Spock sat in Dr McCoy's office with his fingers curled around a cool tumbler of liquor. McCoy had given it to him after the examination, and he had not had the energy to refuse. Perhaps sometimes, after all, there was a place for alcohol.

'I'm so sorry, Spock,' the doctor was saying.

'Yes, I know, Doctor. You have already told me that,' he nodded. 'In fact, I think you have expressed variations on the same theme sixteen times since your examination.'

McCoy was silent for a beat, but Spock could feel the thickness of his regret and sorrow. McCoy hated to not be able to comfort or offer a cure, and in Spock's case he was able to do neither.

'Would you like me to call Jim down?'

Spock took a sip of his drink. If he had known exactly where the desk was he would have set the glass down, but he did not want to be seen groping around for it. He wished he could ask for Jim to come to him, but he knew that Jim was desperately busy, and he needed to be able to manage alone. It was likely he would need to manage alone a lot in the foreseeable future.

'No, Doctor, I do not want you to call Jim,' he said.

The doctor had examined his eyes and confirmed what he already suspected. There was no change in the damage. No healing had occurred. No detection of light at all was passing to his brain through his optic nerves. There was nothing the doctor could do. He had suspected as much before submitting to the examination, but the confirmation of the fact was no less devastating for that.

'I could do with checking the wound on your back,' McCoy said rather hesitantly. 'I forgot about that while I was looking at your eyes.'

'Of course,' Spock said. Normally he would have protested that there was no need, but he found he did not feel like fighting the doctor. 'Must I disrobe?'

'It's okay, just lean forward a little and I can lift your tops up, if that's all right,' McCoy assured him, so Spock acquiesced as the doctor probed the narrow wound near the top of his back where the creature had punctured the skin and the doctor had subsequently operated.

'Bit tender?' the doctor asked as Spock flinched. 'It's doing well, though. The healing's almost complete.'

'Are you finished, Doctor?' Spock asked as the doctor stepped away.

'Yes, I'm finished,' McCoy said.

Spock realised that the doctor sounded tired too. He had been so absorbed in his own situation that he had not picked up on those small cues.

'You are in need of rest, Doctor,' he said in a level voice.

'Me?' McCoy asked, in a tone of feigned surprise. 'No, no, I'm all right, Spock. Really.'

Spock cocked his ear toward the door. He could hear the noise of the full ward outside.

'You have an unusually large burden of patients at the current time,' he said.

'Well, that's true, Spock, but M'Benga's on duty out there at the moment. I'm due off shift now. I wouldn't be drinking this if I weren't.'

'No, of course,' Spock murmured. He had lost track of the time again. He felt so very out of touch. 'Perhaps I should not be drinking either in my current condition.'

McCoy laughed. 'Spock, giving you alcohol is like giving a teaspoon of rum to a rhino. I don't think you need to worry.'

Spock did not reply. He sat holding his drink, rubbing his fingertip over the smooth glass. He could feel where the liquid was by the change in temperature. He could also feel its effect in his body. McCoy was not entirely correct. It was not so much that alcohol did not affect him, but that he was able to control his responses.

'Come on, Spock, give,' McCoy said suddenly.

'I beg your pardon, Doctor?'

'If you were human I'd have you in counselling by now. You've experienced a sudden and traumatic disability. Talk to me.'

Spock frowned a little.

'That is not the Vulcan way, Doctor.'

'Well, I'm human, and you're half. Humour me.'

Spock pressed his hands a little harder around the glass, and then stopped, wary of breaking the fragile container. 'There is nothing I wish to talk about at the present time,' he said.

'What are you going to do?' the doctor pressed him. 'Do you have any ideas about how to move on? Do you want me to find some literature – '

'I cannot read,' Spock replied in a very level voice, but the frustration at the fact gnawed inside him.

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh. 'I can set the computer to text-to-voice for you, Spock. There are ways – '

'And I suspect I shall be forced to learn a very many of them, very quickly,' Spock interrupted. There it was now, impatience forcing its way into his voice. The alcohol was having an effect – or at least something was eroding his ability to control.

'Well, a willingness to adapt is a positive step, at least,' McCoy murmured.

'Is there any other option?' Spock asked.

'Some people wouldn't blame you for holing up in your quarters and letting the world go by.'

'That is not in my nature,' Spock said, although there was a certain portion of him that wished to do just that. A certain portion of him wanted to just be left alone, wanted the doctor to stop talking, needling him with words, wanted to walk out of here and find peace and solitude. There, of course, was the irony. No matter how much he wanted peace and solitude he would have to ask for help to reach a place where he could gain it.

'I had considered resigning my commission,' he said, and held up his hand as McCoy began the splutters of a protest. 'Do not concern yourself, Doctor. I am not going to do that. Jim – persuaded me that it would be an error.'

'You're damn right it'd be an error,' the doctor muttered. 'For god's sake, Spock, when you went into that chamber I told Jim you were the best first officer in the fleet. I meant that. You're the best goddamn officer this ship has ever had.'

'Why, thank you, Doctor,' Spock said, raising an eyebrow, feeling a small flush of something in his chest that might have been pleasant surprise. Perhaps the alcohol really was working on him. 'I had no idea you felt that way.'

'Well, I wouldn't have said it to your face,' McCoy murmured. Spock could hear him taking another sip of his drink. 'Hold still, Spock, let me give you a refill,' he interrupted himself. Spock held the glass still without protest, and the bottle clinked against it as liquid poured. 'There. Not too full. But I meant it, Spock. I really did. Blind or not, you've got a hell of a lot to give.'

'But how am I to give it, in my current condition?' Spock asked pensively.

'Techniques, adaptations, training,' McCoy said.

Spock imagined he was waving a hand in the air. It was so very odd sitting here in the dark while McCoy was obviously functioning in full light. He was trying to glean as much as he could from the small sounds that his Vulcan ears picked up. That soft noise was probably the fabric of the doctor's top and the sound of his hand moving in the air.

'And how am I to access such training?'

The doctor sighed. 'There are a few places on Earth, one on Vulcan, various rehabilitation facilities scattered around other planets in the quadrant.'

'All would mean leaving the ship. I would say that leaving the ship is a given, at least temporarily, probably permanently. I do not know that there has ever been a blind officer on a ship of the line.'

There was a long silence, then the doctor said, 'Yes, Spock, I think you're right. Much as I hate to say it, you will have to leave the ship for a while.'

'And – Jim,' Spock said.

He spoke about his relationship with Jim to very few people. They did not show signs of it in public, especially on the ship. But their relationship status was, he knew, a subject of continuing gossip and most people were aware of it. McCoy was one of the privileged few who knew about it because Spock and Kirk had confided in him.

'It'll kill him,' McCoy said unthinkingly.

'Factually incorrect,' Spock said, although the doctor's words struck home harder than he would have liked. 'But it is likely to have a significant emotional impact.'

'Significant emotional impact be damned. It'll crush him, Spock. He's reeling. He's absolutely reeling from what's happened. What with losing Edith Keeler the way he did, for a start – '

Spock flinched involuntarily at the mention of Edith's name. He knew how very hard that had been on Jim. It had been those weeks in close quarters with Jim that had lead him to realise exactly how he felt about his captain, and the aftermath of Edith's death which had brought them together.

' – and now his brother and his sister-in-law dead, his nephew orphaned, and your blindness on top of that,' the doctor continued, apparently unconscious of Spock's moment of discomfort.

'I regret being the cause of such pain,' Spock said rather tightly.

'Hell, you know I don't mean it like that, Spock – but you know, you must know, that it's cutting him up.'

'Yes, I do know that, Doctor,' Spock admitted softly. 'I know that he will not admit that grief to me in its entirety. I know he is trying to hold it in for my sake. Perhaps you could induce him to confide in you?'

'Maybe,' McCoy say with a degree of moroseness in his voice. 'Maybe I can. But, you know, I think it would be best between you two, for you to work out your problems together.'

'He is afraid of burdening me.'

'And you're afraid of burdening him. You're two for two. You know a problem shared is a problem halved.'

'Trite human phrases are not always accurate.'

'Well, maybe I don't have anything else to give,' McCoy sighed. 'You know, I'm all done with you here, professionally, at least. Do you want me to walk with you back to your quarters, or do you want to grab a bite of lunch?'

Spock felt a profound sense of gratitude that the doctor had not said, take you back. He was, in fact, hungry now, but he was not entirely certain that he wanted to eat in a rec room in front of the crew. McCoy seemed to sense his uncertainty.

'Or I could go rout something out and bring it up here,' he continued. 'How about that, Spock?'

'That would be acceptable,' Spock nodded.

'Well, that's a date,' the doctor said, getting up and coming around his desk. He slapped Spock on the shoulder affectionately. 'I'll be back in a little while.'

'Thank you, Doctor,' Spock nodded.

Once he was alone in the office he permitted himself the freedom to explore. He reached out with his left hand and felt about in the direction of where he believed the desk to be. After a moment, he found it. He moved his hand over the surface to check that it was clear, and then put down his half-finished drink. Then he stood up.

For a moment he felt paralysed. He had sat in sickbay and sat in Jim's room. In his own quarters and bathroom he had made some explorations, reasonably confident in his knowledge of the space around him. But elsewhere there had always been a hand at his elbow or Jim watching over him, and here there was no one.

He closed his eyes, trying to see if he could somehow sense the space around him. He was reasonably sure that echoes could be utilised in some way, with his sensitive hearing. But perhaps it was too soon, perhaps he was not yet used enough to this. There was too much noise filtering through from the ward outside for him to focus on the small sounds in here.

He gave up on trying to listen to echoes and moved round the desk carefully, hand by hand around the edge as if he were a boat circumnavigating an island. Was this what McCoy's office had become to him? A strange and unknown sea? He remembered the shelves with various medical curiosities on them, the desk, the chairs, the various panels on the wall. But everything felt so different in the dark.

He stumbled into something and reached out to find McCoy's chair, still warm from his sitting in it. He took the doctor's place and reached out to the computer, finding its solid contours beneath his fingertips. He felt to the side and switched it on. Talking to the doctor had given him the determination to do something about his situation.

'Computer,' he said.

The monotone voice was no different to normal, even though everything felt so different now. 'Working.'

'How many visually impaired persons currently employed by Starfleet?'

'Nine thousand, three hundred, seventy two,' the computer said without hesitation.

'How many of those employed in active duty on Constitution class starships?'

'Two hundred five.'

'Are there any first officers who are visually impaired?'

'Negative.'

Spock nodded slowly, considering those statistics. He had already been almost certain that there were no visually impaired first officers on Constitution class ships. He tended to keep a current knowledge of his counterparts on other ships.

'How many employed in science divisions of those ships?' he asked.

'One hundred thirty two.'

Spock raised an eyebrow at that information. 'A high proportion. Who is the highest ranked visually impaired officer currently working on a starship?'

'Lieutenant Commander Ellen Sandshaw, Chief Science Officer, USS Aberdeen.'

'What is the medical cause and extent of her visual impairment?'

'That information is restricted to authorised medical personnel,' the computer said flatly.

Spock sighed softly. It was to be expected that he couldn't simply access any crew member's medical records, especially from another ship. 'Computer, place a call to Lieutenant Commander Ellen Sandshaw, Chief Science Officer, USS Aberdeen, from this transmitter,' he said.

'Working. Connection acquired.'

There was a beat of silence, then a short moment of static, and a woman's voice said, 'Commander Spock. This is an honour. How can I help?'

'I am seeking advice on the feasibility of a blind person working as part of the science team on a starship,' Spock said bluntly. 'I believe you are blind, Ms Sandshaw.'

'Yes, I am,' she said smoothly. 'But perhaps you've come to the wrong place, Commander. I'm hardly going to recommend against employing someone who's visually impaired.'

'I did not seek your recommendation,' Spock said, shaking his head. 'I seek your insight. May I ask how much sight you have?'

'None that's very useful, sir. Just a small amount of light and colour perception at the edges of the field. I contracted Reeve's Disease about – oh – fifteen years ago.'

'I see,' Spock nodded. 'And you were already working as a science officer?'

'Not as the chief, sir. I was a lab technician. I kinda worked my way up.'

'Most admirable,' Spock told her. 'May I ask, Ms Sandshaw, how you manage to carry out your duties without sight? Do you have any special assistance? Any devices?'

'Well, I do have quite a few devices – mostly things the ship's engineer's cooked up for me. Everything on the ship's labelled up with Braille, my tricorder has an audio function. And I have an on-call assistant – a science technician who also helps me with any problems I have, accompanies me on away missions. Oh, and I have Moses.'

'Another assistant?'

'Of the furry kind, Mr Spock. Moses is my guide dog.'

'I did not realise a guide dog would be allowed on an active starship,' Spock mused.

'Well, he was on trial at first – hell, we both were, when I came back from my rehabilitation, but my efficiency rose drastically as soon as I got him, as did my safety on away missions, so they couldn't really argue. Guide dogs are exceptionally well trained dogs, Commander.'

'Ms Sandshaw, if I asked for a recommendation from you to allow a blind person to serve as science officer of the Enterprise, would you give it?' Spock asked abruptly.

There was a short pause, then the woman said in confusion, 'Sir, I thought you were science officer on the Enterprise?'

'That is correct,' Spock nodded.

'Then, I don't understand...'

'I am blind,' Spock explained. It felt very strange to say those words. 'I lost my sight a day ago, as the result of treatment for another – ailment. All indications are that the condition is permanent.'

There was that pause again, then she said, 'I'm sorry, Commander. I – know what it's like to deal with that. I can only imagine what it must be like for it to happen suddenly. It was sudden?'

'Very,' Spock nodded. He felt more and more reluctant to discuss the emotional impact with a stranger. 'The recommendation, Ms Sandshaw?'

'Yes, of course,' she said quickly. 'I'd recommend for a human. I'd recommend even more highly for a Vulcan, and particularly for you. You are – very admired in most science divisions, Commander.'

'Thank you,' Spock nodded, her compliment washing past him. What mattered was that Starfleet had taken the precedent of employing a blind science officer, and that she was willing to endorse his own position. 'That is all I needed to know. Spock out.'

He barely waited for her reply before cutting the channel. As he did he heard the door swish open and caught the scent of food as McCoy bustled back into the room.

'I'm out of the room for five minutes and you take over my desk!' the doctor grumbled good-naturedly as he came in.

'You were gone for approximately fifteen minutes, and I made use of your terminal in your absence,' Spock corrected him. 'You were asking me what I was going to do about my situation. I made preliminary enquiries into the feasibility of my remaining on the ship.'

'And?' the doctor asked eagerly, putting a tray down on the desk with a clink of crockery.

'And there is quite a number of visually impaired officers in Starfleet. One of them is science officer of a Constitution class vessel.'

'Well, that's great, Spock!' the doctor exclaimed. 'There's a precedent. That's important.'

'I am inclined to agree,' Spock nodded. 'However, indications are I would still have to leave the ship for rehabilitation training.'

'Temporarily for training is a hell of a lot better than permanently,' McCoy pointed out.

'Indeed,' Spock said. This sudden change in his life was traumatic enough as it was, without completely relinquishing his home and his future.

'I'll tell you what, Spock – I'll start looking into rehabilitation opportunities while we eat. Do you have a preference between Vulcan and Earth, or a burning desire to go elsewhere?'

'I would prefer Earth,' Spock said.

He felt McCoy's ripple of surprise. He did not wish to explain exactly why he preferred to go to Earth. He could not quite pin down the reason himself. Perhaps a slight sense of nostalgia since he had trained there for Starfleet, a fondness for his mother's home planet, a disinclination to plunge himself back into the rigidity of Vulcan education. If pressed he would say that it would be better to learn Earth standard techniques, since Starfleet was predominantly a human organisation, but somewhere deep down there was a hope that at least on Earth it would be easier for Jim to be with him, at least for a short time or for visits. He did not want to be alone.