It seems impossible that he would have continued to thrive in such a place, but Mestral found a different sort of home on Earth over the decades that followed the mishap at Carbon Creek.

He kept to himself mostly, out of respect for the development of Terran society and history, knowing that even the slightest injury would reveal his alien heritage; yet like an addiction he couldn't keep away from these fascinating, mystifying humans.

For the most part, Pon Farr passed without incident through the first century. He found ways to cope, contraceptives, anything to prevent an undesired pregnancy or worse. Fate had a different goal in mind, proven by a chance encounter with a youngish artist.

She was called Lily. Mestral knew the name origin to be a plant from the genus Lilium. This one was human though. She had unruly red hair and green eyes that held memories that would never fade, that had left their scars. On top of that, she was an actress in an unstable, propaganda-laden time.

-
It was Thursday. This was not normally a day for introspection or discovery but in the process of walking to the market to purchase more vegetables, Mestral was intrigued by some sort of artistic display in the square commons. There was a canvas balanced on a wooden easel that was stained with years of paints, which was itself stood upon a thin cheap plastic tarp. There was a small crowd in the plaza, usually empty due to the unforgiving desert heat. Albuquerque doesn't usually lend itself to outdoor displays in the summer months, yet here she was, painting a still of the San Felipe de Neri church which stood across the road from the gazebo in the grassy center square.

Mestral didn't put any thought into Terran religion, preferring his own Vulcan thoughts on the matter, however he felt compelled to pause and comment on the likeness to the facility.

"Madam, your painting is uncanny," he began. She turned and studied him. He almost fancied her emerald eyes seeing through his façade to the Vulcan beneath, but logically that was not possible.

"Thanks, stranger. Churches are kind of a specialty of mine. I hate service but there is such passion in the building and that energy almost stays there," she trailed off, gesturing futilely. "It is the passion that the workers and the clergy had when building the site that draws me in more than the actual sermon itself. Words are words. But to walk up and get a certain impression takes an extra level of skill," She concluded, turning to look at Mestral.

He bowed slightly, "I am sure the architects would be pleased to hear that,"

And then she smirked. It wasn't a smile and it wasn't symmetrical. The right half of her mouth raised, making her right eye crinkle; it was sarcastic and sardonic and utterly appealing.

"Considering they've probably been dead for three hundred years I bet they have bigger concerns." She studied Mestral. "I'm Lily."

She stuck out her right hand. Mestral knew this to be a gesture of greeting. He guarded himself and shook her hand; no need to share the dilemma of being an empath at this point. "I am Mestral."

"Mestral? Yeah, I have never heard that name before. What is that, French?" she asked, cocking her head. Mestral merely shrugged.

It became a blur but somehow they were seated at a small table only hours later facing each other. There was a candle on the table illuminating only their faces- Mestral's tanned, angular features and Lily's soft, pale, freckled face. As they ate their way through the meal's courses, it felt like two old souls reconnecting after a long period apart. He couldn't help but feel as though they were old friends reuniting after a long absence- vokau, in his native tongue. Eventually the restaurant closed and the two parted, with a phone number on Mestral's part and a promise on Lily's.

He never did get his groceries.