The morning of the funerals came with what Jim described as clear skies and hot sun. The sun did not feel hot to Spock, but he was not going to quibble on today of all days. He stayed at Jim's side, as he had promised, but he felt distinctly out of place as they prepared for this most human of ceremonies. It would be nothing like a Vulcan funeral. Spock tried to think of human metaphors that Jim might employ for his situation. Wallflower? Third wheel? He could not be certain what was appropriate, but in non-metaphoric terms he was on the outside, a guest who could not grieve, a person who should be offering help, but instead was forced to accept it.

'Jim, are you certain it would not be better were I to remain at the house?' he asked as he walked with the captain toward the front door. The air cars were outside, waiting to take the Kirk family to the church.

'I am absolutely certain,' Jim replied. There was something odd to his voice, a strange, constrained sound as if he were afraid he was going to cry. 'Spock, I need you,' he continued, very low. 'I need you with me. Can you understand that?'

'Of course, t'hy'la,' he responded in an equally quiet voice, although he could not say he understood entirely. He was surely only going to be a burden at this difficult time. A hot spike of frustration rose in him, and he fought to quell it. He had been so effectively removed from use by this dark veil over his sight. Here he was holding onto Jim's arm, having to be led everywhere. He could not help fetch or carry, he could not effectively greet or direct mourners, he could not help to carry the coffins. His only purpose was to hold Jim's arm, and distract the human from his own duties.

'Steps out of the house,' Jim murmured as they walked onto the porch, pausing at the top of the flight so that Spock could feel for the first one with his foot. He recalled the steps very clearly, but Jim was so assiduous in alerting him to such things that he did not want to discourage him.

They walked across the grass to the barely perceptible hum of the air cars, which were waiting outside. Spock knew from Jim's description that they were sleek, black as in Earth-western tradition, and would travel far slower than their optimum speed to fulfil a perceived need for respect for the dead. There were two hearse cars and one for the family behind. It was this car that they approached, and Jim carefully guided Spock up into the wide seats, which felt as if they were upholstered with leather or a leather substitute. He moved over as far as possible so that the three humans could get in, and felt for the seat belt.

'Here, let me help you,' Jim said, and his hands touched Spock's, cool and reassuring. He reached across the Vulcan's body and strapped him in. 'Not that we'll need them at these speeds, but – '

'Safety is always desirable,' Spock finished for him. 'Jim, am I correct in thinking we will be meeting Peter's brothers at the church?'

'Yes,' Jim nodded quietly. 'They got in a few hours ago, I think. They'll be staying at the house tonight. Aurelan's father's going to stay in a hotel, though. He's quite infirm, by all accounts.'

At that point the air car rocked again, and Spock was aware of Peter and Mrs Kirk getting into their seats. He had gained the sense that Peter had been somewhat reluctant to come to the funeral, but Jim had thought it best that his grandmother persuade him gently. Evidently her persuasion had worked, because Peter was getting into the car without argument.

The car started off slowly and gently, reinforcing Kirk's suggestion that the belts were hardly necessary.

'It's about ten minutes to the church,' Jim said. 'It's an old red brick place, must be at least three hundred years old. I always loved it when the sun hit it just right. It glowed, you know.'

Spock nodded, remembering that burnished glow that bricks took on in the right angle of Earth sunshine.

'I did not know that your family was religious, Jim,' he murmured.

'Oh, well, we're not, not really, but – weddings, funerals, you know how it is...'

Spock nodded, but internally he was perplexed. He did not understand the logic of clinging to a faith for key events in life when the beliefs espoused by that faith were shunned the rest of the time. Surely it was better to make the break entirely and live according to one's own principles all the time? In the past the church had opposed same-sex relationships such as his and Jim's. In the nearer future it had opposed unions between sentient people of different worlds.

'And Aurelan's family?' he asked.

He felt Jim shrug. 'I don't know. It said in her will that they were to be buried together, preferably here. I'm sorry to say I never got to know Aurelan that well. Just a few Christmases and birthdays, you know.'

Spock nodded. It sounded as if Jim's relationship with Aurelan was much like his relationship with the church, something which only materialised on special occasions. Spock settled back in his seat, closed his eyes, and set himself to cogitating this matter. The sun through the window of the air car was magnified and pleasantly warm on the side of his face, and the quiet hum of the engines was conducive to thought.

It was not, he thought, that either the church or Aurelan were unimportant to Jim. He recalled the captain's manner with her in those brief moments when she had been conscious before her death. He had seemed familiar, concerned, even tender. He had shown appropriate grief after her death, although not at the level he had shown for his brother. Perhaps it was that both of these things, sister-in-law and church, were there in the background, always expected to be around. He called upon them at important times. Spock wondered in a brief flight of fantasy what it would be like if he and Jim decided on a human marriage. Would they both stand in the red brick church that Jim had described and be united under a god that Jim barely believed in and Spock was certain did not exist except in the minds of the faithful?

He quenched that thought immediately as he opened his eyes to the constant, blanketing blackness. How could he ever commit to a permanent relationship with such uncertainty hanging over his future? He clenched his fists unobtrusively at his sides.

Suddenly, with the plummeting of his own mental state, he became painfully aware of the emotional fog within the air car. The driver, a person he could not see and had not even heard speak, was serene, but in the back of the car emotions were spreading in a dense miasma. He could feel Jim's most strongly because of the bond, but he was aware of Peter's grief, sharp and angry and lost, and Mrs Kirk's, a more muted, tired, bone-deep grief that was so strong it made Spock's temples ache. The church would be even harder. He did not know how many people would be at the service, but an entire room full of grief-stricken humans would be almost unbearable. He was torn between strengthening his mental shields and keeping them relaxed. He would need some kind of protection against all of that emotionalism, but he also wanted to be available to Jim, and in his blind state he found it much easier to sense his surroundings if he kept a certain openness to the minds around him.

'We're here, Spock,' Jim said, and Spock jerked out of his reverie. 'You'll be okay with mom?'

Jim had already explained to Spock that he was to be one of the coffin bearers. Spock had crushed his regret at not being able to join his bondmate in carrying his brother, but he did not trust himself, even with the obligatory anti-gravs to take the weight and the guidance of the other bearers around him.

'I will be quite fine,' he assured Jim. He wished that his partner would not fuss over him quite so much, but he was not sure how to address the issue without causing upset or offence. It was hard not to feel broken when he was treated as if he were. This was certainly not the time to speak of it, though. He could feel Jim's grief like a pall.

He slid out of the car and onto what felt like gravelled ground. Mrs Kirk was crying very quietly, but she took hold of his arm, and he found he could not bring himself to correct the grip and ask her to let him take her arm instead. He could hear many other people around. There was quiet talking, some crying, and occasionally, and rather startlingly, a soft laugh. He had been right about the miasma of emotion, though. It was almost unbearable, and he shut down his shields resolutely despite the fact that it made him feel twice as blind.

'Let's go inside, dear,' Mrs Kirk said, patting Spock's hand lightly. Then she said, 'Oh, look, Petey, there are your brothers on their way in. Do you want to – '

Spock did not hear Peter reply, but he heard his running footsteps as he raced to catch up with his older brothers. He walked with Mrs Kirk across the gravel, and then stumbled and fell hard to his knees as his feet hit into something solid.

'Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, Spock,' Mrs Kirk told him, actually starting to cry aloud now. 'There are steps. I didn't think. I'm sorry.'

Spock was struck with a moment of strange anger that he was the one who had slammed into the ground, whose knees and palms were stinging, while Jim's mother wept, but he pushed the feeling aside. It was irrational, completely irrational. Mrs Kirk had every right to cry, and it was his place to comfort her.

He regained his footing with alacrity. His knees had struck the sharp edge of one of the steps so hard that he feared he might be bleeding, but this was no time to check. He brushed his hand briefly over the fabric of his trousers to be sure there was no hole. At least he had not hit his head.

'Let me take your arm, Winona,' he said quietly. 'That is the best method.'

'Of course, I'm so sorry,' she said again, putting her hand over his.

There was nothing more to say, so Spock remained silent, walking painfully up the steps a little behind her until she said, 'This is the top,' and the ground levelled out. They passed out of the warm sunshine into a cooler space that echoed with the noise of people's feet and quiet chatter. It sounded like a place of flat, bare walls, and he followed Jim's mother until she helped him into a pew, and they both sat down.

His knees throbbed, and he was rather more focussed on that than what was going on around him. Then he noticed Jim's presence as his partner slipped in beside him and sat down. The degree of relief he felt at being reunited with him was quite improper, and he felt that odd feeling of ambivalence again over Jim's closeness to him. Was it useful to feel such a dependence on another person? Surely he needed to have the confidence to be apart from him, just as he always had until a week ago?

Jim bumped lightly against his shoulder, and Spock reached out to touch his hand. He felt Jim's grief again through the touch, and tried to shut down his shields against the worst of it. As someone, the preacher, he supposed, started speaking, he surreptitiously touched his fingertips to his right knee, which was the most painful, and felt dampness through the cloth. He rubbed his fingertips together and then brought them to his nose to sniff them delicately. There was the scent of blood on them.

'Spock?' Kirk murmured in an undertone, taking hold of his hand. 'Is that blood?'

Spock did not reply, not wanting to interrupt the sermon. Instead he moved his hand so his fingertips were touching Jim's and let his mind open, letting Jim see the moment when he had stumbled on the steps outside. Jim's concern welled up, taking him away from thoughts of the service for now, and Spock felt the human's free hand touching gently at his knees. Both were bleeding, it seemed.

We'll go get you some medical attention afterwards. Can you wait until afterwards? Jim asked in his mind.

Affirmative, Spock thought. He had no intention of disrupting the service for such a minor matter.

He sat quietly through the service, standing when required, although he declined to sing since the hymns were unfamiliar and he could not read the words printed on the rustling paper that Jim held. When the service was finally over he found it a relief to get outside into the open air, where at least the emotions of all the humans present were more dissipated.

'Look, Spock, I think we should go to a pharmacy to get something for your knees,' Jim said to him quietly. 'I'll send mom and Pete on to the wake and we can catch up with them there. We can get a cab.'

'Very well, Jim,' Spock agreed. He knew he needed to do something to clean and cover the wounds. It was always advisable to eliminate bacteria from wounds gained on a foreign planet. Earth was not strictly foreign to him and he shared half of his genetic heritage with its people, but regardless, he had grown up on Vulcan, exposed to Vulcan bacteria and viruses, not Earth ones.

He succumbed quietly to the pharmacist's advice and allowed Jim to carefully clean and cover the wounds, but he declined a painkiller, and got back into the cab to go to the wake as originally planned.

'Look, I'm really sorry about this,' Jim said to him as they sat in the cab.

'It was not your fault, and your mother has already apologised,' Spock said quietly. 'It was not strictly her fault either. I did not correct her when she guided me incorrectly.'

'I know,' Jim murmured. 'But I'm still sorry.'

Spock felt frustration well again. 'Jim, it is nothing more than split skin and bruises. I have suffered far worse in the past. The fact that I cannot see does not magically magnify my injuries.'

Jim was silent for a moment, and Spock regretted his tone, afraid that he had upset his bondmate on a day which was already quite gruelling enough for him.

'No, I know, I know,' Jim said eventually. 'I need to stop treating you with kid gloves. I know that, Spock. This is a learning process for me too...'

'We will be in San Francisco soon, and I will start to learn the requisite skills for independence,' Spock said. 'I think that will be to the benefit of both of us. Neither of us are used to such a situation. I have been utterly dependent upon you.'

To his consternation Jim suddenly began to weep. Spock had felt a certain building of tension but he had not expected this. He sat still for a moment, constrained by the seat belt and the space between them, but then he leant forward and tapped on the glass panel which separated them from the driver.

'Is it safe to let us out here?' he asked.

There was a small hesitation, then the driver said, 'Look, we're a block away from the park. How about I drop you there?'

'That will be satisfactory,' Spock said.

When the cab stopped Spock got out first, listening carefully to be sure he was not in the path of traffic. He thought he was on the sidewalk. Jim stumbled out after him, and Spock heard him arranging payment with the driver.

'God, I'm sorry, Spock,' Jim said, coming to him as the cab pulled away. 'I'm so sorry.'

'I have heard those words frequently today when there is little need for them to be said,' Spock pointed out. 'Jim, I wish to comfort you but I will need your guidance to find a suitable place.'

'Yes, of course,' Jim murmured, letting Spock take his arm. Spock could feel that the first fierceness of grief had left him somewhat and he was no longer crying audibly. 'I'm sorry, Spock. I don't know what that was all about...'

'You are grieving,' Spock reminded him in a level voice, 'and you are doing so in a very human way. You have lost so much recently.'

'Edith, Sam, Aurelan – and the Enterprise,' Jim said.

'Jim, you have not lost the Enterprise,' Spock reminded him.

'Not permanently, but – I don't know, Spock. She's my ship. I hate to be away from her...'

Spock stopped walking for a moment. 'Need I remind you that you do not have to be here on Earth for me?'

'Dammit, Spock!' Jim snapped, suddenly angry. 'I do. I do need to be here for you. The ship needs me but you need me more.'

'I regret being the cause of such distress,' Spock said in a level voice, but he felt more hurt at Jim's words than he showed. He noticed abstractedly that they were now walking along what felt like a gravel path, and he could hear trees and smell grass. They must have turned into the park.

'Spock – Spock, I don't mean it like that,' Jim protested. 'I really don't. I want to be here for you. There's just – so much at the moment. So much to think of. Sometimes I feel like – like I'm walking on solid ground and I take a step and there's nothing. Vacuum of space underfoot, freefall to planetside, and that's him gone – Sam gone, Edith gone – the space that they left. Do you – do you understand that, Spock? Am I making any sense?'

Spock's brow furrowed minutely. 'I do not precisely experience grief in metaphors, but I understand, Jim.'

'How do you experience grief?' Jim asked curiously.

The frown deepened. 'A void. A loss. Perhaps you are right, Jim.'

'You've lost a lot too, Spock. One thing, I know – but there's so much that goes with it.'

Jim stopped and turned to his lover, and for a moment they embraced, Jim's hands firm on Spock's back, his arms warm around him.

'We need to get on to San Francisco,' Kirk said determinedly, letting the Vulcan take his arm again. 'I need to be working and you need to get that rehabilitation under your belt.'

'We also need to get to the wake,' Spock reminded him practically.

'Well, we're only a couple of blocks away from here, Spock. We can walk it, if your knees are all right?'

'I am quite capable of walking,' Spock promised.

'Are you capable of talking with fifteen different layers of the Kirk family, various relatives of Aurelan's, and sundry friends?' Jim asked with a soft laugh.

'I'm sure I will not let you down,' Spock reassured him. 'I have endured enough diplomatic functions on the Enterprise to be able to make conversation with a considerable variety of sentient humanoids.'

Jim sighed. 'You know, what I'd really like is just to sit down on that bench there in the sun and just talk to you, talk the day away. No more people, no more putting on a front. Just – nothing but you and me and the sky.'

'I do find the sky rather cold,' Spock pointed out, and Jim laughed.

'Well, in that case, my dear hot-blooded Vulcan, I'd better get you inside – and maybe you can use your influence to keep me from any more embarrassing breakdowns. It doesn't do my reputation as a starship captain any good at all.'

Spock continued walking with his hand loosely around Jim's arm, gratified that he seemed to have recovered from his momentary breakdown, but concerned nonetheless. Jim had been under a tremendous amount of strain recently, and it was bound to be damaging to his fragile human mind. Perhaps once they were installed in San Francisco he could persuade him to take counselling, just to be certain that he didn't turn in on himself and precipitate a further breakdown. Meanwhile, he would have to address his own problems with meditation and strict mental discipline. He was finding his thoughts turning to a darker direction far too often recently. No matter how much he repeated kaiidth within his own mind it was increasingly difficult to accept that what was, was. He wanted to fight against the darkness, to lash out against it, to turn away from life in his utter frustration. He could not allow that to continue.