If asked, I could state the rate at which blood is exiting my body or the probability that help would arrive before I die from blood loss. I know the length and depth at which the animal had slashed through my torso, as well as the organs that are damaged. Furthermore, I can give a step by step procedure as to the medical treatment I should receive, right down to the which vaccines should be administered and how many hours of surgery I will require.

Yet, despite being lucid and thus far, unaffected by the blood loss, I could only gaze in amazement at the sky.

It is blue. Crisp and clear as if no cloud dared to intrude. The sky is beautiful and familiar and identical to Vulcan's when it still existed. That remembrance brought a pang of pain more resonating than even my current injury. Yet, that bitter reminiscence is outweighed by the comfort that I will at least die under a familiar sky.

My eyes blur as the blood loss begins to take its toll. I have only 5.9 more minutes before I lose consciousness. For a moment, all I can see is the vague image of a blue sky and a shadowy face of a figure leaning over me. Then, I register a fear that is not my own, but rather originating from where our skin touches. Suddenly, a memory begins filling in the details and it is more than the sky that is familiar, but rather, the whole situation.

I have done this all before. A blue sky above me, as I lay sprawled on my back with pain radiating through my body. It is all familiar. Even the unknown figure's fear is familiar, but in this memory, it is no stranger. Rather, the shadows clear and pale skin, black hair, and brown eyes crystalize. It was my brother. What discomfort and tension I had been feeling since my injury seemed to fade into relief and trust. He would not break his promise.

The memory suddenly disappears with a sharp hypo to the neck. Once my sight focuses, it is not to the sky or my brother, but rather to the face of a frantic doctor, who has been yelling obscenities and insults for the last 1.9 minutes, while attempting to repair the damage and call for help. I had tuned him out after 0.3 minutes, not wanting to waste what time I had left. He had disappeared from my line of vision soon after, only to appear now, more panicked than before, though his movements remained methodical and precise.

I remembered my mother telling me as a child how reassurances—no matter how illogical and empty—made humans feel better. Therefore, I said softly, "It will all be okay," then mimicked her soothing smile.

When that did not seem to assuage the doctor, I even went as far as reaching out painfully to reassuringly squeeze whatever my hand came in contact with first—his arm. The emotions transmitted in that touch: shock, fear, regret, anger, guilt, helplessness, desperation, brought me back to the memory of my brother. So even as McCoy yelled back at me in what I suspected was disbelief, I only smiled and replied, "It will all be alright, just call Spock."

I then closed my eyes and started a mild healing trance, content knowing that my brother was on the way.

I was subconsciously aware of the vague sensations of hands urgently grasping my shoulders. Though I wished they would cease to jostle me, it was reassuring to know I was not alone.

Time passed, but I was aware of little, until a mind brushed desperately against my own.

Selena, it whispered urgently, Selena. Blearily, I thought to myself, I know that voice.

Reaching out with my own mind, I brushed against it, feeling something familiar and lost. It felt safe, like a shelter from harm and shield from the pain that I attempted to block. It felt like protection. It felt like family.

My healing trance broke and I blinked open dim eyes to a familiar face in a familiar situation.

Spock held me cradled in his arms, as if we were children again instead of adults. His grip was just as warm and protective as I remembered and it was comforting to know that something would never change.

Above me, the blue of the sky seemed to blur with the purple of the trees as we burst through the forest. He was careful though, not to jostle me, but I was beyond the point of pain.

I smiled at the familiar site. At just the right angles, at just the right moments, if I blurred my eyes enough, the purple became the red stone of Vulcan's mountains and cliffs, and it felt like being home.

I heard my name once more, but this time, he said it aloud.

"Spock," I replied in turn, cuddling into his hold, even as my eyelids threatened to close.

"You must stay awake, Selena," he ordered in a tone that I was sure was created especially for older brothers. If I had not been so tired, I would have laughed, but the slight tremble I discerned in his voice discredited his strictness and replaced it with fear.

He sounded frightened.

Opening my eyes took too much time and too much effort, but I fought to do so anyways if only to confirm what I suspected. I was not wrong. His brown eyes were wide with fear and a touch of desperation. This too was familiar, so it only felt right to say, "Why are you scared, Spock?"

The steady, controlled gate my brother had been running at faltered at my words. His eyes darted to mine in barely concealed shock. Whether originating from my words or the memory they echoed, I did not know.

"Have no fear Spock. You've never been one to break promises lightly," I murmured, mildly dazed as the fog began to creep back into my mind, "Everything will be alright, because you're here now."

The arms cradling my body close pulled me involuntarily tighter as I drifted off once more, peaceful knowing everything was going to be okay now.

Selena…Selena…Selena! Spock urgently called. His fear, if possible, magnified at my irresponsiveness.

I frowned, wanting to rest, but unwilling to subject my brother to undue despair. My words came out slurred with the effort it took to form them. "I saved you last time. You save me this time. So, don't worry, Spock, because I'll live to save you next time." The fog of blood loss took me prisoner after my words as I fell into a deep healing trance. I thought I heard voices though, vaguely in the dimming background.

"Enterprise! Three to beam up!"

"She's losing too much blood! We have to get her up now!"

"Beam us up! Beam us up!"

"Dammit Spock, that's a woman, not a football. Try not to jostle her!"

"Enterprise, where are you?"

"Doctor, I assure you that while patients are your expertise, my sister is mine and I am well aware of what she is and is not."

Everything fell silent. I could not tell if it was because I had finally succumbed to unconsciousness or if it was because of his words.

…

It would be 12.6 days before I would let her out of my sight again and 2.1 weeks before I was able to pick up my tricorder without flinching. However, as I stood, with my back turned to her, studying my mother's Earth plants, I did not yet know any better.

The readings were fascinating. Already, I was planning to compile an analysis to determine how they differed to those native to Vulcan. I would have to enquire to my mother as to why she chose these plants and how she had predicted their survival.

I lost sight of her for 3.7 minutes in my preoccupation with the Terran rosebush and it was 1.3 minutes after that when I was struck by an unprecedented wave of fear. The tricorder dropped from my hands recklessly, clattering to the dry Vulcan ground, as I spun around urgently. The fear had not been mine, but the desperation I now felt was. I could not see my sister.

Spock, her voice yelled through my mind.

I took off running. As if a beacon had been sent off by the message, I knew where she was and knew that she needed me.

At the age of nine, my legs were too short to cover any distance with speed, but the pulsing fear I felt pouring from her bond, spurred me beyond the limits of height and fatigue. Even as I ran to her, I could see through her eyes the wild Le-matya that circled her predatorily. Though she was only four years old, her mind buzzed with calculations and information regarding the animal that stood only paces away from her. It was waiting to strike and I had to be there when it did.

I was late by 5.8 second.

Only meters away, I watched as it lashed its poisonous claws at my sister, sending her sprawling to her back with green blood staining the pink Terran sundress she had proudly shown me just this morning.

Logic was lost as our bond now transmitted pain. I tackled the beast just as it made to pounce on my sisters helpless form once more. Though I was still years away from growing into an average adult Vulcan's strength, my anger and desperation made up for what I lacked as I pounded a stray stone into its head once we had tumbled back to the ground. Years later, as I remembered it running away, hurt and bleeding, I regretted not ending its life for the pain it had dealt her.

But right now, all I could do was drop the stone and run to my sister's side. The pink of her dress was stained green and the ground beneath her was wet with her blood. Yet, she only smiled to softly as I pulled her carefully into my lap. Her eyes were clear and bright, calm and at peace, as if she were patiently waiting for me to carry her to bed to tuck her in. I felt at a loss as I carefully retraced my steps home, but refused to run in fear of causing her pain. It was illogical, as I knew time was of the essence, but I could not look away from her to look ahead, less I look back down and find her gone.

She frowned softly, looking too serious for only four years. Ignoring the spike of pain I felt her feel through the bond and my protests not to move, she placed her soft, small palm on my cheek. Her eyes closed in a look of concentration before opening in genuine in confusion. Then, in a tone of complete child's innocence, she asked me with wide-eyes, "Why are you scared, Spock?"

I stopped in my tracks at the question to gently probe her mind, checking to see if she had struck her head when she had fallen and was experiencing memory loss. Yet, I found no damage. She only reached out in response to my silent inquiry, transmitting calming and reassuring emotions. It was only then that I realized that the fear radiating from our bond, was originating from myself, not her.

Incredulous, I diverted the question with one of my own, "Why are you not scared, Selena?"

She only smiled at me and patted my cheek, as if I were the younger sibling. "You're here now Spock, I have nothing be afraid of." There was a pause. "You saved me."

Automatically, I responded, "I will always save you." Though my response was illogical as always could not guaranteed as there was no way to know that I would even be capable of saving her, I still meant it wholeheartedly.

Her eyes were serious as at four years old, she promised me back, "I will always save you as well." In any other situation it would have been laughable to think that my younger sister was promising to protect me. However, her solemnity left no room for doubt. She would follow through in her promise.

Lifting her hand to stick out her little finger, she looked at me with an air of expectation. I unconsciously mirrored her gesture, allowing our digits to intertwine in what our mother had called a "pinky promise." This was our vow to each other.