The afternoon became more fascinating for Spock once he decided to view it as an outsider observing human family relations. He could not work out Christine's relationship with her mother, which seemed to be characterised simultaneously with affection and frustration. He could tell that Christine felt criticised by her mother, but he could also tell that the mother was fighting with her own insecurities, something of which Christine seemed largely unaware. Perhaps there was a lingering jealousy that Christine had embarked on a career in space, on the fleet's flagship, while the mother had always remained here in this one small town on the New England coast.

They sat in the house's dining room, a rather close seeming room, as Dr Chapel served vegetable bake and fries and offered them wine to drink, and engaged in curious talk about their lives aboard ship.

'Of course Chrissie's been smitten with you for years,' she remarked, and Spock could feel the suppressed protest to the right of him.

'Yes, I was well aware of that,' he nodded, and the spike of agitation rose again, much to his bemusement.

'She always did take her time,' Dr Chapel commented.

'Mother,' Christine protested. Spock touched her leg under the table and projected reassuring thoughts.

'It was not a question of taking time, but of waiting for the right time,' Spock corrected her. It seemed wise to change the subject. 'Dr Chapel, have you always practised in this town?'

'Oh, we used to travel around some before Chrissie came along, and a little when she was young,' Dr Chapel said wistfully. 'But then we set up practice here and I worked in the hospital while Greg – that's my husband – did his research. He'd probably be fascinated by this treatment that Christine was telling me about last night. It's some kind of virus that will give you your sight?'

Spock tilted his head to one side. 'Not exactly. The idea is that the virus will attack the opaque cells and weaken them enough either that the body will be able to destroy them with its own mechanisms or that very low level disruptor energy will be able to destroy them.'

'Well, it does sound fascinating,' Dr Chapel reiterated.

'Mother, when will dad be home?' Christine asked abruptly.

'Oh, not until very late, I expect,' her mother replied. 'He's been coming home practically at midnight every night this week.'

'I'd like to see him while we're here,' Christine said.

Spock turned towards her a little. There was a tension underlying her voice that she was obviously struggling to keep under control.

'I'm sure you'll see him at the weekend if not before,' her mother assured her. 'Now, Spock. Tell me more about this virus?'

'There is little more to tell,' Spock said honestly. 'Dr Alunan, the scientist who has developed the virus, is remarkably reticent to share his research.'

'Hmm,' Dr Chapel said, and Spock was reminded forcefully of her daughter, so much so that a smile almost reached his lips.

'That is Christine's opinion on the matter,' he told her. 'I anticipate finding out more about the virus the next time that we visit Dr Alunan's lab. Currently he is running tests on samples I have provided.'

Dishes clattered on the table, and Dr Chapel said, 'Well, it looks like we're all done here. I got a lovely cake in for dessert. Chrissie, why don't you come help me in the kitchen?'

Spock sat in silence as Christine left the room with her mother. The tensions in their relationship fascinated him. It was obvious that there was love between the two women, but Christine seemed absolutely overwhelmed.

While he waited he took his padd out of his pocket and touched the screen to see if Dr Alunan had sent any updates about his research. There was a brief message saying that the test results had been satisfactory, and asking if Spock would return in two days' time for another meeting. That was all. He thought that would please Christine, though. A large amount of the tension she was feeling was fed by her anxiety over this treatment, he was sure. She was almost more anxious for him to see than he was himself.

'Coming down thick again outside,' Dr Chapel remarked, coming back into the room.

Spock turned his ear toward the window, which he could sense by the small increase in light and the wave of cold that came through the glass. There was no audible sign of the snow.

'Are you really going to walk back in that?' she continued. 'It's almost a foot deep on the sidewalk. Chrissie? Why don't you let me give you a lift home?'

'I think it would be wise, Christine,' Spock nodded.

He caught a wave of feeling from her. She just wanted to be home, right now, without waiting for the pleasantries of cake and coffee. There was nothing to be done about it, however. He could invent an urgent reason to return, but it would be discourteous in the extreme. Instead he sat and politely ate the cake, declining to mention the effect that the small amount of sugar in the cookies and now the rather large amount in the cake might have on his cerebral cortex.

After the ride home he tumbled in through the door with Christine swiftly and unsteadily, feeling highly relieved to get out of the cold, drifting snow which had been quite enough even after the short walk from Dr Chapel's skimmer.

'You ate too much cake, didn't you?' Christine asked with a laugh as he stumbled unsteadily. Her mood had perceptibly lifted since they had left her mother in the skimmer. 'Gosh, I'm glad mother wouldn't come in.'

'As am I,' Spock said, unzipping his coat and peeling it off. Christine took it from him and hung it up as he removed another layer, until he was dressed in no more than dark trousers and a slim black t-shirt.

'You felt the same, huh?' Christine asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. 'I was aware of how you felt,' he corrected her. 'It was for your sake that I am glad.'

'Oh, but she's so – ' She trailed off, apparently unable to voice her feelings.

'So,' Spock repeated, reaching out to touch her arm. She had shed her extraneous layers of clothing too and so he touched bare flesh. A thrill of electricity ran through him, and he shivered. 'I did eat too much cake,' he told her. 'I feel quite – liberated.'

She laughed. 'Well that'll balance out the wine I drank. You know, I was drinking to block out mother. She's so – '

'You have already expressed the opinion that your mother is so,' Spock reminded her.

'Well,' she said, but Spock didn't afford her the opportunity to speak further. Instead he drew her close to him and pressed his lips against hers, tasting her lipstick and the natural tastes of her mouth behind. She was wearing some kind of scent that had been teasing at the edges of his senses all day. Desire exploded in him as his fingertips drifted through her hair and picked up waves of her thoughts and feelings through the thin layer of her skull. His hands moved down, across the bare skin of her arms to find the loose gauzy top that she had been wearing under all those winter coverings, and then the fastening of the trousers that hugged her slim waist.

'Oh my gosh, Spock, I should feed you cake more often,' she gasped.

Spock gave a kind of growl and pushed her back toward the bedroom door.

'Let me make sure the drapes are shut,' she said quickly. 'Don't want to give the neighbours a show.'

Spock followed her into the bedroom and divested himself of his remaining clothing as he heard the curtains swish shut over the windows. He felt hot and full of need and he thought he could have done anything regardless of whether or not the windows were covered. He lowered Christine onto the bed and carefully peeled the rest of the clothes from her body, and lay over her, breathing in her scent and letting his hands roam over the smoothness of her body.

'I am glad about the cake,' he murmured, bringing his mouth down over the soft mound of her breast as her hand slipped between his legs and began to arouse him further.

'Not gladder than me,' she laughed.

''''''

Later they sat on the bed in a warm glow, Spock's arm around Christine's naked back and her head resting on his chest. It was supremely calm and he could have fallen into sleep, although the effects of the sugar he had consumed were wearing off and a part of his brain itched to move into action and do further work on Dr Alunan's research.

'Oh, not now,' Christine pleaded.

A smile touched his lips. It was always satisfying to feel that a thought had effortlessly slipped between them.

'No, not now,' he acknowledged, his voice a low rumble. He moved his hand to delicately trace his fingers through her hair, finding a slight tangle and pulling it out with great gentleness.

'Let's just stay in bed all afternoon and let it snow and snow and snow,' she said. He could feel her voice through his chest and the movement of her jaw against his skin.

'We can hardly affect the weather whatever we choose to do,' Spock pointed out.

She swatted him lightly. 'Need we choose to do anything?'

'We need not. Not at this moment,' he acknowledged. 'But later I must contact my grandparents. I'm sure there is a certain etiquette at hand now that we have seen both your mother and my cousin. Grandmother wanted me to visit as soon as she knew I was coming.'

'Oh, your grandparents will wait,' Christine murmured.

'Time is not on their side,' Spock pointed out.

Christine snorted. 'Spock, you have such a romantic way of putting things. I'll tell you what. I'll go make us some coffee and we can go over some of those details from Dr Alunan and then you can call your grandparents and arrange a visit. How's that?'

'That would be satisfactory,' Spock nodded. It would be good to start making more progress having wasted most of the day in social activities.

He pulled on his clothes and followed Christine through into the living area. She opened up the partition that separated kitchen and living room and Sacha ran out of the room, shaking herself and pressing her nose into Spock's hand. He stroked her and then went to sit down on one of the low couches, and sat listening to Christine bustling about with the coffee maker. He did not yet have the intimate familiarity with this apartment that he preferred, and it was far easier for now to stay out of Christine's way than offer to help.

The rich scent of the grounds filled the air as he heard her pop open a jar. Coffee was one human vice that Spock had learnt to appreciate deeply in his time in Starfleet.

'I wonder if Dr Alunan would be amenable to a discourse via comm,' Spock mused.

'Oh, I doubt it,' Christine said, her voice cutting above the chinks of china and the sound of water starting to boil. 'He's not amenable to much at all.'

'Hmm,' Spock said. His padd was on his lap and he was running his fingers over the diagram of the structure of Dr Alunan's virus, transposing the sensation into a more complete image in his mind. It started to take on the appearance of a spiky ball which he revolved in his mind, examining the genetic material safe within its protein coat and trying to determine whether this was something of Alunan's own construction, or something developed from another, natural, virus. Christine would probably be better placed than he to discern such subtleties. He would consider contacting McCoy, but he had promised Alunan that his research would go no further than himself and Christine.

He closed his eyes, seeing the virus more and more clearly in his mind, turning it and examining it and trying to discern exactly how it would attack the cells in his eyes. There was a certain logic behind the proposal. The main concern was in making sure the virus was innocuous to the rest of the body's cells, and most importantly of all not harmful to anyone else.