A/N: Happy Mother's Day all! Hope you enjoy this present (and don't forget to check out the longer author's note at the bottom).
Chapter 4
New Vulcan Colony, Stardate 2261.31, 2027 hours local time. The comm. in his home office sounded with the familiar tone of a call originating aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. Intrigued, and believing it to be the children wishing to impart some good news, Sarek rose from his meditation mat to accept.
The report he received was anything but joyous.
Nyota was the most disheveled he had ever seen her and was so distressed she was speaking in a rush of Standard, Vulkhansu and Swahili. It was some time before he was able to parse out that his son had been injured and his prognosis was unknown, and it took several minutes more before he received the full account of what had happened.
Under the best of circumstances it would be difficult for Nyota to access Spock through the bond while he was undergoing a healing trance, let alone attempt the same feat in her current state of duress. Sarek knew he also had little chance of getting through but as Spock's father and with concern for his son building he would not be deterred.
Settling back down on the mat he cleared his mind and sought to access the bond forged over 31.39 years ago. It was but a thin tendril of the strong, vibrant thread it formerly was; were it not for years of practice and careful introspection Sarek might have overlooked it entirely. Not since his son had first been conceived had his consciousness been so…dim.
He began to grow worried.
New Vulcan Colony, Stardate 2261.32, 2348 hours local time. The chime had barely echoed before Sarek had Nyota's image up on the viewscreen.
"What news of Spock's condition?"
If she noticed his overly emotional display she did not remark upon it. "The other man who was injured in the same incident woke up a few hours ago."
"And what of his recovery?"
"Physically Lt. Marks is healthy but his mind…" her voice trailed off.
NO! A death sentence would be preferable than the loss of one's higher faculties. He stared at Nyota, coaxing her to provide a complete answer even as he feared the worst.
"He doesn't remember the last nine days of his life."
His anxiety for Spock increased exponentially.
New Vulcan Colony, Stardate 2261.37, 0233 hours local time. "It is as we suspected then," he said quietly to his red-eyed daughter-in-law. She nodded. "How much time has Spock lost?"
"He believes it is 2257.135."
Inwardly Sarek winced. 3.731 years was an acute amount of time for his son to lose, especially when one considered all the life-altering events that had occurred in that short span.
In the background he was dimly aware of Nyota outlining her plan for reintroducing Spock to the present.
New Vulcan Colony, Stardate 2261.45, 1400 hours local time. Her refusal to inform Spock of the bond was beginning to take it's toll on her health—that much he could see even as she raised her hand in the ta'al. Days earlier Sarek had strongly voiced his opposition to her plan yet she refused to yield; as it were his reservations came too late. The damage had already been done, as Spock's Captain and CMO had already broken the worst of the news to him while quietly ignoring that which was of greatest import in accordance with her wishes.
The humans believed that what they were doing was right for Spock. All of them, including his daughter-in-law, were very wrong.
Nyota Uhura, he had discovered over the last few years, was a strong, independent, intelligent, human woman—much like his beloved Amanda. The comparison was bittersweet for Sarek even as he was grateful that his son was so fortunate as to find the same love that he and his own wife had shared. And while Sarek found much to admire in his daughter-in-law's character in this most recent decision he found much at fault; but it could not be helped. A Vulcan woman would have made different choices yet despite being extremely adept in Vulcan ways Nyota was still human, and psi null at that. She did not comprehend that withholding the truth from Spock was not the kindness she thought it to be. They were too deeply rooted in one another's psyches—even T'Pau had remarked after the bonding how strong the connection between them was, an unheard of admission from her—to allow an incident like this to tear them apart, yet Nyota was allowing it to do just that.
She did not understand that the bond still existed: deeply buried and momentarily forgotten perhaps, but the pull, the attraction between them was still there.
It would always be there.
However, discussing such a thing with Spock was forbidden. A bond was a deeply private, personal thing, and Sarek could not tell his son the truth no matter how much he wanted to. Decorum prohibited it.
"Greetings, ko-fu."
"Greetigs, sa-mekh. I trust all is well with the colony?"
He nodded. Only long years of diplomatic service granted him the patience to go through the motions with such trivialities. "Yes, all is well. The Elders and I have recently been informed that ground will be broken on the new Vulcan Science Academy in 62 days' time. Our builders calculate that the work will be completed within 2.47 years."
His announcement brought a small smile to her wan face. "That is wonderful news." Indeed it was good news as their race made another step forward on the long road toward rebuilding.
There was a long pause between them, an almost unheard of thing in the few short years of their acquaintance. "Nyota."
"Yes?"
"It has been 21.33 days since I last spoke with my son."
"…the Elders and I have recently been informed that ground will be broken on the new Vulcan Science Academy in 62 days' time. Our builders calculate that the work will be completed within 2.41 years."
"That is wonderful news." Nyota smiled, keeping up with the niceties even as she wondered what her father-in-law's real motives were for calling. The only certainty she had was that his plans concerned Spock.
In the aftermath of Vulcan's destruction she had become something of a go-between for Sarek and Spock—a role which she rightly suspected Amanda had filled in her lifetime. She initially encouraged the weekly comm. calls between father and son to help them both through their grief and from there the conversations developed naturally until they eagerly anticipated the talks (though those exact words were not ones either party would necessarily ascribe to). Nyota was pleased that the relationship that was once so strained had been re-forged.
Now she wondered, given Spock's memory loss, where that left the two of them. Early on in their own relationship she was aware that Spock harbored a fair degree of resentment toward his father for being hypercritical of him, especially when the Vulcan community and later the VSA so publicly debased Spock andAmanda.
"Nyota."
Sarek's solemn voice broke her out of her reverie. "Yes?"
"It has been 21.33 days since I last spoke with my son."
Her heart caught in her throat. He missed Spock.
"I desire to communicate with him now; however, I do not wish to cause him any undue stress in his current state."
She fought to keep a neutral expression on her face. So he was concerned about how Spock might receive him too.
"Sarek…" Nyota hesitated, unsure of what to tell him. If her hunch were right than his call would only do more harm than good and agitate Spock more than he already was; and yet if someone were to try and prevent her from contacting her child…
Still, he was asking for her opinion. Her father-in-law was not oblivious to the emotional turmoil Spock was likely to experience due to his predicament.
"May I be frank with you?"
One arched eyebrow rose high into his hairline. "I do not see how you can be anything other than Nyota, but by all means, continue."
Vulcan humor; she missed that. Nyota rolled her eyes and smiled. The two S'chn T'gai men sure had come a long way. "I don't know that he'll be happy to hear from you right now. Getting a call from you will probably be more confusing than anything else. He'll question your motives. He doesn't remember…" That you love him. That you loved Amanda.
Sarek looked as if he'd heard her speak that last bit aloud, then quirked his head and considered her input. She could see him calculating the pros and cons of his decision behind half-veiled eyes but in her heart-of-hearts she knew the choice had already been made.
"I find that in spite of your precautions I still wish to make the attempt."
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.46, 1415 hours. He returned to the planes of conscious thought to the sound of the comm. unit chiming in the far corner of his quarters. More and more of his time these days was spent in careful contemplation as Spock sifted through the data and emotions of the present he remembered to the present that was, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress the rage over all that had been taken from him. He rose from his mat and crossed the room, reading the incoming address scrolling at the bottom of the screen with interest.
"Computer, accept transmission." The image of his father flickered before him as he settled into his seat yet it was not the man he remembered. "Greetings, Ambassador."
"Greetings, sa-fu."
Well. This was an intriguing new development. Sarek had not called him son since the day he left Vulcan for San Francisco. Either a lot had changed or the stress of recent events had brought about the early onset of Bendii Syndrome, he could not tell. Whatever the case, Spock was still on his guard. The man wanted something, he was certain of it.
"You appear well."
He nodded, lips clamped firmly shut, for he could not lie and say the same. Sarek had aged twenty years in only a fifth of the time; hair grayer, visage wizened, carriage hunched and expression tired. Judging by the infinitesimal lift of his eyebrow Sarek was well aware of the unfavorable appraisal yet chose not to address it.
"I have been informed that you do not recall any of the events prior to stardate 2257.135. Is this correct?"
Spock ground his teeth at the sudden up swell of fury the question brought. Was his entire medical history up for discussion with anyone and everyone in the quadrant?
Apparently he was not as circumspect at concealing his irritation as he thought. "My son, I am merely inquiring after the state of your health given your recent experiences on the planet Anguillida. I have no ulterior motive for contacting you. Are you still affected by the memory loss?"
His father knew he was, yet years with a human spouse had him asking the rhetorical anyway. "Yes," Spock replied after several moments introspection. "I am affected by the memory loss and I find the entire experience to be very…trying."
The Ambassador nodded politely at the understatement. "Might I assist you in anyway?"
He saw the intense distrust in his son's eyes—eyes that were so like Amanda's—and the pain and confusion too. Spock's control over his emotions was tenuous at best and even Sarek could not fault him for his feelings; they were based on a past that was still fresh in his son's memory and filled with incidents and slights that Sarek still came to regret.
Regrets were illogical and yet he had reason for them. They started on the day Spock was born ("You missed the birth! I wanted you here!" Amanda sobbed. And his response to her tears? "It is not the Vulcan way."). Sarek had always wanted what was best for his son; he failed to see how ignoring his child's humanity only caused more hurt. His silence that fateful day at the VSA was disgraceful—he should have defended his wife and child regardless of the judgment his fellow elders might have passed—and the rift his inaction caused fractured the family irreparably. It took nearly a decade and a cataclysmic event to learn from his mistakes and heal…
…only Spock was not cognizant of a reconciliation ever taking place.
"I am not in need of any assistance at this time."
The 'from you' was implicit and the hard look on Spock's face fairly roared 'LEAVE ME ALONE!'
"Might I assist you in anyway?"
Ahh. Now he understood; Sarek had called to gloat. He never approved of Starfleet and now that this grave misfortune had befallen him his misgivings were proved to be well-founded. Spock wondered how much longer the torture would continue as he struggled to maintain his unruffled composure.
"I am not in need of any assistance at this time," he replied, biting back the venom that stole into his voice.
A long pause followed, not unlike the silence he recalled filling the entry chamber of the VSA. An ambient noise was picked up by the transmission…
Wait. Was that…was Sarek sighing?
"I understand. Do not hesitate to contact me should your circumstances change." His father raised his weathered hand again in the ta'al. "Dif-tor heh smusa."
Curious at the turn the conversation had taken Spock dutifully mirrored the farewell. "Sochya e dif." The screen went blank, yet he continued to stare at it for a further 5.60 minutes as he struggled to reconcile the Sarek he once knew with the one he had just spoken with.
This was no alternate reality; that was his father, and yet everything he thought he knew to be true about the man had changed. There was a time where he believed Sarek would never speak to him again and now he was not only calling of his own accord but was seemingly sincere in his offers of assistance. The change within him was so great it was almost incomprehensible.
And for the first time since his release from sickbay Spock began to wonder what else in his life had changed for the better…
…meanwhile, on New Vulcan, Sarek privately mourned the loss of the close relationship he had worked so hard to build with his son.
U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.47, 0143 hours. It took a few more hours of meditation before Spock felt collected enough to venture out of his quarters without incident. Regrettably his timing put him in the middle of ship's night.
Privately, Spock was both disappointed and relieved by this turn of events. It meant that the majority of the crew he had interacted with daily for the last 2.57 years of their mission were in the middle of their REM cycle yet his timing also afforded him the opportunity to explore the ship at his own pace.
He began his inspection in engineering and steadily worked his way up the decks. In his opinion the Enterprise was ergonomically designed as well as aesthetically pleasing, though that was to be expected from the flagship of Starfleet. Upon entering the empty science lab a trill of pride ran up his spine and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward ever so slightly as he surveyed his domain.
Perhaps he was not as prepared to interact with the crew as he believed himself to be.
Continuing his tour Spock debated whether to include a breakfast trip to the Mess when he happened upon three ensigns in the hall. He sensed their trepidation in his presence even as they stood respectfully at attention. Was it his rank that they feared or was it him? Had he endured this type of quiet hostility every day since they left spacedock? The few crewmembers he had encountered previously—the Captain, the Doctor, the other medical personnel—were they deferential toward him out of some sense of professional courtesy?
Or was it pity?
If that was the case then what was he still doing on-board this ship?
He was here, he realized, because now that Vulcan was no more he had nowhere else to go; with their numbers so greatly reduced the colony would not welcome him since he had nothing of genetic value to contribute.
Home, he realized with a pang, had died with his mother.
The ensigns' sighs of relief—audible only to his ears—haunted him as he moved along down the corridor.
Spock was regretting ever leaving his quarters when he heard the faint sounds of muttering emanating from the room to his right. Setting foot into Recreation Room 7 he discovered a young man with short, curly hair standing in the back corner with a marker between his lips and a fraught expression on his face. He recognized the man from the Enterprise's crew complement as Ensign Pavel Chekov, ship's navigator and tactician. Closer inspection showed the Ensign to be engaged in completing a series of complex algorithms in conjunction with another series of amateur sketches. Intrigued, Spock strode further into the room until he was directly behind the young man.
"Ensign."
"AIEEEE!"
Take the square root and divide by 32. Multiply by the ship's estimated current speed. Plug into the equation and then calculate the angle of trajectory to arrive at plot 5.0079…
"Ensign."
Chekov let out an undignified squeal as he leapt into the air heart hammering in his chest. Spinning around he came face to face with a man he hadn't seen in 17 days and Pavel was so happy to see him alive and well he almost reached out and hugged him. "О мой Бог!* Meester Spock! Eet ees so good to see you again, Sir!"
Spock nodded, his cool level gaze serving to calm Pavel's own excitability, then leaned over for a closer examination of the work on the window. It was clear that his friend didn't recognize the game they once spent hours playing when neither one could sleep. "I see that you are utilizing the Menkoff Theorem, though to what end I cannot determine. Might I inquire as to where you are extrapolating your data and why you are completing your work in such a highly irregular fashion?"
Pavel tried to tamp down the flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "Eet ees, well, you see…eet ees a game of sorts. One I started back vhen I vas at the Academy. I cannot turn my brain off and vhen I hav trouble sleeping I come in here and play so I von't bother anybody. Thees helps me to relax." He got no answer from the Commander so he pointed to the board instead. "See, by calculating the deestance of the stars from our current trajectory and plotting the points on thees three-dimensional graph ve can see an image."
Spock quirked his head and examined the window with renewed interest. Just like before Chekov found his game as a way to connect to the Commander.
"Fascinating." He took another slow step forward, peering at his last design—a flower. "Though if I understand you correctly, Mr. Chekov, you would not want to turn your brain off. Should your higher brain functions cease Doctor McCoy would be forced to declare you dead and we would have to find a replacement for you on the bridge."
"Ha!" Hilarity and relief made the laughter practically pour out of his mouth. When the bridge crew had been apprised of Spock's condition no one was sure what to expect and it was just so good to see his dry sense of humor still intact.
Spock did not know what came over him: one minute he was listening intently to the outline of Mr. Chekov's mental exercise, the next he was making what his mother used to refer to as a 'wry joke'; and now, if the Ensign's physical reaction was any indication, it appeared he had lost the respect of a member of his command crew due to his lapse.
He took a deep cleansing breath and briefly closed his eyes. He would overcome this; he would overcome and endure. Balance and control. Balance and control. Balance and…
"I'm sorry, Commander," Chekov said as he wiped at his eyes. Then the young man looked up into his face and his jaw instantly went slack. "I'm sorry," he repeated more seriously, "I vas not laughing at you, I vas laughing vith you. Eet ees good to see that you are really alright. Ve vere not sure there for awhile."
Now Spock was truly confused. Was Mr. Chekov implying that he made remarks like this to his subordinates on a regular basis? And they respected him more for it?
The thought was horrifying.
Ensign Chekov must have read something in his inscrutable expression because he let the conversation drop as he turned back to the window. "I do not know vhat to make of thees current piece. I think thees may be a dog?"
Personally the image reminded him of a newborn sehlat but he refrained from saying so outright lest he exhibit a sense of nostalgia as well as a sense of humor. In all honesty he was more fascinated by the process the image derived from than anything else and appreciated the opportunity for creative expression while working within the strict framework of mathematical theorems that the Ensign had constructed. In that respect the exercise was almost uniquely Vulcan.
"So what you are saying is that you see a Terran canine in the passing stars of the Beta quadrant?"
"Da, a puppy! That ees exactly eet!" With a flourish Chekov completed the drawing, replete with collar, and removed the grid lines.
It was indeed a most interesting sight watching the eager young man work. "Fascinating."
"Da," he agreed. The navigator beamed all the more at his drawing then extended the pen. "Vould you like to try?"
He stared down at the implement. Spock found himself drawn to the activity like a moth to a flame. Although there had not been much of import in their conversation thus far he felt a particular kinship with Ensign Chekov, a rarity for him among any species let alone among humans.
Perhaps there was more to his staying aboard the Enterprise than simply having no home to return to.
Slowly Spock reached out and took hold of the marker, and with Chekov's instructions the pair continued their efforts until the wee hours of the morning.
*О мой Бог - Russian for 'Oh My G-d'
A/N: Wow. I had NO idea that so many people were going to react to Chapter 3 the way that they did. With that in mind I decided to post Chapter 4 a bit early. Just to address the biggest issues people had: Kirk, McCoy and the rest of the Enterprise do care about Spock and Uhura. Last chapter Jim was just being Jim, trying to pretend that everything was normal; teasing Uhura was just par for the course. Also, Nyota is only human (a brilliant one, true, but still human). She's allowed to make mistakes like the one she's currently making.
Just remember: everything is happening for a reason. You'll see.