In the cool double bed in their cabin Spock moved a little closer to Jim. He was comfortable, but it was decidedly chilly on this human ship compared to his quarters on the Enterprise. For the first time since leaving he felt a small lurch in his chest. If he did not satisfactorily complete this rehabilitation training and pass the mandated tests, he would never return to that cabin. It had not struck him until now that he could be permanently leaving the only home he had known for over a decade.

'I'd turn the heating up if I could,' Jim murmured. 'I'm sorry, Spock. Tran-Space is essentially a human line.'

'Yes, I am aware,' Spock said. 'Jim, you said you would tell me more about your transfer once we were in private. Now Peter is asleep – '

'Yes, yes, I did,' Jim said.

He sounded decidedly sleepy, but he roused himself, straightening up in the bed and sitting up against the pillows. Spock could feel through their latent link Jim's mind becoming more alert, settling into command mode. He wondered at Jim giving up his position of command over four hundred and thirty crewmembers to take this job at headquarters, even if it were temporary. Command was in his blood. It was his first love. But then there was that other Jim, he was aware, the one who owned stacks of antique real-paper books with dusty aromas, who could quote D. H. Lawrence and Melville at the drop of a hat, who loved the taste of fresh air and earth beneath his feet. Perhaps this transfer was not utterly against his nature. The Deneva incident had put a great strain on the young captain both personally and professionally, and perhaps a total change would do him good.

'Jim, are you absolutely sure you want to give up your – ' Spock began.

'Yes, Spock,' Jim cut over him. 'Yes, I'm sure. I need to be with you, Spock – not because I think you're helpless, not because I pity you, but because I love you. You're part of me and I'm part of you. I couldn't stand to have you so far away and going through this.'

Spock reached a hand out to touch Jim's warm chest. He could feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs. It was oddly placed compared to Vulcan anatomy, but he had grown used to it. There it was, so undeniably strong and real. In this closeness of night time he could almost pretend that he was not blind, that the light was simply turned off, that Jim was as much in the dark as he was.

'Thank you, Jim,' he said simply.

Jim put his hand over Spock's. 'I couldn't do anything else, Spock. Now, about this assignment. Headquarters had been putting out feelers for someone to take this job for a few weeks. It was a lucky coincidence. You know what it's like there, Spock. They're either all paper-pushers or men who've been away from active command for so long that they don't remember what it's like. Very few of them have recent frontier experience, recent first contacts under their belts, recent engagements with enemies. They wanted someone who's been out among the stars, taking in new experiences.'

'But for what, Jim?' Spock asked.

Jim lowered his voice, even though it was extremely unlikely that anyone could overhear. The walls were not so thin on this ship, and Spock could tell from the quiescent mental emanations that young Peter Kirk was fast asleep.

'There have been suspicions recently that there might be foreign agents trying to infiltrate Command,' he said in a low voice. 'I shouldn't even be telling you, really, but I know there's a chance you'd pick it up in a meld, so I need to let you know. Also, I value your advice and I thought you might be able to help me. Now, they don't know who they are or where they're from, but it's vital that they're picked up. They could even be Klingon or Romulan, and if they've penetrated our defences so deeply we can't let them get back to their homeland.'

Spock lay in silence, cogitating what Jim had told him. It would indeed be a concern if there were spies or assassins so close to the heart of the Federation and Starfleet, but he wondered how Jim hoped to have any success in routing them out. He was not a detective or an expert in espionage, but a starship captain known for working very close to the edge of regulations. Some might call him a live wire. He still could not imagine Jim being content to stay in a job that bound him to Earth.

'Exactly what kind of danger are they thought to pose?' he asked.

'They don't know that yet, either,' Jim said grimly. 'It could be anything from simply sending data back to their masters to planning a terrorist attack or some kind of coup. It's my job to find out.'

Spock lay in the dark and considered that. It seemed a stretch for one man to investigate such things. Surely he would have a team under him? He could not help but wonder if there was something Jim was still keeping from him, something that made him right for the job over any other person. But then Jim was an extraordinary human being. What was it he had said during the Deneva crisis? I want that third alternative. Perhaps that was what made Jim the perfect choice for an assignment like this. He did not stop at the obvious. He always searched for the third alternative.

((O))

After three nights on the ferry, arrival was quite as hectic as departure, with lines of humans jostling and pushing to get out into the space dock as if they were desperate to rejoin with Earth. Quite probably they were desperate for just that. Not many people spent as much time in space as Starfleet officers and a fair proportion found space travel deeply unnerving.

Spock was clad in a dark charcoal suit, anticipating that spring in Iowa would not be quite warm enough for comfort. He did not know how Jim was dressed but he knew that he was in civilian clothes, and the fabric of his jacket was soft under his hand as he followed him through the dock. Peter trailed behind, reluctant, but at least with the party rather than attempting to escape into shops or arcades as he had on the starbase. The three days travel to Earth had allowed him to reconcile himself a bit more fully with his fate.

'We'll cut through to the Fleet section and use the transporter there,' Jim told Spock as they navigated through the crowds.

'We are not on duty. Is that quite ethical?' Spock asked.

Jim laughed. 'They won't mind, Spock, and it beats taking the communal transporter to Chicago and having to trek back to Riverside from there.'

'Likely there would be a shuttle station or local transporter terminal very near the Chicago terminal,' Spock pointed out.

'Spock, we're using the Fleet transporter,' Jim said, putting on his command voice. 'No arguments. I've got a twelve year old boy in tow, and – '

'And a blind man,' Spock finished for him.

Jim sighed. 'I didn't say that, Spock.'

'No, you did not,' Spock replied. 'But it is a given that my presence is causing you extra difficulty. There is no logic in denying that.'

'I'm not even going to get into that,' Jim said firmly. 'Now, I need to go up to the transport desk for a minute to make sure they send all the luggage to the right place. I need to give them the details of the funeral home in Riverside. Keep having nightmares of them beaming Sam and Aurelan straight down to mom's place, and – well – ' He trailed off, obviously remembering the presence of Peter nearby. It was quite common on the Enterprise to displace grief and shock with a rather crude gallows humour, but there was a time and a place.

'If you will take me to the side of this area I will stay with Peter until you are done,' Spock offered. He was sure that it would not be good for Peter to hear his uncle talking about arrangements with the funeral home and the mass of packed up belongings from his home on Deneva.

'Thank you, Spock,' Jim said with real relief. 'Look, there's a waiting area over there, with seats. I'll take you over, and I will be back from sorting this out as soon as possible.'

((O))

They beamed down into cool fresh air, the sound of light wind rustling leaves, and sunshine that was strong if not terribly warm on the side of Spock's face. He heard Jim take in a deep breath, but there was a hitch in the sound, as if he were trying to suppress strong emotion.

'I always loved the farm at this time of year,' Jim said, but Spock could still hear that catch in his voice. He closed his fingers a little tighter around Jim's arm, giving him a silent mental projection of reassurance.

There was a flurry of noise nearby, a door opening and then the voice of an older woman saying, 'Oh, Jim! Jim, I didn't realise you'd be here so soon.'

Spock relinquished his hold on Jim's arm, and the captain moved away from him, walking with firm steps over towards where that voice had come from.

'We took the Fleet transporter, got us down here a bit faster than it would have to go through civilian immigration and public channels,' Jim was saying as he strode across the ground.

Grassed, Spock thought, by the feeling underfoot and the sound as Jim walked. Presumably they had been beamed to the house's front yard, but it was disconcerting that he could not immediately tell if that were true or not. He could hear the trees and occasionally the sound of the wind buffeting what was probably the house, but beyond that he was in a completely unknown situation.

'Never mind, never mind, you're here, and I'm always ready for you,' the woman said. Then her voice seemed to break, and she said, 'Oh, Jimmy...'

Jim's voice sounded muffled now. 'I know, mom, I know.'

Spock imagined they were hugging, but what he didn't expect was the sudden welling of pain and grief from his bondmate's mind. He didn't know if Jim were visibly crying, but in his mind it was as if a wall had suddenly broken down and tears were flooding through. Spock took a step forward instinctively, but he did not want to intrude, and to all extents and purposes he was standing on a small island with almost unknown waters around him. He wondered where Peter was, but Jim's mental emanations were so strong he could sense no others.

'Oh, Spock, I'm sorry,' Jim said suddenly, and Spock was aware that he had turned back to him. 'Mom, this is Spock,' he said, coming across the lawn to take hold of his arm. 'Petey, why don't you go say hi to your grandmother?'

Now Jim was more in control Spock could sense Peter, filled with uncertainty, shyness, and something that bubbled beneath like anger.

'There, don't bother the boy,' Jim's mother said quietly, coming across to them as Spock heard Peter's footsteps slam away against the ground in a run. 'He'll probably go out to the tree house. He spent hours in there, days almost, last time he came with – ' Her voice broke, and for a moment there were no words, until she said, 'I am so sorry, Mr Spock. So rude of me.'

'Not at all, Mrs Kirk,' Spock assured her in a gentle voice.

'You've had your own loss to bear,' she murmured, and Spock felt that awkwardness that seemed to rise in every human who encountered him since losing his sight. 'Well, come on inside,' she said, injecting a false cheerfulness into her voice. 'I'll get coffee on, and we can sit and talk. It's been a long time since you and I talked, Jimmy. You don't visit enough.'

After a little time inside Spock found himself alone with Mrs Kirk while Jim went outside to check on Peter and try to persuade him to come in. He sat on a wooden chair with his arms resting on a wooden table, holding the handle of a mug of coffee which he had accepted more for courtesy's sake than real thirst.

'Jim said that he's staying on Earth for a while, so he can be with you, Mr Spock,' Mrs Kirk said, as if to break the silence, which was in danger of become awkward.

'Yes, the captain feels a great sense of responsibility – ' Spock began, but Mrs Kirk interrupted.

'You know, he's told me all about you,' she said, 'been completely honest with me. I know you're in a relationship with him, and I'm fine with that. I'm just happy that he's happy.'

Spock relaxed his spine a little so that it touched the chair back. It was a relief to hear that. He had not been sure what Jim had said and he was anticipating separate bedrooms and having to continue some kind of charade of mere friendship in front of his mother's eyes.

'Mrs Kirk – ' he began.

'Winona, please,' she told him. 'Or Win, if you want to get really familiar.'

He could hear the smile in her voice, but there were still waves of sadness behind it. She was obviously holding on to her grief.

'Winona,' Spock nodded, his voice taking on a formal tone. 'I am grateful for your acceptance and honoured by the opening of your doors to me.'

He could feel her smile now. Her mind held similarities to Jim's, and without shutting down his shields entirely against her, her emotions felt like a soft sea washing against him.

'That sounds like a ritual phrase,' she said.

'Correct,' he nodded, 'but none the less meant.'

'Spock, I am very, very grateful for everything you did, the tests you went through, to help those people on Deneva,' she told him.

'I did no more than was my duty,' Spock said gravely. 'I also acted to save myself.'

'Nonetheless, you helped to save my grandson, and he's all I have left of Jim's brother.'

Spock bowed his head momentarily. He had never met Samuel Kirk in life, but he had been startled at how very much he looked like Jim, and he felt a certain regret that he would never know him.

There was a clatter as Jim's mother set her mug down on the table. He could feel the change in her emotions, the strong grief being forcibly overlain with cheerfulness.

'It looks like Jim might be outside for a while with poor Pete,' she said. 'Now, you're staying here for two weeks, aren't you, Spock? Would you like me to take you around the house so you know where things are? You might want to get familiar with the bathroom and the kitchen and where the chairs are in the sitting room, at least.'

Spock hesitated. He had been focussing so intently on the sound of Winona's voice and what she was saying that he had stopped noticing the darkness so acutely. Now it rushed back again and he was suddenly reminded of everything that it meant. He was bound here to this chair in a room he could not see, reliant on the goodwill of those around him if he wanted to move about, reliant on their help to get food, to pick out his clothes, to go anywhere beyond learned and familiar routes – and as yet no route was familiar in this place. He knew nothing about Jim's home.

He felt a catastrophic breaking down of his ability to control of a kind that had not hit him since his blinding. This was it. This was how it would be for the rest of his life, always dependent, always trapped by the inability of light to reach his brain. What idiocy to think that he would be able to return to his duties on the Enterprise. Idiocy to think that his relationship with Jim could continue through a carer-patient partnership. Idiocy to think that he would be all right, that things would heal, that this could be overcome.

'Spock? Mr Spock?' Jim's mother asked anxiously.

He took in a deep breath, his hands tightening convulsively on the coffee mug. Abruptly, it shattered, and warm coffee flooded out from the almost full mug, over the table and down onto his lap.

'I am sorry, I am sorry,' he said quickly, shocked at his own lack of control. His hands were still cupped around a shattered collection of pottery shards and covered in a slick of rapidly cooling liquid.

Winona was on her feet, around at his side of the table, fussing around him as she tried to mop up the coffee both from the table and his sodden thighs. Her hands were over his, soft and gentle and cool as Jim's, but he could feel the age in them.

'Let me look, Mr Spock. Let's see. No, no harm done. There's no blood.'

She sounded like a mother reassuring her child. Spock still felt shocked, whited out at the sudden loss of control he had experienced. She was wiping his palms with a damp cloth, examining them closely it seemed.

'Just a tiny scratch on one,' she said, touching her fingertip to a place near the top of Spock's left palm. The telepathic assault of her touch was almost unbearable. He felt he had no ability to shield. There was so much pain in her mind, so much loss, even while she was masking it all and pretending to be concerned only over Spock's hands. Perhaps Vulcans were not the only masters of concealing emotion.

He tried to pull himself together, to make his voice steady and without inflection.

'I will, of course, pay for the cup.'

He had not succeeded. There was a tremor in his voice.

'Oh, no, don't be silly. It was just a mug. An old thing.'

'You must allow me to – ' Spock tried again, and then stopped. His desperate attempt to make recompense was as wildly emotional as the reaction that had broken the mug in the first place. 'Mrs Kirk, I don't think I'll take a tour of the house right now,' he said in a very level voice. 'Could you simply show me to my room? I am in need of meditation.'

'Of course, of course,' she said in a kindly tone. 'I don't think your luggage is here yet. I wonder if I have any old clothes of Jim's that would fit you? Your pants are soaked.'

He shook his head. 'There is no need to trouble yourself,' he said. All he wanted was to be left alone.

'Well, I'll have a look,' she promised.

As he stood up there was a small clatter as more pieces of the broken mug fell to the ground. Spock regretted causing so much disturbance so soon on entering Jim's family home, but there was nothing he could do. He allowed Mrs Kirk to take hold of his arm and manoeuvre him across the room. She took him to the stairs and showed him the banister and anxiously followed him up with a hand almost touching his back. He had not had to navigate stairs since his blinding, and he walked cautiously, pressing his foot to the back of the stair on each tread, feeling carefully to be sure if it were the last one or not.

'Here we are,' Mrs Kirk said as they reached the top, putting a hand on each arm from behind him. She steered him to the right, and then left, reaching around him to open a door. 'Here's your room. Do you want the bed or a chair? I wonder if I've got any of Jim's old clothes in the drawers here...'

Spock murmured responses and found himself sitting in what felt and smelt like a relatively old armchair while Jim's mother scraped open drawers and banged them closed again.

'Here you are, dear,' she said, putting a wad of fabric into his hands. 'There's his old jeans. Gosh, I remember when he used to wear these... They might be a tiny bit short in the leg for you, but he was a bit slimmer in those days, and I think they'll be about right round the waist.'

'Thank you, Mrs Kirk,' Spock said, moving a hand over the roughness of the denim. He did not want to put the jeans on. He just wanted to be left alone. She seemed to sense that, and after a few more irrelevant comments she left the room.

Spock breathed out a long, calming breath, and closed his eyes in the sudden peace. He stretched out his legs and noticed again the cold, clinging feeling of the drenched trousers over him. The liquid was definitely cold now, and making him shiver. He stood and peeled the garment off, leaving it neatly folded on the floor. He brushed his hands over his thighs to try to wipe away the last remnants of the coffee. The scent rose around him as it evaporated from his warm skin. His underpants were wet too, and he took them off. Then, suddenly conscious of his semi-nudity in this unfamiliar room, he unfolded the jeans and slipped them on.

The feeling of the fabric against his skin was strangely reassuring. The overwhelming scent of the jeans was that of clothes put away for a long time, but beneath that, faint but lingering, he could smell Jim, and that scent was like a warm blanket to him. He felt a flicker of positivity alight in his chest, but the darkness around it was so great. He felt very tired in his mind.

He steepled his fingers in front of his face, pressing his fingertips together to try to push their formation into his mind even though he could not visually focus on the shape they made. He tried to bring himself down into a place of clarity, a place of calm. He tried to make himself aware of his feelings, examine them, and carefully remove them.

He failed.