Sorry I only had the prologue for a little, I had written that and a further 8 (I think?) chapters but skipped writing the first chapter because somehow that worked in my brain. Anyways, here it is. And I think I'm going to space out the others a bit because, again, there is completion, but not exactly in order since somehow I totally skip a segment and just keep going.
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Art was never really his forte but here he was, sitting in an open window sketching. Spock drew in a deep breath and turned his page about, looking at it from all angles. It was meant to be the tree in front of him but, well, he'd call it abstract if anyone inquired.
Everything was quiet, tranquil, and much different than the inner turmoil that was going on inside of him. His father was an ambassador so his presence was seldom and I-Chaya was sleeping out back. And then there was his mother, which for some apparent reason, his father refused to say anything about.
It was sort of lonely. He was sort of lonely, but according to everyone feeling were not much to go by and shouldn't be regarded at all. Strange as it was, it was the logical way, and, quite frankly, the only way in this world.
Now that was something. "This world." He echoed. The Vulcan populace has the natural ability to live in the visible to gamma waves but once the wavelength gets too long, death was imminent. That wasn't to say that other being couldn't live on this other side. Maybe a whole different world, one that was more approving, less lonely, less strict, more welcoming.
The sound of the door opening pulled him back to attention. Spock craned his neck to see who had just entered the premises, extra support from his arm kept him on the windowsill in this position. The first thing he saw was the delicate fringes of a robe, working his way up from the hem to the low falling sleeves and the graying hair it became apparent to him that his father was home. That was new.
He quietly removed himself from the window and closed it, why he was positioned like a bird was a conversation he'd rather avoid having. The explanation was simple, really, he wanted to experiment a different method of sitting and found it comfortable. Sarek, however, would find some way to make it seem more complicated.
"Father?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you here so early?"
"I could ask the same about you Spock."
True, but then again, he was less friendly with his peers that had some unprovoked grudge against him so that was an easy reason to not interact with them. Work, on the other hand, was not something one just walked out on. Time to change the subject.
But he should answer his father's question, he reasoned.
But his father never answered his question.
But, by some twisted logic, that didn't matter because his father was his father.
"I had finished my studies early and didn't wish to remain in that crowded place."
"Very well. Now, I have work to attend to."
"I have one last question."
"And that is?"
"Why won't you tell me about mother?"
