She wondered if Spock would ever see the ocean. She thought to herself that it would be very sad if he did not, for he would look so perfect there, at sunset, standing, watching the water with his scientifically calculating eyes doing everything to avoid recognizing the loneliness of his position. He would mesh with the loneliness of great bodies of water. She met her son's eyes from across the reception, where he was standing, very erect and stiff, with his grandmother. Amanda hated T'Pau, despised the coldness with which she regarded her grandson, loathed the way she simply did not recognize all of Spock's desperate attempts to gain her acceptance as a relative, as a child of her son. Amanda often felt that she was the only one who Spock's gaze would meet. She sighed, craned her neck to the window, pretended she was the tree just in her line of vision.
Spock's eyes tried to clutch to Amanda's as her glance retreated. She deserted him once again, he knew, to try to escape this barren mass of beings. His grandmother was behind him, like a vulture, waiting for an imperfection as he stood amongst his cousins. He bowed his head, better to assume the position of shame before the crime has been committed, illogical but effective.
"Spock?"
"Yes grandmother?"
"You are ill representing the family with your body pose, stand tall"
"Please forgive me"
"There is nothing to forgive, simply correct"
He stood taller, the muscles in his back protesting the length of their endurance. His mother was still looking out the window, he had no one to protect him from the scorn, the disdain, the dehumanization he felt emanating from those around him, from his own family.
He became a tiny worm, tracing the patterns on the tiled floor, skittering through the earthen crevices, the cool clay, around all the faces and bodies of the giants, the mean and evil giants, the ones that wanted to stomp him into oblivion with all of their logic and harsh reality, all of their unemotional hatred.
Finally he was released. His mother was no longer a tree, but the laughing distraction in the middle of solemnity. She was like a blue jay at a funeral. Spock tugged her skirt, she lifted him to her arms, gently kissed his forehead. His stomach turned, they were all watching, he was weak, he was an animal, he was not worth existence.
"Tell you're aunt what story we are reading"
He turned into her shoulder, he couldn't say it, he loved the story, he really did, and because of that affection, it was sacred, it was secret, why wasn't she keeping it hidden with him? Did it mean so little to her?
"Tell her Spock, help her understand"
His small head turned away from the coolness of her skin, the oblivion leaving as soon as it had come, now he was completely alone, she had taken his secrets from him and tossed them to the dogs.
"The Ugly Duckling" he whispered, and ducked his head back into her so as not to hear the bite of his aunt's remarks.
They were not yet finished the story. He could see everyone at the party glaring at him, their eyes mimicking again and again in swirling chaos,
"You are exceedingly ugly."
Spock did not think he would become a swan.