to adopt one or more of them each.”

“I thought you didn’t want children, and I can’t imagine Kirk with kids.”

“It is a misunderstanding.”

“The girl that came to the bridge wants to be adopted by you.”

“I believe she would have preferred Kirk, as she paid him more attention. I explained that this is not an appropriate desire, and that humans handle such things very differently.”

“How would she get an idea like that?” Nyota sent back after a few moments.

“Kirk and I remained with the orphaned children through the night, even after the elder arrived, because many of them found comfort in one or both of us. Under normal circumstance, such a thing would indicate a strong desire to adopt one of them. In this case, we were simply attempting to stabilize the children and soothe them enough to avoid a second attempt on their lives, giving them a constant until Elder Stoli became familiar enough to fulfill that role.”

“All night?”

“It made no logical sense to sleep elsewhere once we were settled. We will have to gently discourage them without inviting a repeated attempt. I left shortly after I woke, but Kirk remained with Doctor McCoy for the morning for an in-depth review of the damage to deck six as well as a personal reason.”

“Personal?”

“Affirmative.”

“Personal as in socializing or something else?”

“Doctor McCoy has been Kirk’s primary physician for several years. It would be unprofessional for me to comment further.”

“At least he’s capable of being professional.”

“I have also been pleasantly surprised.”

“He’s actually really good at the administrative side. I expected the combat ability and confidence under pressure, but I thought he’d just turn all the hard work over to you again after.”

“It was necessary for me to learn some private details about Kirk during the emergency situation last evening. It has changed my perception of him greatly. It is also somewhat of a relief that I would not need to be both Captain and Chief Science officer, and I am glad to remain as First Officer instead. There are qualified individuals who could take over that post, but they are better occupied at their tasks and I would hesitate to pull them from the labs to lighten my own workload.”

“Ironically, it sounds like if you took the captain’s chair back from him you would end up delegating many of your administrative tasks to him.”

“Indeed, and that is why I have not. I regret not taking Captain Pike’s advice and meeting with him ahead of the disciplinary hearing, as I no longer believe it was favoritism due to Pike’s admiration for George Kirk that motivated the suggestion. He would have been stationed on the bridge as Weapons Officer despite being a Cadet.”

“But he wouldn’t be qualified.”

“In that same conversation Pike told me that Kirk had done everything to qualify quite some time ago, but he remained a student to get a second master’s degree so he can start as a Lieutenant instead of a Junior Lieutenant. He already had a master’s in engineering before enlisting, so he would never have started as an Ensign unless he enlisted without attending the Academy at all.”

“That’s reassuring. I was worried. Everything I know about him is very unflattering.”

“One might say that few people who speak about him do know him. It is a concept I am personally familiar with, and should have considered.” Spock received an alert from one of the lab staff about the next set of compounds on order for Sickbay and spent some time focused on optimizing the overnight work for a time. When he had the chance, he glanced back at Nyota’s messages.

“He was good with the kids?” she asked.

“He was far better equipped to deal with their needs than I was, despite the cultural gap. I rephrased some of his ideas to be more understandable. Mostly I was simply present, occasionally listening to their concerns, and that was sufficient to comfort many of the children.” It was half an hour before Nyota had a chance to answer, as her own tasks had become more engrossing.

“With that rough grasp of the language I’m not surprised he needed some translation.”

“He understands perfectly well, and his word choice is sometimes eloquent. I do not understand why his speech is so accented. I noticed he chooses his words oddly at times, as if to avoid certain sounds.”

“Odd. Humans need to learn certain phonemes very early, or they are nearly impossible to pick up. I would think he would have had that kind of education early on, but maybe not. Some of the sounds he slurs are easier phonemes to learn, so it might just be a lack of practice. I haven’t heard him speak enough in anything but FSE to know.” Nyota’s sentences arrived one at a time with irregular pauses between. Spock assessed himself and found he was irritated by Nyota’s continued gossip about Kirk. It was something she enjoyed, and he understood that, but he was never interested in debating the meaning behind various minute details about his coworkers private affairs. It was far more efficient to simply ask someone if he was curious about them rather than speculate, though he had also been taught to restrain his curiosity or risk offending others with questions that are too personal.

“It may be a topic of conversation he is willing to engage you with, if you are curious about who he is beyond his clearly inaccurate reputation.” Spock replied at length. Nyota seemed pleased with the suggestion.

Chapter Text

It had been a week of slowly crawling through space and Jim had managed to reduce the orphan children’s expectations to a quick visit on his way to Sickbay to have dinner with Bones. They expected to rendezvous with a Vulcan science ship later today, to trade supplies and hopefully offload a few people. It was common for Vulcans, but not quite common enough to say for most Vulcans, that married people worked on the same ship during long deep-space missions. The hope was that some of the married couples would take a shine to some of the orphans while they were docked and settle the remaining ones a bit. The council would stay with the Enterprise, but some adults were getting ready to join family on the science ship where it would be a little less cramped.

Jim knelt on the floor in front of the Vulcan elders in the observation room. They scheduled Council hours every day during the end of gamma shift and the beginning of alpha shift to manage their community. It was an odd schedule to Jim, but it did let the beta and gamma shift crew use the observation room for its intended recreational use and Vulcans had a very different definition of ‘early risers’ with their four-hour sleep cycle. T’Pau asked him to come midmorning so they could properly examine his mind for any ills, though one of the male elders had made it clear that if he had contracted a telepathic ailment the children would have been affected by now.

Still, they wanted to repay some of what was done for them, and Jim was at a loss for how to politely decline so he agreed. Having the T’Pau rummaging around in his head looking for mental disturbance was going to be quite the experience. He knew he had messed up stuff in there, and so much of what had happened in the last week was triggering memories of Tarsus IV, and he was legally prevented from talking about Tarsus IV with anyone who wasn’t authorized by the United Earth Government… Agreeing to be examined was as likely to cause an interplanetary incident as refusing. He’d gotten off on a technicality with the correction’s office assigned therapist since the UEG paid for all corrections facilities, programs, and services and they luckily assigned him to someone who was moral enough she wouldn’t sell the story. There was no bending anything for this, he’d be breaking his silence.

“If you are prepared, we shall begin,” T’Pau said.

“I’m as ready as I can be,” Jim answered honestly. What would be the point of bravado when she was about to see it all anyway?

T’Pau’s mind came down on him like a sandstorm. Living in Iowa as long as he had, he’d seen plenty of storms and even a few twisters. It was like one of those storms, wind strong enough it might blow a man off his feet, but dry and hot. It seeped into cracks and blew under doors until they popped open. Oddly, it didn’t toss anything around, but Jim figured that T’Pau wasn’t trying to make a mess of his head or hurt him, just get a good look through. For as strong as the wind was, when something got picked up and examined she was gentle and moved with precision. It took quite some time before her mind and his were melded together. The storm felt more comfortable as they eased their way together, less alien and more like standing out on his front porch enjoying the raw power nature could bring to bear. In fact, as the world came back into focus, he was back on his own front porch in Riverside but looking out at Vulcan’s desert landscape instead of his front lawn. The image of T’Pau facing him looked younger, but not by enough to call it vanity. She came to join him on the porch, and the symbolism was clear enough for Jim to understand. In the other meld, it had felt like being pulled into an ocean of crystals reflecting the stars before his mind was filled with echoing, fractal images and important intelligence about their enemy.

“Slowly. As it should be, the first time two minds meet.” The thought was just in his mind, the same way the old Spock had been, but it felt like hearing her speak. Maybe he just didn’t have the necessary senses to experience it any other way. “It is quite impressive that no significant damage was done to you during that meld, given the speed of it. Your minds did not fully align before he began to share his thoughts. You have nearly healed naturally from what small amount of damage was done; there is only a lingering thread that doesn’t belong within your mind, and that would fade even if I didn’t pluck it out.”

“There was a lot of stuff that came over with the necessary information that wasn’t related to Nero,” Jim said, or thought he said, or thought he thought? He didn’t have the vocabulary for this. “I don’t mind, exactly, and I won’t share any of that with anyone because they are his private thoughts about people in another universe. It is a bit awkward to remember those things when talking to much younger versions of his friends, especially since I don’t know if any of it is accurate to this timeline and some of it is very private information I doubt they would want me to have just yet. Humans aren’t as private as Vulcans, but some of it is well beyond even the loosest limits we have.”

“The memories will be less prominent after this, but you will not forget them. Unless you are asking me to edit your memories?”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine with the memories staying in my head so long as nothing is wrong with them being there.” Jim didn’t get a verbalized answer to that, but he knew he’d given the correct answer all the same.

“There are places where your spirit is wounded, but it was not done recently. It echoes through you, mirrored by recent events that recall that past pain into the present moment.” Well, it wasn’t like he expected her not to notice that the rationing was giving him nightmares. He could work through it just fine; it was just a problem when he was asleep and couldn’t control what he was thinking about. He’d gotten a report from the kitchens about the supplies down there just before he left the bridge and that was…

Everything smelled of fungus, a soft rotting undertone even to the filtered air indoors. The fields turned from golden grain to dusty gray and lavender as the mold ate their crops right in front of them.

“The colony collapsed,” Jim said, fighting for focus. He looked to the side of the house and the fields of Iowa corn had been replaced by sickly Tarsus IV fields of rotting rye. “The reports make it sound like it happened all at once, but it didn’t. Bit by bit, day by day, with sensible things like rationing and burning infected fields at the start. It all went wrong so fast, but not all at once. An authoritarian nightmare born out of an idyllic agrarian life. After the first month and a half, when they called all those who ate more than they could contribute to a meeting and Kodos explained that we were killing the useful people by continuing to live… people had already given up so much in the name of survival that many of them nodded along. I don’t mean the people who listened over the radio or heard about it later, I mean people in there with me. People who had phasers trained on them, set to kill. Maybe some of them thought he was talking about some other group, that because he was there in person meeting us face to face, we must have been the lucky set. They still agreed with him that half of the population had to die and that he had the right to pick and choose.” The lighting had shifted now as well. Not much, Tarsus was a star very similar to Sol, but enough for him to notice and T’Pau to read the meaning from his mind.

“A madman ended your world,” T’Pau summarized, and he knew she was looking at all those memories. Three months of punishment for destruction of property on Luna before a therapist got him to repeat what Sam said when he left and pulled explanations out of him like worms. One bright year of carefree childhood without the pressure to perform for the media or clean up after an abusive drunk. Then four months of hell before a ship arrived with supplies and discovered what Kodos did. It felt like a shield was up, letting her go through them without forcing him to relive every horrible moment. “Children suffered in the wake of his madness, were orphaned by it, even chose death over continued suffering.”

“The suicide attempt was why I was there,” Jim clarified, and he felt the swift shift of attention move through him like a shift in the wind as T’Pau hunted that memory down. She must have meant Xavier, who walked into the sea one day and washed back up two days later as a carcass full of crabs. He thought of it himself, the freedom of wind in his hair at age eleven as he drove an antique car to the sound of classical music by The Beastie Boys. His first rebellion after years of trying to be perfect, of meeting all the ridiculous demands to be smart and pretty for the cameras and doing everything the adults asked him to, and it still not being enough to get anything to go right in his life. Seeing Sam walk off, never to be seen again. Hearing Sam say that Jim would be fine because he always did what he was told, as if Frank didn’t also scream at him and smack him around when he was drunk. It just happened less often because Jim was smaller and could get up and down the stairs without making them squeak. It was less noticeable because Frank usually exhausted himself on Sam first and wouldn’t bruise Jim’s valuable face. The local security trying to pull him over, and knowing there was no good way for this to end… unless it just ended. The quarry was hard to see, aside from the signs, and he wasn’t sure how close he was when he decided to bail out. That last-minute decision not to go through with it, to destroy the car that Frank would only sell to get more alcohol without destroying himself too, had almost been too late.

He couldn’t say why he didn’t go over the cliff with the car. He hadn’t had an answer then and he still didn’t really know. He had wanted things to end, to change, and he did get change at least. Not good change, but he didn’t give up. He carried it with him to Tarsus, met the other kids in the group home and started to get better. Then the world ended, and Jim felt T’Pau gently blow those thoughts away.

An old song, one the old men steeped in World War III history used to sing, rose up from his early childhood in Riverside. Despite the wind carrying painful memories back behind T’Pau’s shield, he also remembered it sung by children in a small seaside cave, moving to the rhythm to keep themselves warm. If the world was under attack by creatures and bats like violent aliens, we'd all come together forgetting differences. Bond through the pain forget past shame we're brothers and sisters now.

“Move onward to peace. The future it gleams,” T’Pau’s thoughts joined in. “Yes, I can see the fires you were forged in. It is little wonder you have been able to aid my people, when much of what we must endure are lessons already learned for you.”

“I’m not the only Tarsus IV survivor. Not even the only one on this ship.”

“Yes, I see that. He has also been able to comfort the broken children, but you alone were the one to put the signs together to know danger was coming and lead your people to victory and vengeance against our enemy. You were in the right place at the right time to make those choices because of who you are and what you made of yourself, and we are grateful for your assistance.”

“You are welcome, ma’am.”

“If I retreat from your mind now, these awakened memories will overwhelm you. You have done well to set them aside so they do not overly impact your life, and have moved forward from the injustices done to you, but this meld has brought the wounds on your spirit to the forefront again. I can leave this barrier here to soften the memories and keep them distant for a few hours. It will fade slowly. You will have had time to refocus yourself and control your emotional state to the extent that humans ever do.”

“That would be helpful,” Jim admitted. He didn’t like needing the help, but he couldn’t really go hide with Bones and have a panic attack at 1015 in the morning. “I’ll get myself sorted as much as I can before the rendezvous with the Vran.”

The sensation of wind gradually died down and Jim resurfaced into the physical world from the mindscape. They were all still kneeling on the floor in front of the large observation windows. Sub-light speed meant the stars still seemed like a spray of dots painted onto a blackened, unmoving canvass. Jim took a few breaths to collect himself as T’Pau rose and returned to her place in the center of the line of elders. Kirk exchanged some simple peasantries and left, glad to have the ordeal behind him. He had no idea, and would not ask, if T’Pau would share any of that with anyone else. Vulcan custom and etiquette said sharing things learned about another’s private affairs was rude, and there were good reasons Jim didn’t challenge the dubiously legal way his time on Tarsus IV was hushed up. T’Pau might have had enough political power to release the information before, but now she was diminished to a leader of refugees in need of aid rather than one of the greatest political powerhouses in the Federation.

And she was Spock’s nana. By all that was holy, Jim could have done with knowing that before he did what he did to the Kobiashi Maru. Of course someone raised as one step shy of royalty would call for a full academic trial over a stunt like that. Oh, Jim would still have fixed the test, but he would have put his reasoning up front and center rather than leaving everyone guessing to gain the attention of the rumor mill and waiting for a one-on-one meeting to explain himself.

Of course, Spock would never phrase it so bluntly, but Jim wasn’t blind. Spock’s clan was down to four members and during off-duty hours they were practically joined at the hip, keeping an eye on each other to be sure they were all still alive. If she wasn’t his grandmother in fact, then she’d stepped into the role seamlessly. There were lots of family groups like that on board, and like stray bits of pastry dough being rubbed around on a worktop many of them were gathering each other up into larger clumps as time went on. The only surprising thing to Jim’s human sensibilities was the speed of it. Distant cousins were getting to know each other and asking to share quarters as family. Orphaned children were being examined by broken families considering filling the gaps, even telling the chosen child to expect to become part of their clan as soon as the adult’s mental health got sorted well enough that they didn’t worry over accidentally hurting the kids telepathically.

Sarek had explained to Jim that through some number of connections, every Vulcan mind was distantly connected to every other one before this immeasurable loss. That background noise of telepathy had gone silent in a way that was viscerally disturbing, and most of their problems were related to adjusting to a fragmentation of their society where many of them were in no way connected to other groups anymore. Jim compared it to walking through a forest and suddenly all the prey animals are silent when the wind is still, and how many humans will slow their movements instinctively without really thinking about it to look and listen for the bigger predator that caused the silence and experience high stress when it was too quiet. Sarek had just walked off, but Amanda sought him out the next day at breakfast to say that the comparison was close enough. It was an informal chat, mostly about how the Vulcan refugees were holding up. They had been more fragmented pre-Surak, but modern Vulcans, for all their rules about privacy and the value they place on self-sufficiency, seemed to live in each other’s pockets within any given social group. Perhaps they had so many rules about what was private and what wasn’t because of that tendency rather than despite it. Amanda compared them to Terran felines: both independent and tightly knit depending on the context.

“Keep the chair,” Jim said as he walked onto the bridge. “I’ve just had my brain shuffled like a deck of cards, so I’m going to sit in the ready room for a bit and maybe try and get some paperwork done. I should be fine by the time we rendezvous with the Vran.”

“I thought that the mind meld did not cause you any harm?” Ensign Chekov asked.

“A case of the cure being worse than the disease,” Jim said, aiming for reassuring. Chekov nodded, his concern smoothing away to sympathy, but Spock twitched and his eyes opened wider in alarm.

“You had in fact contracted a disease from the forced meld?” Considering the amount of contact he shared with Jim and the kids that first day, Jim shouldn’t blame him for reacting strongly enough to alarm the entire bridge, but it was annoying. At least the Commander didn’t call it rape directly anymore.

“No, nothing like that; a poor choice of a metaphor. T’Pau was as gentle as she could be, but the whole point was to make sure nothing was hiding in there, so she was thorough. It was… intense,” Jim explained with a shrug. “She recommended some quiet for a few hours while things settle back into place, and that came across as fairly routine. Unless it isn’t?” Jim let his words lift into a question.

“If that is what T’Pau recommended, that is what you should do,” Spock said with a blank and even expression. Not that Jim expected him to contradict her in front of the entire bridge, unless Jim was very wrong he never would contradict her in public, but at least Spock didn’t seem alarmed or disturbed by the suggestion anymore.

“No offense, but better you than me,” Sulu said. “I can’t imagine lettings someone I didn’t know well just… look into my head like that.”

“There is no need to view memories directly during a mind meld. One’s current thoughts are shared in real time, but past experiences are only shared if they are offered. T’Pau would not need to dig into someone’s memories to see if they had contracted Pa’nar or a similar condition from the forced meld.”

“Eh, she asked, I said yes, but I trust that she won’t talk about what she saw. Not that much different than going to a doctor and giving honest answers to private questions,” Jim said quickly. “She also wanted to make sure that what the kids pick up from me when I think about being an orphan wasn’t somehow problematic, so I let her skim through a rather long stretch of memory.”

“I thought Commander Winona Kirk was still alive and well,” Chekov said as he turned away from his station to face Kirk and Spock, his face pure confusion. “Some of her work on improving warp core stability is in ze textbooks, and one of my professors offered to get me in touch with her before Captain Pike offered me a place on ze Enterprise.”

“I assume she is, since I haven’t been notified of her death, but I really wouldn’t know beyond that,” Jim said. A plastic smile stretched his face, and he turned toward Spock. “I’m going to go find that peace and quiet T’Pau recommended.”

“Rest well, Captain,” Spock said. Jim didn’t look directly at him or anyone else as he walked out. He leaned against the bulkhead just outside the door, amazed by how little he felt. That mental barrier T’Pau left him must be doing some hard work right now. He heard Sulu whistle in amazement.

“I should not have asked ze keptin that question,” Chekov mumbled, his accent thicker than usual.

“Probably not,” Uhura answered quietly, “but I don’t think he’s upset with you.”

“A man says he’s an orphan, ye just believe him,” Scotty said gruffly.

“It was your age showing,” Sulu added. “Kirk doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge over something like that. Apologize off-duty and it’ll be fine.”

“Yes but still, I just can’t… I have thirteen elder sisters. Some have done zings that Mama has disagreed with, zings zat caused fights and shouting, but why would…” Chekov sounded like he was struggling to find the words. “Mat' otkazalas' ot rebenka… why?”

“You should focus on your duties, Ensign,” Spock said crisply.

 “If he wanted us to know, he’d tell us himself,” Scotty added quickly.

Jim walked across the hall to the ready room, the bridge door sliding shut silently as soon as he left proximity. He flopped into the nearest chair and just breathed for a moment, unable to feel anything and unsure what if anything to do about it. It was a while before he picked up the PADD and pulled up the morning’s reports. The numbness was unsettling. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to work though his emotions when he couldn’t even feel them. He attempted suicide, he went to a group home on a low-tech colony world to help deal with that without damaging the adverts that were using his face, and mom relinquished custody when Frank was convicted instead of divorcing him. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t complicated. She couldn’t handle being a single mother, so she married Frank. She didn’t believe that Frank was abusive, so she stayed with him. She couldn’t handle Sam leaving and Jim trying to kill himself in the same day, so she didn’t. All quite matter of fact. The faculty at the group home got the finalized paperwork saying she’d relinquished custody a month before the mold bloom started. Then everything went to hell.

Jim didn’t forgive her and thought he was perfectly justified with that decision. He had always understood her, it really wasn’t that complicated, but understanding and forgiveness were very different things. She didn’t send him to Tarsus, that was the justice system being bent over by political power to give their poster boy some tough love. She just didn’t come back for him after her mission was over. It wasn’t at all applicable to what the Vulcan orphans went through, so he’d done his best to keep it as far from his thoughts as possible when dealing with the kids.

Jim shook himself and tried to focus on his paperwork. With luck, he wouldn’t have to have much to do with the kids anymore after the crew of the Vran came through and they all realized that there were far more Vulcans out there and they didn’t have to rely on just those on the Enterprise to find new families. Ever since subspace communications came fully back online there was a steady stream of information coming from the various Vulcan-run space stations and outposts. At first it was just long lists of names, but more and more it was personality profiles and dossiers that looked a bit like intelligence reports or job applications. In reality, the point of them was similar to a dating service, those recently widowed or who had lost children were stating their availability and listing the sort of things they brought to the table. None of that was his business, but he’d had some delicate negotiations with Uhura and the Vulcan Elders about keeping enough channels open that they could still talk to Starfleet and keep an ear out for cargo ships willing to lend a hand amid the personal chatter and the important work of the Vulcan Council organizing their remaining people.

After that meeting Enterprise sent a crew manifest and official statement to be published to quiet some of the individual calls from panicked human families wanting to know who made it through the battle and Communications kept at least two channels for the Enterprise’s official operations. Everyone wanted to comm their family, and even with limiting the length of each personal call there simply weren’t enough hours in a day for everyone to get everything they wanted. It was a similar story for access to the gym, mess hall, and other essential amenities and supplies. The biology lab crew, under the direction of their lead biologist Lieutenant Sulu, worked with engineering to rig up a bubbling algae tank to help convert carbon dioxide to oxygen and keep the air smelling fresh. The kitchens had started asking concerning questions about how edible the plant matter growing in the tanks was this morning, not that Jim could blame them when they could be limping home for well over two months if they didn’t get help. They were all limited to two meals a day of a reasonable size, but that gentle rationing would only stretch the supplies so far. Jim hated the idea of cutting the meals further, but if he didn’t hear back about additional food supplies soon, he would have to. Some of the crew would tolerate fasting better than others, but it would be an additional stress on top of so much more. There wasn’t much room left in the biology lab with the algae bubbler set up, and hydroponics would take a bit longer to get started than they had, but that hadn’t stopped some growable kitchen scraps from making their way up to the science labs.

It was a tough spot, but Jim was confident they could make it work. There had been some talk of donated food supplies being delivered to the Academy during his last check-in with command, so something had to be on the way even if they wouldn’t make any promises about ETA. Starfleet may not like using civilian cargo vessels to rescue their starships, but they would just have to suck it up and accept that with their fleet still tied up dealing with a standoff they could either graciously accept civilian help or deal with the PR nightmare of intentionally starving vulnerable refugees and the heroes who saved the Earth. He knew how that game worked, and he was more than ready to bet on it no matter how nervous everyone was getting.

Chapter Text

“There was an offer I should have mentioned to you,” Sarek said to Spock. They were seated at the table in the main room of Spock’s modest San Fransisco apartment in Starfleet’s officer’s quarters. It was four days since they arrived on Earth, and Spock had just shared a message from Dr. McCoy with his father. The older man said that Kirk knew the media song and dance well enough to help McCoy leverage the current goodwill toward the Enterprise crew to go back to Georgia and see his daughter as well as to escape the media storm, but he would gladly return to take the CMO position on the Enterprise if it was available once ‘the vultures were finished getting their pound of flesh from someone else.’ As far as Spock could tell, Kirk was also in the wind and could only be reached in writing, no real-time calls of any kind.

After nearly a month of slowly crawling through space at impulse they received a tow from Starfleet back to the dock. They likely would have run out of food if other ships hadn’t offered aid before the towing vessel arrived. The Vran, a Vulcan science ship, was the first to meet them after racing back into Federation space from a survey mission to reconnect with their remaining family and speak with the surviving Council members. Nearly all the remaining Vulcan ships followed, and three stayed alongside them as escorts after their rendezvous while the rest went to various starbases to dock and await decisions from the Council. Given the situation, their spiritual leaders were once again the only political leaders of the Vulcan people, as was true in times of old, and many came to pay respects and lighten the Enterprise’s burden. Some of the refugees joined any close family they had on the science ships, reducing the strain on Enterprise’s life support systems and food synthesizers in stages. Others provided food or other supplies, like meditation lamps or clothing that they could spare. The only other ship to dock with them before the tow ship arrived was a simple freighter that picked up food from Earth to bring to the crippled Enterprise as charity. Spock, and the rest of the Vulcans that remained aboard, had eaten more yellow corn and russet potatoes than in any other month of their lives, but it was better than eating the algae straight from the makeshift hydroponics Sulu convinced engineering to build to augment the fresh air system. The bright green algae was a perfectly suitable solution to the buildup of excess carbon dioxide, but it was not a palatable solution to a lack of vegetarian food. It helped that the all-human kitchen crew knew a startling variety of ways to prepare corn and potatoes, and the chemistry lab was able to create supplements to keep them all healthy despite the lack of the necessary minerals in their food supply.

Mother was in a meeting being held at the Academy at the moment. Something about victims of the Tarsus IV disaster offering their help and expertise. Spock had offered to accompany her, but she had seen that both Spock and Sarek needed to rest after several days of near-constant work and media harassment. Many of the prominent Tarsus IV survivors had gone into fields of study that would prevent some aspect of the tragedy that scarred them, and they understood the grief of losing a world in an overwhelming disaster. Biologists specializing in producing new agricultural strains of plants that were resistant to blight or produce more bountiful harvests, which could help in getting fields of Vulcan staples to grow fruitfully in non-native soil. Colony organization and communications, to keep a light shining on the actions of leadership and prevent the communications blackout that allowed the tragedy to spiral out of control completely unchecked for four months, which Spock didn’t think was necessary - but he was also biased by being close family to two of the five surviving Vulcan Council members. Engineers dedicated to improving interstellar communications, which was always welcome. So on and so forth, some were willing to lend their knowledge and skills, and others were willing to make a public appearance or two to encourage material donations.

Outside Spock’s apartment, there were at least three journalists at all times - the sort that wanted to collect ridiculous trivia and gossip rather than perform real investigative journalism. They loitered in various ways that they thought would go unnoticed. The moment any Vulcan or Enterprise officer stepped outside, they would be inundated with invasive questions. So long as they were on private property, or more realistically locked behind the gates of the embassy or the main doors of Starfleet’s officer’s quarters, they had a minimal amount of privacy.

Spock hadn’t been able to meditate properly with this non-violent siege on his apartment. The anxiety of knowing they were always there even in the dead of night when he thought it would be safe to take a walk, that the succinct interview he gave about his part in defeating Nero was not enough, and that they wanted to know about his dead wife and his relationship to the orphans, was all simply too much for him. No one could blame the orphans for mentioning Spock, Kirk, McCoy, and Riley by name when asked if the Enterprise’s crew took good care of them, though Spock had a few pointed things he wanted to say to whoever was so addled that they let the reporters near such vulnerable children. Some of the orphans had been chosen by the crews of the science vessels that visited and others found parents among the other refugees, as he expected would happen once the adults handled their own mental health, but many were still unbonded when they arrived on Earth. The process of matching them with some kind of family was the top priority, as their mental health was in danger every day they remained so alone. T’nira was one of them, and she still looked at Kirk and himself with an expectation that worried Spock.

“What offer is that?” Spock asked.

“There is a private estate, a farm of about 1,322 acres in size, that was offered to house some of the refugees for up to a year of residence if needed. The main house has been mostly empty for some time. Only minor upkeep is expected in return, cleaning of whatever mess we make and so on as would be expected of a long-term guest, though there are some minor repairs needed once the danger of frost is gone that we could help with or not as we please. The owner is the last of a once large clan, so the property is painfully large for him, and he usually works elsewhere most of the year because of that. It was dismissed at first due to the bitter winter cold in that region, but the privacy it offers whatever small group is willing to live there is becoming quite attractive to both myself and T’Pau. It is too large for just our clan, as we are, but I think we could justify accepting the offer if some others came with us. The embassy is much too small for the number of family groups in residence. Your apartment is fine for yourself and one guest, but not large enough for the entire clan and suffers from the same lack of privacy as the Embassy. While there is much generosity in the form of material goods, housing is in less ready supply, so even with the climate we should consider the offer carefully. It is near enough to a Starfleet facility that I believe that it would not disrupt our work to reside there in the short term, and if you have any remaining tasks related to Starfleet you should be able to perform them easily as well. Amanda is keen to accept the invitation, and believes it would be preferable to staying with her family because of the nearby Starfleet facility. I agree we would not have such an easy time performing our duties if we traveled north to stay with them, though for more interpersonal reasons. I have the specifications with me,” Sarek said as he brought up the data on his PADD.

Spock took it wordlessly and scanned the data. A three-story wood and brick construction farmhouse in classic North American style with a wrap-around porch and copper roof. The farm primarily produced wheat grain, with some heirloom vegetables and beans as rotation crops to enrich the soil, a small stripe of apple orchard along the river that bordered the property, and minimal livestock. The facilities were very old-fashioned. No sonic showers in any of the bathrooms, just simple water fixtures. There was a modern sonic scrubber for cleaning objects next to the old-fashioned tap in the kitchen sink and a utilitarian sonic stall at the back door’s ‘mud room’ area. Many of the other appliances and fixtures were at least twenty years old, if recently serviced. The ground floor had a ‘country style’ kitchen with two ovens and a large 6-zone induction range, a family room with a prominent fireplace, a library with a computer terminal desk, a small toilet area, and an ‘in-law suite.’

The suite contained a full bathroom, bedroom, and sitting room that was sound insulated from the rest of the house, had a separate side entrance, and can be divided from the rest of the home with a deadbolt lock on the hall door. The second floor featured a nursery that took up a full side of the house above the family room. Four child size cots were built into the wall ‘bunk bed style’ on either side of the brick chimney and there was space to set up cribs or other beds if needed, which would otherwise be useful as play or education space. A notation made it clear that all the bedrooms could fit a crib if furnishings were repositioned, if that was preferred, and cited the inventory page for the number and types of child appropriate beds available. There were three other bedrooms and a full bath on the second floor, as well as a small storage space for linens and cleaning supplies. The third floor was dominated by three large bedrooms. Two shared a slim Jack and Jill bathroom and the other was the master suite. A small office space had doors both into the master suite and the hallway. A few pictures were included, though an annotation made it clear that the images were several years old and taken for insurance purposes after some recent restorations to the property. Spock could practically smell the fresh paint and plaster while looking at them.

The owner of the property planned to occupy the master suite for at least part of the year and keep the office as private space to handle the operation of the farm, which was mostly contracted out to a local farmer’s group for labor with some minimal management required of the landlord. The attic housed spare furniture in case what was in the rooms currently wasn’t ideal, including the aforementioned cribs, all of which was inventoried and available for their use so long as they were willing to help move it around and put it back when they were done with it. The only real issue in the short term was a shortage of mattresses and clothing suitable for a Vulcan during a late March storm, but Spock was certain that the embassy had received a wide variety of bedding as donations that would make up the difference. There was a basement space with utilities, dry good storage, and deep freezer storage accessible from the kitchen. Again, Spock expected that donations as well as their remaining wealth would help stock those spaces, and an inventory of what was stocked currently and how much the storage could hold was provided. A storm cellar, apparently a vital safety feature wherever this estate was located, had been modified during the eugenics war to have more comfortable accommodation during extended emergencies and was stocked with non-perishable food. A note made it clear that while it could be used as a sitting room if someone needed privacy, it was primarily for emergency use and the bunks within were not to be used as anyone’s usual bed.

“This seems like a very generous offer, and a year is likely more time than we will need before a suitable colony world is identified and we begin the migration,” Spock observed when he finished his analysis. For now, he kept his comments general. “Several small families could live in such a large space without difficulty, or a larger clan with a diminished one in the ground floor suite.”

“There are animals kept on the property, but we have been assured there is no slaughter performed on the premises during the usual operation of the farm,” Sarek said. “Chickens are raised for eggs, and the older hens are sold live for butchering elsewhere. The other animals are horses that are kept as either working animals or pets, I am not fully certain which. I understand that horses have only recently become numerous enough in the wild again to be taken off the endangered species list.” The elder man tilted his head thoughtfully. “I find that poetic, probably because your mother is very fond of horses and has made many comments about them that I am happy to be compared to, though I am sure most of our people would not welcome such comments.”

“You are certain that the remote location would not affect your work to secure a new colony world?” Spock asked.

“It is near enough to one of the major shipyards to walk the distance in good weather, and an even shorter drive if we transport my hovercars for when the weather is foul.” Sarek waved a hand in dismissal of the concern. “We can utilize those facilities for negotiation if the communications in the house are insufficient, which they may be given the age of the major appliances, but the library may have a sufficient connection given the renovations; the desk console looks either new or newly refurbished in the images. There are both transporter pads and regular shuttles at the shipyard to facilitate any in-person meetings anywhere on Earth and is closer to the Paris offices than we are currently. It should not impede our work in any way.”

“Do you have others in mind already, to join us?” Spock asked. Sarek certainly seemed to have provided a finished plan. Spock wondered if T’Pau was already in favor of the move, or if convincing Spock was the trial run for convincing her. Given how his relationship with his father was still a bit stilted, it could go either way.

“There is no one clan intact enough among the refugees that would fill the space, but there is one family with two children and two others that each adopted half of a bonded pair. The children are all between eight and ten, and the parents get along well - botanists and chefs by profession. That would fill the second-floor nursery and occupy the three bedrooms there with the parents. T’Pau would either take one of the third-floor rooms, with your mother and I taking the other one as elders, or else the ground floor suite would be reconfigured as two bedrooms to house us. That would be her choice to make, after seeing the building in person.”

“Naturally,” Spock agreed. That would mean he either would be on the third or ground floor, with an empty room adjacent in either case.

“Your human companion…” Sarek began, his words slow and measured.

“We ended our romantic entanglement. She became frustrated that her attempts to help me with my grief only made it worse and asked me if I only entered in a relationship with her because T’Pring could not come to live with me on Earth - either to make T’Pring jealous or as a ready substitute until I could return to my wife. I could not find the words swiftly enough, and Nyota made it clear that she did not want to continue our relationship when I failed to answer.”

“You could not find the words,” Sarek said, and Spock heard the question in it. Spock hesitated, and answered slowly.

“My mind has not been settled, and I do find it difficult to express myself verbally at times. Only since the disaster,” he admitted. “The return of my dysphasia has not been a significant problem, and has not affected my work. In most cases I am given time to collect my thoughts and form them into the proper order to speak them, or else I have the option to write out the specifics while speaking minimally, but the stress and circumstance has made it difficult to maintain my usual methods of controlling the condition. I am very rarely too overwhelmed to speak coherently, as I was when Nyota confronted me. I can think of only three instances, all in abnormally stressful conditions.”

“Perhaps it is for the best, then. We may find some other that would be suitable to take the remaining space, but it would do no harm to leave it vacant in the short term,” Sarek said, and Spock nodded in acknowledgment of the kindness. Spock’s grief at the loss of T’Pring may have surprised him with the intensity of his emotions, but Sarek expected no less and would neither push Spock nor allow him to be pushed into another bond before he had finished grieving. T’Pau had been less understanding, stating clearly that there was a perfectly well suited bondmate for Spock whenever he was ready to acknowledge them and reminding them that Spock’s biology meant that his Pon Farr would not be as predictable as they might like. Humans matured sexually so much earlier than Vulcans, Spock couldn’t help but remind himself, becoming fruitful at the beginning of puberty rather than the end. Rather than his clock just starting recently, it may have been running for nearly a decade. They could not know since they hadn’t thought to test him for fertility when he was a teen, and it would not do to endanger his life or others by leaving him unattached for too long.

“Perhaps for a month or so, and then I will ask T’Pau the name of the one she has in mind,” Spock said. “It is a shorter grieving period than is usual for a wife, but longer than usual for being engaged.”

“It is rare to lose a partner in this stage. You are adults and have made your pledges to each other but have not been fully bonded by spending your Time together,” Sarek replied with a nod. Spock was grateful his father glossed over the details of what he’d shared with T’Pring. More than a betrothal, less than a wife, there was no clear translation into Federation Standard and the Vulcan language simply placed a slight emphasis on the word ‘bondmate’ to express the difference in relationship between a freshly bonded pair of children and an adult couple just before the conception of their first child. “It is right and proper to take time to grieve fully. I have lost a mate before, as you know, and I am pleased and grateful to have Amanda as my wife when so many have lost their partners. To have my maternal grandmother, my wife, and my son is gratifying. My siblings, my aunts and uncles, all our cousins… they are lost to us, and I grieve them, but it is nothing as sharp as the loss of a cherished partner. T’Pau forgets how long such grief remains sharp enough to wound for those less than a half-century old. When you are ready to open yourself to another and have set the grief of your loss aside after learning what it had to teach you, I am certain you will be successful with your new bondmate. T’Pau and I have spoken at length, and while I have reservations and think we might look for another candidate in case you have objections to the first choice, I cannot fault her observations or her logic.”

“I believe I know the lessons my grief has to teach me, though I still need the time to process them fully. In some ways, Nyota’s accusations were accurate, and I acted shamefully. I cherished her, truly, and I do grieve the end of that relationship as well, but I was not honest with myself, and I did not give Nyota the respect she deserved by being honest with her about the state of my relationship with T’Pring and my expectations for the future.”

“She was convenient, and offered you things that T’Pring could not due to circumstance. Not that I condone your behavior, I agree it was shameful, but I understand why you found comfort in her. She reminds me of T’Pring in several ways.”

“Which is one of Nyota’s most accurate accusations.”

“As you say,” Sarek acknowledged with a nod, neither condemning nor excusing his son. They fell into silence for a time, sipping their tea. “There is another possibility for who might accompany us, since you would not need a guest room.” Spock blinked thoughtfully at his father’s words. Did that mean that the one T’Pau had in mind would be in this second group?

“Would they be more suited to the location in some way?”

“Yes and no. The first plan would be a minimal number of people, and of a more regular arrangement for house guests.” Sarek was noticeably more hesitant as he spoke. “However, the nursery space and the extra beds would be ideal for a large amount of children. The remaining orphans may be better served by the isolated location than stable families, with greater privacy and controlled access for visits with those seeking to adopt. Most of our people are on space stations and outposts, and while they know we have orphaned children in need of new bonds it will take time for them to come to see the children. It would impose much more on our host to have potential parents visiting and melding with the children to assess compatibility, but the number of people able to properly supervise such meetings is limited. T’Pau is in high demand and seems most eager to perform the work of helping to build new bonds. Presiding over engagements, adoptions, and so forth gives her comfort. It would be more difficult for her to travel to perform those tasks than the ones related to politics and diplomacy - which she is keen to let me perform without her.”

“We would turn the building into a bonding site and orphanage.”

“The ground floor suite is soundproof,” Sarek pointed out suggestively. Spock looked away at the window, having no need to speak of sex with his father at this time. “In that plan, the larger two bedrooms on the second floor would have multiple beds in each, you would take the smaller, and the nursery would be quite full. T’Pau, your mother, and I would be on the top floor if possible.”

“Would I be responsible for that many children?” Spock asked, surprised.

“No, of course not, the rooms with multiple beds would be for small family units. Possibly they would desire a crib instead of a full bed for their child, depending on the exact individuals who agree, and the larger bedroom space of the third floor may be needed if those selected have more than one child.” Spock was certain that the more private, child-free bathroom space was the main reason Sarek kept putting himself on the third floor with Mother and T’Pau. “Those qualified as long-term caregivers have all adopted a child already or else had at least one child with them when they were beamed from the planet’s surface. The order to seek out groups of people who were touching allowed for many parents and children to be saved together, especially on the night side of the planet, where they were all in their homes.”

“I understand that order has had a psychological effect on some of the survivors.”

“The stigma against unnecessary contact in public has faded somewhat, and some suggest that minimal contact in public is not only acceptable but preferable among those with tight bonds. I have seen many couples linking arms or even fingers in the Embassy hallways to demonstrate their connection. Chaste displays, hardly more than a greeting touch would be, but far more than most would allow themselves outside of private space before,” Sarek said quietly. Spock was certain that his parents were thrilled by that social shift even if it was temporary. They had always been insufferably demonstrative in public, with various instances being so flagrant as to become a topic of conversation among bystanders days later. He’d even seen his father fully embrace his mother upon exiting a shuttle after his work took him off-world without her, in broad daylight in front of Spock and the entire shuttle station. Spock’s nine-year-old sensibilities had been thoroughly scandalized.

At his next play date with T’Pring, it was clear the gossip about the display had spread far and wide. T’Pring had asked him if embracing in public was something he wanted to do and he’d been too mortified and conflicted by what she did next to talk at all for three days. She had embraced him when he failed to protest immediately, assuming that she was correct and he simply couldn’t bring himself to ask for such a thing. The memory made his eyes sting. She tried too hard, sometimes, and she had begun well before he was ready to reciprocate. Spock felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“Would you share whatever thoughts pain you with me?” Sarek asked softly.

Spock went to answer and found his words would not fit into a sensible order. He closed his mouth before more than the first syllable of the garbled mess was voiced and made the sign Mother taught him for when he was unable to speak coherently. Then, hesitantly, he reached out for a meld instead.

He had not melded with his father in over fifteen years, and even that last time had been extremely brief. He was uncertain it would be allowed. Sarek reached over to touch his son’s face as if they did this all the time. Their minds met, Spock’s wild fractal thoughts and Sarek’s ordered geometry sliding against each other with minimal friction. With a few murmured words from Sarek, they were standing at the shuttle dock. Amanda and Sarek were embracing openly as others stopped to stare. Spock was dressed in fine clothing instead of his school uniform to meet his father, and stood off to one side peeking through his fingers at the embarrassing display of adult affection. Then they were in the back garden of T’Pring’s home, and she was talking quickly while Spock stood mute in shock. T’Pring scooped Spock toward herself, the move more martial art than affection, but Spock set his own arms around his intended in a gentler squeeze to show how it was done and she eventually softened her hold to match.

Sarek supplied his own memories of those days, and Spock realized for the first time just how much his father cherished his mother. The depth of affection seemed bottomless, Sarek must have heavily censored himself for the sake of Spock’s delicate age in the past. Sarek was floating on it in the memory, his hold on Amanda the only thing keeping him from drowning in it after so long - a mere three months - apart. Then, Sarek was peeking through a window as T’Pring snatched at Spock’s arm and pulled harshly on him, worried at what could cause her to grab him with such sudden violence. Spock saw himself melting into T’Pring’s rough hold, curling around her sharp edges with a little frown on his young face. Forming himself into what he needed to be for her to understand, even if it upset him a little to do so.

The meld ended, and they sat in silence for a time. Spock did so mostly because he could not speak, though his thoughts chased each other around in eloquent fractal patterns that always made perfect sense to him. The way Sarek saw his relationship with T’Pring was quite different than how Spock had experienced it. Instead of them reaching for each other and failing to connect fully due to long stretches of time with great distances between them, Sarek saw a pattern that T’Pring would act very boldly and Spock would either accommodate, retreat, or correct. She made a decision that they needed to embrace in public like humans, and he showed her how he liked to be held and how private he wished such things to be. Moving forward to more recent memories, she decided to do stacks of research on her own into human sexuality before they slept together for the first time and he suggested they should read those books together instead, then later he showed her that his body worked like an average Vulcan male and such research was unnecessary. Shortly after that, while he was on his first deployment as bridge crew, he’d asked her if she had a fetish for human intimacy, because she seemed so much more interested in human romances than Vulcan ones and kept bringing the issue up. It started a fight that lasted a year and a half, ending only when he visited her on Vulcan and they could physically show each other what sort of intimacy they desired. Their worst misunderstandings always happened when he couldn’t be physically there to show her the difference between what she thought he should want as a half-human and what he actually wanted as himself.

Perhaps he just couldn’t successfully navigate a long-distance relationship for reasons intrinsic to his person? The dysphasia aside, it was possible that the way he experienced and communicated intimacy was inherently linked to sharing the same physical space or a direct mental connection. His father, and he was still processing this revelation, needed a great deal of physical intimacy all the time. The memory of Sarek reuniting with Amanda after a necessary absence during which Spock knew they communicated via video at least twice weekly made it very clear that it was not for Mother’s sake - or not only for her sake - that they kissed their fingers together so often and so publicly, even if they were only parted for a few hours. Sarek craved that simple connection, reaching his fingers out to tap hers whenever he could get away with it, and suffered the loss of it only when it could not be avoided.

Spock had always been most content in his engagement when he was with T’Pring. When their separation became too much for him, he found a very affectionate partner that accepted that he disliked public displays to fill the empty space at his side. He did not crave touch the way his father did. Even after he showed her how his body worked T’Pring had remained skeptical that what they shared was enough to quench the fire in his human blood, but even if his carnal need was less than she expected, he certainly still needed the use of his body to make himself fully understood at times. He also desired to meld more often than T’Pring thought was normal, and could even admit that some of his displeasure and frustration with his father was because they had not melded in many years. Spock was a very strong telepath and he liked using those skills. He melded with Nyota almost every time they were intimate, even if their physical actions were limited to relatively chaste touch.

No, that was not fully accurate. Spock defined their moments of intimacy as the times they had melded. Both physical and mental connection were necessary for his satisfaction, and times he had touched T’Pring or Nyota affectionately without mental contact simply did not come immediately to mind when he thought of intimate moments. Neither mode of communication could be adequately transmitted via subspace signal, so logically Spock would have to be in the same physical space as his next bondmate as much as possible for their relationship to flourish. He would have to meditate on that personal discovery and what it would mean for his future at length, but knowing this about himself was enough for the moment.

“I like melding the way you like touching,” was the first thing that popped out of Spock’s mouth when his mind settled enough to let him voice a thought without it coming out backwards or upside down. “I need it, from those I cherish. Mother lets me meld with her when we are reunited after a long parting. I did so on the Enterprise, when we could find the privacy to do so the day after Nero was defeated. You rejected me many times before I stopped asking it of you.”

“I did not want you to become dependent on it as a means of communication when you were struggling with your language challenges. It was suggested by your teachers to limit telepathic communication for a time, because you did not speak much at all at home and they wanted you to get more practice vocalizing your thoughts without clarifying your words with telepathy,” Sarek explained clearly. “I should have noted when that time had passed, and offered my mind to you.” In a much softer voice he added, “I may have acted out of hurt in letting only Amanda share that with you, because you reached often for Amanda and never for me when you wished for the comfort of a parent. It had not occurred to me that I taught you not to reach for me.”

“The solution is obvious,” Spock said, sitting up a little straighter and accompanying his thoughts with telepathic inflection in a way he’d intentionally prevented himself from doing when speaking to his father for many years. Saerk would get the touch he preferred to use to express his care, and Spock would have more telepathic interaction with his father to reduce their misunderstandings.

“Indeed, and the unfortunate distance that grew between us will close fully,” Sarek agreed, but seemed distracted by something else. “There is something about the one T’Pau thinks you should consider as a bondmate that I worry… You do not want to know who it is yet, and I respect that and your grief, but would you mind if I checked on certain things on your behalf? I could do so without mentioning that I am investigating a potential bond arrangement, if you prefer.”

“Could you specify?”

“If melding, or just a large amount of incidental telepathic communication, is that essential to your happiness, then any potential match would have to be able to fulfill that need,” Sarek said.

“Is there some chance they may not be?” Spock asked.

“Telepathic awareness and aptitude vary wildly from one individual to the next,” Sarek said, which was a terribly vague and obvious fact, but also explained the concern without giving away any details about the candidate. T’Pring had both keen telepathic awareness and well-trained skills, Spock’s dissatisfaction on that front was a simply the distance between them preventing their use. Others, due to less affluent backgrounds, may not have had the opportunity to train their skills under masters, or might not have strong telepathy to begin with. If this was not something T’Pau had factored into the match or if their telepathic skill was something unknown to Sarek, then his father may feel obligated to investigate. Sarek continued when Spock remained in silent contemplation. “Even your mother, despite being psi-null, has developed the mental skills necessary to easily accept and even guide a meld once it is initiated. This is why melding with her can be as easy as melding with another Vulcan. It is possible the one T’Pau has selected would welcome training for their own sake, before a bond is suggested, and then you would benefit as well should the match be successful.”

“You may investigate,” Spock asserted, taking a moment to fully organize his thoughts before he continued, “so that you may present me with a viable match when I am ready, but do not mention me before I am ready to move on from my grief. I do not want to ruin another match I would otherwise do well in by rushing in before I am ready because the other person has approached me eagerly and I find them pleasing. Also, if there is another suited to them that they desire, I do not want them to miss an opportunity waiting for me. Not when I may reject them. After all, you did mention you had reservations before noting how important telepathy is to me, and I am old enough to make my choice known if I believe the match is poor.” Sarek seemed about to say something but checked himself. It was a full ten minutes before Sarek spoke again.

“I respect your boundaries, and will try to assure that the match is a good one without alerting either of you to the nature of my investigation or the identity of the other.”

“I am grateful for the care you show me,” Spock said, and stood to prepare dinner before Mother’s arrival.

Chapter Text

Spock sat next to Pike’s wheelchair at the very back of the shuttle. It was 2258.88 at 0824; 17.75 days after their arrival on Earth; 45.82 days since Vulcan was destroyed; March 29^th, 2258 by the local calendar; the 22nd of Adar II, 6018 by his mother’s calendar. Spock was glad that they weren’t taking regular public transport, but a private shuttle his family kept on Earth for diplomatic use. It meant they had privacy and could relax during the trip rather than be subjected to observation from the general public for the duration. His father was piloting the ship, Mother in the seat next to him, T’Pau just behind. The remaining space was filled by some of those who would be staying in the farmhouse with them. Their luggage, including donated mattresses and other supplies, had been sent ahead of them using the regular package shipment services, and was delivered to the farmhouse early this morning. Another contracted shuttle would bring the rest of their group as well as one of the two hovercars belonging to the House of Surak on Earth.

It was unnecessary for Captain Pike to accompany the small clan of Vulcans to Riverside, Iowa. That had been mentioned several times by various individuals, but the captain insisted that he’d gotten so tired of looking at the walls of his room that a trip to see some snowfields would be a refreshing change of scenery. Spock wondered if Captain Pike was making a joke of some sort, because the spring equinox in this hemisphere was nine days ago. Certainly, there couldn’t be snow still on the ground at this latitude, even if temperatures did dip down as low as negative forty Centigrade during winter storms in this part of the continent. Sarek’s initial rejection of this location seemed quite logical once Spock looked up the local climate statistics.

The captain seemed to have the same trouble going out in public as the rest of them, with journalists eager to get yet another statement on whatever minute detail could become the news of the day. It seemed that if there was no real progress to report on for the Vulcan refugees and their situation, the media would find a new detail about the damage to the Enterprise or some interpersonal fact to obsess over. Three days ago, one unscrupulous reporter decided that the romance between Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura would be the topic of conversation. Uhura’s Orion roommate, who was one of six survivors pulled from the wreckage of the Farragut, was cornered leaving medical and explained that they had broken up because Nyota had been insensitive about Spock’s wife’s death.

Spock had thought he felt trapped in his apartment before, but the few buzzing reporters looking for interesting crumbs to feast on became a swarm of locusts ready to devour every detail of his life. Gaila thought the end of the relationship meant there wouldn’t be anything more to say about it, but while that would be true in Orion society it was not at all true of Humans or Vulcans. Even without counting the reporters, Spock was subject to more than a polite amount of inquiry from colleagues and acquaintances about his private affairs after the news of their relationship and breakup became public all at once. As far as he was aware, before she kissed him on the transporter while he prepared to board the Nerada, only the command staff that processed the relevant paperwork knew that he had been in a romantic relationship with Uhura. They had kept their relationship very private and remained mostly professional outside of private spaces. He had appreciated the concern Nyota showed him in that moment, but it was one of the things that contributed to their separation. It greatly violated the boundaries he had set for public displays, becoming much more sensual and intimate than he was comfortable with; although he had been able to suppress the embarrassment and focus on the mission and the comfort she offered him at the time, he still had to process those unpleasant and distracting emotions during his meditation later. Even the other crew in the room, with their much looser human ideas about public affection, had been visibly uncomfortable with the amount of passion on display. Kirk’s comment about Nyota’s given name broke the tension and spurred the engineers operating the transporter back into action, but even Kirk with his reputation for public displays of affection had been obviously put off by the kiss. Spock knew that there was some negative interpersonal history between Nyota and Kirk, she’d talked about it vaguely a few times while ‘venting’ her negative emotions. Supposedly the opinion was mutual, with respect for their skills not quite enough to counter a distinct clash of personalities, but Spock could practically see the man mentally taking his opinion of Nyota and lowering it several marks down the scale.

Energized by their highly productive conversation about Spock’s needs related to telepathy and affection, Sarek had T’Pau visit Spock for dinner the day after their reconciliation to ensure there were no remaining misunderstandings in their diminished clan. The meld they shared that day lasted longer than any other he’d ever heard of, 62.45 minutes when the typical meld was below fifteen. His clan matriarch seemed just as eager for that mental connection as he was. It was logical, as matriarch she would maintain mental connections to the entire family and she would normally spread her attention over all 146 members of her extended family - that number including both of her husband’s kin as well as Spock’s blood family. With only four left in the house of Surak, one of them a human, she would naturally want more time with them as individuals just to satisfy her own needs for telepathic interaction. After the meld, they spoke late into the night on many topics from Spock’s childhood perceptions to what Terran foods were best for a balanced diet long-term and how to prepare them for a Vulcan palate.

Regarding his human lover, T’Pau observed that after T’Pring’s death nearly everything about Nyota bothered him in some way. He couldn’t refute it, and Spock had hoped that would be the final word on the subject from his family. His appreciation for Nyota was simply too tied up in his complicated relationship with T’Pring to survive his grief at his wife’s death. When Nyota did not make him feel guilty as a cheater, she reminded him of what was lost to him by being too similar to T’Pring - not only in personality but in appearance. T’Pring was just a little taller, and her skin just a little paler with its cooler, green-blooded undertone; but they had the same jawline, body proportions, and strong-willed confidence backed up by competence. Spock had only just settled his mind on that topic and accepted that he’d done both women a great disservice by his conduct when Gaila spoke to the press and spurred even other Vulcans to ask him all sorts of invasive questions.

He’d thought he’d left behind the days of fielding repeated invasive questions about private human biological processes when he and his peers were no longer teenagers. There was the holonet, the VSA database backup had been copied and brought on-line, and the public Federation scientific database. All these were available to answer such queries in far more detail and specificity than he possibly could.

With gossip flying in all directions, Spock had done what was necessary. He filled out both the required and addendum reports, excluding nothing. Even if he resigned his commission to aid in rebuilding and… repopulating… Vulcan society, which he supposed would be expected of him now that his elder cousins could not carry on the bloodline, there would still be a debrief and follow-up meetings to assess both his and Nyota’s conduct, mental health, and ability to work together in case he returned to the service or she engaged in a similar relationship with a superior officer in the future. He was confident they would both be professional. After all, she notified him that she’d felt remorse for pushing him with the public kiss mere hours after his wife’s death.

He had commed her after he read the long message, to settle things between them now that he had a better understanding of and control over his emotions. Spock could see what it must have looked like to those who didn’t know they had been involved prior to that day and was sympathetic to the false accusations being leveled at her based on that misunderstanding, but could not bring himself to speak publicly about it to any reporters. He offered instead that his official report be made public, since he was soon leaving San Fransisco to escape the journalists and it contained all the information he cared to share with others.

Any desire to rekindle things between them on her end seemed to be properly extinguished. Gaila may have caused the media frenzy with her public statement, but she’d also had several choice things to say to Nyota about how to act in polyamorous or open relationships in their private discussions. The Orion had been quite upset on Spock’s behalf that Nyota had disregarded the request for space and reduced physical intimacy he’d made only a few hours before the public display on the transporter. She’d also laid into Spock for making himself completely unavailable to Nyota for several days after Nero’s defeat, even as she acknowledged that his emotional withdraw was due to Nyota pushing him too much too soon, disregarding her needs for comfort and reassurance. It hadn’t been strictly accurate that all four parties involved made up a fully aware and consenting polycule, but Spock appreciated the Orion’s perspective on the matter regardless because they should have conducted themselves in that manner. He suspected that if he had suggested such a thing, T’Pring would have simply taken Stonn and made their separation more official, but such speculation served no purpose and there was always the chance they could have incorporated Stonn and Nyota into their lives properly. While Nyota said that talking to him was still painful, she was sure they would be able to work together as friends after some time passed if they were assigned to the same ship. In the meantime, she’d gotten assigned to a short mission to a starfleet listening post that would see her returned to Earth around the end of the year when Enterprise’s repairs were expected to be finished. The implication that they would be serving together on that ship was likely accurate in the event that Spock chose to remain in Starfleet.

Spock was relatively certain Captain Pike was actually accompanying them to draw attention away from Spock’s personal life with news of his steady recovery. Pike had talked right over the reporters that approached them when they waited for the shuttle to be ready in San Fransisco, giving rather gory details about the damage to his body and the torture methods that caused it that wouldn’t be fit for a sound clip aired on the evening holos. They might use an image of them boarding for a story about them moving to an undisclosed private residence, but they wouldn’t have any usable audio and Pike would probably be the bigger story.

There were only three true orphans left, but there were other children who still had their bondmates and no other. There were many more parent-less children, of course, but most of them had some sort of family connection to build from. For the larger webs of cousins and bondmates that were all or nearly underage, an elder had been arranged to serve as head of the young clan by claiming them all as a unit. Many smaller groups of four or so would stay in the embassy, coming to the farm with whoever wanted to adopt them the way they would have journeyed to Mount Seleya if Vulcan still existed.

In the transport with Spock were seven children – twelve-year-old T’Nira, two bonded pairs between 8 and 11 years old, and two five-year-old true orphans. They would all room together in the nursery. A young couple with an infant that were very, very distantly related to T’Pau’s first husband would take a room on the second floor with them and provide much of the childcare while the rest of the clan worked. It wasn’t official yet, but he was sure the young couple and their child would be adopted into his clan in one of the first bonding ceremonies at the farm, combining the two houses.

The owner of the building, which Spock only this morning realized Sarek had never mentioned the name of, was alright with the in-law suite being used for religious purposes and bonding ceremonies so long as the bedroom space wasn’t treated like a by-the-hour hotel - the guests would be responsible for stripping the bed into the laundry chute and cleaning up any significant mess before they left. Additionally, the garden space in the back was suggested as an alternative location for ceremonies if the converted sitting room wasn’t large enough or if the couple preferred an “outdoor wedding.” Sarek made a point to tell Spock and his mother that they would need to clarify that all the bonding ceremonies would be engagements or adoptions of some kind and not full weddings barring unforeseen circumstances, which made Spock think that there was some human euphemism that his father had fallen prey to that he wanted Spock or Amanda to sort out for him. He sympathized; sometimes a cultural misunderstanding about a sexual euphemism became so convoluted it simply wasn’t resolvable until some time had passed or another person could become involved to clarify where they had gone wrong. It probably didn’t help that the concept of Vulcan marriage was poorly translatable into Standard, consisting of three stages instead of two - with the third being an intensely private thing that was completely dependent on a hormonal state that was not polite to discuss at all let alone with a non-Vulcan.

They would not be reinforcing the space to deal with a Pon Farr, which would be accommodated in the existing rooms for that purpose at the San Fransisco and Paris embassies in the unlikely case the condition pushed through someone’s grief in the short term. Instead, they would be redecorating the sitting room of the in-law suite to make it suitable for religious observances and initial bonding. The property owner was happy to let them rearrange anything they liked in the private spaces they inhabited so long as it could be put back when the new colony was ready for them, and had a shrine of some kind of their own “out back by the well” that T’Pau was particularly interested in. The young family traveling with them currently were artisans, and Spock looked forward to getting to know them better as they integrated into his clan. The wife T’hir, T’Pau’s in-law, was a prosperous woodworker. The husband Rivan was a dark-skinned man broadly familiar with various handicrafts and home maintenance, previously employed doing odd jobs around his community. They planned to make whatever was needed for a proper alter and involve the children in age-appropriate crafts as an initial project. In the seat ahead of him Rivan was sketching design ideas based on the rough measurements of the space that were provided, murmuring with his wife about materials and what tasks the children could perform with them.

Another young couple would be joining them shortly, taking on some of the work of childcare and education. They were looking to adopt and may bring more children when they came, but they were primarily coming to stay because they claimed to be related to the House of Surak through an excommunicated ancestor two generations prior to Solkar. It was an extremely distant relationship to Spock, but with so few of their species left even fourth cousins had to count as family. They were remaining on a starbase where the man was doing mechanical work and the woman worked as a botanist maintaining the oxygen garden for another couple weeks before they could be replaced. Spock looked forward to meeting them, as their communications indicated they shared the natural curiosity that was common among Spock’s father’s bloodline.

Spock brought the small statues of their gods he’d had in his apartment, wrapped in his sleep robe in the small carry-on bag he’d packed. He showed them to T’hir and Rivan before takeoff. They were designed to be small and durable, meant for a young man to remember the gods as he traveled and changed residence often, but they had been made in Mount Seleya and that gave them great value despite their simplicity. He’d ordered a larger and much more detailed worship set made, planning to install a full altar for meditation in his quarters on the Enterprise instead of just re-purposing a shelf since he anticipated at least five years at that post. He had hoped they were in transit and would turn up shortly, but if they hadn’t by now it was likely they had not yet been shipped off-planet when Nero attacked.

Most of the work remaining for the new flagship before Nero’s attack had been cosmetics and finishing touches like customizations to the quarters for senior crew. His room had only been partially painted, containing only a bed and some open shelves - no cabinet doors or other comforts had been installed. Most of the crew quarters were still just the raw metal of the bulkheads and the bare furnishings of the beds and shelving that were built into the structure, no other furniture or creature comforts like carpeting or paneling in place. The sterile surroundings took a toll on a lot of the crew as well as the refugees during their slow crawl toward Earth, and he heard members of both the command and lower deck crew making plans to outfit their spaces to be much more welcoming with all sorts of comforting touches from decorative pillows to curtains to soften the metallic echoes when it came time for them to ship out properly. Spock had gone back to the design options he was afforded for his quarters three times, though he didn’t want to submit anything yet. He wasn’t sure he would return to the Enterprise at all now that his people were so few, and he knew he would have to remain with his bondmate at least until they were fully bonded and their relationship stable. Some years with his people wherever they settled, maybe a decade or two to bring up a child, and then he might be free to return to Starfleet.

It was a logical path, but he was deeply dissatisfied with the idea of resigning his commission or taking an indefinite sabbatical. One of the redesigns of his quarters he entertained included space for his partner to have their own belongings in separate storage as if they would live with him on the ship. Of course, that would require petitioning for certain accommodations before a civilian partner would be allowed on board without extenuating circumstance and it was unlikely that any Vulcan would enjoy such a living situation, where they would have little constructive work to occupy their time. Not unless his bondmate joined Starfleet. The daydream was a waste of time and effort for many reasons. Now that Pike wasn’t fit enough to captain the Enterprise, it was no certain thing that Spock would even be the first officer. There was no word yet on who would crew the ship. The Admiralty were still working through the aftermath of Nero’s attack, focused on the repercussions as well as if and how the situation in the Laurentian system had been a distraction meant to leave Vulcan and Earth vulnerable. The only personally relevant thing that had been resolved so far was the disciplinary hearing that the emergency call had interrupted. Spock had made his accusations before in full, but Kirk had only barely begun to respond before they were interrupted. When the hearing was reconvened Kirk made a very convincing argument in his defense.

“As I said before, the test itself is a cheat. There is no hope of victory, not even a partial or Pyrrhic one. What this teaches a command officer is insidious and I hope unintentional. It sets the expectation that when things are hard, it is best to cut your losses. Not all conservative choices are bad ones, of course, but we must be careful that we aren’t conditioned to be too cautious. We can’t stray into the territory of learned helplessness, where command teams are so pessimistic they assume nothing can be done,” Kirk said with confidence. “Originally, I’d have moved on to my next point here, but now I can add a very relevant example. The initial inclination of the command team on the Enterprise had been to report back to the main fleet in the Laurentian system. A cautious and measured choice meant to maximize our personal safety, not unlike a retreat from the Klingons in the Kobayashi Maru. An immediate retreat is, after all, the only action that doesn’t result in the total loss of life for all personnel on both Federation ships in the simulation - though only one escape pod containing the command crew can make it through at the expense of every other life as a best-case scenario. While that is also seen as a loss by the test proctors, since it means the orders given were not followed and no attempt at saving the ship was made. The result is considered a dishonorable discharge, but it does preserve the most lives and that makes it seem like the best course of action to some of the cadets who discuss the test among themselves after taking it.” The admirals asked if Kirk was suggesting the test encouraged cowardice at that point, and Kirk answered easily.

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m telling you flat out that it does. Not all by itself, of course, but in conjunction with other classes and exercises that advise caution and teach very necessary history lessons. Lessons that shouldn’t be altered because they serve other purposes that would be undermined by a change in tone, where the Kobayashi Maru can still be frightening without being completely hopeless and teach the lesson better than it does as a hopeless exercise. The detour that was everyone’s first instinct, even if I give the shortest possible estimated time to report before turning to race back to Earth at top speed, would have taken hours and meant the deaths of everyone on this planet and possibly another before we arrived with reinforcements. Andora, probably, but possibly Tellar or even just the rest of the inhabited planets of the Sol system,” Kirk said forcefully, before continuing his defense in a more even tone.

“That leads me to the opportunity that doesn’t exist within the simulation that I say must be there for it to be a viable training exercise and not a cheat meant to grind down the hope and inspiration of cadets. In real life, when a desperate problem appears to have no solution, the choice is not to cut and run or to go down with all hands lost. The correct solution is to alter the conditions until an opportunity presents itself, to remain creative and continue to try and solve the problem despite feeling fear - and that is what Commander Spock says the simulation is supposed to measure. Real life is never as simple as a simulation, there are always more variables to manipulate, and the simulation as it stands is locked down so tight that even very unconventional tactics have the exact same outcomes as the most predictable ones. It is designed to be impossible, full stop. Commander Spock brought up my father, and I have to mention that that isn’t what comes immediately to my mind when I’m asked about a fearful and hopeless situation as I’m sure the Admiralty is well aware, but why not use that example? George Kirk changed the parameters of his situation. He must have, because otherwise it wouldn’t be considered such a historic act so bold and notable that people wrote thesis papers on it and defined me as The Kelvin Baby until I was fifteen.

“If he pushed on according to the convention and training of the day, then either on the shuttles and escape pods or on the ship itself everyone would have died. He chose instead to fly the Kelvin manually into the Narada, a startling move that only seems like the obvious choice with two decades of hindsight. It was hardly something anyone would expect him to do at the time. He caused enough damage that Nero retreated, likely more due to shock given what we’ve learned of the Narada’s specifications from the scans made during the attack on Vulcan. If the situation was programmed into the Kobayashi Maru’s current framework with the actual specs for the Narada, then Nero would just go on to destroy all the escaping crew since he still had overwhelming force on his side. All hands lost, because there is no chance to save any life but your own according to the programming and it will unfairly give the attacking vessels perfect information and even some minimal amount of prescience to ensure that there is no win condition possible.”

Spock had withdrawn his complaint at that point, though he had intended to do so from the beginning of the hearing based on having seen Kirk in an actual command situation. The point of the test was to see if a cadet could maintain their composure during a terrifying situation, and Kirk had demonstrated that quite well. Spock wanted to ensure Kirk had the chance to voice his entire argument first, and he was honestly quite impressed by the reasoning presented. Spock had not had the chance to speak with him in the immediate aftermath of the hearing, and Kirk had disappeared from campus before Spock could catch up with him. It was a shame, he had wanted to dig deeper into the philosophy behind the idea of what changing the parameters of a situation would entail in real life and how far Kirk would go if he felt justified. He was also curious about what other situation Kirk was thinking of as a hopeless and fearful situation that would be more prominent in his mind than his father’s heroic death. At the very least, Spock knew he had developed an unconventional interpretation of the Prime Directive in his time serving under Captain Pike, and he was certain that if he asked Kirk about the topic the resulting discussion would be very interesting.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Pike’s voice pulled Spock out of his introspection.

“What do you mean by offering me elemental metal in exchange for my thoughts?” Spock asked, stalling for time.

“It’s an old expression,” Pike said, his brow furrowing slightly as he stretched his memory to explain an idiom that was second nature to him. “I think it references the old monetary system of using coins made from metal. The lowest value ones were copper or a copper alloy, if I remember correctly.”

“So, you are valuing my current thoughts very little,” Spock said, disgruntled.

“More like I’m offering you an ear to listen and possibly some commentary, which isn’t of any real value,” Pike clarified, shifting slightly in the clamped-down hoverchair. “I suppose it’s meant to be easy to take or refuse, since I’m offering something of such little value. In any case, I’m asking what you are thinking about.”

“The Prime Directive,” Spock answered honestly, “and before that my current situation as both a Starfleet officer and a Vulcan.”

“Ha,” Pike said with a smile that let Spock know he also meant the word with the Vulcan meaning of affirmation. “I suppose it’s a complicated place to be. At least you know you have people around to support you.”

“That is very evident,” Spock said with a nod of his own. “Whatever choices I make for myself, I will have a group that will support me.”

“That phrasing implies you’ll also disappoint someone, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is something I must decide for myself,” Spock said. “Leaving the city should give me the peace of mind I require to do so. It has been difficult to focus with so many distractions.”

“Everyone wants to talk to us, except the people we want to talk to,” Pike agreed, ending his sentence with a sigh. “It’s part of why I’m coming out here with you, if only for one night.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure you know Jim’s been all but impossible to talk to. When I realized he’s been talking to your father practically every day, and I can’t get more than a short text back, of course I want to tag along and see him.”

“Kirk is going to visit us?” Spock asked, pleased at the news.

“Visit,” Pike said the word slowly, looking distinctly amused. “Spock, do you know where you are going?”

“To a farmhouse not far from the Riverside shipyard.”

“Right. I mean specifically.”

“I… realized earlier today that my father hasn’t mentioned the name of the landlord or the exact address, though he shared all the specifications for the building and some rough architectural measurements so that we could make our plans accordingly,” Spock admitted. “It seems an odd thing to omit in private conversation, though I see the reasoning in having that information scrubbed from the data chips that were being shared around the embassy since our purpose is increased privacy. It may be inevitable that there will be some media presence at the Riverside shipyard eventually, but the plan is for them to be misled into thinking it is merely a stop along the journey rather than a final destination for as long as we can manage the misdirection.” Pike was reacting quite strangely to Spock’s words, and Spock’s brow furrowed while trying to interpret Pike’s shifting expression.

“Now I know you haven’t been doing well, if your endless curiosity failed to sniff this out.”

“I am aware that Kirk’s family is also from Riverside, so if he has retreated to whatever home he has there it would be easy for him to visit. I simply had no evidence one way or the other as to his whereabouts, and I did not know he was in such regular contact with my father at all.”

“The place you will be staying is called Kirkland Farms,” Pike said, an amused smile pulling at the man’s face. “To be perfectly clear, that’s the name of the four-and-a-quarter century-old estate James Kirk inherited when he turned twenty.” Spock blinked once, slowly, as he processed this information.

“The company or the land itself is called Kirkland Farms?” The home Spock was born and raised in was known as the S’Chn-kelek, so he understood having part or all of the family name in the address of an estate several centuries old. It was a rather key bit of information that Sarek really should have shared with Spock.

“Both. It became a very well-known farming conglomerate for a while, back in the early 21st century or so, but it was a more modest family farm before that and went back to being that way long enough ago that that’s all anyone living remembers. You’ll be staying with Jim in the main house,” Pike confirmed.

“I don’t know why my father failed to mention that. He spoke of the landlord as if they would be mostly a non-entity, saying only that they were being very accommodating and would only be in residence for part of the year.”

“Well, I imagine Jim’s as busy as a bee between needing to take care of his personal affairs, finishing up the semester, and dealing with the fallout from everything. I know he’s been doing classwork remotely, though realistically all that matters now is his final thesis and a couple of essays. He only needed the one class to get his master’s in history and the rest are all electives he took for fun. After that, he’ll certainly get an assignment and likely ship out before the end of the year, so him not being around much does make sense.”

“It is logical,” Spock agreed.

“Thinking about it, he might have asked to keep it quiet, so it didn’t influence anyone’s decision to come with your family or not. Sarek might have taken that more seriously than Jim meant it if he didn’t even tell you. On top of that, Jim’s been nervous about seeing that little girl again, the older orphan that’s gotten herself fixated on him. He might have asked Sarek to keep it quiet so people wouldn’t get the wrong idea one way or the other about his intentions.”

“Possible. His concerns on that front are valid. T’nira seems to have decided that either Kirk or myself should to adopt her, which is inappropriate in either case.” The child in question looked up from the PADD she was studying at the sound of her name, but quickly pretended to go back to her lessons.

“Inappropriate?” Pike asked. “Jim I get, he’s a single guy of the wrong species and the cultural gap is wider than the Grand Canyon, but why lump yourself in with that? I can understand if you aren’t looking to become a father, of course, that’s your own business, but it’s understandable to me that the girl caught a case of hero-worship.”

“Single parents are not acceptable in Vulcan culture for many reasons, and not entirely for the sake of the child’s welfare,” Spock explained. After the disaster with Nyota, he knew exactly what he needed to make clear. “Any single adult, with children or not, would be shortly bonded with a new partner for the sake of their own health and sanity. Only those who have undergone Kolinar successfully are excluded from this, and they still need mental bonds that are… you would likely use the word platonic or familial. A new bondmate is usually arranged by the families involved or coordinated by community elders while the widow or widower is grieving, though my own parents are proof that not all relationships are arranged. It is necessary for our long-term mental health to be bonded in that way, not only to a partner but that bond is usually the strongest we have and the one we rely on the most. The death of my wife is an enormous strain on me, but my family has already identified one candidate that should be highly compatible for when I am ready to move on from my grief.”

“So, it’s the idea that you have to help yourself before you can help others, and that means a new wife as the first order of business.”

“Affirmative, though,” Spock dropped his voice down to a whisper. “There is something that may be objectionable about them, and my father is looking to ensure I have a second choice if at all possible. I am unsure, because I have not been given any details yet, but I can only assume it is their age or gender. Mother seems unconcerned, which makes it less likely the issue is age.”

“In human culture that sort of thing…” Pike cut himself off and rephrased, his voice soft and quiet. “Is there a reason why your father wouldn’t know if you’d be willing to marry someone who wasn’t a woman?”

“It isn’t something I had reason to consider with any seriousness. I was bonded with T’Pring when I was seven, and I liked her well enough. For most of my life I’d never considered another at all, though I believe you were witness to some of…” Spock glanced briefly at the group of children and beyond them to T’Pau. “Some of the public-facing aspects of what prompted me to entertain alternatives. I’ve put a small amount of thought into the matter since my father’s suspicious words. While I might be content in such a relationship - depending on several variables - I don’t think it would be logical given that our species has a great need to repopulate.” Pike kept his voice low when he answered.

“There are a lot of ways around that with modern medical technology. You only exist because of some of those techniques, and artificial wombs have come a long way in the last couple decades. Partly because of your birth, if I am remembering it right. Last I looked into the technology, and no that isn’t a story I’m willing to tell because it’s not exactly mine, they are about the size of an end table, though not as easily portable once they get past a certain stage. Theoretically, if a member of Starfleet wanted to gestate using one in their quarters it would be a burden on them less demanding than a standard pregnancy according to the official ruling, and there was a draft protocol submitted once upon a time for details like when the device would be transferred to sickbay for closer monitoring in the more delicate stages of development and when the expectant parent would go on leave in anticipation of the birth.” Spock took a moment to absorb that information before responding.

“Even so, it would need to be a joint decision. To return to our original topic of conversation, there is an additional complication. I’m too young to be a father to any child, let alone T’Nira’s father. There is a… milestone, of sorts, that I haven’t met yet in my culture. It is a very private biological matter. It is not something commonly discussed even among ourselves, but until it happens to me most conventional methods of conceiving a child would be difficult and it would be considered improper for me to adopt a child.”

“You aren’t old enough?” Pike asked, incredulous.

“I am an adult and…” Spock stopped the response that he was about to voice with a shake of his head, as it would be partially inaccurate. The children might be listening - likely were listening - and it was important that he spoke accurately, so they did not become confused. “It is simply that Vulcans develop in a different manner than humans, and both men and women experience long hormonal cycles, while in humans only women have cycles that are quite short by comparison. Vulcan cycles are different in a number of ways, and can be up to a decade and not less than half that time depending on the individual.” Pike waved at Spock the way he did when Spock began ‘info-dumping’ as the captain liked to say. Spock didn’t have much more he was willing to say on the topic anyway.

“I think I understand,” Pike said, nodding with his brow pinched as if he was doing serious mental recalculations. “Humans tend not to break it down in casual conversation either, but we have lots of sub-stages of life inside the basic categories of baby, child, adult, and elder. Technically a human can make certain adult choices starting at age sixteen, and we are officially counted as adults at eighteen, but then there are a bunch of things that aren’t legal for any human until as late as twenty-five. Getting certain voluntary medical treatments without a second opinion, renting certain types of heavy equipment, or taking certain jobs come to mind first, but that’s all legality and there are cultural taboos about certain things too depending on where you come from that vary from place to place. I forget exactly why it’s generally twenty-five, but there is a biological reason beyond just having enough life experience by then that they wouldn’t act as impulsively and having enough of a track record for others to accurately judge their character. I could look it up, but to stay on topic: for a lot of complicated and unfortunate reasons adoptions are legal at eighteen even though many human cultures discourage adopting that young. We have services that check in on those cases with extra care to make sure nothing is going wrong. I don’t think I need to explain why that’s often done in less-than-ideal situations, with someone who is only just barely an adult adopting a sibling or similar situations.”

“That sounds comparable. It would normally not be permitted at all at my age, but in current circumstances…” Spock let the statement hang. He would be permitted to adopt, if his partner was agreeable and he desired to raise a child, but he wasn’t sure he would ever want children beyond his family obligations and all tradition dictated that he was much too young for it.

“What’s that saying? It is what it is?”

“What is, is,” Spock corrected. He hung his head, staring unblinking at his lap for a moment of silence. “We have all been meditating on that portion of Surak’s teachings of late.”

Chapter Text

Jim felt like he needed to cough, so he took another sip of warm water from his thermos. It was supposed to go up to 12 Centigrade today, but it was still a breezy 7 at a quarter to noon as he waited on his front porch for his house guests. He’d known that it was probably too cold for most Vulcans here but figured that there had to be some people used to living closer to the poles that wouldn’t mind as much or rural folk that might be too cramped in the city, so he made the offer to house some of them about a week into their limp back to Earth. When Sarek declined the offer of using the farmhouse the day before they met up with the tow ship, Jim had shrugged it off and made other plans. Then five days after they touched down Jim’s comm started chiming at odd hours, asking about how he felt about hosting weddings or using the farmhouse as an orphanage to give the more vulnerable children a less stressful atmosphere. Jim and Sarek exchanged messages hashing out details, establishing a pattern of Sarek sending his messages at ass o’clock in the morning and Jim responding in the afternoon after careful consideration. Sarek probably sent them right after the elder Vulcan did his nighttime meditation; Jim muted his comm number early on and checked the messages after he’d had his breakfast. Some species needed more than four hours of sleep a night.

Three days ago, Sarek sent a message saying that he’d collected a suitable group, including his entire clan, ready to arrive as soon as they could arrange transport and Jim just about lost his mind. They’d been talking about late April. Another deep space science mission was due back in Federation space and a bunch of space stations were rotating crew so they could be reunited with any remaining family or add some of the orphans. This was a month ahead of schedule. He wasn’t ready, but more importantly the house wasn’t ready.

Jim thought he could guess why the sudden change of plans happened. He’d tried to steer clear of the media frenzy, but he couldn’t avoid the news broadcasts entirely. Yesterday, when picking up some fresh hothouse fruits and early spring veggies, the grocer asked Jim what he knew about the romantic scandal on Enterprise. The rumors were as far from truth as could be, and he set her straight writing it out on a paper bag that lots of relationships fell apart in the face of grief. The death of a child or sibling could ruin other relationships, and part of a poly relationship dying had to be even worse. Vulcans did things a little differently, and what was between consenting adults wasn’t anyone’s business after all. She’d shown him some of the headlines and he showed her how the short quotes they had could be twisted with a word cut off here or there. Spock and Uhura had been nothing but professional as far as he knew, if they were upset at each other behind closed doors it didn’t show at all in public.

Jim felt a little better knowing that the relationship pre-dated the attack on Vulcan because, well… He’d thought Uhura was better than jumping a widower, and he really should have trusted his intuition on that front. Uhura had a different set of priorities and values than Jim and that had sustained the mild friction that the unfortunate way they met began. Not in a way that was incompatible, but in a way that took some working out. The top priorities were the same, but she put a lot more stock in reputation and appearances than he did, mostly when it came to the correlation between orderly behavior and high skill. Jim had cultivated his public persona to dodge the press and shed the “Kelvin Baby” golden glow, but to her everyone should always do their best to shine as brightly as they could. His crimes were petty vandalism of offices that weren’t doing their jobs properly and some casual hacking of certain interfering asshole politicians’ personal files to air their dirty laundry in exchange for their poor behavior. Well, and stealing the car, but his juvenile record was sealed after that got retroactively classified as a suicide attempt.

Even after all this time, he was sure Uhura would disapprove of the backhanded way he went about his personal life. She was more of a stickler for rules, far more willing to take an order she disagreed with on faith that the CO knew better. Just look at how she handled the troubling transmissions she intercepted in the lead-up to Nero: It was fishy and she knew it, but she filed the transcript and finished up her shift, then left with just a little grumble to her roommate about how strange it was. She was also an excellent actress, and he’d heard her speak fluently in far more languages than he could even identify, but she just didn’t think that anyone would intentionally make themselves less attractive in any way. She also seemed uncomfortable with the idea of people who wore a mask day to day, like Jim did. They’d been civil to each other when they crossed paths at the Academy, she’d been on a few of his teams for on-campus training sims with a few hints of distrust from time to time, and the Nero disaster proved they could work together on a team with no major issues. Spock had reported her for the open comm line, but Jim hadn’t. When command asked him why he’d said that the situation was so extreme that he didn’t think it was out of line to maintain contact with a loved one. After the destruction of Vulcan, Uhura kept trying to figure out why he talked the way he did in a way that replaced the game of trying to guess her first name, which made him wonder if there was an equal amount of baggage attached to that subject.

Still, the release of Spock’s personal drama to the media happened a few hours before Sarek messaged Jim that they’d be coming to the farm as soon as physically possible, and Jim was fairly certain he was looking at a clear-cut case of cause and effect. Jim contacted the plumber to see if the sonic adapter for the toilets had arrived yet or if they could be rushed. Certain biological differences meant that the old-fashioned design of the farmhouse waste system wouldn’t get the job done, but a modified sonic bidet that also aimed downstream should prevent an endless parade of clogged pipes. Vulcan bodies took water preservation to the next level and only pooped. Information he wished he didn’t need to know any details about, but here he was living in this reality and knowing about the viscosity of alien bodily functions. He hadn’t gone into medical for good reason.

Jim talked Jason down from charging him a formal date with his sister to chatting with her while Jason and his crew updated the plumbing to handle Vulcan visitors. The joke was on Jason, Jim had finally let himself get bullied into that damn surgery. He’d held out for years, but then Thomas came to visit and Bones commed him and together they bullied Jim into letting Thomas drive him to Des Moines to meet with a specialist surgeon Bones made him an appointment with. When the surgeon found out the patient with throat and vocal scarring from a fungal infection McCoy had been talking about was both a Tarsus IV survivor and The James Kirk, he made it happen with only a two day wait. On stardate 2258.76 Jim became temporarily mute. On 2258.86 he greeted the plumbers that would make his toilets unclogable and the sister he had to entertain with a silent smile. Lilly was a plump, short, smiling woman with a lovely face and a negative opinion about everything that wasn’t part of rural Riverside farm living. Jim was glad he had an excellent excuse to sit silently and annoy the hell out of her with exaggerated facial expressions. Bones said the surgery went so well Jim could be singing like an angel soon enough, provided he did as he was told and kept at the vocal therapy for the entire six months. This despite not being able to carry a tune in a bucket before the mold got to him. Jim wasn’t sure any amount of reconstructive surgery could fix his singing.

Right now, when he tried to talk he sounded like he’d smoked hard drugs since he was in the cradle and took up gargling glass as a hobby. Jim wasn’t sure he was up to settling in a bunch of off-worlders, as he was still two days from the end of the ‘try not to talk at all’ order. He hoped to whatever gods might be listening that one of them knew Terran English sign language, because he didn’t know any Federation Standard Sign. They’d adapted most of that from Andoran sign language, so the grammar was different, and Jim knew almost none of it. With how badly he felt like he needed to cough - and how much it would hurt if he allowed himself to - he really hoped to have that option. Sarek was easily distracted by talking about how awesome his wife was, so Jim knew all sorts of things from when discussions on the Enterprise got too tense and he got the Ambassador to break the tension with a story about ‘she who is my wife’ and all the reasons she was amazing. Amanda was both a linguist and a human from Seattle. Jim thought it was perfectly reasonable to hold out hope that when his voice gave out he wouldn’t have to revert to scribbling on a PADD with a stylus.

Then, he saw Pike glide out of the large private shuttle in a hoverchair, Spock close behind. He left the front porch and rushed over.

“Jim, are you seriously out in this chill without a jacket on?” Pike asked, shaking his head in amusement. “Midwestern rural nonsense. It’s six degrees and he’s in a shirt.” Jim smiled at Pike and clapped him on the shoulder. He felt too thin, the result of too much time in a hospital bed after being tortured half to death, but he was in high spirits and seemed to me managing the chair just fine on his own. “I hope you don’t mind me tagging along, but I was going a bit stir crazy. Una will pick me up in the morning. Besides, you’ve made it just about impossible to catch you on the comm so I figured this was the best way to talk to you about everything now that I’m not too drugged to pay attention… and why aren’t you saying hello?” Jim looked at the crowd of Vulcans that spilled out of the shuttle onto his lawn. It wasn’t really an acceptable place to land for a vehicle this heavy and would have to be moved or it would sink right into the gravel next time it rained.

“Jim?” Spock prompted.

“I got the surgery twelve days ago,” Jim growled out as carefully as he could. The kids flinched, he sounded like something that went bump in the night and he knew it.

“Did hell freeze over while I was out?” Pike asked.

“Worse. Someone set Thomas on me as soon as he arrived on Earth,” Jim whispered, which still came out ragged and croaky but at least it didn’t hurt as bad. Jim shrugged and pointed to the thin pink line on his neck. They hadn’t used the dermal regenerators on it because they wanted to use the visible part of the surgery to help gauge how quickly it was healing inside. A downside of living rural and being an outpatient, though they assured him they would do the same even if he had rented a room around the corner, just with in-person check-ins instead of sending an image every other day.

“He’s the one that lost an eye to the mold?” Pike asked. Jim nodded. “Well, it’s only a decade overdue.” Jim slipped the thermos into the hammer loop on his jeans and made a couple hand signs, hoping he remembered correctly that Pike knew Terran sign. “Well, sure. It is a good excuse for not accepting voice calls, but you could have stayed in touch other ways. Shared the news with people who were worried about you.” Jim signed again and Captain Pike responded. “No call to be rude. You’re hardly the only busy person around, and how would I know a voice call wouldn’t work.”

“Thomas who lost an eye to mold, just arrived on Earth? You can’t mean Dr. Thomas Leighton,” Amanda said. Jim nodded, then signed toward her hoping his best method for communication wasn’t leaving in the morning. Her face scrunched in concentration, likely digging through years’ worth of dust to get to the memory of how to communicate in purely human sign language, but she voiced his signs for him as if she’d been trained as an interpreter… and she might have been, at that.

“I do. How did you meet him?” Then she answered his question, her body language making it clear she wasn’t voicing for him anymore.

“There was a meeting with survivors of Tarsus IV to offer their support for establishing a new colony. Many of them went into fields related to new colony establishment,” Amanda said, then shook herself. “Where are our manners? Thank you for inviting us here. I know you’ve met Elder T’Pau and my husband Sarek and worked with my son Spock. This is T’Hir and Rivan, cousins of ours through T’Pau.” After she listed off the kid’s names Jim waved for attention and signed for them to all go inside out of the wind, careful not to look down at Pike or over at Spock. T’Nira, obviously the oldest kid in the group huddled behind their elders, stepped forward but didn’t seem to know what to say. After a moment she asked Jim if he was sick in her native language.

“My voice will be better than it was soon,” Jim croaked out quietly, still speaking in standard because he didn’t think he could manage anything else. “Thomas and I were orphans together. We still take care of each other when we can.”

“You are healing from surgery, which is your own personal business and not to be pried into. Thomas and you were orphans together on Tarsus IV,” Sarek clarified in his own language so the younger kids could understand. Jim nodded, then turned and led the way into the house so he wouldn’t have to look at anyone’s initial reaction to the confirmation. Technically he wasn’t supposed to talk about it, both because his therapists said he wouldn’t do well if the media caught wind of it and caused a ruckus and because some powerful people classified the fact that he was ever there to try and save their precious political propaganda. George Kirk’s younger son was a genius and quite literally the poster child for Starfleet’s youth programs when he was shipped off to be reformed from his self-destructive outburst. Not that Frank ever actually enrolled him in any of those programs, he just had a photo shoot for the posters every so often.

Inside, Jim started to give a tour of the ground floor, but Sarek had given the adults copies of the building plans that Jim sent over and everyone wanted to see their rooms first and get their furnishings in order. Jim put it down to cultural differences and led the kids to the nursery and most of the adults to the attic. The adults had all already sorted out who would sleep where, which saved a lot of time getting settled in. The kids would be a little short on space in his opinion once the other beds were brought down from the attic, but it wasn’t meant to be a permanent solution. Each of the kids had their own foam mattress in a vacuum-sealed tube that would need to fluff back into shape before they could put linens on them, but when Jim came back to the nursery there was a fairly organized debate going on about what bed would go to which kid. The two smallest had climbed into the bottom bunks of the built-ins, but the four slightly older kids thought they should get the paired bunks since they were bonded pairs. Rivan, his baby snuggled up to his chest inside his robe, was sitting quietly nearby monitoring the debate. Jim helped cut the mattresses open, prompting T’Nira to take one and move it around the room to find the best spot for her bed. As T’Hira and Spock walked in carrying parts of the additional twin-sized bed frames Jim slipped back downstairs to check on the others.

Pike was on the porch where he’d switched from watching the luggage come in to watching the horizon, but he was done marveling at how flat and featureless the land was and came inside as soon as Jim appeared. Jim shifted one of the chairs so Pike could park nearer to the fire and sat on one side of the couch, leaving the closer seats for people less adjusted to the cold. Not that it was cold in the house, the heat was turned up to Starfleet standard room temperature, but it was much colder outside than in San Fransisco and he wasn’t sure what Vulcans considered normal room temperature. There were some things Sarek was just a bit too vague about when Jim needed a straight answer. The room was long, taking up a full side of the big house, with the couch Jim sat on dividing the part behind it into an entryway with all the clutter and cabinets for hanging coats and welcoming visitors a large family home required. In front of the couch was a simple glass-topped wooden coffee table. Near the fire on the other end of the room a pair of wingback chairs were in pride of place with a thick braided hearth rug between them. An ottoman and an old granny’s chair filled out the space toward the stairs and a love seat with matching side tables was under the front window. Many of the outer walls for the living and dining rooms had china cabinets full of odds and ends or tall shelving built in that doubled as extra insulation to help keep the chill outside while the inner walls had some old hanging frames with portraits, landscapes, and the occasional military achievement. Almost all of it old-fashioned paper or canvass, with just a few digital frames on side tables here and there.

Jim asked Pike how he’d been doing and the captain made a dismissive comment about his expected recovery before pivoting to bits of small talk about how the rest of the crew was doing and where they’d all run off to after reaching Earth that required no input from Jim. Spock led T’Pau downstairs while Jim could still hear lots of furniture being moved around upstairs. The matriarch took one of the overstuffed pillows off the ugly-on-purpose floral grandma chair that had sat untouched between the stairs and a side table for most of Jim’s life, examined it for shape and firmness, and then put it down on the thick hearth rug so she could sit comfortably next to the fire. Jim signed that he could move the chair to a better spot.

“I’m not saying that,” Pike said. Spock looked between the two of them. When neither of them gave any indication of elaborating, he sank down on the hearth rug next to T’Pau. Pike gave Jim a look then asked Spock, “So is that rug as nice as it looks?”

“It is quite welcoming,” Spock said, sounding pleased. Well, that told Jim.

“This house is obviously Terran, but the accommodations made for us are appreciated,” T’Pau said.

“Jim’s saying that he hadn’t had time to do much other than maintenance on the plumbing, synthesizer, and roof. That rug is in pictures of his great-grandparents, they just change out the pad under it when it goes flat and a replace any damaged stripes with a… Was that braid? They change out for a new braid as needed. Depending on what side of the Ship of Theseus argument you fall on it is either quite new or as old as the house. He also called the chair you got that cushion from the grandmother chair, which I think is some rural shorthand or… no, he means it literately and is now confused why I don’t know what a grandmother chair is.” Pike chuckled, Jim hoped he understood that Jim was half kidding, and T’Pau seemed to settle on the cushion more comfortably. “I’m not going to be the best translator for some of this, you know. We might be the same species, but we don’t quite speak the same language when it comes to the traditional things.”

“Is Kirk’s culture greatly different from your own?” T’Pau asked.

“I grew up in California in the city of Mojave, not far north-east of Los Angeles. Graceful towers, much taller than could be built in San Fransisco, and ringed by protected parkland. It’s named after the Mojave Desert that surrounds it. It’s a smaller city, but very dense and quite urban in design. It is a much different lifestyle than way out here where it’s a fifteen-minute jog to the nearest neighbor. Some parts of culture change with the lifestyle,” Pike said.

“It is logical that those who live in rural and urban settings would have some differences, and I knew that the different continents of Earth have traditions and religions that vary, but I did not realize there was such a gulf of difference for two people raised on the same continent who appear to have similar racial backgrounds,” Spock said.

“North America is particularly diverse, due to some historical facts that are fairly messy,” Pike said, then tilted his head when Jim started signing. “Jim lived a fairly low-tech life in his earlier years, then finished his primary education in a school specializing in engineering in a nearby city. Quite a bit of culture shock for him.”

“Culture shock for who?” Amanda asked as she came into the room.

“Pike was translating Jim’s hand signs,” Spock told his mother as she settled into the pinstriped wingback chair, “explaining that there are significant differences in their culture and upbringing since Pike grew up in a much more urban setting.”

“I think we’re also different religions,” Pike said. “Though that never came up when we talked before so I’m not actually sure, I just heard something about a shrine out back when we were getting prepared to leave and we never seemed to take the same holidays off that I can remember.” When Jim started signing again Amanda voiced Jim’s signs for him.

“It’s a fairy house to guard the well. I’m not very religious, though I think my mother was Jewish. I didn’t have much chance to learn about that, living here. The nearest Synagogue is several towns over, and I don’t remember Mom ever bringing us there. On paper Riverside is a Baptized Humanist town, but we have a lot of older traditions that aren’t strictly Christian. The fairy houses, the May Pole, harvest festival, and so on are all old pagan ways with a coat of paint.”

“When you said you came from an old-fashioned town you meant back far enough historians need to use negative numbers,” Pike joked. “Should I expect someone to try and get Spock here to play the green man?”

“Mr. S has been the green man for decades and I don’t think he’d let a newcomer take the role,” Amanda said for Jim, giggling a little.

“Neither Spock nor Sarek would enjoy that much anyway, from what I know of the requirements,” she said for herself.

“Honestly, I expected Jim to say the town wasn’t that deep into the pagan revival, but I stand corrected,” Pike muttered, eyes wide.

“I was born Jewish myself, and I kept up most of my family traditions even though I converted to Surak’s teachings when I married Sarek,” Amanda added.

“I didn’t know, is there anything specific you need for that?” Jim asked in sign.

“Keeping certain foods separate, that matches with Vulcan ideas about sanitary practices quite well, so it was fairly easy to adapt. I admit I haven’t kept Kosher since marrying Sarek, but that was mostly because I’d have to import far too much if I did. Other than that, there isn’t much that would affect shared spaces that I can think of, but it has been a long time since I lived on Earth and even longer since I lived in a shared space, so I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’m sure there will be a lot of little things that pop up over the first little while. Same as settling in with a new crew,” Pike said, gazing off into the middle distance.

“Oh! Thinking about Jewish traditions, our personal data backup came through,” Amanda said, her face lighting up with excitement. “They finished decompressing the backups for the VSA databanks and started working on personal data backups about a week ago. There is talk about using some of the data that belonged to the lost clans as a source for a memorial archive, but for now they are focusing on getting personal data backups for the living back to them. I thought I’d lost all my manuscripts and notes, but they were in the first batch decompressed. Personal holos and videos are starting to come through now, too. I just started getting images yesterday, and this morning I got a folder of them from when we visited Seattle for Spock’s Bar Mitzvah.”

“Do not,” Spock said, his posture snapping from relaxed by the fire’s heat to red alert.

“He looked adorable. Vulcan children grow slower than humans up to a certain point, so he could just barely see the Torah without some kind of boost. They had a nice box all decorated for the occasion, he was hardly the first short child in the Temple, but he absolutely refused to stand on a box in front of…”

“Mother, please desist,” Spock asked, sounding strained.

“… everyone. It’s a nice story, Spock. My family wanted to celebrate you growing up, and you were excited to complete the ‘human way’ of coming of age,” Amanda said, a bright smile splitting her face below laughing, mischievous eyes. “I just have to show you the video of the hora, but maybe later.”

“I protest,” Spock said firmly.

“I was going to politely decline consigning myself to an hour of baby pictures, but now I’m curious about what you are trying so hard to hide,” Pike said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. T’Pau turned her head to observe the humans more directly, though Jim noticed she had been more discretely watching through the mirror over the mantle before for some reason.

“I am hiding nothing,” Spock said, his eyes darting guiltily between Pike and Amanda. “It is simply an old and uninteresting video that has no bearing on the present. There are far better ways to pass the limited time Captain Pike has with us here…”

“Do you know what the hora is, Jim?” Amanda asked, mischief still shining in her eyes. Jim shook his head. “It’s a traditional dance, everyone holding hands in a circle and doing some simple steps with a little hop and kick. It’s a lot of fun, but what Spock doesn’t want you to see is that we lift the guest of honor up on a chair while we’re doing it. They have to hold onto the chair while they are danced around in the middle of the circle. He didn’t enjoy it very much.” Jim and Pike exchanged amused looks. T’Pau shifted to face Amanda, and while in Jim’s experience her natural expression was a flat expectant stare, she seemed to be leaning into it a little. It was possible she hadn’t been told this story before. Jim imagined a tiny Spock being easily carried around the dance floor, holding on to the chair for dear life, the chair bouncing with the rhythm of celebratory music as his human relatives danced around and under him.

“Mother.” Spock’s voice and expression were flat and hard.

“It isn’t just done for bar mitzvahs, but at weddings and other big celebrations,” Amanda continued as if Spock wasn’t right there dying of embarrassment inside. Jim took pity on him and whispered as clearly as he could. He hoped Vulcan hearing really was as good as the stereotype, or the sound of the fire would drown him out on that side of the room.

“We do crowns for birthdays here, depending on the seasons. Born in January, I always had twigs and straw, a bit like a wreath. Sam was born in August, and they put a sunflower on him when he was little, big flower that looked like a hat on him, but before he left, he had switched to corn leaves. Tried to get away with an eggplant once, the rest of it made to support the obvious immature joke, but one of the older ladies in town snatched it right off his head.”

“What is this joke?” T’Pau asked.

“Um….” Pike blushed brightly and looked around.

“The vegetable looks like male genitalia,” Jim whispered with a shrug.

“It’s a very old joke, but it doesn’t really look like a…” Amanda said, then cocked her head to the side and reconsidered. “Well, no, I suppose it does have the right, ah… but the color!”

“Go directly to the hospital if any part of any human is that shade of purple,” Pike agreed.

“It isn’t a healthy color for a Vulcan, either,” Amanda said through chuckles.

“Are there many local customs we will need to navigate?” Spock asked. Jim caught Amanda’s eye and signed again.

“Not unless you want to get involved with them. There are books in the library about local history we can pull out later,” Amanda translated, then stood up.

“Local history books? I will hold you to that. Should we start to work on lunch? The children should be all settled soon.” Jim tilted his head at her and pointed up. “Oh, Sarek is fussy about how things are laid out. I left him to shift things one centimeter to the right and left endlessly until he decides how he wants it. It isn’t worth the frustration or the fight to try and help, beyond claiming some drawers so he won’t have to see the unoptimized and haphazard manner in which I store my belongings.” Jim smiled and stood. The pair of them were adorable with how they fit together.

“The fire is most pleasant after a long journey,” T’Pau said, and as far as Jim could tell she was perfectly content with her choice to unpack later and enjoy the fire now. Jim signed that there was a hothouse nearby that grew strawberries year-round and he’d gotten some, and Amanda moved eagerly toward the kitchen.

“Strawberries? That’s a lovely treat this time of year.”

Jim followed her into the kitchen and opened all the cupboards so she could see what was where. She frowned at the inside of the refrigerator and said she would clean and reorganize it herself before dinner. Then she put on gloves to start setting up a meal. Jim signed that he had stocked the kitchen with vegetarian food and cleaned out the synthesizer based on the general information Sarek had provided – milk yes, eggs no, etc. – once he knew they were coming. However, he had not been able to swallow anything other than clear fluids himself since the surgery and there were likely a few things hanging around that weren’t acceptable for Vulcan Vegetarianism. He pointed out that the slow cooker had his ‘food’ in it, a balanced meal that could be easily pushed through a tube, kept in a special soft pack at body temperature ready to be used. With no point in worrying about how it tasted, he’d just made a synthesizer program for what Thomas and Bones considered balanced nutrition, loaded in what it required, and a nondescript beige substance came out steaming hot and blended to hell in a bowl. It likely tasted like old socks and chalk, but he wasn’t about to check. Sometimes he licked at a sliced apple before he mashed it into applesauce as a snack just to taste something, but he wasn’t about to say so.

Amanda said she wanted to test the knives and sliced the thinnest sheet of strawberry out of the middle of one. She then told him to put it in his mouth and spit it out when it lost flavor, which was very kind and a little indulgent of her. It explained a bit about how someone who seemed as professional and disciplined as Spock ended up wrapped around orphans’ fingers so easily. He had certainly grown up with a caring role model.

The strawberry slice tasted like heaven after so long with no solid food, but he refused when she offered to slice another once he spit it out. Food waste was not acceptable, and it was a little too tempting. It wasn’t long before they had gathered all the ingredients for a creamy spread on fresh bread with a mix of sliced fruits and mixed greens. While she mixed up what Jim thought looked like pancake batter, she explained that Vulcans needed very little salt and too much could get them sick, so many of the bachelor-style one-step spice blends he had on hand weren’t safe to use. Jim got a box out to pack them away just as Spock wandered in with an offer to help. While Jim collected anything Amanda said needed tucked away to avoid accidents, Spock put on gloves and started to slice fruit. The little double-take he gave at the large canister of hot cocoa mix and block of baker’s chocolate Amanda found and her quiet ‘oh dear, we had better hide this really well’ let him know that she wasn’t having Jim hide the chocolate because some sweet-tooth Vulcans would eat him out of his supply in a hurry.

Jim decided to take the box of contraband upstairs since it was all dry goods. He grabbed one of his meal packs, waved it at Amanda and hoped she understood what he’d be doing that took so long, and walked back into the living room. He was greeted by a sight that the old farmhouse hadn’t hosted since his dad was a kid, if not longer. The kids and the young couple with their baby were all gathered around the fire listening to T’Pau tell a story. It sounded like part of Surak’s teachings, one of the ones that was in the style of a fable. The hearth rug was clearly prime real estate, and the wingback chair Amanda left her shall on was left untouched despite being closer than the other chair and couch, but if he ignored the pointed ears it could be any of his ancestors gathered on a chilly day. He hurried past before he could get misty about that. Crying hurt worse than laughing.

He met Sarek in the hall on the third floor and got another double-take for the cocoa tin. Curious.

“I thought she who is my wife was coming up to collect me,” Sarek said, as dramatic about Amanda as he ever was.

“Contraband,” Jim whispered, and continued on to his office.

“An accurate assessment,” Sarek muttered, and Jim heard him start down the stairs.

It would certainly take some adjustment for them all to live together, and not being able to speak easily would be a bother in the short term, but in two days he’d go for his first major follow-up treatment. After a very uncomfortable time having his insides swabbed with some regenerative goo followed by a terrible hour or two of internal tissue regeneration, he should be able to speak a little clearer and would start on the exercises to regain his voice properly. Assuming all the talking he was doing today and would likely do tomorrow didn’t cause issues, but that couldn’t really be helped. He’d still need to eat without swallowing for another week at least, and likely longer than that, but they might be less cautious now that he wasn’t living alone and had people around to help him if he started to choke.

Jim was just about done ‘eating’ through the smart port in his side the surgeon installed when someone knocked on his bedroom door. Jim wasn’t really sure how to stop the process without making a huge mess, so he shuffled over and cracked the door open. Spock was there, looking prim.

“The meal is served,” Spock said. “The children especially are upset by your absence.” Jim stepped back and let Spock see his situation. He looked alarmed at the device slowly suckling on the bag of beige. “Is that being injected into you?” Jim shook his head and mimed eating. “It is food.” Jim nodded. Spock looked a shade grayer than his usual alabaster over mint. “I apologize for invading your privacy.” Jim could have let him go, but he reached out and grabbed Spock’s elbow with the hand not supporting the bag. Jim shrugged and waved, trying to convey that he didn’t mind. Then he held his hand out and lowered it to waist height. Charades between cultural barriers was a heck of a gamble, but he really should try to save his voice. Once he’d sat still without any distractions his aching throat became harder to ignore.

“You don’t mind that I see this?” Spock was clearly guessing. Jim figured that was close enough and tried to mime ‘child’ again. Spock tilted his head, clearly bewildered. Jim gave up and put his finger up. He tried very carefully to draw the Vulcan ideogram for child in the air, since the older and more basic Vulcan ideograms generally didn’t require lifting your stylus. Lucky for Jim this was an easy one, though he may have drawn it backwards from Spock’s point of view. Both Spock’s eyebrows went up.

“Child? You don’t want the children to see this process, but don’t mind an adult’s company.” Jim nodded. “Understandable. You are not capable of sharing a meal with us.” Jim nodded, then flashed five and then three fingers. Spock looked irritated. He reached out tentatively, touching Jim’s skin carefully just at the wrist. “Eight… what? Days. Minimum.” Jim smiled brightly, glad that he didn’t have to continue miming things one-handed. It was nice of Spock to use his touch telepathy like that, he knew it was considered somewhat intimate.

“You are welcome,” Spock said as if Jim had said thank you aloud. “I believe you meant to communicate that you will have to eat in this manner for at least eight more days before you are well enough to try and consume food in a more natural manner, and while you wish to join us you don’t want the children to observe a potentially distressing process.” He dropped the contact and Jim gave him a federation salute in further confirmation. “I will communicate your situation without explaining the exact mechanics in front of the children. I must admit, I am surprised you would offer to receive us under these circumstances.”

Jim beckoned Spock inside, going for his PADD and quickly scrolling back through his conversation logs with Sarek. He found the part where they talked about the incoming science ship and an arrival date four weeks from now. Spock scanned the supplied information rapidly and did not scroll down beyond the section Jim had left visible. Jim knew when Spock realized what happened to move up their plans when his eyes snapped shut. Spock stood perfectly frozen for a moment. Even if Jim could talk, he wouldn’t know what to say.

“Thank you, for your kindness and hospitality,” Spock said as he placed the PADD down, and then the man fled the room with long measured strides. Jim sat down. There was a little left to go, and then he had to flush the line and upload a self-scan. By the time all that was done the light lunch Amanda laid out should be nearly over and Jim could spend some time getting to know the rest of the people that would be living in his house a little better.

Chapter Text

Jim sat in his office at home making silly noises along with the program running on the terminal. Vocal therapy was a lot more than just practicing noises, and the program gave him feedback based on more than just what the microphone picked up. The camera analyzed the shapes his mouth made, and biometric data got fed in so it could criticize his breathing habits, tongue positioning, and posture. All of it was shared with the specialists in Des Moines. It was only day two and he was already a little fed up with the computerized voice telling him all the ways he had to do better. The mechanical voice was toned slightly toward condescending, which he probably wouldn’t have picked up on if he wasn’t living with Vulcans. The rumors about them being expressionless were horse shit. They expressed themselves just fine with actions and word choice, just with more muted facial expressions and tone than most humans would pick up on without practice.

At least talking above a whisper didn’t hurt too much anymore, thank the stars for modern medicine speeding up the natural healing process. The regenerative treatment had been as unpleasant as promised, but the results were worth it. The stimulated rejuvenation gave him back his normal speaking volume for about an hour or two a day before he started to get hoarse and another hour before it started to hurt properly. He still sounded bad, the pitch of his voice would be much lower than usual and difficult to control until the exercise tightened everything back up. He also had trouble enunciating unless he spoke slowly. He hadn’t convinced them to remove the feeding port, apparently it wasn’t just about him choking while living alone but a much bigger deal with a risk of things healing incorrectly if he started eating normally too soon. So, he was still eating mush through a tube in his side. Vulcan hospitality rules said guests should cook breakfast and not being able to correctly express their appreciation for Jim’s home bothered them a bit. Amanda and T’Hir had taken his inability to eat with them as some kind of challenge. The women came up with various flavored water drinks so he could join in the meals in some fashion, all of them adhering to the requirements of clear PH balanced fluids he had been given by the doctors. They took turns making them, with even Sarek participating by filtering and sterilizing the water before others flavored it.

Jim figured that the ambassador’s pride in having boiled a kettle correctly said all that needed to be said about Sarek’s cooking skills.

Dressed in a red flannel button-down and well-worn jeans, Jim made his way downstairs. So far, the worship room being prepared in the in-law suite had a very basic setup of cushions and meditation lamps that looked a bit Asian to Jim’s eyes. T’Hir needed materials to build an alter now that they had done a mock-up using cardboard and chalk outlines on the floor to finalize the plans for T’Pau’s approval. There were some shops in town that he expected would have everything she needed. He offered to show her around them when they first described the project to Jim, but she declined. Rivan caught Jim after breakfast this morning to warn him off offering again before she set out since his wife was too particular about shopping for any kind of company. Jim knew the type; he would never go on an errand run with Bones again as long as he lived.

Everyone had something to do this Friday morning. Well, almost everyone. While T’Hir took their hovercar into town alone and Jim did his vocal therapy, the kids had lessons overseen by Rivan. Sarek and Amanda were going to try the walk to the orchard since he had a rare day without any official business. When Jim came down the stairs, he saw T’Pau in front of the fire knitting linen threads just a bit too thin for Jim to think of them as yarn. The pale red was the color of the Vulcan sky, but it was early enough in the project Jim couldn’t tell what it would be when it was finished. Yesterday, he saw her starting it and opened the end table next to the grandma chair to offer her the use of a large ceramic knitting bowl.

“Would this help?” Jim whispered, holding out the smooth ceramic bowl with a swirling floral design. The slot for the yarn followed one of the stems. As soon as he said it, he noticed how much dust had built up on it and the sack of something lumpy sitting in the bowl. “Needs a wash, but it’s for holding the yarn so it won’t roll.” T’Pau took it, careful to hold it by the relatively clean bottom.

“Your grandmother died long ago.” It was a statement that Jim didn’t think required an answer.

“I found it when I was little. Sam remembered what it was used for. I’ll go rinse it out,” Jim offered, hand outstretched to take it back.

“For such practical things, function dictates the form enough that even different planets have similar designs,” T’Pau said as she handed it back. Jim put the lumpy bag down and retreated to the kitchen. While Jim sanitized the bowl he heard some rummaging, and when he presented the clean tool to the elder woman she was assessing a set of small hooks, a jar of pins of various types, a set of needles in a very wide range of sizes, a pincushion shaped like a sunflower with a dangling leaf, and other needful things Jim couldn’t immediately identify. It was all laid out on the coffee table for inspection. A rather large old box was next to the now-empty bag that must have come from the cabinet, open to show buttons, beads, snaps, and other tiny things kept organized in a neat honeycomb of compartments. Some rusty or damaged items had been put to the side.

“These tools have not been cared for, but the containers kept most of them in good condition. Amanda and I could make use of them, Rivan may also have interest in some.” T’Pau regarded them with her usual resting expression that was just shy of judgmental, deftly sorting things into the order she preferred.

“Can’t say I could accurately guess how to care for them. I’ve never seen them used myself, and tools are meant to be used,” Jim said, waving a hand over them in a ‘be my guest’ gesture. Jim would not call the expression on T’Pau’s face a smile, but it was softer than the haughty resting look she usually had.

Today, Jim left T’Pau undisturbed as she knitted the red fabric, the floral yarn bowl and one of the cases of tools on the hearth rug next to her. While it felt a little odd not to greet people as he walked through a room, it was considered rude by Vulcan standards to interrupt someone if all you were doing was acknowledging that they existed. In the kitchen he checked on his mush bags. There was a definite class divide between Rivan and T’Hir and Spock’s immediate family. It had showed up first when it came to leftovers on their second day at the farm.

Rivan’s family had passed down a number of recipes specifically designed to make use of several-day-old food by harnessing fermentation to recycle leftovers into new meals and T’Hir liked having ready-made food to eat or snack on whenever her work was done. The more affluent House of Surak expected more formal meals and any uneaten cooked food to be set aside for compost at the end of the day with few exceptions. There was a possibility of it being used to feed pets or livestock instead, but in their eyes people should always be served something freshly prepared. Not that they were wasteful, they also tended to serve much smaller portions so there were unlikely to be leftovers in the first place and then have a more shelf-stable dessert if it wasn’t enough. They all looked to Jim after laying out their reasoning in a rousing debate between just cooking what was needed versus cooking what was available and making use of what didn’t get consumed. Jim, who had been thinking about Tarsus IV entirely too much since Nero decided to fuck up the universe, bluntly stated that food waste was immoral and fled the room. When he calmed down and came back downstairs Rivan was setting up a large glass jar with vinegar and spices to receive table scraps and Spock had blended a small portion of the morning meal to a consistency that Jim could consume.

Jim couldn’t remember the kitchen ever being so spotless. Vulcans took food safety and cleanliness much more seriously than Jim normally did. Amanda had whispered something about food-borne illnesses being much easier to catch on Vulcan with all the room temperature or raw food they ate. She started to explain about parasites that spent part of their life cycle in certain vegetable stalks but cut herself off when Rivan came into the kitchen for a baby bottle. Vulcans had some odd taboos. The children were brought into the kitchen after their first meal in the farmhouse to help clean and organize everything according to their standards for safe food storage. The adults treated it like a lesson, as if Jim had intentionally mixed things up for them to fix, and Jim watched so that he could learn the rules properly.

Jim also got Amanda to explain Vulcan rules about vegetarianism and livestock one evening after the kids were upstairs meditating. It came down to treating animals very well in exchange for things they willingly provided. Being telepathic, they could properly get permission from an animal to provide it with food and shelter in exchange for wool, milk, naturally shed horns, and other products that caused the animal no pain or great trouble to give. Shed reptile skin was in common use as a shiny embellishment on formal clothing and other crafts, a bit like natural sequins, though most clothing was some sort of linen. Eggs, which couldn’t be farmed on Vulcan the way they were on Earth, were as taboo as meat. That one made perfect sense after a bit of explanation, even for someone who grew up raising chicks and eating eggs two meals a day. Jim would also feel wrong eating a fertilized egg, and in a world where the birds didn’t lay unfertilized ones he would definitely give them up. Even the meat from an animal that died a natural death was taboo, under a slippery slope style argument of it being impossible to know for certain in a market if what is for sale was properly sourced or not. Instead, the body of dead livestock would be composted, cremated, or fed to other animals. A lot of the livestock and pets on Vulcan ate meat, and even the Vulcan equivalent of a cashmere goat was an omnivorous chest-high beast that looked a bit like an anteater until it opened the long snout to reveal quite a lot of hooked teeth.

Jim still felt weird eating through the port device where the kids might see, even though they all understood he wasn’t well and couldn’t eat solid food. He picked a slightly greener bag that was probably leftover from last night’s meal and made for the library. Jim hoped to pass the time while he was eating by playing librarian and re-shelving books. The environmentally controlled library was a windowless room that might have been a sunny tearoom off the formal dining room an age ago, before it was encircled by the addition of the in-law suite being built on the west side of the house. He’d had the atmosphere conditioning system upgraded, one of his biggest expenses since taking it over from Frank, to better preserve the paper, vellum, and parchment antiques stored in the glass-front shelves. They weren’t sleek modern metal cabinets, but very old mismatched traditional wooden ones with all the bevels, curves, and embellishments of well-crafted woodwork. They had been sourced cheaply, restored or cut to fit, and added to over the decades until the room was completely lined with them. The tops of each cabinet were the most distinctive features for most of them. Some had swirly floral onlays and others had simple rope molding. The one primarily filled with military history and political nonfiction like The Federalist Papers had two crossed muskets etched into the glass doors. Most of them weren’t themed quite so obviously; the more valuable classic fiction books were in the most decorative cabinet with delicate lattice over the windows and a strong garden theme to the floral carvings. However, there was a system that was more closely related to size and fit than good old Dewy Decimal. Jim didn’t mind doing the re-shelving to keep them from getting mixed up.

It had become a favorite room in the house for the adults and was off limits to children without direct supervision. Not Jim’s rule, but theirs. Jim’s rules were everyone who wanted to touch a paper book had to wear gloves, which it seemed they would have done anyway, and to let him put them back. The paper books, many of them over a century old, were something that Frank never understood the value of and so none of them had been sold. Jim didn’t know why Amanda had taken the copy of Alice in Wonderland like she’d been magnetically pulled to it and cooed over the illustrations by John Tenniel, or why Spock reading a passage out of the book brought tears to her eyes, but he did know that the library had seen a lot of use since the family moved in.

Spock was in the library when Jim walked in, which wasn’t surprising. He’d been relieved of all his duties and placed on bereavement leave, against his will if Jim understood the situation correctly. Spock didn’t have a lot to do day to day and tended to be at loose ends since the relocation. The lights were set to what Jim now recognized as Vulcan standard indoor lighting, a warm almost fire-lit tone that was quite cozy. Jim sat on the other side of the desk from the armchair Spock was using and set up his feeding port. He’d gotten a bit better at using it, but not much more confident. He still didn’t feel comfortable just letting the apparatus hold the bag for him when he was moving around, but he could let it go for a little while so long as he was sitting. While his meal got started, he pulled out a pair of soft gloves from the desk to protect the paper and leather from his skin oils. The books left out were always a variety, but few enough that it really wasn’t a bother to reshelve them. He gave each one an inspection, not because he thought his guests weren’t careful but because some of the books were that old and he’d been taking care of them for as long as he could remember. Even under the best conditions entropy would eventually win out, but a bit of glue or a treatment to keep the binding supple would prevent a small tear or crack from growing too quickly. None of the books showed any issues today, so Jim stood up carefully, using his elbow to keep the bag of food supported as he moved to shelve them.

“Many of these historical accounts offer alternative viewpoints to the official histories I have read,” Spock said, breaking the comfortable silence when Jim was almost done.

“To generalize, most of these books were written soon after or during the events they talk about so events were quite fresh in the mind, but that means they have a greater chance of being biased in some way,” Jim said, keeping his words quiet and slow and his cadence even so he wouldn’t slur anything or strain his voice. “The official history textbooks used now have the benefit of hindsight and revelations from the declassification of previously hidden information but might not accurately portray how things happened in the moment. In some cases, that makes them more accurate, in others that makes them less. It depends on what type of history you want.”

“Please clarify what you mean by type of history,” Spock said, and when Jim turned to face him Spock’s eyes sparkled with curiosity beneath angular eyebrows and tousled bangs.

Jim had noticed that the other man either needed a haircut or wasn’t taking care of his appearance as well as he usually did since he was put on leave. The previously razor-sharp shaping on his sideburns was messy and his hair looked less meticulously brushed. He was also missing the makeup that usually powdered his face and the stain on his lips had faded a bit to show more of the naturally cool undertone around the edges. Jim wasn’t sure, he was working on his phrasing before asking so he wouldn’t come off as rude, but it seemed quite important that Vulcans stained their lips pink to hide the green cast their blood gave the thinner skin. They all did it, T’Hir and Rivan had even done it to their baby and it was usually a little crooked on one side when the little one squirmed during application. Sourcing a suitable dye that didn’t bother Vulcan biology or rub off while eating way out here in Riverside had caused a bit of a kerfuffle that spurred Sarek to arrange for the berry they usually used to get some hothouse space on a Vulcan outpost sooner rather than later. Jim suspected religious significance since they seemed determined to have it grown by ‘qualified’ Vulcans but didn’t want to guess. In any case, he had decided two days ago he wouldn’t comment on the man’s state of mind unless Spock’s clothes started to look out of sorts. The squashy blue sweater was clean, his black slacks were pressed to sharp creases, and his socks were so fluffy white they made cotton plants jealous, so he was keeping some of his standards up.

“If you want to know the long-term repercussions, the Academy texts or similar books really are a great resource. They take into account things that happened long before and long after any given historical event and point out the chain of cause and effect in a way that makes some things seem truly inevitable. On the other hand, they aren’t great at expressing how the people who lived through those events experienced them. These books are first- or secondhand accounts and capture the wonder and terror of the people who got to watch great advancements or witness horrors. They don’t go back any further than the memory of those people when discussing why these things have happened, which can be more accurate in some cases, because human memory is fallible.”

“Fallible memory should make them less accurate, so I fail to understand your reasoning. If these texts fail to take into account the factual context of the events described, then they are simply inferior sources for those events, though they have some value in the details of how people lived and thought in centuries past. How is a less reliable and more emotional source of any great value as a historical account?” Spock asked.

“Was the motivation of a certain action really based on an inevitable chain of events going back a century prior, or was it just a load of propaganda over a generation and immediate economic pressures that motivated most people to act, with only a handful of people on the top aware of any greater context? Did the average soldier know anything at all about the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria, even if it was his death that kicked off the war they were fighting in? The overview textbooks don’t always have answers for that. They are great for knowing what happened in a diplomatic and political sense, but not as accurate for how it happened in a cultural, social, and sometimes even economic sense,” Jim argued. Spock nodded.

“Firsthand accounts are valuable, but there is an inherent bias in listening to any one voice.”

“Which is why they need to be preserved in bulk, so we can read a dozen and sort out the facts from the opinions.”

“And divine the average experiences from the exceptional,” Spock added with a nod that seemed self-referential. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”

“The horses need exercise, I was going to go down to the stable,” Jim said, putting away the last of the books he’d inspected. Spock held out the volume he’d been reading, a collection of local stories from the Dust Bowl. Jim spoke as he examined the book for any damage. “You know, a lot of what is in this book influenced our local customs and farming practices. It didn’t all happen immediately, but the Pagan Revival in the 22nd century was all about rekindling respect for nature when too many people had become distanced from the land by AI optimized factory farms and capitalism run amok. There was a crisis over the aquifer around when governments realized leaving AI to make choices without a living mind to look over their shoulder wasn’t a great idea, and all these stories were brought up as lessons we were in danger of forgetting. This isn’t a no-till farm, but we only till in the spring and not every year. One of the fields gets a mixed seeding of companion plants that are left mostly alone for two years on rotation to replenish the soil, and we grow shade-loving spices and rhubarb under the trees in the apple orchard rather than mowing a lawn under them.”

“You imply it was a man-made disaster rather than a natural one.” Jim turned from shelving the book to look at Spock.

“Only read the beginning so far? There are a couple scientific papers in the appendix that detail exactly how it spiraled out of control. In short, it was a combination of a drought and poor land management which fed into a vicious cycle. People overused some new mechanized farming techniques, clear cut trees, and didn’t plant any ground cover. When the dry storms came there wasn’t anything to slow the wind. It blew the topsoil clean off the High Plains farmland and dropped it on New England.”

“I see. Your people didn’t know any better at the time.” Jim disconnected the empty food bag and put a capsule of sterile water through. The cold of it always felt uncomfortable coming in through his side, but unless he stayed in the kitchen there wasn’t a good way to keep it warm while he ate.

“Oh, that’s the real hard lesson of it: many of them did. Not the city folk who took land grants and decided to try making a living doing something they hardly knew anything about, but there were people who knew how to farm arid land and had been doing it for generations already. Some of the oldest families around here, mine included, had been on this land for about a century before the Dust Bowl, moving in as a deadly disease emptied the land of the native people who had been here for a millennium or more. They knew better, but many let themselves be convinced because of patriotism and money - the army needed the grain, and it was a valuable cash crop.”

“An antiquated capitalist motivation, surely, but you do still primarily produce wheat.” Spock said as he held the door open.

“Winter wheat and summer peas this close to a river, and with proper irrigation and a well two klicks deep into a well-managed aquifer? Not a problem, and like I said this farm doesn’t till the soil of every field every year. These days, with the United Earth Government’s agricultural education programs and global distribution, we can farm in a way that is good for the land. Credits aren’t so important anymore and getting less important every year. Everyone is already guaranteed enough, so chasing cash crops that destroy the soil to make ends meet isn’t something that happens anymore. Land mismanagement can happen for other reasons, but we aren’t going to plant hundreds of square kilometers of water-hungry monoculture from Texas to the Great Lakes that the land can’t support and then plow it under to bare ground in a subsidized bout of misunderstanding climate manipulation.”

Jim started to cough at the end. Having gotten on a roll he’d been speaking too loudly and rapidly. Spock touched his upper arm briefly in concern, but Jim just needed to sip something. The taller man walked ahead through the dining and living rooms to pull out the pitcher the ladies had prepared, and Jim got himself a glass out of the drainboard. Today the water was flavored with cucumber and mint, giving it a fresh flavor that was a bit more like chewing on a lawn than Jim would prefer, but it was the thought that counts. Once he’d gotten the tickle in his throat under control, he lifted his cup with a small smile in thanks.

“I stopped reading the book because I am interested in assisting you with the horses. While I have never seen one, I understand that they are very large creatures capable of carrying a grown man. Terran animals are not well known to me, but I did have a pet sehlat when I was younger, an animal much larger than I was and did carry me from time to time,” Spock said, standing prim while Jim leaned on the counter.

“I could take you on a ride,” Jim replied, careful to mind his volume.

“I… had not expected that as a possibility,” Spock said, eyes widening.

“We only have four right now, Mr. Ellis took the other six when I left for the academy and he and his people often take the lot of them out together to his main grazing field to make a herd of fifteen all together. I was going to let three of ours out into the smaller field we have next to the stable and take one on a ride around the property. They’ve all been around the circuit enough that even with no direction, they’d probably walk that path on their own. Great for a beginner, and then two of them get out of the fence instead of just one.”

“Interesting, and an efficient use of time.” Spock said, but Jim saw his shoulders rising with some unspoken tension.

“Depends on how they react to you and you to them,” Jim said as a way out in case Spock was just being polite. “We’ll bring them some carrots as part of the introduction, see who likes you best.”

Chapter Text

The stable was a ten-minute walk from the main house, and the walk was comfortable silence in pleasant fourteen degree weather. The four quarter horses who lived there were all different colors with equally differing personalities. In the first stall a smokey cream stallion named Gus was 165 centimeters at the shoulder, a giant for his breed. At 30 he was at the age where he should be retired, but he was in good health and loved small kids despite being the pickiest horse Jim had ever seen so he got to get all brushed up pretty to get fawned over every festival. He got quite particular about his stall and tack, and hated all non-edible bright yellow things be it blanket, flower, or bridle. In stall 2 was Lucky, a rare evenly spotted white and black horse with a coat similar to an appaloosa. Lucky was only six, but even as a yearling he was already so mellow and steady - or possibly just stupid - he’d just stood and watched a tornado blow through the fields a half klick south while he was out in the yard. After two empty stalls, stall five housed the petite Lady Strawberry. She was a reddish mare seventeen years mean with white stockings. Jim thought of renaming her something far less sweet, she’d galloped straight out of hell as far as he was concerned, but Sam had been the one to name her. Temperamental and prone to kicking, she made up for being less than a meter and a half tall by being a problem. Next to her was Beauty, named after the book despite the gender being wrong. Black but for one white stocking on her left hind foot and a star on her forehead, she could be as much of a handful as Strawberry for radically different reasons. She was even tempered and easy to ride, but highly food-motivated and clever enough to get into anything that wasn’t put away or secured with care. With Gus for a sire it wasn’t a surprise that she was also big, though not quite a huge as he was.

Jim showed Spock around the stable first, so the horses could see and smell him for a bit. A dozen stalls took up two adjacent sides of the large building, with room for some indoor exercise in bad weather and plenty of dedicated storage for farm equipment and supplies. Some of the stalls were also used for storage, and Jim pulled out some carrots from one for Spock to hold onto. Spock helped him give the horses food and water, telling him their names. For each horse, he reached out to pet them on the head, his eyes closing briefly in what Jim assumed was some kind of meld. Jim wasn’t sure what Spock was picking up, but he remembered what Amanda said about Vulcan livestock being asked for consent.

“Strawberry seems discontent,” Spock said as they put away the feed buckets and water hose.

“She’s always been ornery. We’ve had her checked over a few times for medical issues that might be causing her pain, but it seems that’s just her personality.”

“I see.”

“Any other first impressions?”

“I would not like to learn to ride on Lucky,” Spock said, breaking eye contact.

“Because he’s about as intelligent as a rock?” Jim guessed.

“He does seem particularly incognizant of his surroundings.” There were times Jim could tell Spock was raised by a linguist and a politician.

“He’s only just full grown, so I wouldn’t have picked him for you anyway. Gus is the best for a first-time rider,” Jim said. “He’s the oldest, knows exactly what he’s supposed to do, and so long as you don’t have something yellow, he likes just about everyone.”

“Are horses normally sensitive to the color yellow?” Spock cocked his head to the side a little, which Jim knew as a sign of genuine interest.

“No, he just hates yellow and has for longer than I’ve been alive.” Jim shrugged. “Yellow anything, not just clothing, and the brighter it is the more he hates it. He’s gone out of his way to rip up a bed of bright yellow flowers or pull down somebody’s curtains before. Beauty is nine and I never have any trouble with handling her, but she can be just as destructive as Strawberry if she thinks there is food she can get to.” Jim tipped his head toward her stall. “She knows you have carrots that weren’t handed out yet, so she’s trying to get the stall door open. She’ll try to rip the pockets out of your clothes to get them when she gets the chance if we don’t hand them out before we go.” Spock turned to watch the black horse nosing and nipping at the stall door, the latch just enough out of reach.

“She has just been fed, and could not have finished her meal so swiftly, could she?” he asked.

“No, but you have a carrot and she doesn’t, and carrots are better than grains,” Jim explained, happy to feed Spock’s curiosity. “Horses are selective grazers that eat little bits all day of the best food they can find, picking past most of the grasses to get only the best nibbles and ignoring lesser food sources unless it is the only option. In the wild they couldn’t find so much of something like a carrot that they could overeat, so they never developed a concept of overeating. She’s more food-motivated than usual, but they are all like that to some extent. Here in the stable, she could eat herself sick if she got access to a whole box of carrots or broke into the feed stores and she just doesn’t know any better. They aren’t stupid,” Jim paused to look at Lucky, “most of them, anyway, but something as abstract as nutrition is beyond them and they don’t have the instincts to deal with a functionally unlimited food supply.”

“So, since she is not starving, she will ignore her feed to try and get to these carrots,” Spock said. “One might extrapolate that if she was ill-treated, she may focus on the food she already has rather than expending energy when reward is not assured.”

“Eh, for Beauty maybe not, but on average that sounds right. I wouldn’t know for sure; I’ve never seen an abused horse. Even Frank wasn’t that much of a drunk that he’d let them get neglected. He was proud of them.”

Jim and Spock got the tack out for Beauty and Gus. Jim got the horses ready to go while Spock handed him things, very clearly learning new vocabulary along the way. It wasn’t long before Beauty was all done up in her white and tan while Gus stood tall in his stately natural brown and raw linen. Spock seemed to enjoy petting them while Jim worked, which was fine. He was showing a friend around, not training a new stable hand.

“Gus would greatly prefer if you rode him,” Spock said suddenly. “He remembers you as a child and is aware both of his advanced age and that you go away for long periods. Both would prefer you, because you are familiar and I have communicated that I am unfamiliar with their species, but Beauty’s preference is quite shallow by comparison. Is Gus as old as he thinks he is?”

“Yes,” Jim said, then huffed a sigh. “Quarter horses only live to about thirty-five, so he only has a handful of years left in him. There is a preserve in Oklahoma that would take him if he stopped tolerating the winters here, but he’s in great shape for his age and doesn’t seem to need that.”

“I believe that Beauty will be happy to carry me.” With his hand resting on Beauty’s neck Jim figured Spock knew what he was talking about. Besides, the only thing Jim would have said no to was if Spock wanted to ride Strawberry.

Jim told Spock to hand out the carrots while he made a log so that the other people working on the farm knew that the horses had been fed and that Gus and Beauty went out for a ride. When that was sorted and everyone seemed ready to go, Jim pressed the sequence that opened the back of the two occupied stalls. Strawberry and Lucky walked out into the fenced field, watched over by a perimeter monitor that would set off an alarm if they or any other large mammal crossed the fence in either direction. As Jim guided Spock for how to handle the reins, Lucky bolted around the field just for the fun of running, then picked a spot in the shade of a tree to sniff at dandelions.

The ride was uneventful and quiet in the beginning save for the occasional direction to help Spock ride. The flat landscape was dominated by green fields of young wheat plants and Spock looked out over it like it was still quite alien to him. The farm had once been much larger than it is now. The remaining land was a thin strip that ran from the river in the east to the main county road into town, and they started by heading away from the orchard back past the house. The apple orchard was rather small, but the apples and the shaded herbs grown under them helped with diversity both to support the pollinators that the vegetable fields needed and for the town’s grocers. Back when profits were a primary motivator, the diversity would protect the Kirks from starvation if one or two of the crops had a bad year and going way back they used to have an agreement with a beekeeper on the other side of the river about always having something in bloom in exchange for some honey. Weather that hurt the orchard wouldn’t necessarily ruin the wheat, and what hurt the wheat might be just fine for the sister crops growing in the mixed vegetable fields. All of that was less likely now than in the past, with the triticale that Thomas helped breed up replacing the old, more drought sensitive grains his ancestors grew. The newer breed of wheat sipped water and still produced well on marginal lands. Here in more ideal conditions, it fruited large enough to bend the stalks come harvest time without fail.

When they got to this year’s vegetable field planted along the county road, Spock asked a lot of questions about how the different plants supported each other. Jim felt like he was back in grade school taking a soil science test, but when he wasn’t sure of an answer Spock just nodded and asked another eager question. He was honestly interested in why and how six plants were grown in the same field over two years in harmony rather than competition and was not grilling Jim to see if he was worthy of working on the farm the way Frank used to. Jim talked and talked… and then he started to cough wetly.

“My apologies, I should not have been so demanding of conversation,” Spock said, his shoulders coming up a bit in embarrassment before he schooled his posture. Gus snorted and stopped, looking back at Jim while he struggled to suppress the hacking cough that was tearing him up. Beauty almost walked past before Spock remembered to halt her. Jim gave Spock a thumbs up and sipped from the bottle he still carried everywhere until he’d gotten himself under control.

“My own fault,” Jim said, his voice now completely shot. He rubbed a bit of blood off his hand onto his pants and hoped Spock hadn’t noticed the bright red spots.

“Should we return?” Spock asked, pointing behind. Jim shook his head and pointed ahead of them.

“More than halfway, quicker to finish,” Jim croaked out. Spock nodded and Jim got them up to a good pace. Coughing hurt like hell, Spock had taken to riding easily so Jim wasn’t worried the faster pace would unseat him, and Gus didn’t seem interested in a leisurely pace anymore either. Hard to argue with a mother hen when they are carrying you on their back.

They were close enough to smell the orchard now, the herbs and apple flowers sweet on the breeze. Up ahead, on the other side of the dirt farm road from Jim’s land, was the Bennett house. A small group was out in the yard, one of them in odd clothing. As they got closer Jim saw that it was a man with a thick, bushy beard in detailed cream robes with some kind of shiny multi-colored design on the front. When Richard Bennett, a black-haired athletic man about ten years older than Jim, spotted them he started waving and calling them over. The rest of the crowd was Dick’s family: His two brown-haired twin younger brothers, one of their wives, old man Bennett, and a brood of kids that had either been told to stay back from the stranger or feared him huddled on the porch. Jim looked over at Spock and found that the Vulcan man looked a bit gray, his eyes wide and his hands clenched tightly on the reigns.

“What?” Jim rasped.

“Sybok and his followers were banished from Vulcan.”

“Danger?” Jim croaked.

“I do not know, but it is possible. He is a heretic. I was a child at the time, and do not know all the details. The ways he is different should become quite obvious as we approach.” Spock still looked tense, though the more obvious signs had faded back into his habitual demeanor. Beauty huffed and shook her head, picking up her rider’s distress despite his outward appearance of calm. Gus stopped and turned away from the Bennett’s home, aiming himself to cross the field. Jim pulled him back and he nickered as he complied.

“Be my voice?” Jim asked, his throat aching just from these few words. Gus and Beauty flicked their ears back at him, and Beauty stepped closer to her sire. Even the horses thought he sounded hoarse.

“That would be wise.” Spock reached out and Jim took his hand for a moment. He felt the ripple of surprise at Jim grabbing his hand so boldly, which struck Jim as odd, but it smoothed into wary curiosity with a background buzz of pleasure. Jim thought about who each of the people were and how they had been friendly enough neighbors but kept a certain distance to avoid being mixed up in Kirk family drama. What he got in return was powerful and unexpected; betrayal. Spock felt personally wronged by this heretic Sybok. Jim wanted to know why, but Spock’s hand slipped away from him. There was a thin shine of embarrassment as he did so just before the contact broke. Perhaps he was worried about being caught doing something improper like touching another person in public, though it was just holding hands and only because Jim’s voice was toast.

“Hey there, Jimmy!” Dick shouted when the pair reached the end of his driveway, jogging up to them. “You’ve got those Vulcans staying with you, right? One came knocking on our door asking for directions.” The group followed him at a slower pace. Dick dropped his voice to a whisper when he reached them, speaking rapidly. “I thought they were supposed to be unemotional pacifists. This guy freaked out Nan with his spiritual gibberish, said or did something to her that’s left her in a right state, and I want him off my land.”

“Spock?” the robed Vulcan called out, his animated face showing a wide smile. If it wasn’t for the green cast to his skin Jim wouldn’t know he wasn’t human. His ears were hidden under long unruly hair and his black-brown eyes twinkled with strong emotion. “Is that you?” Spock didn’t even look at him.

“Mr. Bennett, I’m afraid Jim’s voice has not fully recovered from the medical procedure he endured recently,” Spock spoke to Dick instead. “I can confirm that I, and all that remains of my extended family, are residing at Jim’s farm. He has kindly allowed us to convert one of the rooms so that we may observe our religion properly, and so Lady T’Pau may oversee bonding ceremonies in a private and peaceful rural location, as is our way.”

“T’Pau is here?” Sybok asked, so visibly shocked that Jim might accuse him of play-acting a caricature of human emotions. Spock turned to Jim.

“I have never dismounted a horse, either,” Spock said, the sass even more impactful with his emotionless delivery. Jim swung down from Gus in demonstration, then came around to pat Spock’s leg and help guide him. Beauty shifted suddenly and Spock used Jim’s shoulder to stop himself from falling flat on his face. Sybok was much closer when they righted themselves, and it seemed to Jim he had tried to walk between the two horses to where Jim was helping Spock. Gus huffed and stamped his foot angrily. Jim spotted a bright yellow stone on the front of Sybok’s robe, but it was covered when Sybok brought his hands together in some kind of affectation.

“Gus has known Jim for his entire life, and is as loyal as any sehlat,” Spock proclaimed, straightening his sweater with recovered grace.

“High praise coming from you, little brother,” Sybok said, a bright smile back on his face. Jim felt like he’d been doused in ice water. An elder brother that ran off, or got himself run off? No wonder Spock had been so understanding about Jim’s history.

“Why?” Jim rasped. The twins winced and Mrs. Bennett tittered in concern at the sound.

“Oh, Spock had a sehlat when he was little, and…”

“Jim means to ask why you are here uninvited,” Spock interrupted Sybok. “If you wished to offer your help in rebuilding what was lost, you should present yourself to one of the embassy locations.” Sybok looked back and forth between the two of them, a range of emotions stretching his face from suspicion to shock and then contemplation. It was disconcerting, Sybok emoted more than most humans and Jim was used to Vulcans that barely emoted at all. Jim made his comm chirp by discreetly tapping the button four times, then pulled it out and carefully tapped a message as he pretended to check it. Gus helped by being a nuisance, distracting Sybok and blocking his line of sight for a moment while he sniffed at the odd Vulcan.

“I didn’t think T’Pau was here,” Sybok answered after Jim pulled Gus back. “After what happened, my followers and I wanted to come find you.”

“I have not developed any interest in your cult, and I doubt you bothered to learn enough about the local religion to be anything but condescendingly racist and casually offensive in your proselytizing,” Spock’s voice was as cold as a snowstorm at midnight. “You can attempt to speak with our father in person if you wish to make more of a fool of yourself than you already have, though given the circumstances it may be a productive conversation if you can refrain from mentioning your ridiculous obsession.” Sybok deflated, dropping his hands again.

“Oh, oh, shit,” Dick muttered to himself, “yellow.”

“I just about forgot,” the younger twin replied, keeping his voice low. Gus nickered, ears back.

“Embracing my emotions as a means to true enlightenment and pursuing Sha Ka Ree is not a ridiculous obsession, Spock. My life with my followers is joyous and fulfilling.”

“You avoid negative emotions by adjusting your own memory of past events,” Spock accused. “That is hardly a logical action nor is it in any way practical to divorce oneself from reality.”

“Now, little brother, that’s not accurate. I help people relive difficult and painful moments. Yes, I help with re-writing these painful memories, but the relived moments do not fully replace the true ones. It is just like running a simulation, to see where you made a misstep and then living the experience of having done it correctly the first time,” Sybok explained. Nobody looked interested, and Gus watched closely every time the yellow stone was revealed by Sybok’s sweeping gestures.

“Sha Ka Ree is a myth, part of a fable. It is not a real place, there is no paradise out in the stars made just for us. Not since Nero destroyed Vulcan,” Spock’s voice wavered a little, and Jim linked his arm with Spock’s. To hell with whatever Mrs. Bennett might assume, this whole conversation was emotionally traumatizing, and he was going to present a united front for it. He could just about remember something, Spock wearing rocket boots in a maintenance shaft and running for his life with Jim and Bones, but then it was gone. A hazy leftover from the forced meld.

“Vulcan was no paradise,” Sybok said. Jim felt Spock lose his control, a wash of anger so hot he broke into a sweat just from what leaked over through their clothing.

“It was my home, our clan’s home!” Spock shouted in Vulcanshu before launching himself forward and punching Sybok square in the face. The older Vulcan moved to defend himself and the humans scattered. The brutal efficiency of their movements was impressive, and Jim was glad that he hadn’t had to use old Spock’s suggestion of making him flip out on Enterprise’s bridge. The pair grappled for a moment on the ground before Sybok got some leverage and flipped Spock off him. Spock might have swung first, but Sybok seemed more than willing to fight it out. Gus pawed at the ground. Jim kept a hand on his flank. Vulcans were much stronger than humans, and Gus was old. He might use his superior weight and hard hooves to trample Sybok to death, or he could be fatally injured.

“See, Spock, you still struggle to follow the old ways. I don’t know why you still fight to do so, when you are here among humans living by their ways. You could embrace your anger, find its source,” Sybok said, dropping into a defensive stance.

“Your assistance in finding I need not of my anger the source,” Spock screamed back, this time in a mix of Federation Standard and Vulcanshu that Jim only just managed to follow. They clashed again, a swirl of martial arts that made it clear they were both well trained, and they parted with a spin that had them square up again. “I am Vulcan! You abandoned our family!” That was much easier to understand. Jim looked at him, the tension in his limbs looked painful, his normally handsome face contorted. The anger was so white-hot, the same quiet fire that fueled him as they fought Nero now burning out of control. Jim lifted his hand from Gus’ flank and slapped it back down. It was little more than a gentle tap, but Gus was wound up enough that he didn’t need much. Spock and Sybok clashed again, but this time when Spock twisted like a spring and tossed Sybok, Gus was there to make sure Sybok stayed down. 593kg of running horse pressed down on Sybok’s thigh and Jim heard the crack of broken bone as clear as a bell chime. Gus turned, ripped the yellow stone off Sybok’s robe, and followed it as it flew so he could either stomp it to dust or drive it into the earth.

Jim rushed over to Spock and pushed the memory of Jim messaging Sarek at the shaking, panting telepath as best he could. He still had no idea if he was doing it right, Spock seemed to have understood when Jim was holding his hand, but Spock had been helping then. Amanda had answered a few questions Jim had about how she handled one-way telepathy. He must have done something right because Spock leaned into him, slowly collecting himself from the blind rage he’d fallen into.

“We’ve got an ambulance on the way,” Dick said as he jogged up.

“Exiled,” Jim rumbled, pointing at the fallen man. Sybok was laying still. Jim hoped he’d either passed out from the pain or was playing dead so Gus wouldn’t come back to smash his head in.

“And a cult leader, from the sound of it. Be glad to see him get carted off, Nan’s still shaking from whatever he made her see,” Dick said. “We played nice so he wouldn’t do it to anyone else, but I’m glad you came by when you did. How’s your friend?”

“I have not been significantly harmed,” Spock answered for himself while Jim put up a hand and wobbled it to mean ‘so-so.’ The squeal of an engine caught their attention. Sarek’s hovercar came racing in, stopping as suddenly as it could before spilling a crowd of Vulcans onto the Bennett’s front lawn.

“What happened here?” Sarek asked, leading the pack. Everyone was there except Amanda and the kids. T’Hir marched forward with such dangerous power Jim was a little disappointed that she arrived too late to kick Sybok to Timbuktu.

“Gus trampled that nutjob after he did something to my nan’s mind and picked a fight with Spock here,” Dick explained. Sarek nodded, then walked right up to Spock and put a hand on his son’s face. Jim backed off, giving them privacy since Spock was still bleeding a lot of frustrated thoughts that amounted to wanting to punch his elder brother again. Jim couldn’t really help much with that. If Sam showed up out of the blue like that he’d beat the daylights out of him too. Rivan bent over Sybok, likely offering some first aid, with T’Hir hovering in case Sybok woke up angry.

“Everyone else is unharmed?” T’Pau asked Jim. Jim nodded, then tapped his throat.

“Seems Jim can’t manage more than one word at a time right now, ma’am,” Dick said.

“Vulcans are not bothered by such limitations,” T’Pau proclaimed. Jim bent at the waist so she could touch his face more comfortably. The meld was quick and to the point. Jim reviewed the events starting from when they saw the gathering on the Bennett’s front lawn. T’Pau then walked over toward where Sybok was laid out. Spock and Sarek cut off their quiet conversation to flank her and Jim trailed after. Gus, looking proud of himself, trotted back over from where he had finished disposing of the yellow gem.

“He has harmed one of the people who dwell here,” T’Pau proclaimed. “Either their justice system will house him, or he can stay at a hospital if his injury is sufficiant.”

“The horse broke his leg, not Spock,” Sarek said. “Does he have further injuries?”

“The leg is the only significant wound, but it is more severe than any injury I’ve seen myself,” Rivan said. T’Pau touched Gus carefully. The large horse sniffed at her affectionately.

“A desire to protect his keepers,” T’Pau explained. “Though there is something about a yellow stone as well.”

“You can’t wave anything yellow in front of Gus,” Dick said with a shrug. “Can’t tell you why, but when we were little my sister couldn’t wear a yellow dress or he’d try and pull it off her. That’s just Gus. This cultist fellow had a yellow stone on his clothes.”

“In a mockery of our symbols,” T’Pau said dismissively. It occurred to Jim that the grandchild of a priestess had gone off to found his own religion, tossing out all the core tenants of their belief system on the way, and that this was a more severe breech of trust than a child giving up on protecting his younger brother from an abusive guardian. Jim might want to punch Sam in the face, but most of the Riverside community would welcome him back with a bit of work on his end. Sybok seemed to have burnt most of his bridges in ways that might not be so easily mended.

The ambulance pulled up alongside local security, and they hurried to get the fallen man chained to a mobile biobed with his injured leg carefully immobilized. The paramedics may not be sure what to do with his biology, but they had seen horse related injuries before and Rivan helped them set the bone. When all the statements were taken, Dick took T’Pau inside to see if she could help whatever Sybok did to his nan. The Bennett twins offered to take the horses back so Jim and Spock could go in the hovercar with everyone else when she was done, and Dick’s wife served them all lemonade or water on the porch in the meantime. The children were happy to call Spock a hero, but Spock was obviously uncomfortable with their thanks and conflicted over the fight. Jim shooed the kids with a gesture and slotted himself next to Spock on the bench swing, where he seemed to have erroneously thought the kids wouldn’t climb up to crowd him. An expectant look and bumping his knee into Spock’s had the other man shifting a bit, but away from Jim rather than letting Jim talk to him telepathically again. The twins had to bring Gus around to see that Jim was fine before he would go back to the stables. They cut across the field to save time and were still visible trotting along when T’Pau came out to say all had been righted.

“At nan’s age, a shock like what that man gave her could kill her,” Dick grumbled. Jim stood and walked up to him, pointing inside. “She says she’s better now, but it was some sort of hallucination. She thought she saw the ghosts of people long dead, reliving horrible things that happened.” Jim nodded.

“Anyone beyond a certain age will have experienced some regret in their life,” T’Pau added. “Sybok’s ridiculous notions stirred up pain she had moved beyond.” Jim grunted at that, then offered his hand to Dick. He shook Jim’s hand just fine, so it was all fine between them at least.

“Me and mine will take care of ours just fine, you and yours take the crazy with you when you leave just like you always do,” Dick said. Jim couldn’t exactly respond in kind without ripping his throat up more, so he did the mature thing and blew a raspberry at him instead. The kids all went ‘ooh’ together, then subsided into giggles. When Jim turned to leave, he saw that all the Vulcans were confused by the exchange.

“You deserve that for sassing a mute,” Dick’s nan called from inside, which was all the proof Jim needed that she’d be back in her usual form soon enough. “Now ya’ll get back in here and help me salvage these preserves!”

Chapter Text

The festival of the first of May came faster than Spock expected. Mother had been excited about the event since reading about it in the Kirk Library and confirming with Jim that the tradition was well kept in the style described. It would be the first time Spock observed Jim doing anything religious, at least to his knowledge. Jim kept the fairy house that guarded the well in good order, but only the children had ever caught him at the task of cleaning and restocking it. There didn’t seem to be a set time for him to do so. It was, to Spock’s eyes, an elaborate bird feeder. Complete with a small, sculpted fireplace with glass flames that matched the style of the one in the real house and a working light in the dining room that glowed for an hour after sunset, it was a rough approximation of the farmhouse they lived in. The top floor accommodated larger birds with a small ‘bed’ full of shining seeds while other treats were in and around the furniture in the kitchen, likely for smaller birds who could fit easily around the miniature furnishings. A dish of water dominated the middle floor, surrounded by detailed paintings of what the second-floor bath and the west end of the nursery must have looked like once upon a time. The attic space was the most curious part. Buttons, shiny bits of rock or glass, and other odd things were placed in the small space, and either Jim changed them often or they were being taken by something.

T’Pau had theories about the symbolism and was just as curious about the buttons and things in the attic. Spock saw her reading books about fairies and gnomes in the early mornings before Jim was awake, and carefully examining the gardens that defined the back yard from the fields beyond as if checking for evidence of these creatures. There was a small stone gnome just inside the latticework of the rear porch, and he was unsure if she had spotted it yet since her attention was usually taken by the larger beds of flowers and vegetables and not the neat bushes on either side of the rear porch. Spock had no context for any of it. He’d decided he wouldn’t read those books for some time, so he could discover things for himself. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do with himself other than set up puzzles to solve. The festival promised to be a fourth break in the monotony of his existence on the farm since he was placed on bereavement leave.

The first had been Sybok’s appearance, which the local authorities handled as Sybok assaulting an old woman and Spock stepping up to prevent further violence in a legal way according to local custom. Sybok was reportedly serving a two-month sentence of community service on the East coast of the continent where a Betazoid could oversee strict orders not to use his telepathy on anyone without informed consent. While Spock was not held legally responsible for his actions under human laws, his shameful display of emotion including a blatant vocal demonstration of L'tak Torai wasn’t something he could ignore. Sarek was not pleased, mostly with Sybok for causing it but also with Spock’s loss of control. He hadn’t voiced the jumbled mess that sometimes came to mind instead of proper speech in decades, always able to reorder the words before speaking his mind or to simply remain silent until he could better order his thoughts. He spent many hours meditating with T’Pau in the days following, regaining his center and working through his shame. She had not scolded him, saying only that he punished himself well enough for his actions that she need not say anything more. When he was again at peace, she praised him for regaining his control and he resumed his usual habits.

The second break in the monotony had been the bonding ceremony that brought Rivan and T’Hir formally into their family as T’Pau’s children, followed the next day by their adoption of T’Nira. T’Nira had finally understood that neither Spock nor Jim was in any way ready to parent a teenaged girl and accepted that her skills and interests would make her an excellent apprentice and daughter to the pair. T’Pau said she had planned it that way from the beginning, but the choice to accept her situation had to be T’Nira’s for her own sake.

The third was the arrival of two Vulcan science ships from their last missions on Stardate 105 and 110, coming into orbit laden with additional passengers from several outposts and starbases. The latter half of the Terran month of April was quite busy with T’Pau performing bonding ceremonies almost daily, mostly between adults who were formally adopting the children of their cousins. Spock and Amanda worked together coordinating with the various groups making the pilgrimage to the farm whenever they weren’t busy helping the rest of the family host their guests and provide accommodations, and Sarek worked to get the official databases listing all the remaining Vulcans and their skills up to date to aid with colony planning. The number of M-class worlds being considered for the New Vulcan colony had been reduced considerably, but there was still debate over which would be most suitable. A list showing the current skillset of the Vulcan people would go a long way to what sort of resources need to be prioritized at the initial landing site and hopefully reduce the number of viable options.

The pair of Spock’s fourth cousins who were supposedly related to them through Solkar were delayed indefinitely due to a lack of available staff to replace them, but that meant there was an additional bedroom available to house visitors until their situation was resolved. Sarek wasn’t displeased by the delay. He had found records in the backup archives that implied the break in the family was due to some extreme show of xenophobia by Solkar’s sister and since then none of those living in the farmhouse were quite as excited about growing the clan as they had been. T’Pau reminded them all that they should judge people by their individual actions and not only by their fore-bearers, but she no longer talked as much about the plans for their arrival either.

Spock saw little of Jim during the month, and later found out he’d spent several nights in the city with his surgeon progressing his treatment and having the feeding port removed. Jim then went directly to San Fransisco to handle finalizing his graduation paperwork in person. There was a date set in another week for Jim to defend his thesis, but that could easily be done remotely since two of the committee evaluating him were off world. Other than that, it seemed that Jim was completely finished with all his current coursework and related paperwork well ahead of the semester’s end. Spock suspected he had requested exams in place of the standard coursework but was unsure Jim would want to talk about the Academy with him considering how they met. Most of what Spock knew came from Amanda asking Jim questions after a meal. There were far less charged topics of conversation.

Jim returned to the daily routine of the farmhouse soon after the steady stream of adults trailing small children to adopt stopped coming through the farmhouse. A coincidence Spock wasn’t certain was natural. Two of the children that had been living with them, making up one of the young bonded pairs, were adopted and left the farm. Shortly thereafter, Tivin arrived from the embassy with two more small orphans to refill the nursery. Tivin was a very dark skinned sixteen-year-old orphan, and he was given the bedroom that had been reserved for Spock’s fourth cousins in the belief that they would not arrive before he had moved on. He had been beamed aboard Enterprise with his bondmate, but she had left Earth to stay with her aunt on a space station. The aunt thought it would be improper to adopt Tivin as essentially his bondmate’s cousin given their ages, and worried they would become codependent if left alone together for too long. One of the elders that remained at the San Fransisco embassy agreed that their behavior had become unhealthy before their separation. She wanted him to be adopted by another who would then join their families together when the time came for their union. He hadn’t been doing well before, and obviously had gotten worse since the separation, and the hope was that the farm’s more peaceful atmosphere and greater availability of adult guidance would help him center himself before his outbursts caused any permanent harm to himself or others. During their last horseback ride together, which had become a fairly common activity Spock looked forward to, Jim invited Tivin along.

At first Spock worried that they would have another situation similar to T’Nira on their hands, but from the moment Jim returned to the farm he treated Tivin like he was a full adult. Jim talked about how he had secured a part-time position at the shipyard at fifteen and asked if Tivin had considered employment yet. Then, when Tivin sulked rather than answer promptly, Jim explained the difficulties he faced keeping the job beyond that first summer by taking a shuttle back to Riverside from a specialized engineering high school in Iowa’s capital city and encouraged Tivin to talk about his academic interests throughout. It got Tivin thinking and eventually talking about how to adapt his previous plan for his future - he had wanted to be an architect designing highly artistic buildings - to the new reality they faced. What Jim told the boy was quite true: they would be in dire need of willing builders once a colony world was chosen, and an apprentice position building the new colony could teach him a lot about the practicalities in exchange for his labor that would be useful for an architect to understand. With the amount of competition for such a position a complete unknown, Tivin would have to focus on his goals to be sure he could secure an apprentice position if one was available.

Spock took over the conversation at that point to let Jim’s voice rest, explaining that the primary motivation for T’Nira’s adoption by his cousins was to secure a bond with a highly motivated student interested in their craft and ensure that T’Hira’s specialist knowledge was preserved, although they did cherish her and expected her to be a good elder sister to their infant child as well. There was the slight problem that architects didn’t work in the places that Enterprise had targeted. Unlike the happy accident of pulling the small family of craftsman off the street in front of a school, to Spock’s knowledge no architects had been beamed aboard by their crew. It was possible that the group brought to Delta Vega by Montgomery Scott included one or that one of the outposts had a suitable individual. Even if Tivin wasn’t adopted outright by whatever master accepted him, it would still be a worthwhile working relationship that would bring him some stability and might attract the attention of others looking to adopt an older child into their clan. A rare skill was of great value, after all, and he could study architecture from books while waiting for a teacher to be found.

Jim added that aging out of adoption and into a peer group instead of being taken in by a family wasn’t so bad, which Spock knew to be autobiographical but also very much a human concept, and reminded Tivin that he did already have a family through his bondmate. So long as he did his best and held up his end of things, working toward the goals he set, that was all anyone could or should expect of someone Tivin’s age. When Tivin confessed that he had dropped several levels in his academic performance since the Immeasurable Loss and had experienced embarrassing bouts of uncontrolled emotion, Jim waved it off.

“Everyone grieves differently, but you do have a responsibility to become a functioning member of society again.”

“You are only required to perform as optimally as you are able,” Spock added. “When you fall short of your own standards, seek improvement until you meet them again. This may take time, but remember that it has taken some elders significant time to reorient themselves as well. You are not the only one struggling.”

“You arrived right before May Day, too, so great timing. Relax and enjoy a festival all about fire and fertility.”

“You mean it is for the fertile fields,” Tivin said cautiously. Jim chuckled carefully, still cautious of re-injuring himself.

“Fields, people, animals… the fertility of all things under the sun and moon. The return of the heat, the last victory of spring over the winter chill, and the bounty of the first harvests. If you aren’t careful you might end up attracting more attention from the local girls than your bondmate would appreciate,” Jim warned. Spock frowned at that but kept his peace for the moment. If Tivin seemed to be repeating one of Spock’s mistakes he would talk to the boy, but for now Jim was only making a slightly off-color joke.

The morning of May first, Stardate 2258.121 by his own calendar, Spock woke earlier than usual and took the opportunity of using the bathing facilities uncontested. Water showers were a rare luxury on Vulcan used in exclusive spas, by prescription, and during rituals after certain life events like the birth of a child. Here in Riverside, they did have the option of a generously sized bathtub and all of the smaller children would usually bathe in it using a bowl to wet their hair as was more traditional. However, Spock, Rivan, and T’Hir had decided to indulge in the feel of rain more often than not. The sensual feel of the water impacting his bare skin was deeply soothing and made meditation easier.

They didn’t even have to feel guilty for the evaporation of so much water because there was a vent to gather the steam. Spock had been hesitant to use as much hot water as he liked at first, but Rivan had noticed that the HVAC system diagram Jim kept in with the home repair tools had a condensed water handing line and the specifications said that the system added to or pulled excess humidity out of the air to a set range. From there the reclaimed water vapor was sent to the gray water system. That system’s diagram showed that after some treatment the water was naturally returned to soil through a drainage field under the back garden, and therefore eventually percolated down to the aquifer that fed the well or up into the roots of the garden’s fruit, flower, and vegetable beds. It was the sort of water recycling he’d only expect to see in the closed system of a starship, but the area was considered arid farmland by Terran standards. While not as lossless as a similar Vulcan-designed system one might find at the spas and bathhouses of his home planet, it was good enough for Spock to feel comfortable putting the temperature up to it’s highest setting while he bathed.

Vulcans were circadian heterotherms, after all, and there was only so much space on the hearth rug or in the meditation room. If Spock could satisfy some of his need to bask in heat while bathing, then he wouldn’t need to do it later in the day. Normally he would increase the heat in his room while meditating, but the farmhouse bedrooms were not sufficiently insulated for that practice. As far as his body’s internal functions were concerned, he’d been operating on a nightshift schedule while in Starfleet, working in the comparatively cold conditions of a starship or regulation classroom and then resting in the heat of his private quarters. It was not so different than the hunters of old, who would move stealthily through the colder night air and then sleep through the midday heat after delivering the spoils of their labors to their clan. Given his age and physical fitness, one might even say that being active during the heat of the day was less natural for him. It had certainly taken a bit of effort to sleep during the endothermic part of his daily cycle, but he adjusted quickly enough to the cool nights.

He could go without basking, but like a plant moved from its preferred sunny windowsill to a shaded table it would have increasingly negative effects over time. Babies and the elderly needed more time in the heat than healthy adults in their prime, which was why T’Hir and Rivan’s infant was almost always bundled up or skin-to-skin with one of them. While Spock had not noticed the decline due to his own troubles before they arrived at the farm, he did notice that the long hours T’Pau spent in front of the fireplace had caused visible improvement. Her desire to let Sarek attend most of the in-person political meetings, likely in relatively cold rooms designed to accommodate both Vulcans and Andorians in a neutral temperature that neither found completely comfortable, seemed not to have much to do with her grieving and everything to do with her physical needs as an elder. She was still a fierce negotiator and used the terminal in the library room for her official negotiations before moving back to the fireside to bask in the heat of the flames.

Spock hoped that among the crafts on display today he could find something warm for her. Jim had mentioned a sheep farm that produced a wide range of wool products and often offered the things left over from the previous year’s work at the May Day festival for whoever had need of them. After he discovered the old ones had become infested with moths during long-term storage, Jim had given them one of his luxury credits in exchange for a fresh set of wool blankets just before Spock’s clan arrived. They were simple rectangles in bright solid colors with a smooth cotton backing to the quilted blankets, likely made quickly with a simple diamond pattern stitching the two layers together. The elaborately embroidered garments T’Pau was rescued in were too precious and not warm enough for everyday wear in this climate, and while they had all been given some warmer clothing, she seemed to have underestimated the natural chill of San Fransisco’s damp air when she made her selections from what was offered. It would be rude to pry by asking if she was warm enough, and unnecessary as well when he knew she could use a robe or shawl.

When he came downstairs the fireplace was cold, and he went about clearing away yesterday’s ash and preparing today’s fire. The fuel was neither some type of plant oil or wax, nor simple split logs and branches as Spock would expect. The blocks of plant matter were a product of local industry. They were primarily waste agricultural fiber from food production and processing such as nut shells, sawdust, used distillery grain, and so on mixed with wax to produce uniform flammable blocks that were extruded into a roughly log-shaped form. The resulting flames were steady and warmer than natural wood fires, though not as hot as some of the oil-fed braziers that heated many communal meditation rooms. Jim said that the flame was clean enough to cook over, but everyone agreed the induction stove, oven, and synthesizer in the kitchen were the preferable appliances. He had clearly had some specific treat in mind, but backpedaled suddenly. Whatever it was, it must have been some human tradition because Mother suddenly popped up from her seat and rushed to cover for the half-suggestion with a hasty distraction. Spock suspected his father knew what it was, the shrewd way he observed his wife was telling, but Sarek remained silent on the matter.

By the time Spock was finished basking in the flames, Rivan had come down with his babe in his robe. The child was awake and vocalizing quietly in a content stream of babble that would one day become speech. Her simple thoughts were projecting out of sync with the noises in a hazy broadcast of undisciplined joy, curiosity, and security. It was no big mystery to Spock why those few beamed aboard with the tiniest children had the fastest recovery times from the panic and trauma of the Immeasurable Loss. An infant’s needs were easy to satisfy, the parent instinctively focused on them, and the concept that everything will be fine so long as one’s base needs are taken care of was quite valuable in a crisis.

This wasn’t to say that it was easy to be the parent of an infant or toddler at this time. T’Hir and Rivan couldn’t bring the child home when she was scared and everything smelled wrong, only assure the child that she was safe where she was through telepathy. They could not provide favorite toys that were now lost, only replacements that weren’t quite right. When the child wanted an aunt or cousin who was now dead, they could only offer the new family they now had.

Spock wasn’t a great replacement for their lost family. He was deeply uncomfortable around the infant and had no interest in parenting the children. He helped where he felt he could, supervising lessons and chores so Rivan and T’Hira could have time for themselves or amusing himself quietly on the porch while the children explored and played in the gardens, but he simply was not comfortable in a parental role. Many of them spoke to or about him using word and suffix choices for an older sibling or peer rather than an uncle or elder neighbor, and while that bothered Sarek as improper address it didn’t bother Spock at all. He was far more comfortable with the more nebulous position despite the apparent disrespect. He certainly didn’t want any of them thinking there was a chance he would adopt them. He was more certain than ever that he simply did not want children, at least during the early stage of his life. He had at least a century to change his mind, after all.

Rivan let his infant down onto the warm hearth rug. The obvious fragility of her tiny body still startled Spock whenever she was taken out of her swaddle for exercise. Human children were much rounder, at least as far as Spock had seen, every part of them chubby and padded. Vulcan children had chubby faces and their torsos did have a large store of fat, but their limbs were leaner and longer in proportion to their bodies. Much closer to an adult Vulcan than a human infant was to an adult human, and to his eyes all the more fragile. The little one wriggled about. She was strong enough to roll and put her hands down to lift her head to look around, but her legs kicked ineffectually as she scooted forward to touch Spock’s knee.

The infant thought of a sehlat, and sand, and red rock. Spock responded with the farmhouse’s back garden and horses. It was a simple conversation, still accompanied by the babble, but not unpleasant. When she started to request to be picked up, Spock directed her back to Rivan. Her tiny little fingers looked as fragile as blown glass to him. While Spock was capable of handling delicate objects with care, the scientific instruments he worked with were not in the habit of wiggling about unexpectedly. She didn’t understand why he was worried about dropping her because only small hands weren’t strong enough to pick her up and he had big hands.

“It is my turn to begin breakfast,” Spock said to Rivan. The older man nodded and caught his daughter’s attention with a stuffed toy.

Spock was by now quite familiar with the kitchen. Mother set it up very similar to his childhood home, which made it both familiar and occasionally uncomfortable. They had made jelly out of some of the fresh seasonal fruits, mixing in supplements so that the Terran food would provide for Vulcan needs. Mother had kept a garden of Terran vegetables to supplement her diet, and Spock had needed to take care to ensure his own nutritional needs were met after he left Vulcan. So many Terran foods tasted as if they were high value foods but were actually lacking in what a Vulcan body would need. It was primarily Mother’s tomatoes that provided her vitamins that were somewhat lacking in Vulcan food, while Spock had imported plomeeks while living on Earth for the same reason.

When he packed up his apartment Spock brought all that he had, which admittedly wasn’t much. There was a small copper pot that would infuse acidic foods with a nice amount of copper to supplement his diet in the same way that humans benefited from iron cookware, which now saw daily use. Jars of spices and vacuum-sealed packages of Starfleet standard pre- portioned meals that only required him to load the synthesizer and select the appropriate program, which had been opened and analyzed so that they could be recreated in an appropriate size for all the residents of the farmhouse. A formal tea set made of Vulcan’s red clay that had mostly sat on a shelf while he got standard white mugs of tea from the synthesizer, now used in series alongside Kirk’s rounder and more floral set. T’Pau refused to use the cups made with bone ash, but the rest of them would use the teaset through the day and leave the terracotta cups for observances and dinner to save on the need to run the dish sanitizer so often. T’Pau simply used the glasses to sip water during the day, cutting down on the number of hot beverages she drank, which likely contributed to the chill that Spock observed plaguing her. Spock, Amanda, and Jim were the only ones who used the simpler mugs; Jim couldn’t identify what sort of material the cheap mugs were made of beyond saying they were ceramic and so the assumption was that they weren’t fit to use. There wasn’t actually much flatware to go around in the first place, one of the few supplies nobody had thought of before they moved in. Spock had explained to Rivan that bone china was the more expensive material, and that simple clay was of lesser quality by human standards, but while he understood the physical properties of the materials Rivan remained skeptical that the mugs were the inferior option when Jim had asked that one of them be reserved as his favorite mug. His wife wouldn’t even listen to an explanation for why humans ate off reformed animal bones long enough to understand the topic. None of the plates from the farmhouse’s formal dining set were used by anyone, if only because they had enough plates that their use was unnecessary.

T’Pring would have packed all the bone china and put it away somewhere so nobody could use it. She wouldn’t stand for its use even just in her presence, though T’Pau would likely have been able to talk her into some practical compromise. She had always been a perfectionist when it came to the organization and appointment of any living space, reorganizing something about Spock’s assigned room on a space station or ship when she visited and criticizing the quality of many standard-issue items. So much of the farmhouse was clearly not Vulcan that she would hate it here. The walls of the room he currently slept in would disgust her, the walls coated in the color of blood dripped into dust.

Spock shook himself. Focusing on these mundane, small things was the best he could do. Remain in the moment, paying attention to the task at hand and his surroundings. He didn’t mind the room, the green matched the grain growing in the fields outside and it was small enough that there wasn’t any excess space. He’d placed his possessions in such a way that there were no gaps to imply anything was missing. His lirpa was secured above the dresser near the door and his lyre was hung above his bed where a wreath had been, the dusty decoration packed away in the attic storage.

He hadn’t played. Mother was worried about him because he hadn’t played, but despite his boredom he just never found the time and motivation. Father mentioned it yesterday. Today was a major festival and they would be busy the entire day, but perhaps he’d play tomorrow.

Spock was functioning. He crushed nuts in a bowl and set the jam out on the table. The porridge was a Terran grain ground down into what Jim called ‘cream of wheat’ and prepared with butter and nutmeg. A couple yellow bananas, for the Humans’ nutritional needs, and some bright blue shredded knik root, for the Vulcans’ nutritional needs, rounded out the toppings. T’Hira set out juice, Sarek made tea, and before long they were all gathered around the table. Spock was functioning. How optimally was impossible to measure, as his focus waxed and waned, but he was functioning. As they told Tivin, they all have a responsibility to become functioning members of society again, and Spock was functioning as optimally as he was able.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Amanda made sure to remind everyone that gelatin desserts were not vegetarian despite how much it may appear to be a fruity treat and that they should all ask the vendor if any food they did not recognize was vegetarian before taking some. The festival would start with an open-air market and activities for children in the morning, with the entertainment gradually switching focus to more adult recreation when the sun set. She was looking forward to the music, which Jim confirmed would be largely untranslated from the original words into FSE.

It was so rare to hear old songs sung as they were written. The lovely accent that young navigator had showed that some communities were holding strong to their old traditions and languages even though the United Earth Government standardized FSE as Earth’s official language and all children were now taught FSE in school by law. The Jewish community would never stop teaching their children Hebrew, but her second language, the English language, was disappearing quickly. The name Federation Standard English implied that it adjusted and replaced plain English, but really FSE was an amalgamation of English, French, Spanish, Japanese, Norwegian, and German with standardized suffixes and prefixes to smooth out the rules until there were no exceptions to the stated conventions. It was a relatively new constructed language that borrowed from the idea behind Esperanto, designed for precision of meaning and interplanetary communication. Simplified Golic was similar, but the Vulcans had taken to the stars and developed their unifying language long enough ago that it had become a natural language over the centuries. Amanda’s second language, which this community had as their mother tongue, was anything but a precision-made tool: a patchwork quilt of borrowed words, inconsistent rules, one of a kind exceptions, use of tone to change meaning with no written tonal signifier, a mountain of idioms, secondary definitions that can mean the opposite of the primary meaning, and other tomfoolery that simply had to be memorized to be fully fluent. It was no wonder that English was the language chosen to be overhauled in this manner, first contact and the surrounding politics aside.

She had taught Spock English, but as far as she knew he hadn’t used it since his first adolescent growth spurt when he put away the ‘childish’ books she’d used to teach him. On Vulcan there were few who spoke plain English, and when he wanted to speak to her in her own human language – usually to spite Sarek or annoy Michael – he used Hebrew. She had been surprised he’d still been able to read any part of Jim’s antique copy of Alice in Wonderland, but perhaps Spock had had cause to practice his third language while teaching at the Academy.

In plain English, a foot became feet, but in FSE a foot became foots. She could remember her grandfather often complained about how childish it sounded to say ‘foots,’ but for those younger than Amanda’s generation it was the older language that sounded strange with all its esoteric rules and exceptions. Spock had hated how nonsensical it was, but it did help him learn to read by forcing him to be more mindful and deliberate as he scanned the words. Sarek was excited about the singing as well, and not only for the sake of her pleasure. To hear the language in song would be a treat for them both, even if Sarek’s interest was less academic and more artistic.

Spock was oddly dispassionate about it. He had seemed to improve from his initial melancholy when they first arrived at the farm, holding conversations with Jim whispering and touching the other man so frequently to reduce the need for words that even T’Hira noticed their closeness, but he was still much more withdrawn than usual and rarely left the building let alone the garden. The horseback rides seemed like a real advancement, a return of his curiosity, but it seemed he was still just doing as he was bid rather than having any internal motivation. T’Pau claimed that going with Jim to see the horses was Spock’s idea, and Amanda hoped that was true, but she wasn’t sure if it was just Spock thinking he ought to perform labor to pay Jim back for his hospitality or a true return of his adventurous spirit. Under normal circumstances, Spock would be delighted about the music, curious if there are unique qualities to be found in the songs and traditions preserved by this community, and plucking at his lyre to prepare himself to try and recreate some of them from memory after the fact.

She hadn’t heard him play once since they left the Enterprise. She checked with Sarek in case he’d been playing during human sleeping hours, but he had not. She knew that Nyota Uhura was a singer, part of a choir at the Academy, and wondered if that was part of it. She didn’t dare ask directly, though she did say she missed the sound of his playing. Her baby was hurting so much, and she knew that if he realized how obvious it was to her it would only make it worse.

Jim surprised them by pulling a basket of flowers out of the basement chiller after breakfast. When he’d snuck them into the house she couldn’t say, but there was an abundant variety of them, and he encouraged the children to put on as many or as few on as they liked. Amanda had read the book about the flower meanings before handing it off to T’Pau last week so she helped Jim pass them out, checking to be sure what they meant.

White daisies and carnations for the children, for their innocence rather than the Vulcan meaning of white for wisdom and purity of mind. Tivin was given a green carnation, for hope and success, with a cheerful yellow ribbon to show that he was spoken for. There were a few matching pairs of special flowers and a whole rainbow of ribbons to choose from. After some discussion Amanda suggested that Rivan and T’Hira might take pink roses - appreciation and conviction - so that Sarek and Amanda could have the orange. Sarek asked if the red wouldn’t be better for them, but she shushed him before he could allude to anything too directly and said that red roses were more appropriate for newlyweds. Enthusiasm was more fitting for their relationship anyway. She let Sarek put a red ribbon on their flowers in compromise. Avoiding saying passion out loud when insisting on using red for their relationship was easy since he’d known that symbolism since he was courting her, while T’Hira insisted on peach for herself and Rivan after consulting the book.

Spock and T’Pau stood off to the side, observing the flowers with some hesitance. While the children ran up and down the stairs to retrieve hair clips to secure additional white flowers in their hair rather than on their clothing, Jim went to a drawer in one of the many display cabinets spread throughout the ground floor and pulled out an old paperboard box. Inside were four tiny blue roses, each dried and suspended in a uniquely shaped resin pin.

“Dead flowers… not the most subtle symbolism, but it can’t all be the mystical how does this color make humans feel sort of thing,” Jim said as he walked up to T’Pau and Spock. “Blue for unobtainable, it isn’t a common color in nature apart from the sky, and completely unnatural in roses, but blue also means peace and serenity. If you would rather wear a fresh flower, I have some blue forget-me-nots and some black bleeding hearts, which are both fairly self-explanatory. I suppose we’re just not very subtle about it around here when there is a loss in the family.” Spock was still and blank in a way that told Amanda he was processing his thoughts and unlikely to speak immediately. T’Pau took the dead flower suspended in a teardrop that dangled from a silver lapel pin.

“Both of my husbands have died before me,” she said, turning the flower pin in her hands. “I see no reason to take another. It is the ribbons that indicate one is bound to another, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim replied with a sharp nod. “You can choose ribbons as if one or both were still alive, or black if you would rather not say anything but that they are gone and you won’t be moving on.” The elder was silent for some time, and even the children waited for her decision.

“The peach ribbon would be most appropriate,” T’Pau said. “Gratitude and encouragement, as I have accomplished much in my life and often it could not have been done as easily without their support.” Amanda looked back at Spock, who was looking back and forth between the basket and the dead flowers. She stepped up close to her son.

“A yellow ribbon, for new beginnings and friendship,” she suggested, “or do you think green for hope is more appropriate?”

“I do not think either of those represent T’Pring at all,” Spock said, turning to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Should it only be about her?” she asked.

“There should be rules for that, aren’t there?” Sarek asked Jim. “Humans may not remarry as quickly as Vulcans do later in life, but for younger people there must be some particulars. You aren’t ready now, but you will be again.”

Jim seemed to freeze a moment, then he lifted the padding under the preserved flowers to show Amanda what was in the bottom of the box. Sarek crowded close to look over her shoulder. These ribbons weren’t shiny or lacy, but plain raw fabric imprinted with old English words in decorative black calligraphy. Pox, Fever, Miscarriage, Stillbirth, Labor, SIDS… a dozen tragedies. They were old ribbons, ugly in more than their meaning.

“What’s an idiot kid with no supervision supposed to do with a house this big and nobody else in it when they reach legal age?” Jim asked her, and her heart broke for him. Amanda reached out and covered Jim’s hand, pushing down to cover the ribbons hidden in the bottom of the box. Clutching at his hands like this was a bold, nearly scandalous thing to do in front of her husband and extended family, but this was a very human moment, and she wouldn’t fault Jim for sharing such a thing or deny him comfort. Spock was not her first pregnancy. He was not her fifth. There were so many things that could go wrong when mixing species, and even with the best care Sarek had almost lost her. “We just take the ribbon off when we’re ready to take it off. The rules aren’t that strict, and we just do what feels right.”

“You don’t only wear these for your partner,” Amanda said to Sarek. Then she quoted the book, “What ribbon you put on it is also for yourself, for your joy, or your grief, or for how you mean to go forward, or for what you want out of the next year.”

“The bond doesn’t have to be one with a romantic partner, either, but can represent other lost family or obligations that would prevent someone from actively seeking a partner. I like the yellow flowers, have for a couple of years now,” Jim said, stepping back and putting the box of preserved flowers down on the coffee table. “Joining Starfleet was a fresh start, and I shouldn’t put on a ribbon because I’m not tied down to anything anymore even if I’m not actively looking to start a family. Yellow flowers also mean friendship, and I know that word gets murky when translated but for relationships I have been focused on ties to my peers and coworkers rather than any kind of romance. Yellow pansies are specifically about optimism.”

“This one is pretty,” T’Nira said, picking up a Dahlia.

“That one actually means a new permanent commitment or marriage,” Jim said. “They all have a couple meanings, of course, but those were mainly included as options for your parents. Between your adoption and the baby there is a lot new in their marriage, but if I wear that without a ribbon, I’ll get mobbed.”

“Why?” Tivin asked.

“Because some people don’t understand the phrase ‘no thank you’ and I’d basically be advertising that I’m back on the market. There’s already a quiet war going on for who gets to marry my land, and no I didn’t misspeak just then. Some of the locals want to live in this house and run the farm while I’m off being a Starfleet officer, or they want their kid to have it, and I’m just what they have to put up with to get what they want. Arranged marriages are a thing that happens on Earth in some communities, it just looks a bit different than what you’d expect and isn’t as common.”

“You have been resisting your elders on this matter?” T’Pau asked.

“Yeah, like I said last night a lot of the local folk are just fine, but some families are xenophobic.” Jim fidgeted uncomfortably. “I don’t mean just against other species, either, but against anyone not from a farming community. The people who most want to set me up are the sort who want to be sure this land doesn’t end up in the hands of an outsider.”

“So, the options you are being presented with by your community are incompatible with your own values,” Sarek summarized. “How have you handled that thus far?”

“I mostly got them to stop by bringing Gary around, but it’s been long enough since they’ve seen me with him that they are back at it. I had to entertain one of the more persistent girls for an afternoon while I was setting up for your arrival, just to keep the peace while her brother fixed up the plumbing.”

“Who is Gary?” T’Pau asked.

“A mistake,” Jim said, his eyes a little unfocused. Amanda saw Spock pick up a sprig of black bleeding heart. Normally she wouldn’t push quite so hard, but it would be better for Jim to remain the main focus of attention for the moment.

“I would think after the first disaster they would back down and let you make your own choice, without the need for you to jump into another relationship to make an excuse. Those sorts of things are rare in this day and age.” Amanda pointed at the box.

“No, I know. I know. They left me alone for years after, it’s so rare it’s like a bad omen with modern medicine and all, but I’m twenty-five and a Starfleet officer now, so.” He shrugged, and at least for Amanda that really was all that needed to be said.

“Well in general I don’t like to promote negative stereotypes,” Amanda said dramatically, raising a single finger to emphasize her words, “but just for today I am willing to be a very involved Jewish mother about this. You have welcomed us into your home and done so much for us that you are practically family by my standards anyway. It shouldn’t seem odd that I’m standing in for who isn’t here and being particular about how I go about it, and I’ll argue down anyone who says otherwise.” Jim laughed.

“I know you’re joking, but I might hold you to that.”

“I fully expect you to and will be disappointed if you don’t,” Amanda said primly. Off to one side, Sarek picked up the box of preserved flowers and squinted at its contents. Amanda knew for certain that he couldn’t read the old cursive lettering, and when she felt his curiosity poking at their bond, she closed the information away from him. Jim hadn’t said which of them applied to him and it wasn’t her place to speculate.

There was only one Kirk in this house, and all the empty rooms spoke of loss loudly enough. It was odd for a young person to leave a nursery set up as an empty nursery and not convert such a large space with plenty of storage to some sort of workshop or play space for their passions. On the other hand, half the basement was set up with relatively new clear-front shelves to display what was stored rather than the endless sea of opaque boxes one would expect of an old house owned by the same family for so long. It was practically a museum down there and the library was a historical treasure trove, so Jim’s passion for history was clearly shown elsewhere in the house. The barn next to the house was a tinkerer’s playground with mechanisms new and old in various stages of disassembly including an old gasoline-powered motorbike in the process of being upgraded to a modern fuel source, and Rivan had spent some time with Jim talking shop in the old barn and playing with the various bits and bobs. Antique weapons and medals earned by ancestors that served in the military were used as decoration here and there, and she’d heard Jim explaining what they were and how they worked to Spock or the children from time to time. So much of the house showed off its owner’s personality, yet the nursery looked like it had been untouched beyond the robot vacuum when they first arrived.

“Oh, don’t fuss with that,” Amanda said, taking the box from Sarek. “You know you can’t read English caligraphy.”

“It is similar to Vulcan script,” Sarek grumbled.

“Not even slightly,” she said, and put the box back into the drawer it came from. She felt him grumbling silently at her correction. Comparing a phonetic language to a logographic one, and Sarek thought she wouldn’t say anything about how silly that was?

Spock had his bleeding heart tied with a green ribbon. It was perhaps uncharitable to think so of the dead, but if it was meant to be for T’Pring she hoped he was using the negative connotation of greed, with the hope and prosperity reserved for himself. Amanda was under no illusions when it came to whose fault it was that Spock’s betrothal went so far off track. She’d seen T’Pring with Stonn long before Stonn’s betrothed had that ‘accident.’

“Well, we’re all ready to go then?” Jim said, still securing the pansies inside his flannel shirt’s breast pocket. It was an attractive blue and white plaid that complimented his eyes. With the addition of yellow flowers his bright complexion drew the eye well.

They piled into the hovercar and Sarek drove despite both Jim and T’Hira attempting to take the driver’s seat. The fairground was full of brightly colored tents, each one displaying some locally produced craft or product. A collection of greenhouses next to the fairground housed various plants laden with fruit and vegetables, a large sign advertising that visitors could pick a basket themselves. Beyond the tents, Amanda could just barely see and hear a merry-go-round spinning and tooting its organ music. These sorts of open, no-charge markets had just begun when Amanda was born, but more and more humanity was moving away from the use of money altogether. Each member of the community provided what they were skilled at making, and families could simply take what they needed, within reason, or make special requests of the craftspeople. A commission might be taken because the idea is intriguing or challenging, or else something might be asked in exchange. Luxury credits were used as a stand-in for when someone didn’t have a suitable trade, but even that was becoming less common than not taking payment at all. Jim agreeing to a date in exchange for a favor was not an uncommon sort of request for an unattached young man like himself.

Amanda and T’Pau wanted to see the greenhouses while T’Hira and Tivin lead the way to the games and amusements. Rivan brought up the rear of that group, making sure the children didn’t get distracted along the way. Sarek linked his arm with Amanda, giddy with the pleasure of being able to hold her arm with his in public and suffer no strange looks in the process. Spock wavered between the two groups until Jim followed T’Pau, then he followed after them into the first greenhouse.

It was sweltering inside the large greenhouses. Amanda was used to heat after living so long on Vulcan, but the humidity made the air thick in a way Vulcan’s never was. On Vulcan’s coasts, the thinner atmosphere meant that the air could only get so stifling. Even T’Pau paused after walking through the layers of clear strips that held the warm wet air in the building to take a few measured breaths and adjust. Jim helpfully pointed out the baskets, and Amanda took the lead to suggest what meals could be made from the produce. The first greenhouse was laid out with tables full of hydroponic plants, but the second and third were simply large fields planted with a variety of vegetables in a controlled environment. The third was far less humid than the first two, which was a relief. Jim knew all the plants better than she did, correcting her on mis-identifying some of the spices, but he knew next to nothing about cooking and even less about cooking vegetarian. The poor man had used synthesizers almost exclusively his whole life, loading in the ingredients according to a program and eating whatever the machine spit out. He was quite good at using it, but without it he could barely boil an egg. It was better than Sarek could manage on his own, but that wasn’t saying much.

“Asparagus always looks like someone pulling a prank when you see it growing,” Jim said, picking up a sharp bladed fork to harvest some of the stalks.

“This is how it grows naturally?” Sarek asked, poking one of the spears.

“I always found pineapples to be more perplexing, myself,” Amanda said. She picked up a fork of her own and tried to copy Jim’s technique. She’d never grown asparagus, it had been grown in hydroponics on an industrial scale on Vulcan for longer than she’d been alive and become the main ingredient of a common ‘Terran’ side dish that was invented on Vulcan much the same way North Americans ate fortune cookies with supposedly ‘Chinese’ food. The individual stalks shooting up from the ground like fingers were odd looking, though the cylindrical columns covered in spears had been just as hilarious to look at when she took a tour of the farm years ago. Jim cut them below ground level, but never came up with any roots. Amanda’s cuts were less clean. “A fruit on a waist-high pole, sticking up out of a bush that doesn’t seem to have enough substance to hold it up.”

“Pineapple wants you to eat it,” Jim answered. “It became a symbol for hospitality for a reason.”

“You don’t even have to bend over far to pick it,” she joked. “It’s just handing you some fruit assuming you’ve arrived hungry.”

“That does not sound much like an apple tree,” T’Pau said, examining the celery growing on the other side of the walkway.

“Pineapples grow in tropical regions of the planet, and are bromeliads unrelated to the family Rosaceae, which includes apple trees and roses. The fruit has a firm, yellow flesh under a rough segmented skin. It is acidic enough to cause damage to the human mouth if eaten in excess,” Spock said. He wasn’t looking at anything in particular, but Amanda had caught him glancing at Jim’s rear enough to know her son wasn’t as disinterested in all the bending over they were doing as he seemed. Oblivious boy, some days she thought she should just say something, but Sarek was right. Amanda shouldn’t push him while he was still grieving, no matter how much she wanted to just push him at Jim and tell them to kiss already. After a moment Spock added, “I have found that Vulcans are not immune to the acidic nature of the fruit. I had to have my teeth re-sealed after a semester of drinking the juice as a daily midmorning snack. It is quite delicious cooked, and the acidity of the fruit is reduced by most recipes that include it.”

“Pineapple upside-down cake,” Jim said wistfully. “Also, on pizza, for me. Your loss that you all hate Italian food.”

“Not all Italian food. It is just they use so much coriander in the Italian places in San Fransisco,” Amanda said absently, counting the stalks Jim added to her basket to be sure there was enough to feed the whole house tomorrow. “I’ve got the gene that makes it taste like soap.”

“Ha! There’s one recessive trait I don’t have,” Jim laughed. Their baskets were getting full, and Jim’s shirt was starting to show how much he was sweating. His basket was mostly broccoli and peas. The peas from his own farm would be ready in another two weeks or so, but that harvest would mostly go to a regional distributor with some held back for seed. The greenhouses served the local community first.

“Pretty much all Vulcans hate coriander, too, I think. It is unbearably strong to everyone I’ve had cause to ask,” Amanda said, slightly distracted by estimating the number of meals they could make out of what they already had.

“That is the one that is also called cilantro, correct?” Sarek asked.

“Affirmative,” Spock answered.

“A detestable herb,” Sarek spat. “Unfit dressing for any plate.” Amanda smiled at them, talking to each other so easily.

“Well, this is about enough for the week, don’t you think?” she asked her husband. His basket was mostly berries and tomatoes, picked while lamenting that they were quite different from the varieties he was used to from Amanda’s greenhouse.

“It should be adequate for our needs,” T’Pau said, settling the freshly picked celery in with hydroponic radishes and a collection of spring greens she’d collected. Spock had the carrots and onions, which they were able to take from a box near the entrance to this greenhouse rather than having to dig them up.

“We can get it packed in the trunk and it should be fine for the day,” Sarek added. He linked his arm with Amanda’s again. “There is a chiller setting for it to keep everything fresh.”

“Fancy,” Jim quipped. “Here I thought we’d have to make a run back to the house. If it is all the same to you, I’ll probably split off in a bit and head to where the barbecue fire pits are.”

“There are fire pits?” T’Pau asked.

“Uh, for roasting meat. Not that the vegetarian food hasn’t been great, but it’s been a long while since I sat down to some ribs. There’s a bit of a social aspect to cooking it, and a contest for who makes the best sauce.”

“You need to be careful you don’t make yourself sick, Jim,” Amanda warned him.

“Thanks for the concern, but I’ve been eating beef my whole life just fine, ma’am.” If Jim didn’t think she could hear the sarcasm under his polite response he hadn’t been paying attention to her at all.

“When you eat a vegetarian diet for an extended time, it affects your digestion. Re-introducing meat into your diet can cause serious problems,” Amanda chided. “You’re still recovering, after all, you need to be gentle with yourself.”

“With all due respect, I know that. I’m not going to get into the hot dog eating contest or anything. Mostly I just want a taste of whatever sauce wins the contest. Heck, the sauce is mostly spices, vinegar, and tomato; I might be able to get a jar for you to try if I can find one that hasn’t touched any meat.” Their group took three steps down the path before Amanda remembered that Jim had survived the famine on Tarsus IV, and wished she hadn’t said a word about reintroducing food groups into his diet. Of course he knew to pace himself.

That boy had more trauma in his past than anyone deserved. Even if Spock balked at the idea of turning their platonic relationship into a romantic one, and she expected him to need to think about it before he accepted T’Pau’s claim that they were t’hy’la at the very least, she was keeping Jim. She had adopted before, and if Winona Kirk showed up to complain Amanda had a laundry list of reasons why she could go kick sand. Jim was theirs now, and that was all there was to it.

Do not worry, Amanda, Spock is making up for your compassion running ahead of your reason. Amanda felt Sarek’s thought through their bond as he took her hand in his, the skin-to-skin touch hidden by his voluminous sleeves. She glanced carefully back and saw that Spock was talking quietly to Jim, inquiring about if a hot dog was actually made from a canine just to make Jim chuckle. Amanda had used the truth about hot dogs to help Michael leave behind a favorite food in her transition to a vegetarian diet, and Amanda doubted Spock would have forgotten any of the lesson he walked into that day. If his little eyes had opened any wider, they would have popped out of their sockets.

Do they even realize how much they flirt with each other? Amanda thought back. Jim was looking starry-eyed up at Spock, their steps in time with one another despite the difference in the length of their legs. Spock had likewise given Jim his full attention, his eyes bright as he teased Jim by asking ridiculous questions that Jim couldn’t quite be sure weren’t genuine. Their shoulders bumped regularly, something no Vulcan would allow from a mere acquaintance. Jim’s gestures sometimes brushed Spock’s arm, and Spock’s gestures almost always did.

As far as I can tell, no. Sarek replied. Spock is still troubled by his personal losses and has only barely begun to process the loss we all share. Jim does not know our ways well enough to think of Spock’s actions as more than platonic.

Well, I did say I would be a bad stereotype today, I just expected it to be on purpose. Amanda answered with a huff. I’ll just have to make sure I fix that.

What are you scheming? Sarek cuddled her arm a little tighter as they walked. He wasn’t fully recovered from his grief either, and Amanda missed the home she had made on Vulcan as well. Her loss was less intense, she still had all her family back in Seattle even if her visit with them right after they landed on Earth reminded her of why she didn’t mind so much moving to another planet, but after three and a half decades Vulcan had truly become her home.

Oh, just that Jim’s been coming to me with questions about Vulcan culture regularly. I can just be a bit more proactive in teaching him a few things. Just a word here or there, to open his eyes a little. Amanda looked at Sarek with a mischievous little smile.

And there are those who believe I am the only manipulative politician in the family. Sarek thought fondly.

Chapter Text

Once they put away the groceries from the greenhouses, they still had an hour or so before noon to browse the market stalls. There were a lot of people from out of town. While a few did a double take at the Vulcans in their robes, there were enough visitors from all over thanks to the shipyard that they weren’t completely out of place. Quite a few species were found in the crowd, browsing the “traditional human wares.” Most would be tourists looking to pick up an authentic souvenir. Spock asked a woman weaving baskets where he could find wool clothing and dashed off in the indicated direction, which Jim thought was odd. It was only going to get warmer during their stay, though perhaps the search for a colony planet was going worse than Sarek let on. It was harder to read the older man than Rivan or Spock. T’Pau was also an enigma in the beginning, but Jim caught on that it was far better to follow her line of sight to figure out her moods. If she gave you all her attention either she was upset by something, or you were saying something she found very interesting. If she continued on with whatever crafts she was doing or otherwise split her attention she was content and relaxed.

He checked in on the kids, Rivan, and T’Hira before lunch while the others shopped since there wasn’t anything he needed from the market. T’Hira was easy to understand, even if Jim felt he knew her the least out of all the adults. If she was working or caring for the kids she was happy, every other activity was an irritating chore she efficiently worked through so she could get back to her preferred activities. He found the husband and wife pair observing the Vulcan kids from a distance, their post near a candy apple stand let them watch as the younger kids rode the smaller rides and the older kids tried to win prizes from the skill games. Jim watched as the little ones got off the merry-go-round and walked together in an orderly line to wait for their turn in the bouncy castle. He got the impression this was at least their second time going through the few amusements, given that Rivan had relaxed enough to bounce the baby in his arms rather than keeping it bundled up. The kids didn’t smile or shout, but Jim could still tell they were having a great time. They were constantly chattering amongst themselves with enthusiasm, eyes bright and steps light. It was good to see them acting like kids instead of moping about thinking about all they lost.

Sure that the rest of the group was doing fine, Jim followed the smell of roasting meats to see the morning’s sauce contest wrap up and get his preferred meal of ribs and fried potato wedges. When he asked, he found that a lot of the sauces contained Worcestershire, which he had no idea was a fermented fish sauce before today, but there were a few that used soy sauce and mustard instead. All the best ones used apple cider vinegar, as usual. He picked up two small bottles from the same stand he got his ribs from. It was good that honey was one of those “the animal has clearly consented” products, or they wouldn’t have been able to eat any of the top five sauces. Amanda had actually laughed hard enough at him when he asked about it to attract an audience.

Apparently T’Pau herself had made the argument in favor of Earth honey being considered acceptable by Vulcan standards. She, the Zefram Cochrane, and Spock’s-great-grandpa Solkar had gone on a walk through the woods in 2063 to explore the local flora and fauna after first contact. Jim had needed time to absorb the premise of them taking a relaxing day in the woods after a lot of diplomatic work. He was given none as T’Pau went on to explain, as animatedly as she had ever explained anything, that Solkar had gone off the path and promptly stepped in a beehive. The angry insects chased the three of them down a hill until Cochrane got them to jump into a muddy creek to hide the scent of the honey all over Solkar’s boot.

When T’Pau later saw the same creatures allowing humans to harvest honey from human-built hives calmly, without any protection against the stings, it was clear to her that the insects were both capable of and willing to express their displeasure at poor treatment if the farmers were discourteous to the bugs. The keeper assured her that humanely kept bees could easily fly off if the provided home was in any way inadequate. Furthermore, honey was processed nectar and pollen from flowers that was often made in excess and stored outside the animal in a comb that was harvested without the need to cause physical harm to the insects. It was a convincing argument. Specially graded honey that fit their standards for humane treatment of animals had been exported to Vulcan as a luxury condiment regularly since, and that economic incentive meant less ethical methods of keeping bees were suddenly much less attractive. The standard also affected a few other industries on Earth, most notably for wool and dairy. T’Pau was very pleased to say that she’d “enforced Vulcan ethical standards on Human farmers until it became the only acceptable method of producing their products.”

No wonder Amanda had laughed at his question, and according to her he’d only just missed being able to meet Solkar. The old man had died of old age only a few years ago, just after Spock joined Starfleet. He’d loved having Amanda in the family and she had a lot of wholesome domestic stories about him as an involved but slightly senile grandfather figure who spent most of his twilight years painting pictures of fictional and geometric landscapes.

Jim took his time at the sink in the fairground bathroom after his lunch. Half a rack of spareribs was heavenly after so long without tasting meat, and Vulcan ideas of propriety meant very few finger foods were acceptable either. He’d gotten his hands covered in savory sauce that needed more than just a napkin to clean up completely. His face was less of a mess, but he still splashed it clean despite being fairly sure the napkin got it all. No sense in disturbing his house guests, even if the adults said they didn’t mind what he ate so long as they weren’t expected to partake.

The market was already starting to pack up and dismantle tents when Jim found Spock again. He was looking at a table of low-quality musical instruments and had a bulky tote bag hanging from his elbow. The proprietor was looking at the black flowers on the front of Spock’s black robe with obvious sympathy.

“Thinking of picking something up for the kids to learn?” Jim asked as he stepped up beside Spock.

“I would not know how to properly instruct them in how to play these,” Spock said. The proprietor started shuffling around under the table.

“I have some instructional videos loaded onto chips,” the old man said. “It’s all nursery rhymes and the basics. Ode to Joy, Twinkle Star, Hot Cross Buns, and the like. A simplified version of the Federation Anthem is the hardest one, and even if they can’t read the sheet music, they should be able to follow along watching the instructor’s fingers.”

“That is not necessary. We should try to keep the number of possessions we have small until the new colony world is ready, and they have enough lessons without adding a new instrument,” Spock said, voice flat.

“You don’t have anything like a little harp, do you?” Jim asked. “Or is it all violins and recorders?”

“Sorry, son, just what you see. You play the harp I take it?” The question was directed back at Spock.

“I play the Vulcan lyre, which could be described as a small, electrified harp,” Spock said robotically.

“Those would be in short supply, I imagine,” the old man said thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what. I make the violins myself; the recorders are a friend of mine’s trade. It would take me a good long time to get it all figured out, and I’m not a master craftsman so it would be learner’s grade at best, but if there’s enough images or a diagram I could take a crack at it. I own the woodworking shop in town, drop by any time if you can find the specs.”

“We’ll consider it,” Jim said, giving Spock a gentle push. Once they got moving Jim murmured quietly. “You’re looking a little dazed, Commander. Something happen?”

“I am adequate,” Spock replied. “I found a shawl that I believe T’Pau will make good use of, and a few other things.”

“Alright, I’m going to ask a question that might be stupid. Sarek said Vulcans can work in temperatures as low as ten Celsius all day and be fine, and I set the thermostat at 23 because I figure Federation Standard ship temperature has been argued to death and can’t be too offensive. He kept giving me ranges when I asked with no clarification, so I need to know: Are you all cold in the house at night?” Jim asked. When Spock didn’t answer Jim continued. “Nobody is complaining, but you’re picking up wool clothes in May and it seems to me that everybody spends a couple hours in front of the fireplace every day. It really isn’t rude to turn up the heat a bit if you want the house warmer than it is.”

“Deserts get quite cold at night, and hot during the day. My father gave you temperature ranges because Vulcans have adapted to that daily change in temperature. The cold at night is not a problem, but we are best suited to a large daily fluctuation rather than a constant,” Spock said, slowing to a stop so he could turn and speak to Jim properly. “We bask in the fire’s heat instead of sitting in the sun to get the temperature differential we need, and that is acceptable for most of us.” Jim hummed and tried to read between the lines.

“But T’Pau is old, fondly remembers her youth in the 21st century old, and I’m guessing she needs a little more heat the same way a lot of old humans do,” Jim said, running a hand through his hair. Spock nodded. “Is this some kind of taboo?”

“Age brings wisdom and living long is a privilege not all can enjoy, but eventually the body begins to fail no matter how well one cares for themselves. She would not want to speak of such things, less so with our circumstances, but I have observed that she seems more affected by the cold than the rest of us,” Spock said quietly, not quite meeting Jim’s eyes. That explained why Spock seemed so down. He’d lost enough, and now time had come threatening to take even more from him.

“Alright then, I’m explicitly telling you to mess with the thermostat. I can open a window in my room or go tinker in the basement if it’s too hot for me during the day, and the master bedroom has its own zone anyway. It isn’t as internally insulated as an apartment building or starship would be, but more heat, especially if it is just during the day, is fine. Just don’t mess with the library’s system, it’s set the way it is to preserve what’s in there. Going back to topics that someone else has already argued into the dust so we don’t have to: ask your parents to help set the program,” Jim said with a wave. “I’m sure they’ve already worked out how many hours of which temperatures work as a compromise between human and Vulcan biology, and if I get too uncomfortable, I will complain.”

“I will do so,” Spock said, still tightly controlled. They made it back to the hovercar to stow the bag and found Amanda, Sarek, and T’Pau were there stowing their own haul.

“There you boys are! Having fun?” she asked.

“I’ve got some vegetarian-safe honey barbecue sauce that I’m told goes just as well on eggplant and mushrooms as it did on what I ate,” Jim said with a smile, handing off the bottles for her inspection. “They rattled off a recipe about five times faster than I could follow that sounded like the ingredients for ratatouille but grilled with this sauce on it.”

“That sounds lovely, Jim,” Amanda said, reading over the handwritten label.

“This is for you,” Spock said, pulling a thick dark purple shawl out of his bag for T’Pau. She took it and examined it carefully. Jim was almost sure he missed something telepathic going on among the family, and everyone seemed happier after she put it on.

“Well, the market is just about packed up. The May Pole dance should start soon, and then the bands will start playing as soon as the main dance floor is rolled out where the market was. I think the first set is mostly line dancing,” Jim babbled.

“I haven’t been line dancing in, oh I think it was before Spock was born,” Amanda said to Jim, then turned to her husband. “You’ll like it, the song calls out the dance moves and everyone does them together.”

“In old English?” Sarek asked.

“In plain English, right Jim?” Amanda corrected.

“Verily, it shall not be in the language of the dark age, but in the modern language of the land as t’was before the construction of the new tongue.” Amanda giggled and Sarek snatched up her arm again. Those two were almost always touching and it broke every rule about their culture Jim knew. Then again, Starfleet cultural sensitivity classes weren’t generally talking about how to treat your lover, so Jim wasn’t sure where they fell on the scale for PDA. Spock touched Jim a lot, but usually only when Jim’s voice was giving out so there was a practical and perfunctory aspect to it that Amanda and Sarek’s interaction lacked.

“I have not forgotten the defective Universal translator you provided me with, which made my grammar choices sound like I was both a thousand years old and incapable of using the correct tense,” T’Pau said, looking directly at Amanda.

“When I gave it to Soren it was working perfectly,” Amanda said, and Jim would have been convinced if Sarek didn’t huff quietly in dissent. He went to say something but cut himself off when a blast of horns startled the family.

“The May Pole!” Jim exclaimed and started leading the way.

T’Hir, Rivan, and the kids had picked a great spot to watch from and a combination of xenophobia and politeness left them enough personal space that the rest of the group could slot in without jostling anyone. The dancers were already in motion when they got there, and Rivan relayed a Vulcan translation of the short speech that started off the event every year. Each color representing a place in the community, each group of dancers moving based on their stage in life, all together weaving a beautiful pattern that none of them could achieve without all the rest. It was a more complicated dance than some communities had, and Jim had taken part a few times as a kid. For any one dancer they just had to remember a simple pattern of passing on the right or left and spinning around each other if both tried to go to the same side, but with the circles moving in opposing directions in four different patterns it looked very complicated from the outside. The elders had it the easiest, moving at half the pace of the other dancers. The adults helped the kids tie off the ribbons in a riot of bows when they got so bunched up that they couldn’t dance anymore, covering the bottom of the pole with all sorts of different knots from highly decorative rosettes to simple, practical fastenings.

The market was gone, but the food stalls had either stayed or changed over from the smaller morning portions to fuller meals. It was crowded with everyone looking for lunch while waiting for the music to get set up, and one of the kids almost got a frozen custard before Jim jumped in to ask about egg allergies. Not that the kid was technically allergic, but she probably would puke if she found out she’d eaten egg, so it was all the same in Jim’s book. A round of vegan orange-vanilla swirl later, Jim got to watch some of the little ones fight through their body’s version of brain freezes. Holding their collar bone or chest instead of their head, the poor kids could only mournfully parrot Amanda’s warnings that eating frozen food too quickly will have consequences until it passed.

There were plenty of grilled or fried vegetables, soups, and treats that were Vulcan-safe, though not all of those were Jim-safe. He was glad he’d eaten separately at the sauce contest since it made a great excuse for turning down samples of foods that would have him reaching for his epi-pen. He slipped close to where Amanda and Sarek were eating veggie kabobs before he got distracted from that thought.

“Hey Amanda? In case I forget to bring it up later, I’m very allergic to beets so if somebody got some while we were split up just keep them out of the synthesizer. It’s a real pain to flush it out when they get in there,” Jim said. “I know there was a list in the kitchen at some point, but I haven’t seen it in a while and do I see Spock and T’Hir going at that red soup right now. I wouldn’t expect everyone to memorize the whole list.”

“Rivan and I both have a copy of it for when the grocery orders get done, so don’t worry,” Amanda said with a smile. “Now that I’m thinking of it, Spock put an ingredient filter on the synthesizer when we were getting settled in. It blocks it from taking certain things, like your list of allergies, eggs, bacon, and some other fatty and sticky cross-contaminating items that are common allergens for Vulcans. That way when someone visits to adopt or get engaged, we can be sure it’s safe for everyone.”

“Oh, he didn’t say. That’s one less thing to worry about,” Jim said brightly, taking his time with his own frozen treat. Since he could eat eggs, he’d gotten a toffee ice cream. He didn’t want to get too close to the table where Spock was sitting. Not because his house mates were messy enough that he thought they would get beet soup in his ice cream, but he’d gotten sick from beets enough times the smell of them bothered him. Bones was always complaining about how Jim never ate salads, but so many salads were covered in things Jim couldn’t eat and lots of places would just pick out of a big pre-made bowl if you asked to hold a standard ingredient. Almonds and cherries were also common ‘we were sure we picked it all out’ items. Jim waited for Spock to clear his space and remove the odd gloves Vulcans used to eat dipped things, probably leaving his place at the picnic table cleaner than when he found it, before Jim went up to him.

“Thanks for programming my allergies into the synthesizer,” Jim said as he put his own disposable dish into the compostable bin. “I was a little worried someone will bring something home from the market that will mess me up, but your mother said you’d set it so the synthesizer can’t accept a bunch of things.”

“It was the logical thing to do.”

“I still appreciate it. You ready to dance? I think Amanda is going to try and put herself on one end of the group and I’ll be on the other, so we can be examples of what the moves are for the line dancing,” Jim said, bumping his elbow into Spock’s encouragingly. Spock nodded and they helped round up the kids. Tivin was still sampling different foods, deep in conversation with one of the local men about how he made the highly decorated sign for his stand. Tivin was old enough to be on his own for a time, and T’Hira said she’d come check on him after an hour.

As the group moved toward the stage, a high shrill screech of “Jimmy” had Jim playing deaf. Unfortunately, everyone had stopped in front of Jim and the smallest kids had covered their ears in protest of the shrill shout.

“Keep walking,” he urged, but it was too late as the screecher caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

 “Jimmy, I heard your voice is all better now. It really wasn’t fair that we couldn’t have a proper date before,” Lilly rambled on without stopping for a breath. “It’s so hard to keep up conversation when only one person is talking, isn’t it? Well, now that you’re all better we really should…”

“Oh, hello,” Amanda cut into the monologue before it could gain a head of steam, stepping up in Lilly’s personal space with a pleasant smile on her face. “Who is this, Jim?”

“She’s Lilly Harper,” Jim said, pulling away from the grip on his arm. “Lilly, this is Dr. Greyson. The Harpers run the smaller of the two local plumbing and HVAC services in the area.”

“Smaller? It’s not like anyone at that shop over by the shipyard gives us locals the time of day. Lazy layabouts. All they know how to do is patch up those fly-by-night apartments. I’d be surprised if they went more than half a click in any direction from their office.”

“There are more people housed in the apartments next to the shipyard than in the rest of the town, if I am not mistaken,” Spock said, the ghost of a frown creasing his forehead.

“This is a private conversation,” Lilly said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “You strangers can go back to your rentals and leave the people who live here in peace.”

“You know, Jim, Lilly here is just exactly as you described her,” Amanda said, a politician’s smile on her face.

“Has Jim been talking about me?” she asked sweetly.

“Amanda and her family have been living with me, and she’s been helping out running the house while I’ve been busy with other things,” Jim said.

“Well, most of my time is taken up with all the engagements. It’s a regular matchmaker’s office we have set up, all those people coming through looking for someone,” Amanda said thoughtfully. “Why just a week and a half ago we had seven people come by in a day, with their profiles all written up for consideration.”

“Really? I thought Jim was just fixing up the house so some orphans had somewhere to stay. He didn’t say he had a matchmaker for an aunt, not that I’ve met much of Winona’s family.”

“Jim’s a friend of my son’s, though I do consider him family,” Amanda’s shark-like smile faded to something soft as she turned to Jim. “Don’t you worry, Jim, I’ve not forgotten that you aren’t attached either. I’ve got my eye out for you.”

“Oh, well, I’m, that is…,” Jim sputtered, taken aback by the absolutely disastrous implication. Amanda said she’d help keep these harpies away from him, not encourage them!

“I know, you’ve been hurt before, and you’re very busy finishing your last semester at the Academy, but this is my specialty, dear.” Amanda hooked her arm into Jim’s and spoke gently as she turned Jim away from Lilly. “You’ve got very specific requirements, but who doesn’t? There are four stellar applications I’ve been holding on to for when you’d finished with your thesis defense. It would be simply unfair to split your attention at such a high-stress time. None of them are interested in becoming parents in the next five years, would accept that your career would need most of your focus in the short to mid-term, all of them with shared interests in history and astronomy or engineering of some kind.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jim managed to say as he let himself be steered away. Lilly wouldn’t see anything of herself in those traits, so maybe Amanda did know what she was doing.

“Applications?” Lilly said. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I suppose it would work a bit differently here. Back in Seattle, the Jewish community often sets up dates,” Amanda said, but then turned and started walking as if she was only speaking to Jim now, pulling him toward the dance floor. Sarek came up on Jim’s other side. “You are Jewish by blood, even if you have been raised otherwise. It is the mother that counts, and you are a live and let live sort that would be good for a mixed-tradition household even if you decide not to convert. We’re a minority, so we have to work to keep our traditions going and that includes setting up our children with similarly minded people who will pass on our ways, after all. One summer, I traveled all over to meet several people my parents thought would be good matches according to their profiles. I ended up meeting Sarek at the transport station, of course, but even so, those meetings were very important for my own self-discovery. After meeting them, I knew what I wanted and noticed right away when I’d found it.”

“I am ever grateful that you did, ashaya,” Sarek said, then made a sharp gesture that indicated he was now speaking to the group as a whole. “She arranged for us to cross paths, when originally the itinerary would have prevented any second meeting. I was very pleased to see her again, as I had neglected to get her contact information the first time in the excitement. My first wife had announced she would be pursuing Kolinar the previous year, and I was scheduled to begin my own search for a new partner upon my return to Vulcan. I was fortunate to return with her, instead.”

The expectant look Amanda gave Jim made it clear she wanted his opinion about arranged dating, and Jim was almost sure she was serious and not bluffing about having some applications for him to look at, though if the applicants were Vulcan or Jewish he couldn’t guess. Back on Enterprise, the elders had given him a very thorough interview before accepting that he wasn’t in any way, shape, or form trying to adopt any of the Vulcan kids on purpose. That suggested that the possibility of letting him do it, if he wanted to, was not entirely off the table. Besides that, if anyone was going to suggest a human as a potential mate for a Vulcan it would be the two people flanking him.

“I think I’d like that. Either one, I mean, since I don’t know much more about being Jewish than I do being Vulcan, but after my thesis defense. My voice still gives out if I talk too much and I’ll need to be focused when I fly back to San Fran for it,” Jim said.

“A logical stipulation we anticipated, given that you often show affection through long and varied trivia-based discussions. Why won’t you be defending your thesis remotely?” Sarek asked. Jim wasn’t sure how to react to Sarek saying he babbled at people he liked as casually and without judgment as if he was commenting on Jim’s favorite color. It made him feel rather exposed, partly because it was the damned truth. One late night over beers Bones had lamented having a best friend who info dumped as a love language, but then when Jim shut up Leonard made it clear he didn’t mind so long as Jim kept it interesting and asked about what the shipyard foreman thought when he’d seen the unapproved improvements. When exactly had Amanda and Sarek gotten to know him so well, anyway?

“I do debate better in person, it’s easier to read the reactions and tailor my responses to what they really want to know rather than just what they asked without over-explaining. My Engineering thesis wasn’t easy, but I was in a room full of enthusiasts for the same topic I’d been living and breathing for the last six months, so the hard part was not getting too far afield on a tangent,” Jim said with a shrug.

“Excuse me Mr. Kirk,” one of the children spoke up, his young voice still clearly accented from what Sarek told him was the island of Xir‘tan. “Is a thesis defense part of Starfleet combat training?”

“No,” Jim answered with a bit of a chuckle, “though it can feel like going into combat. I’m getting a master’s degree in history, and to do that I had to write up a type of research document called a thesis. I must defend my conclusions in a discussion with a panel of experts and demonstrate that I understand the subject matter completely in order to finish my degree.”

“I thought you were an engineer?” Lilly spoke up. Jim had almost forgotten about her. T’Hira and T’Pau were behind him and he was tempted to glance back and see what sort of maneuvering was going on, but he didn’t want to encourage Lilly.

“There is… There was a similar procedure in place at the VSA, though only for what would be the equivalent of a doctoral degree,” Spock said, wincing fractionally at his false start. He then rattled off a translation of Jim’s explanation in Vulcanshu, emphasizing the relevant words. “There is a similar oral examination for doctoral degrees that is more strenuous than the master’s degree in the human education system. It both prevents any sort of cheating on such a critical test and aids in the sharing of knowledge, since the thesis papers are generally published. More prestigious institutions, such as Starfleet Academy, include a period of peer review as part of the process. I believe Jim’s paper has completed the peer review stage and is only waiting for the defense.”

“Yeah, I’ve been writing it for most of the last year, on and off, and it was sent for peer review at the end of last semester. I had to go back and improve it after the peer review, submit my final version for defense, and then wait for a panel of experts to be assembled to debate me.” There was a huff from behind him, and a moment later Amanda giggled a little.

“Well, that’s her gone, and hopefully to tell the rest that I’m the one they need to talk to if they want to put their name in,” Amanda said.

“An overly complicated method, to have some matches arranged when others are not, and then the news of a possible arrangement spread by rumor. Is there no place to publish such things?” T’Pau asked.

“We could put it in the local news feed, if Jim wants to open the field further,” Amanda said.

“I think I’m good for now. Depending on how offended Lilly chooses to be, either the whole county will know by tomorrow or not a single soul will hear of it as long as she lives,” Jim answered. “I think I should say thanks, but there are also about fifty or sixty questions I need to ask you later about those applications you have.”

“You can come to me any time, Jim, I did mean it when I said you were a part of the family now.”

“Did Lady Amanda adopt Mr. Kirk?” one of the littlest kids asked in Vulcanshu.

“I think so,” T’Hira answered. “I don’t think adult humans have fancy ceremonies for that. They just decide.”

“Then how does that work?” the boy with the accent asked.

“You have just seen it,” Sarek said authoritatively. “A public declaration, in full view of the entire community, and the news is expected to spread on its own momentum. If it does not, there is publication in an official location that can be used. However, given James’ reputation both locally and beyond, that should be unnecessary.” Oh, that was a depressing thought. The second the media got their teeth into this it would be chaos.

“If this is on the evening holos…,” Jim started to say, a note of warning in his voice.

“Then I’ll be answering the house comm and publishing an official notice to funnel inquires to the correct location, while you can be busy with whatever you need to do for your health, the farm, and your thesis,” Amanda said with finality.

Chapter Text

On the whole, Spock enjoyed the May Day festival. It was productive in the morning, with the market and greenhouses showing off what the community had to offer. As a social experience focused on fertility, it was pleasant rather than being overbearing or too forward, with set expectations and the floral language in use to avoid awkward or unwelcome interactions. Later in the day, the music was not painfully loud, but instead many speakers with reasonable volume were cleverly hidden throughout the fairgrounds. The dance floor was large enough to accommodate the people in attendance without being squeezed together as he had experienced at other dance parties of Earth. Even when the carnival style atmosphere gave way to a more romantic tone and the last of the exhausted human children were shuffled off to bed around sunset, there were still many elders and family groups around the fairgrounds.

T’Pau had Tivin fetch her knitting supplies after a round of line dancing, and then she sat on a bench near other knitting women for most of the afternoon and evening. The dancing was enjoyable, if different from what he was used to, and the almost-standard language of the instructions the singer called out was interesting. Since he stood next to Jim in the line, he was sometimes Jim’s partner for paired moves, like spinning around one another, but the initial dances didn’t require any physical contact. While the Vulcan children did not tire as quickly as their human equivalents, they grew bored once the childish games were put away and the dancing changed. They left soon after the Green Man came by to speak to Jim.

Spock was not prepared for the way this person would look when he appeared. He had seen other human spiritual leaders and expected something similar to the flowing garments they wore, but instead the man was naked from the waist up. When Spock first saw the man on stage, he thought he was non-human and asked Jim if he knew where the antlered man came from. Jim explained quietly so the illusion would not be broken for the kids, that the antlers were attached to a wig that blended into the human’s actual beard to hide a strap that held it firm. This was made from the shed antlers of a deer. The hooved feet were carved platform cloven boots that supported the foot in a pointed position and gave a significant amount of height, giving the impression of a deer or horse leg. Fur covered leggings and quite a bit of makeup completed the illusion of a naked half-animal half-human called a faun or satyr, a costume he only wore for certain holidays. There was also a Mother Earth playing a harp, her hair and dress so covered in flowers and leaves that nothing inorganic could be seen. Jim assured him that their usual attire was much more mundane. Mother was quite excited by the pan-flute playing Green Man, mentioning something called Fantasia that she saw in an archive. Jim was also familiar with the animation, and they talked about Earth’s mythical creatures over the evening meal.

This was how the pagan spiritual leader found Jim, discussing how these mythical creatures were characterized over the centuries. The Green Man, Mr. Sanderson, spoke politely to Jim and Mother, and then welcomed the Vulcan guests to the community once he realized they were all together. Spock detected none of the quiet hostility that some of the other locals displayed from the smiling, costumed man. While from the stage the illusion was perfect, with closer inspection Spock could see the seams and where the fur line at his waist was unnaturally straight. It was a very impressive costume.

“A little bird told me you are looking to get married again, Jim,” Sanderson said once the pleasantries were finished.

“News travels fast today,” Jim answered awkwardly, looking down at his half-finished meal. His voice was rough, as it tended to get later in the day, but he’d done so much talking today that it was worse than usual. It was usually much later in the night when his voice started to fade, but Jim had been talking and even singing for most of the day.

“My family and Vulcan culture have traditions of arranging meetings and betrothals. Technically Jim is not meeting anyone yet, but plans to begin soon,” Mother added. “I have been helping the elders sort applications, keeping track of a few for people like Jim who aren’t quite ready to begin their search.”

“Interesting. We’re a bit more organic here, but with all the travel Starfleet officers do that might catch on for those who don’t have their feet so firmly rooted in the soil,” Mr. Sanderson said. “Perhaps we can have a chat about how that works someday soon, assuming you are all staying through the summer?”

“We’ll be staying at least until a colony world is chosen, and likely until it is ready for settlement,” Sarek said. “We have established a space for our own religious observances here which many of my people visit for various purposes, and it would be best if that was maintained until a space is ready to replace it.”

“That I understand,” Samson said, his jovial expression melting away to something more solemn. “We had a twister blow down the church a few decades back, pardon if I don’t date myself by saying how many, and part of how I got my position in the community was hosting the services in a grove my family has maintained for generations until the reconstruction was complete. Our faith is a blended tradition, but the weather being what it is in these parts the old ways of worshiping outdoors or skyclad are generally left to certain holidays and private family observances.”

“What does…,” Sarek started to ask.

“I’ll explain later, dear,” Amanda jumped in. Jim laughed, though Spock wasn’t sure why. “The festival has been lovely, Mr. Sanderson. I’ve never visited one of the Pagan Revival communities before. I don’t normally have the time to get away from the cities when I visit Earth.”

“May I ask your profession?” Mr. Sanderson asked, and Spock’s father puffed up.

“Dr. Amanda Greyson is one of the foremost linguists and xeno- anthropologists in the galaxy. She who is my wife is the inventor of and a major contributor to the universal translator, which has become standard on all starship communications consoles.” Mr. Sanderson laughed at Sarek’s pronouncement, rich and deep.

“Obviously, I quite enjoy experiencing different cultures. With an ambassador for a husband I have plenty of opportunities, though not often on my home planet,” Mother added, patting Sarek’s arm in comfort.

“Well, you certainly are correct to be wearing those flowers for enthusiastic devotion,” the priest joked. “James tends to skip the services even when he is in town.”

“We’re mostly hosting engagements and adoptions at the house,” Jim said. “Can’t really miss May Day with that going on.”

“I suppose not. I do hope to see you at services sometime, and the summer solstice is only a month and a half away,” Mr. Sanderson said while taking a greenish flower from his antlers and set it on the table. “A blessing, for all the new beginnings.”

T’Pau took the flower and gave it to Tivin, instructing him to place it in the meditation room when he and the other children left for the evening. T’Hira and Rivan retired with them, planning to spend the evening in front of the fire together. Spock knew that some of the minor repairs needed on the farm had caught T’Hira’s attention and they wanted to present Jim with specific plans for things they could fix as a way to thank him for the hospitality.

Spock and Jim ended up back out on the dance floor after dinner. They hadn’t planned on it, Spock had seen some new booths open and invited Jim to see what would only be sold after dark, but one of the other women who had been harassing Jim was about to intercept him. Jim dodged into the crowd of dancers and Spock followed, taking position as Jim’s dancing partner so the woman would leave. While dancing was more something he’d been required to learn to do in his early childhood before he could begin martial arts training than something he sought out, Spock didn’t mind the exercise. The lively music was pleasant, and dancing was clearly something Jim enjoyed. Going to browse the booths didn’t seem as interesting as dancing, and Jim was respectful of Vulcan customs by not grabbing at Spock’s hands. More than an hour passed before Jim asked for some refreshment.

“I didn’t know you could dance so well,” Jim whispered, his voice rough and gravelly after singing along - quite far out of tune - to several songs.

“All Vulcan children are taught to dance, to help us learn to control our strength,” Spock explained. “Without that instruction, we would accidentally harm one another in childish enthusiasm while at play. It is also a good foundation for martial arts.”

“You prefer the martial arts.”

“I do. I enjoy the physical training and discipline it requires, which is similar to but not the same as dance since it lacks some of the artistic expression and is more of a logical progression of optimal moves. I spend some part of every day practicing and am trained in several forms. The easily accessible competitiveness of sparring is also more attractive to me than the performative nature of dance. However, I also enjoy interesting music, and it has been a very pleasant evening so far.”

“There should be something minty at one of these that would be good for my throat,” Jim whispered as they approached the booths. Spock could already smell the alcohol. There were alcoholic drinks at some of the booths earlier in the day, but they were just large jugs of pre-made fruity drinks meant to be quickly poured over ice or sealed bottles of beer. The booths that opened as the sun set, or at least the ones closest to the dance floor, were run by bartenders who mixed drinks to order. The booth that served various candies including cotton floss earlier in the day was now dedicated to gin, with several cocktails listed on a small sign. He caught Jim’s wrist in his hand as they walked past it.

“You can save your voice, if you want. You have used it extensively today.” Jim looked at him with a bright thankful smile and Spock lowered his shields enough to sense Jim. It had become easier to read him over time, but practice improved all things. Spock could now pick up whole and sometimes complex thoughts instead of simple impressions and single words at a time.

Jim’s mind was bright and full. Joy from the dancing, interest in the festival, and even a bit of pleasure and appreciation for the small act of care Spock offered by being his voice. A question rose through the vibrant thoughts, asking how much mother had taught him about plain English.

“No, I cannot read the larger signs, only the menus or subtitles in Federation Standard.” The English script most of the names of the booths were written in was pretty but meant nothing to him at all, and he was glad many of the menus were in federation standard. He’d made an attempt once to learn the script that many humans still used to sign their names in, but he gave up since it was a niche skill he wouldn’t often need and the letters swirled before his eyes, too similar for him to easily tell apart. It was far worse than learning Vulcan calligraphy. Even if he didn’t have the universal translator program available, many PADDs could offer a simple phonetic representation of the script simply by holding them over the text, so the skill was completely unnecessary in his professional life.

Jim found a booth offering what he wanted: peppermint. The fresh herb was being used in a number of ways at the larger booth, with offerings both alcoholic and non, but this was one of the few booths that did not have a screen showing the menu in Federation Standard. Instead, a framed piece of painted paper turned the English script into a work of art with flourishes of beautifully indecipherable calligraphy that seemed to be written around sprigs of fresh mint. Jim wanted the hot peppermint drink, which seemed sensible. If they were at the farmhouse Spock may have made peppermint tea for the both of them.

“Two hot peppermints, please,” Spock said when it was their turn. A flash of surprise went through Jim. Spock wasn’t as immune to alcohol as a full-blooded Vulcan, and usually did not drink any, but this booth seemed to be much more about flavor than hard spirits. Some of the drinks he saw people walking away with appeared to be fizzy soft drinks or coffees. The brown drinks in thermal cups had crushed mint leaves floating in them. As they moved away from the booth, Spock spotted his parents at one of the booths further from the dance floor.

“Nope,” Jim croaked, a flash of something complicated as he pulled Spock hard to the right. It took quite a bit of focus to resolve Jim’s protest into ‘you can’t want to know that much about your parent’s marriage’ and a vague but startling idea of what the sign suggested that booth was selling. Spock followed Jim to a bench that was a bit out of the way of the main crowds. When he sipped his hot beverage, he realized why Jim had been surprised when he ordered one for both of them. Only slightly alcoholic and quite minty, the base of the drink was a rich, creamy chocolate.

“I should have asked for more detail before ordering,” Spock said.

“I could have said,” Jim whispered. “Your mother said chocolate wasn’t healthy for Vulcans.”

“That isn’t false, but it isn’t entirely accurate. It is an intoxicant, somewhat similar to how humans react to hemp.” Spock took another small sip while Jim processed this statement. The sweet cream and fresh peppermint were a wonderful compliment to the earthy chocolate, creating a very tempting dessert. “I’ve only had it once before, in candy bar form, and made myself ill by consuming it too quickly.”

Spock accepted Jim’s amusement at his expense. Jim had many questions, and after making Jim wait an appropriate amount of time Spock told the tale.

“I was nine and accompanied my mother on a brief trip off-world. I had no knowledge that chocolate would have a negative effect on me at the time. I knew only that it was something mother was rarely able to get which she used sparingly, as was true for other items that aided in maintaining her health while living on a world not her own. I’d always enjoyed the smell, and would sometimes visit bakeries or cafés while living at the Academy just for that reason. I do not like coffee, however, so I would get tea or a pastry at times they were not as busy serving coffees.”

Spock accompanied his thoughts with memories of the smells and the comfort of seeing his mother enjoy a rare treat from her homeworld. He was unsure if Jim could pick up the telepathic shading to his words through the slight contact, but he liked communicating in this way and the only reason he did not do so all the time was the disapproval of people who were now all dead and the common decency of keeping his telepathy to himself around those who had not consented to telepathic contact. The former was no longer worth considering and Jim did not belong to the latter category since he had given clear and enthusiastic consent on many occasions.

“The space station was run primarily by humans and there was a small supply of Terran goods meant as comforts for the residents. The attendant saw me looking at the candy and when I explained I had never had any of the products on display and could not identify most of them, she helped me pick something. After explaining my preferences in general and expressing an interest in the treat my mother enjoyed in particular, she suggested a bar of chocolate with dried fruit. I believe it was cherries or cranberries, but I became so ill so quickly after consuming the entire bar in less than ten minutes that my memory of the particulars is quite poor. I can say I find dried cranberries repulsive, which is strong circumstantial evidence. I was later told by a doctor that the bar was large enough for several servings for a human looking for a treat and nearly a dozen times an inebriating dose for a Vulcan of my size.” Spock was careful to take only small sips as he spoke, and by the end of the story Jim’s cup was empty while his was only a third gone.

“Would you like the remainder of mine?” Spock offered, despite it being unsanitary, since he was aware of Jim’s strong feelings about food waste. He did not really expect Jim to reach for the cup, and the brief embrace of their fingers as the cup passed between them seemed far more intense than it should have been. The lights were also so bright and dazzling, and the music seemed to spin in the air as many minds focused on the shared experience of listening to it.

“Your eyes are blown,” Jim whispered, and Spock was momentarily occupied by calculating exactly how much Jim’s lips overlapped the place on the cup Spock has been sipping from.

“I am half-Human, so alcohol has some effect one me that it wouldn’t for a Vulcan. I am half-Vulcan, so chocolate has some effect on me that it wouldn’t for a Human,” Spock said simply. He sat next to Jim watching the people in the crowd and trading thoughts telepathically for a time. Jim seemed to enjoy the way Spock thought of music in spirals rather than lines, and the quiet exchange was vibrant and amusing to both of them - if occasionally for different reasons.

“I think we should head home,” Jim whispered. Spock wasn’t tired, but his thoughts were getting away from him a little. The dazzling shade of Jim’s eyes was a bit too captivating with his current mental state, as were the velocities of the streamers blowing in the breeze and the way the colored lights played over the dance floor as people moved. A part of Spock wanted to dance some more, but when he stood he swayed a little. Jim’s grounding presence kept him from being endlessly distracted by everything around him as they moved through the crowded areas and before long they were walking along the road.

It was a long walk back to the farmhouse, and they were only halfway there when father pulled the hovercar to the side of the road. Spock kept a firm grip on Jim’s wrist so he wouldn’t betray his drunken state too much in front of T’Pau and his mother. Instead of heading up to bed, Jim pulled Spock around to the back porch to sit on the swing there.

There wasn’t as much to look at compared to the festival, but there were the stars and Jim and philosophy to think about. His hazy, lazy thoughts slid against Jim’s, and they talked in silence about everything and nothing for hours. Then Jim fell asleep on his shoulder, and it seemed natural to pull the human closer at first, to share body heat. When he went to carry Jim to bed the blond woke up.

Sarek was in Spock’s room when he stumbled through the door, seated on Spock’s meditation mat. The shock cleared away some of the haze floating around his mind.

“Come sit with me,” Sarek said, pointing unnecessarily to the other half of the mat.

“Are you disappointed?” The question erupted from him even before he sat down.

“Why would I be?” The question was confusing.

“I am inebriated,” Spock said, spilling the relevant thoughts and memories of chocolate at his father.

“You have not been irresponsible about it,” Sarek said. “I’d prefer you found another means to push beyond your self-imposed limits, but it is still pleasing to see you healing. Kirk remained sober, and you remained with him.”

“The beverage we shared was also alcoholic, but not enough to affect him strongly.” Spock nodded as he spoke, glad that he hadn’t embarrassed himself.

“Shared?” Sarek asked. Spock replied by projecting the moment he handed his cup to Jim. He regretted doing so immediately, as it was a deeply charged moment full of emotional connotations he had not yet examined, and he was not enough in control of himself to filter anything. “Oh,” was all Sarek said for some time. “That is good. It seems you have healed more than I had assumed. Again, I will say you were responsible about how you entertained yourself this evening. You stopped consuming when you felt the effects begin, and restrained yourself to lively communication. I will also ask that you please cease performing more grief than you feel for T’Pring. You are clearly ready to move on, so embrace what is true. What is, is.”

“I still feel so much loss,” Spock said. He feared to look inward at the abyss he knew was within him.

“We all do, but your behavior recently shows that for this specific loss, you have recovered. I believe you may need someone to ask you to move forward, before you can give yourself permission to do so. What is left to grieve is the loss of our home and family. For that, we can only endure as a family and move forward with the support of each other,” Sarek said. Spock wished he was sober, so it would be easier to pick apart the logical words.

“You said I would have time to grieve at my own pace.”

“I have given you the amount of time you asked for and more, and I only came here to say so now because you seem ready to hear it,” Sarek said, his posture and tone as immovable as stone. It was true. T’Pring died seventy-nine days ago and Spock had only asked for a month or two to grieve.

“Who…” Spock took a steadying breath, “are you considering as my intended?” Sarek tilted his head, and Spock could feel curiosity and amusement from his father.

“You don’t want to move on because it will mean you will be bonded.”

“I did not say that,” Spock denied, putting his shields up as best he could, and only then realizing that doing so made it obvious Sarek was correct.

“Is it because you have found someone who interests you?”

“I do not understand why you are perusing this line of inquiry.”

“I think I’ve won a bet with your mother.” The non sequitur threw Spock, and he could only stare at his father in confusion. “I knew you and Kirk would find comfort in one another in time. There is no rush, I only ask you try to set aside your grief and see if it is no longer the same burden it once was.”

Sarek had already left the room and gone up the stairs when Spock finished processing what his father was implying. Spock needed to sleep, so that he would be sober and rested enough to meditate properly in the morning.