He was doing it again.
T'Naisa glanced away from the classic film they were viewing—a story of Helen Keller called "The Miracle Worker"—and found her husband staring at a space-scape that hung on their cabin wall. Antonia Kirk had painted the starship Enterprise A after losing Jim, the summer before her feelings for Spock took an inappropriate turn. Those had been difficult days for them all, but T'Naisa no longer questioned Spock's faithfulness. When he focused on the Enterprise, he was not thinking of Antonia. He was thinking of Jim Kirk.
T'Naisa set aside her bowl of popcorn and stopped the movie. "Spock," she said, "you've tried your best."
His gaze left the painting and as it settled on the floor, her heart went out to him. Over the past six months, he had done everything in his power to raise interest in the Nexus that took Jim's life. Other than Aaron Pascal, no leading scientist was willing to consider the possibility that Jim and others might actually be alive within the band of energy. They insisted that such a destructive force could not possibly support life. Their only interest lay in neutralizing it.
Quietly Spock said, "Jim was my closest friend...my Thy'la. As a Vulcan, I should know if he were dead…yet he has always seemed alive to me."
T'Naisa knew how that mystery puzzled him. Vulcans looked upon every problem as a challenge, and were not inclined to give up. Tess was a perfect example. Like Helen Keller, their beautiful daughter was disabled, though not as severely. Tess was five, but functioned on a younger level. To date, she had undergone three forms of experimental treatment with only negligible effect, yet Spock never yielded to discouragement. When not otherwise occupied, he researched new methods to stimulate her intellectual development, and then implemented them. One activity in particular delighted Tess. Each day, Spock read aloud to her from brightly illustrated pop-up books—real paper books that she could smell and touch and hold in her hands. He called it "tactile learning", and used the same simple technique whether they were handling food in the kitchen or out walking in the woods. When it came to Tess, he had limitless patience and unwavering hope. But now the hour was late, and with Tess fast asleep in her bed, his thoughts had turned elsewhere.
Rising, T'Naisa went to a window and looked out. The yard lights illuminated a flurry of thick white flakes. Snow! Having spent most of her childhood on a space station, displays of weather never failed to delight her.
"Look at this," she said, beckoning to Spock.
He came over and compliantly observed the snowfall, but she knew that his mind was still on the Nexus. On Jim.
Taking his hand into her own, she kissed it. He turned, and as he looked into her eyes, something of his frustration reached her through the bond they shared. If only there was some way to help him.
Then and there, she made a decision.
oooo
Spock was on a field trip with his seminarians when the piano movers arrived. They helped rearrange furniture and make room for the little spinet under the Enterprise painting. It was the smallest piano T'Naisa could find, and gently used, but it was said to have a fine tone. The sight of it enthralled Tess, and now that the deed was done, T'Naisa could only hope that Spock also reacted positively and put the piano to use. A pleasant distraction would do him good.
Dinner was on the stove when he shook the snow off his coat and entered the welcoming warmth of the cabin.
"Dada…see?" cried Tess, running headlong to the piano.
Spock's sharp eyes had already noticed it, and one brow raised high as an indication of his surprise.
T'Naisa held her breath, then let it out in rush. "Happy unbirthday! You play so well, I've always wanted to get you one."
Tess jumped up and down. "Birfday cake, birfday cake!"
Spock looked at T'Naisa in some confusion. "It is not my birthday."
She laughed. "I said unbirthday. Sorry Tess, no cake today."
"No cake?" Tessie's lips trembled. Like T'Naisa, she loved her food and had a large appetite.
Spock took Tess by the hand and settled her beside him on the piano bench. Opening the fallboard, he said, "Watch, Tess."
The child sat speechless as he positioned his fingers on the keys and proceeded to play a Rachmaninoff composition from memory. When it was over, T'Naisa gave Spock an ovation. He rose and delivered a tender kiss of gratitude which would normally elicit a remark from Tess, but her eyes were on the piano keys.
That night, Spock scarcely glanced at the Enterprise. Tess kept begging him to play, and he obliged her with several pieces before sitting her on his lap and guiding one eager finger in a simple rendition of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat".
Tess shivered with excitement and asked for more. At bedtime, she refused to leave the piano, forcing them to be so stern that she broke into tears and cried herself to sleep.
oooo
Early the next morning, T'Naisa awoke to discordant, banging notes. Sweeping into the living area, she pulled Tess away from the piano and scolded her. "Oh, no you don't, little girl. That's Daddy's piano. You don't touch it unless he's with you."
"Mine!" Tess cried, setting her jaw stubbornly.
It was the first volley of a battle that repeated with such frequency that T'Naisa sometimes regretted bringing a piano into the house. For the sake of their sanity, Spock installed a fallboard lock guaranteed to keep sticky little fingers away from the keyboard. The piano-banging came to an end. Despite Tessie's determined efforts to outwit the device, she had to content herself with supervised musical sessions. This, in turn, led to daylong tearful sieges of "Pweez, pweez, pwetty pweez."
oooo
One icy day, T'Naisa left Tess napping and slushed over to the stable to care for Sultan and Poncho. As she was starting back to the cabin, her sensitive ears picked up a series of dismaying, unharmonious notes. C…G…A flat…F sharp…
The little minx had somehow worked her way past the lock! Or had she? For suddenly the jarring tones gave way to run of sad, sweet music—Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". Spock must have walked over from the seminary while T'Naisa was in the stable, but he knew better than to play the piano when Tess was taking a nap.
A reproach ready on her lips, she hurried back to the cabin. But Spock was not there. Tess sat at the piano bench, fingers flying over the keys, auburn curls swaying from her energetic performance. Tessie! Playing Beethoven!
Heart pounding, T'Naisa backed out of the cabin, slipped and slid her way across the clearing, and burst into the seminary. Her cries shattered the silence as she ran upstairs. "Spock! Spock, come quick—it's Tessie!"
A door burst open. Anticipating a calamity, Spock emerged from the classroom where he was teaching.
"Hurry!" T'Naisa said. Grabbing him by the hand, not even stopping for his coat, she rushed him all the way back to the cabin.
There, in the shadow of the Enterprise, Tess sat quietly at the piano, licking her fingers.
T'Naisa sensed Spock's annoyance.
Pulling his hand free, he confronted her. "For this, you interrupted a class. T'Naisa, the lock can wait."
"Oh, this isn't about that silly lock," she huffed. Turning to their daughter, she gently coaxed her. "Tess honey, show Daddy. Show him what you can do."
Tess looked guilty and frightened. "No. Dada's yano. Bad girl."
T'Naisa hurried over and gave her a hug. "No, Tessie, you're not a bad girl. It's alright. Go ahead, play with it. Daddy wants to hear."
"To the contrary…" Spock began.
"Shush!" T'Naisa told him. "For once in your life, just listen!" Her hands trembled as she turned Tess toward the keyboard. "Go ahead, baby. Do it."
Hesitantly Tess reached for the keys. One by one, she pressed them. C…G…A flat…F sharp. Then, without any warning, music began to flow from her little fingertips. This time it was Gershwin.
Fierce motherly pride burned in T'Naisa's heart as she swung around and faced Spock. But he did not return the look, for his eyes were fixed on their daughter with unconcealed amazement.
All that day, the piano remained open and Tess played whenever the mood struck, oblivious of her audience, which at one point included their two Vulcan seminarians. Come evening, Spock tested her newfound ability with a different mode of expression—the duet. Her quick ear made it easy for them to share the language of music while T'Naisa looked on, using a camera to record every precious moment.
After Tess was in bed, T'Naisa brought out some furniture polish. From the sofa, Spock watched her buff every inch of the piano's wooden cabinet to a high sheen.
Then standing back, she admired her work and said, "It's like a miracle…"
Spock gave her a fond look. "Come here, my miracle worker. Sit beside me."
"Miracle worker?" She shook her head. "No, all I did was buy an old piano. I wasn't even thinking of Tess. It was for you." A sudden idea occurred to her. "Maybe your tactile learning program triggered this."
He considered. "A contributing factor, perhaps. But musical ability runs through my family…and children with diminished mental capacity have been known to exhibit extraordinary musical aptitude."
"But her mind will continue to develop." T'Naisa looked to him for reassurance. "It's bound to, since you work so hard with her."
"As do you." He held out his hand, and this time she settled in beside him and loosed a sigh.
"I so want her to get better," she said.
He nodded in agreement. "Yes…but it is not ours to know the Shiav's plans for her. Today we have been given a gift…and perhaps tomorrow will bring more pleasant surprises. Meanwhile…"
He was silent for so long that she grew curious. "Meanwhile…?"
"Meanwhile," he replied, "I am listening."
She did not understand. The room was so quiet that she could hear air rushing through the heater vents. "Listening? For what?"
"Just listening," he answered with a hint of a smile.
Then, quite suddenly, her words came back to her. For once in your life, just listen. But for once in her life she had nothing to say except, "I love you."