Spock was not sure how long he had been sitting at his desk, head in hand, absently staring at the letter displayed on his computer screen. Realizing that his mind had drifted again, he straightened in his chair and forcibly pulled himself back into reality. He reread a portion of the last message from his daughter, sent by subspace transmission forty-five days ago.
"…I've never known anyone like Sarek. He's like
a piece of furniture—a stiff-backed, wooden chair. But
Grandmother loves him and she makes me feel loved,
too. I know you've told me that Vulcans have feelings.
Gram says the same thing, but sometimes it's hard to
believe.
"I miss you. I'm lonely. At night I look at the
stars and wonder where you are and if you might be
thinking of me, even a little. I'm glad you're not so sick
anymore, but why couldn't you come here to recover?
You're not commanding the Enterprise now, and I
heard Gram say you could get medical leave. So why
haven't you? Don't you want to be here? Don't you
like having me around?"
Spock had sent an immediate reply, but had not heard from T'Beth since. Why had she not responded? For a lonely girl, her silence was not logical, unless—unless she has somehow learned of my addiction, came the disconcerting thought. But that was hardly possible. Only a handful of people knew what sort of "medication" he was receiving six times a day. Admiral Kirk, the doctors McCoy, Chapel, and Fielding, as well as Fielding's brother, a priest on Gamma Vertas IV.
If something were wrong with the child, Amanda would have mentioned it in this morning's com-note. He exchanged T'Beth's message for his mother's and scanned down the lines.
"T'Beth is doing just fine. She's learning the
Vulcan mind rules, studying the language and social
customs. At the rate she's progressing I'm confident
she'll soon be able to manage a classroom setting if I
continue to tutor her. Next trimester, if all goes well,
I will enroll her in the same primary school you
attended here in ShiKahr. T'Beth seems excited by
the idea…"
Seems. Spock remembered being quite skilled at hiding his innermost feelings when he was twelve like T'Beth. How often had he seemed content when he was actually miserable? How many evenings had he, like T'Beth, sat alone gazing sadly at the stars? Too many. Too often. And as difficult as life had been for him, it would be even worse for T'Beth with her less-than-Vulcan appearance and emotional ways. Not for the first time, he wondered if leaving her on Vulcan was a mistake. He could arrange for T'Beth to attend a boarding school on Earth, and in his last message had told her so. And there was another matter to consider. He had not informed Sarek that she was the offspring of a Sy-jeera and might soon inherit her mother's power over men. What might happen if those powers stirred to life on Vulcan?
Opening a desk drawer, he brought out the crystal hologram of Adrianna Lemoine and gazed at T'Beth's mother. Her gently curved lips seemed to taunt him, her Sy-amber eyes secretive, amused as if she was reaching out from the grave to create new difficulties for him.
A feeling of utter helplessness began to steal over Spock before he remembered how near they were to Vulcan. Turning purposefully to the intercom, he requested a course change from Admiral Kirk. He no longer gave the deferential procedure much thought. It would serve no purpose to constantly remind himself of everything he had lost on Gamma Vertas IV: authority, independence, dignity. The daily round of injections was reminder enough. The restless, seductive tides of Saurian strardus that thrust him from trembling hunger to numbing satiation and back again. Sometimes it seemed as if "stardust" had become the entire focus of his life.
But no, there was still T'Beth. For her sake he was grateful that Kirk called the course change to the boy helmsman of the training cruise. As Spock readied himself for bed, he envisioned the Enterprise arcing gracefully toward Epsilon Eridani, and a shiver of nervousness broke through his fragile control. If his body so easily betrayed him in the privacy of his own cabin, how would it behave tomorrow when he faced his mother on Vulcan? And if Sarek were also home? Though he had reconciled his deepest differences with his father, he still found reunions with Sarek difficult, even under the best of circumstances. Their meetings were always as stiff and formal as a diplomatic function. It was Sarek's way. The man would never change, and Spock suspected that he, the ambassador's son, would never completely free himself of a rather childish sense of intimidation around Sarek. Some things had very little to do with logic.
Still shivering, Spock lay down for the night and closed his eyes, forcing sleep on himself.
ooooo
"Are you sure you want to go it alone?"
Kirk's words were spoken so quietly that even Spock had to strain to hear them. The Vulcan paused beside the transporter and looked at his friend. There was deep worry in Kirk's hazel eyes, a sudden heightening of the concern Spock had endured almost daily since returning from his deathbed on Gamma Vertas IV. Sometimes he felt suffocated by so much concern.
"I will manage," he dryly replied. He had carefully timed his departure for the most lucid interval between injections, a tight window of 90 minutes. He did not want to be delayed by embarrassing explanations. He did not want to tell Kirk why he must go alone—that he was about to commit a serious breach of Vulcan courtesy, beaming down unannounced in order to avoid the "gathering of the clan" that so often accompanied his visits home.
Feeling the eyes of the transporter crew—his former crew—watching him with curiosity, Spock stepped onto the platform and said, "Energize."
There was a dizzying sparkle of light, a brief twinge of nausea, a dark empty moment before the heat of Vulcan struck. As the transporter settled Spock in the walled garden of his family's estate, it became immediately apparent that he had made a serious error in judgment.
It was dusk in ShiKahr. Decorative lanterns cast pools of colored light over the familiar garden footpaths. From the porch came sounds of conversation, and piano music drifted from the open door of the estate house. It seemed that in trying to slip home quietly, he had unwittingly stumbled on a social gathering.
Spock considered retreating into the shadows, but it was too late. The ringing transporter beam, the telltale flash of light, had announced his presence. On the porch a man swung around and stared at him. Icy disdain showed in the features so much like Spock's, only older. Sparn, of all people.
Stepping forward, Spock forced his hand into the customary gesture of greeting. "Live long and prosper, T'teer."
Sparn's answering salute was casual to the point of insult. "Spock. How…surprising. I had no idea that you were expected home tonight."
Spock drew in a deep, steadying breath of Vulcan air. He seldom spoke to Sparn anymore beyond the barest civilities, and at times even that required considerable self-discipline. Sarek's brother had long been a thorn in Spock's heel. He no longer wasted energy trying to analyze his uncle's antagonism. He simply accepted Sparn as an unpleasant fact of family life and did his best to avoid the open confrontations that had resulted in punishment during his formative years.
Spock heard Sarek's voice in the house. The prospect of facing his father was not a pleasant one, but he was committed now. He walked up the steps, past Sparn, and slipped in quietly among the guests. At first no one noticed as he eased his way toward the bedroom hall, looking for T'Beth. Their attention was on the piano where his mother sat playing a Beethoven sonata. Then the music came to an unfortunate end. Somewhere in the room a woman's head turned.
His uncle's wife, T'Prinka, spoke out in a clear voice. "Spock. Surely that is you?"
Caught, Spock stopped in his tracks. A wave of heat rolled up his collar as more faces turned in his direction. Sarek rose from his chair. But before the ambassador could voice any reaction to his son's unmannerly arrival, Amanda left the piano and hurried Spock into the relative privacy of the kitchen.
Once inside, his mother's eyes embraced him. "Oh Spock, what a wonderful surprise! You're looking so much better. Still too thin, though, but give me a month or so and I'll take care of that."
"Mother, it is good to see you," Spock told her, "but I regret that I can stay only a few minutes, just long enough to—"
The kitchen door opened. It closed again behind Sarek, shutting out the voices in the living room. Spock felt his palms begin to sweat. "Father," he said, concealing his nerves beneath a stone-calm exterior.
For a terrible moment he held still, feeling his pupils dilated and exposed to Sarek's penetrating gaze. Surely Sarek would recognize the sign of drug-use, unless he was too busy looking deeper, at the Vulcan abilities ripped away by disease, at the disappointing shell of a son left to him. Under his father's eyes Spock felt like a boy again. He felt like apologizing for what he had become. Instead he said, "I know that my arrival is awkward for you. I shall not stay long."
"You came to see your daughter," Sarek surmised correctly.
"I am…somewhat concerned about her," Spock said. "These past months have not been easy for the child, between the adjustments she has had to make, and…" He hesitated, reluctant to discuss his illness, and was saved from it when the kitchen door opened again.
T'Beth walked in.
Evidently the child had not been told of his arrival. At the sight of him she froze, emotions playing freely over his face. There was shock, then joy that spilled out in tears, but such was her restraint that she did not throw her arms around him.
"Under the circumstances," Sarek said, "we excuse you. Spend as much time as you wish with her."
Under the circumstances? Perhaps, thought Spock, I am no longer even expected to behave as a Vulcan.
"Spock." Sarek's voice gentled. "It is good to see you well."
Somehow Spock managed a Vulcanly nod of acknowledgement and respect, then collected his daughter and left for the privacy of her bedroom. The moment the door closed, she hugged him tightly, her face buried in his jacket, sobbing out the pent emotions. Uncomfortably aware of how sound carried in the old house, Spock tried to soothe the child by holding her close and stroking her smooth dark hair. It had grown long enough for traditional Vulcan braiding, and that was not the only change. She was taller than he remembered by at least three inches. All in a few months' time.
Looking up into his eyes, she said, "I thought you'd never come! How long will you be here?"
"I cannot stay," he said with regret.
Frowning, she pulled away. "A week. You can manage that."
He shook his head. "An hour, at most."
"No!" came the loud, childish complaint.
Startled, Spock instructed her to lower her voice. "T'Beth, quietly. You must not disturb your grandparents' guests. In your messages you sounded so…discontented…that I was concerned. And when you stopped communicating…"
"You came," she finished for him. "I hoped you would—but for an hour?"
What more could he tell her? A prickle of foreboding crept over Spock as he watched her anger build. "T'Beth…if you are not happy here..."
"Why did you even bother!" she exploded. "You could have been here on Vulcan all along! You could stay now, but you don't want to! You don't want to be with me—you never have! You'd rather ship me off to a boarding school!"
Spock knew everyone had heard it. He envisioned every carefully composed face, every courteously averted gaze, and the unspoken embarrassment of his parents. "You are mistaken. I thought you might prefer a boarding school. In any event, I could not have stayed here. I am under medical treatment—I have told you."
Her eyes narrowed. Slowly and clearly she said, "I don't believe it."
She may as well have called him a liar. What sort of child was this? And the fact that he was not being completely honest about his 'treatment' only added to the pain. All the uncertainties of the past came rushing back to him, all the agonies he had suffered because of T'Beth and her Sy-jeera mother.
"You will not speak to me in this manner," he said, voice tight with the ache of reopened wounds.
She had stopped crying completely. Silently she walked to her dresser. Opening a drawer, she picked up a sturpa and held it out to him by its business end. Spock stared at the Vulcan whip in confusion. Where had it come from? Did T'Beth know what it was for? Though Spock had been strongly tempted in the past, he had never used physical punishment on his daughter. If deemed necessary, such a severe measure should only be carried out by her grandfather—by Sarek. Yet T'Beth lived with Sarek, making it equally improper for him to violate the peace of his home. What did that leave?
"Go ahead," T'Beth dared him now, "hit me." Eyes full of fury, she stood waiting.
"Put that down," Spock ordered.
Instead, she came at him. The sturpa cut through the air with a hissing sound, but at the last instant she thought better of it and changed the trajectory. It narrowly missed Spock's arm. He caught hold of the whip and wrenched it from her. Gripped by a violent impulse, he very nearly struck her—not once, but repeatedly.
He was slipping out of control. He felt his mind fragmenting dangerously. It was the strardus, again.
Letting the sturpa drop, he turned from his daughter and escaped into the hallway. He stopped by Amanda's grandfather clock and forced slow, deep breaths into his lungs. He dared not give in to panic. He still had to get out of the house. Gathering himself, he went into the kitchen, found it empty, and continued through the outer door, to the garden. The sweet, disturbing scent of his mother's cactus followed him out the gate.
He was not ready to beam up. He needed some solitude in which to reorder his thoughts. Veering west, he strode through the quiet streets of ShiKahr, toward the meditation park.
ooooo
"Captain," asked Transporter Chief Rand, "will we be leaving orbit now?"
Spock's ears were still ringing as he stepped down from the platform, but he was sure he had heard her correctly. Though they both knew he no longer commanded the Enterprise, he stopped to consider Rand's question. A part of him longed to shake Vulcan's dust from his boots as soon as possible and distance himself from his hostile, baffling daughter. Yet he could not dismiss her haunting image from his mind, offering him the sturpa, fingers curled tightly around the leather.
"That remains to be seen," he said at last, and headed straight for the Medical Department. Though he normally avoided sickbay between "treatments", at this time of day (late morning aboard ship) it was the most logical place to find Doctor McCoy. And who better to consult about the trouble with T'Beth? Even if McCoy were not a doctor, he was as human as humans came. His gruff exterior hid a warm, vulnerable heart and a deep understanding of the human condition. Having a daughter of his own, McCoy also knew something about parenting. But perhaps what recommended him most was his fondness for T'Beth, an affection that the child wholeheartedly returned.
Spock came across McCoy in the lab. Though the ward beds were empty of patients, he looked harried and worn.
"Am I disturbing you?" Spock asked, half hoping the doctor would send him away.
"Disturbing me?" McCoy grumbled. "It's those damned cadets who are disturbing me! Dammit, Spock, I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. Those wet behind the ears trainees are making a mess of everything."
"Really." To Spock, the sickbay seemed quiet and orderly. "Your daily reports are generally quite favorable."
"That just goes to show you," McCoy retorted. "You can't believe everything you read."
Spock's eyebrow climbed as he mulled over the odd remark. It seemed as if McCoy was either calling himself inefficient, inaccurate, or a blatant liar. He decided that he had misunderstood the doctor's statement.
Suddenly McCoy realized Spock should not even be aboard ship and looked him over with a critical eye. "Hey, I thought you were down on Vulcan. What's going on? Is—"
A sound of light footsteps interrupted the flow of questions. Knowing what he would find, Spock glanced over and caught a flash of golden hair above a white medical smock. It was not Doctor Chapel. His thoughts fled to a pain-swept world of pink skies and rolling green hills. He felt sunshine on his shoulders, the cool touch of human hands, the bitter taste of sickness…
Spock found himself lying on a couch in Doctor McCoy's office. The door was shut, the windows opaqued. There was an insect-like humming near his left ear. McCoy turned off the medscanner and studied its readings.
Spock sat up shakily.
"Has this been happening often?" McCoy questioned. "That woman really has quite an effect on you…"
Spock looked at him in annoyance. McCoy knew all about the mental flights of strardus. "Really, doctor, that is not amusing."
McCoy's blue eyes searched him. "No, Spock, I'm serious. I thought you were getting along better with Laurie. So she got you hooked on drugs. So an alien in you worked her over. At this point, I'd say you two are about even."
Spock began to get up, but McCoy grasped his shoulder, holding him on the couch. "Okay, okay, I'll drop it—for now. We can talk about something else, like why you're here instead of visiting that kid of yours. What happened?"
Though Spock welcomed the change of subject, he was no longer sure if he should speak to McCoy about T'Beth, no longer sure of anything where his daughter was concerned. But as McCoy settled into his desk chair and waited expectantly, Spock decided to forge ahead. It took considerable effort for him to say, "T'Beth's behavior…does not seem normal."
McCoy straightened. "Not normal? You mean for a Vulcan."
"No, Doctor. I mean for a twelve year old child." Interlacing his fingers in his lap, he stared at them, remembering T'Beth's distressing anger. "She became furious. She rejected the notion that I could not receive proper medical treatment on Vulcan. She said she did not believe it. When I rebuked her, she took a sturpa from her drawer and offered it to me. She urged me to use it."
"Wait," McCoy interrupted. "A stir-paw—what's that?"
Spock drew a breath. "A sturpa is…a traditional Vulcan whip. It is sometimes used as a…disciplinary tool."
McCoy almost came out of his chair. "You whipped her? But I suppose," he added acidly, "that it was the logical thing to do…"
The doctor's reaction stung. Theirs had not always been the easiest of friendships, and perhaps for that reason Spock valued it all the more. "Doctor, I did not strike her, but she nearly struck me. She did, once before, on Ildarani. And worse."
McCoy's eyes widened. "She took a swing? And what did you do?"
"I felt my control slipping and left," Spock admitted before pressing his point once more. "It cannot be normal for a child to attack her father."
"Depends on the father," McCoy mused. "What in blazes did you say to her?"
"I merely reproached her for being disrespectful."
McCoy sighed. "And what did you say that triggered the disrespectful attitude?"
Spock briefly thought. "That I could only stay an hour."
McCoy raised his hands. "Well glory be, she doesn't need a psychologist, she needs a father who can spend time with her." And make her feel loved, he might have added, but that was not so easy for an emotionally restrained Vulcan.
Spock rose to his feet, anger stirring beneath a thin layer of control. "I am tired of this, Doctor. You know why I could not remain there." He started for the door.
"No. Wait."
Reluctantly Spock turned.
The doctor pushed back his seat and stood. "I'm curious. You say she's done worse."
"It happened only once. I would describe it as…a mind to mind emotional assault."
"Emotion, not thoughts." McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like her Sy blood's showing…"
"Unfortunately," agreed Spock.
"But that's part of who she is. You might not be happy about it, but she'll have to live with those Sy traits…and so will you." The doctor grew thoughtful. "With your permission, I'd like to spend some time with her. Maybe Jim would let us bring her aboard—just for a week or so."
Spock did not like the idea, but he could not very well decline after soliciting McCoy's help. "One thing is clear. At present, I am not fit to deal with her."
"I know, Spock. I'll take charge."
"Then do as you please."
ooooo
McCoy was not sure what he had expected to find when he came face to face with T'Beth. A pale, withdrawn wreck of a child? The bright-eyed girl who bounded from the transporter platform took him pleasantly by surprise.
T'Beth dove into his arms and hugged him breathless. "I get to ride along for a whole week! This was your idea, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was," he admitted, squeezing her with unabashed delight.
She never looked better. In fact, she glowed. Basking in the warmth of her affection, McCoy could almost attribute Spock's worries to Vulcan nit-picking. Almost. The trouble was, he knew the girl. He had seen some of her better performances, and this might just be one of them.
Before long she was exploring his cabin with the unrestrained air of a coddled child come home—poking around, handling everything, all but peeking into drawers. McCoy noted the set of her jaw as she eyed the hologram of his daughter Joanna. T'Beth picked up a new holo—one that she had never seen before.
She frowned at the officer's subtly feline appearance. "Who's she?"
"A friend named Nahfia," McCoy answered with a stab of grief for his lost love.
T'Beth's frown deepened. "Is she aboard ship?"
"Not anymore."
She set down the holo and smiled.
ooooo
The Enterprise carried modern psyche equipment that even adults found unnerving. There was no doubt that it would terrify a child. Even if Spock had signed a consent form, which he hadn't, McCoy would never have subjected T'Beth to his "mechanical brain pickers". This was to be a mental probing so gentle that she would never suspect what was happening.
That first evening she told him, "I want to spend all my time with you."
"What about your father?" McCoy casually asked.
"Him?" Pain flared in her eyes, and for an instant she reminded McCoy of the grim, troubled Spock in his office that morning. She looked so much like the captain.
Though T'Beth slept in Uhura's cabin, over the next forty-eight hours the doctor took her almost everywhere else with him—to meals, to recreation, even to work where he introduced her to startled trainees as "my new colleague" and exchanged conspiratory winks with the child. Most of all, they just talked.
On their third morning McCoy brought up the subject of Spock again. They had breakfasted early, just the two of them, and were sharing a private swim before day watch.
"Maybe," he suggested, "you should save a little time for your father. And I notice you're avoiding Admiral Kirk, too."
"Them!" T'Beth glowered as she vigorously treaded water. "The last time I saw the captain, he beat me."
"Really?" McCoy tried to look sympathetic. A quick sweep of his medscanner the day she came aboard hadn't turned up anything more serious than a thorn scratch.
"He did," she insisted, her voice thick and convincing. "I bet that's the only reason he came—to knock me around, to make himself feel big and tough. And it wasn't the first time, either." T'Beth boldly looked him in the eye. "Admiral Kirk gave me a whipping, too. Did you know that? If you don't believe me, just ask him."
McCoy rolled onto his back and stared for all his worth at the blue sky and whipped cream clouds he had programmed for the overhead. Jim whipping her! What next?
"They hate me!" she burst out. "Both of them!"
Reserving comment, McCoy climbed from the water and began toweling himself dry. T'Beth swam to the edge of the pool. Chin resting on her arms, she looked up at him through reddened eyes. Not all the droplets on her face were pool water. She was crying.
"It's true," she choked. "Father always has time for Jim Kirk. They always have time for each other, but never for me."
McCoy reached down and helped her out of the pool. Holding her thin, slippery shoulders he said, "Sweetheart, listen to me. Jim and your father have been friends for a long time, but that doesn't detract one little bit from their feelings for you."
"I don't believe it," she seethed. "I hate them. I hate them both. I wish they were dead!"
Before McCoy could react, she grabbed her towel and ran dripping wet from the pool area.
ooooo
T'Beth had a knack for holing up in unlikely places. Word reached McCoy of her whereabouts and sure enough, he found her curled up, napping by the antique ship's wheel on the forward observation deck. At his gentle nudge she stretched and opened her eyes.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
Though months of Vulcan sun had tanned her, she still seemed wan to McCoy. Maybe it was those solemn, golden-brown eyes that dominated her young face as she got to her feet.
"I don't feel anything," she declared. "That's the Vulcan way."
"Vulcan like Spock."
She nodded. "A thinking machine." Gazing out at the stars, she said, "We were on the main observation deck when he told me he was filing for custody. I was so happy. But it doesn't pay to be happy or trust anyone—you only end up getting hurt."
Gently McCoy pushed a dark lock of her hair into place. "Sure, sometimes we get hurt, but we have to open our hearts to the people we love. And your father is not a machine. He may not always show it, but he feels plenty, particularly where you are concerned."
T'Beth looked at him, her jaw set. "Oh, no he doesn't."
"Why do you say that?"
Sighing, she ran her fingers over the smooth, aged wood of the wheel. "Because…" her voice caught. "'Cause he left me, don't you see? He's always left me—even back when I was only a baby. I used to think he couldn't help it, that there was some reason I didn't know about, but no one would do that to someone he loved—abandon his own baby to go chase off through Space."
McCoy thought ruefully of Joanna. There were many reasons why a man would leave his daughter, and most of them involved deep and torturous feelings. But how could a hurt, lonely child be expected to understand that? Especially if her father was a tight-lipped, undemonstrative halfling named Spock.
He gathered T'Beth in his arms and she nestled against him like a big, love-starved kitten.
ooooo
After a restless night, McCoy awoke to the music of his alarm and groaned when he saw the time: 0430 hours. After dressing quickly, he gulped some coffee, grabbed his medkit, and headed a short distance down the corridor to the captain's quarters. Since T'Beth came aboard, Spock had stayed clear of sickbay and had all his injections delivered, aside from the dose at 0100 hours. That one had always been left to the Vulcan, and McCoy sometimes wondered if Spock waited the appropriate interval.
McCoy arrived four minutes early and found the captain still in his pajamas, peaked and taut with drug-hunger. The time passed slowly—Spock seated on his bed, shivering, trying not to look at the hypo with its blue ampule of relief. Compassion for the man made McCoy question what he was about to do. But then he remembered the reason for it; the mixed-up, miserable child sleeping on a portable cot in Commander Uhura's cabin.
At 0500 hours precisely, McCoy administered the dose of strardus with a quick jab to an exposed arm. Spock's hand went to the injection site. He sank down on the bed and lay with his eyes closed, breathing erratically. McCoy settled onto the foot of the bed, watching for the worst of the drug rush to subside, waiting until the Vulcan finally came to himself, or what passed for himself these days.
Spock was clearly surprised to find him still there.
"Well," McCoy said, "good morning."
Looking perplexed, the captain rose to a sitting position, his back against the wall.
There was no way for McCoy to sugarcoat it. "Spock, it's about T'Beth. That kid of yours is an emotional wreck. Can't you guess why?"
Spock frowned, obviously struggling to set his mind in order and make sense of the doctor's words. "I prefer not to speculate."
"Hell, how can anyone so smart be so dense? How can anyone with your I.Q. not know enough to let his kid feel wanted? Not know enough to tell her why she ended up with her grandmother instead of you, why she never saw hide nor hair of you for eleven years. Ignoring a problem won't make it go away. If I didn't know better, I'd think this junk was taking away your nerve."
Spock came off the bed and shut himself in the bathroom. There was a sound of water running.
After a while McCoy went to the door and called, "Hellooo. I'm still out here, I'm not going away."
Spock's voice came to him. "I do not see where any of this is your business."
"Now just wait a minute," McCoy said. "You made it my business, remember? You came to me about her."
The door opened. Wearing a dark robe, Spock confronted him. "Yes, Doctor, I came to you…and in turn I expected professional behavior, not insults."
"Okay," McCoy conceded with a twinge of guilt, "that was out of line. But listen, will you? What I'm saying in my own clumsy human way is this: tell her. Tell her everything before you lose her completely."
"That," Spock said, "is your opinion."
"My medical opinion."
The Vulcan's eyebrow rose in the smug sort of way that always exasperated McCoy. "Thank you for your services, Doctor. You know where to send your bill."
McCoy's temper flared. "Oh, how noble! Go ahead and protect the hallowed memory of her grandmother the shrew. Don't tell T'Beth anything about her mother, either. Just let her tear herself apart believing you didn't give a damn about her all those years." A sudden, ugly thought came to him. "Or maybe you really didn't give a damn."
Spock stiffened, the rigid lines of his face etched with pain.
"Well then…" McCoy studied him, his anger melting away. "At least you care now. So tell her the truth. Where's your logic, man? Both those women are dead and gone."
"In T'Beth's memory those women are still very much alive. Would you have me destroy the child's affection for them? Would you have me tell her that she might soon be a Sy-jeera like her mother?"
"She needs to hear the truth."
"No," Spock said firmly.
For a moment they stood toe to toe. Then McCoy said, "Alright then, I'll tell her."
"You will not!" Strardus pulsed a black warning from Spock's eyes.
McCoy's heart skipped a beat. Slowly walking to the door, he fingered the keypad before looking back over his shoulder. Quietly he said, "As chief medical officer of this ship, I consider the welfare of my patients first and foremost. In medical matters my authority exceeds even yours, Captain."
ooooo
It had been a fine bluff. But now, as McCoy sat idly over his biocomp, he admitted to dismal failure. Even with Spock's mind and body saturated with strardus, he hadn't budged. And though McCoy cared not a trader's damn about the captain's authority in this instance, he did care enough about his troubled friend to respect his personal wishes. Even if Spock was making a snarth-sized mistake.
"Hi," came a small, sad voice.
McCoy looked up. As T'Beth came dragging in, his heart went out to the despondent child. She was the one who would suffer most, wavering between love and hate for a father she did not understand.
With a deep sigh, she settled onto an examination table and hooked her shoes into the wall-mounted cycle blocks. She started pumping. "You and my father argued over me, didn't you?"
"Now where would you get such a notion?" McCoy wondered if she might have heard voices raised and pressed her ear to Spock's door.
She shrugged. "Once I tried getting him to argue with Admiral Kirk, but it didn't work for long. You two are easier."
Here we go again, thought McCoy. The child was always trying to dig her way into trouble. "T'Beth," he said patiently, "any disagreement I may have had with Spock was not because of anything you said or did." But of course she already knew that, deep down. That wasn't what she needed to hear. Rising, he went to her side and boldly started over. "You're right, we did have a disagreement. I think there are some things you should know about the past, but your father wants to keep it quiet. He worries about hurting you. He loves you too much."
"Ha!" Staring at her feet, T'Beth pumped harder. "He doesn't love me and I don't love him, either. I don't even hate him anymore. There's something lots better than hate." The blocks spun with a vicious burst of energy. "There's indifference."
McCoy heard the sorrow beneath the words and reached for her hand. His comforting touch seemed to ease some of the tension in her lean body. "That's a very lonely solution," he said. "Maybe we can figure out something better."