Man, this thing started as a one-off response to a kink prompt--it's kind of hard for me to believe it's seriously turning into a legitimate fanfic. Even I'm not entirely sure what it's doing now; I'm just writing it down as it comes along and hoping it will eventually stop eating my brain. I had no idea I'd get the kind of feedback you guys are giving me, so thank you, all of you, for making my day every time I open my e-mail. :)

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The meditation had been going so well up to this point.

Spock had been right--Nyota had a natural aptitude for it. She was ordinarily a calm enough person that it came as no surprise she had little difficulty following his guidance, letting him gently steer her rather than firmly leading. It was a sense of healing for both of them--until they ran smack into the thing that ought to have been impossible.

Nyota could have no idea what it was, but he recognized it easily enough, and it was so unexpected it actually managed to wholly shock him. It should have been impossible, but quite obviously it wasn't--no wonder she'd screamed; the human mind simply wasn't built to handle such a thing. Many Vulcans couldn't do it.

As gently as he could--which wasn't very, under the circumstances--he tried to draw her out before she went completely insane. She was more than willing to help him, even if she didn't know what she was doing--all she knew was that she wanted to flee this thing so unfortunately trapped in her own head.

"What the hell--what the hell--Spock, what is it? And get it out!"

He grabbed her hands, trying to steady her and largely failing. "I cannot," he said. "We must see one of the Elders--they alone are capable of extracting…what you currently bear."

Her eyes were huge, wide and shocky--and angry. "What is it?" she demanded again, her fingers closing hard over his, as though gripping a lifeline.

"That is…difficult to explain," he said, searching for the right words. "It is as Vulcan thing, one I had thought lost to the Romulans along with telepathy."

Spock drew her close, letting her shiver. "Vulcans have a thing called a katra," he said, smoothing her hair. "The closest human equivalent of the word would be 'soul'. It holds all that we are--our thoughts, our memories, everything that makes us ourselves. Traditionally when we die someone takes our katra and bears it to the Hall of Ancient Thought on Mount Seleya--or did, anyway," he added. All those centuries of minds lost, along with the rest of Vulcan. "They are passed through touch, and Nero…touched you before he died."

Uhura sat back, glaring--not at him, he realized; at Fate in general. "Are you trying to tell me I've got Nero's soul rattling around in my head?" she demanded.

He took her hands again. "I cannot be certain," he said evenly, "but all evidence suggests it. I would like to take you to see my father--his mental disciplines are superior to mine. He can ascertain if this is indeed the case, and extract it if necessary."

"And do what with it?" she asked, a little hysterically.

That…was a good question. There was certainly no Hall of Ancient Thought on Earth, and Vulcan ethics forbade the destruction of a katra, any katra, no matter the person it had come from.

"That will be his duty to decide," Spock said at last. "This is not a thing any human should bear--especially you. Such decisions are the province of the Elders." Yes, this was one problem he would happily pass on. He couldn't help but wonder what unhappy chance had left Nero with that ability, had led him to touch Nyota the moment he died--or if Nero had even known what he was doing. The notion of Fate was illogical, but that did not, he thought, make it untrue. Unfortunately.

As he had done so many times in the last days, he had to actively force his bio-controls, to regulate his breathing and heartbeat. He didn't know what this meant, nor what its consequences might be, but speculation with so little data was as illogical as the idea of Fate. When they knew more, then perhaps he would know how to proceed.

"Would you be willing to see my father?" he asked, when he knew his voice would be steady.

"If he can get this thing out of my head, oh God yes," Uhura said vehemently. "He won't…tell anybody, will he?"

"Of course not. He may need to consult with the other Elders, but you can be sure it will go no further. This is a deeply private matter for all of us; they will do everything they can in silence." And maybe, he thought, they'd be forced to re-evaluate their opinion of humans. Spock could only guess what life on Vulcan must have been like for his mother, a world that largely considered humans an inferior life-form. She must have loved his father very much to be willing to endure it.

But Nyota…the very idea of a human bearing a katra was as unbelievable as the thought of a Romulan having one, yet both were obviously true. The last days had made him all too aware of the strength of her mind, but this…had he not seen it for himself, he would not have believed it.

And…for himself, it would be good to see his father--the father that shared his particular grief. Spock had suffered Sarek's disapproval ever since he'd joined Starfleet--little in his life had surprised him like his father's admission of gratitude for him, his half-breed son. It was as startling as his admitting he'd loved Spock's mother; 'love' was not a word known on Vulcan, or so he'd thought. Perhaps his father was more human than he'd let on--perhaps his time among them as Ambassador had rubbed off on him. Whatever the case, he shared his son's grief, and of all the Elders would best understand what to do for Nyota. There was no altering what had happened to Vulcan, to Amanda; this was a problem that could be dealt with, a thing that might focus them both.

She drew a deep breath, and he could feel her trying to calm herself. "Okay," she said. "Let's see your father. I'm not going to be able to do anything until this…this…this is out of my head. It--he--can't, I don't know, possess me or anything, can it? Take me over without my knowing it?"

He squeezed her hands. "I do not know," he said carefully. "To my knowledge, you are the first human to ever bear a katra; what it will do to you is unknown, for there is no precedent. Which is why we should extract it as soon as possible." It was even quite logical to assume that would be somewhat easily accomplished, given that all the Elders of Vulcan would be there to offer consultation if needed. "If you are ready, we should both dress, and I will call my father."

Uhura nodded, pulling out clothes while he tidied away his meditational tools--civilian clothes, jeans and a plain black shirt. So far she had steadfastly avoided her uniforms, which Spock found…ominous, somehow. No time for that--there was too much to do now.

He rang the Vulcan Embassy, where all the Elders were staying while younger surviving Vulcans sought out a potential new home. His father looked…haggard, decades older than his eighty years. In a way Spock hated to have to disturb him, but on the other hand a concrete problem to be solved might be good for him.

"Peace and long life, Spock," Sarek said gravely. He even sounded tired.

"And to you, Father. I have…something of a problem, which I would greatly appreciate your help in solving. I cannot do it on my own."

One of Sarek's eyebrows lifted--a gesture his son had inherited perfectly. "How may I assist you?"

Spock told him what had happened during the meditation, what he was sure was behind it.

"I can think of no other explanation," he said, when he was finished. "Logically it should be impossible, but I saw it in Nyota's mind. It can be nothing else."

Sarek was silent nearly a minute, considering, and Spock knew he was wondering what his son had already thought of--what the hell they were to do with the thing once it was out of Nyota's head.

"You should both come here as soon as possible," he said at last. "I would see this for myself, and consult the others if it exceeds my capacity."

"Thank you, Father." Ordinarily Sarek would have rebuked him with a claim that one did not thank logic; now, though, he used a more human phrase.

"You are welcome. We will do what we can."

"Live long and prosper, Father."

He 'd signed off by the time Nyota was finished--her hair drawn severely back, her face still free of makeup.

"My father says we can see him at once," he said, moving to her and taking her hands. "With…luck…we may relieve you of this today." The word 'luck' still sat ill with him, but it was a word humans--including Nyota--seemed to set much store by.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice when they left, taking a flitter from the faculty pool to the Vulcan Embassy. The morning was clear and cool, traffic still light, and the sun was just clearing the rooftops when they were waved through the Embassy gates.

It had been years since Spock had been here, but it hadn't changed much. The floor was smooth red Vulcan sandstone, the walls paneled in dark wood--warmer than the weather outside, but not nearly so hot as Vulcan, so that outworlder visitors weren't uncomfortable.

Sorel, one of the aids who had already been at the Embassy before Vulcan was destroyed, met them in the foyer and led them back to the Ambassador's suite. Spock could sense Nyota's curiosity even through the rest of her tumultuous emotions; the only real Vulcan things were his, and the Embassy was an echo of what the planet had been.

Sorel obviously didn't know why they were here, but being Vulcan he wasn't about to ask. He left at once when Sarek answered the door, and the pair stepped into his rooms.

They were very…Vulcan. Spock's quarters were still fundamentally human, aside from his personal possessions, but this was a space designed for and by its inhabitants, and an unexpected but quite powerful pang of homesickness stabbed through him. It had been years since he'd been home, and now he could never go there again--the red sands of his homeworld were lost forever, this place their only remainder. The last bastion of Vulcan culture, at least until they could resettle somewhere else--but for all who had known Vulcan, nowhere else would ever truly be home. Only the generations to come, who had never seen their planet of origin, would be at home anywhere else. What, he wondered, as he and Nyota sat on a low sofa, would become of his people then? Lacking the harsh sun of their world, would they become, in the end, like the Romulans? He was glad he would not live so long as to find out. Some things were better left unknown.

Sarek sat across from them, pouring each a tall glass of cool water according to Vulcan custom. "Spock has told me of your difficulty," he said to Nyota. "Would you permit me your thoughts, that I might see for myself?"

Spock felt her tense beside him, and thought he knew why. For all any of them knew, a mind-meld would make her feel that alien force again, and he could not fault her at all for her reticence. After a moment, though, she nodded, and followed Sarek when he beckoned her to face him sitting on the floor. Spock watched in silence; he had no worry for Nyota just now, given his father's level of mental precision. Somehow he managed to remain patient, trying to ignore all the small parts of his surroundings that tried to distract him with memories that had no place in the current moment.

The meld went on even longer than he'd expected; his father had to be being very thorough in his search, hunting out the very root of her unfortunate mental passenger. Sweat stood out at her temples, and Spock had to make himself remain still, serene, keeping his own thoughts from free-floating and distracting either of them. At least this time she wasn't screaming.

Nor did she, even when Sarek drew his hand from her face and opened his eyes. His expression was unreadable, even to Spock, and that could not be a good sign.

"I must call the others," he said, which only increased Spock's misgivings.

"Is it a katra?" he asked, as his father rose.

"It is. And it does not want to be removed." Sarek went to a tall wooden cabinet near the wide window, taking out a dark, cut-glass bottle and a small cup.

"Drink this, Nyota," he said, pouring some--even at that distance Spock could smell the spicy fragrance of n'deth--a kind of drink distilled from a particular moss, very rare on Vulcan. "It will help clarify your mind."

Uhura started violently when she smelled it, her eyes going wide as she backed away before she could help it. Sarek gave her a questioning look.

"Nero drugged her," Spock said softly, in explanation. He watched her fight a shudder, barely winning.

"And it smelled a lot like that," she added, taking it with a mostly steady hand. "It…what do you mean, clarify my mind?"

Spock would swear his father was looking at her with something like compassion. "It will not alter your faculties in any way," he assured her. "Your mind is tense, and that tension allows the katra to root more deeply, tangling it into your thoughts. This will ease that."

She still looked doubtful, but gamely drank it anyway, grimacing a little at the taste. Sarek took the cup from her.

"I will return soon," he promised, and left the two of them alone.

"What does he mean, my mind is tense?" she asked, sitting beside Spock. "That I'm stressed?"

"In a sense, yes. There is something in it that does not belong there, and its attempts at rejecting that thing are only entrenching it further. It is an instinctive reaction that the n'deth will counter."

Uhura took his hand. "I don't…think I like the thought of all of them digging around in my brain," she whispered. "There's so much…so much stuff I don't want anyone to ever see." She looked up at him. "Even you. I just want to forget it, and to have other people know--"

She broke off, but Spock knew her well enough to fill in the blanks. It was judgment she feared, and given the level of shame she still attached to all that had happened on the Narada, he couldn't blame her.

"You mean your loss of control," he said gently, "what the drugs did to you?"

Uhura nodded.

"Believe me when I say they will pass no judgment for that," he said, "and when we return home, I will tell you why." The idea of Pon Farr might disturb her, but then again, knowing others went through something very like what she had might make the idea a little less shameful.

She cast him a curious look, but before she could ask, the door opened again, and she swallowed.

The Elders had arrived.

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YES I WENT THERE. I couldn't help it. (Elizawriter, I did actually consider what you were afraid of, but even I'm not that mean…besides, onimosity gave me a whole different story idea where that would fit much better.) :)

I had planned on this thing not being more than one or two chapters longer, but it looks like it's decided it wants to keep growing. Spock, Uhura, and, ironically, Nero's katra, have some rough ground ahead, as do all the surviving Vulcans (including Spock Prime, who we will see soon enough). Yet again, thank you to all who are reviewing, and I'm glad you like it.