[A.N. Sorry this chapter took so long. It flowed like granite. I hope it doesn't show too much.]

Spock felt tired and frustrated, but he hid those emotions beneath a veneer of calm. He had very quickly mastered the rudiments of cane use but Ms Alcott had assured him that although he felt moderately confident with the instrument he still had a lot to learn. So far his brief training with the cane had been confined to a relatively small room with a maze of desks which Ms Alcott had told him was a classroom, but further training would take place outside and on the streets of San Francisco. The cane would not warn him, Ms Alcott was careful to remind him, of overhanging trees or plants, signs, or any other obstacle above waist height that had thoughtlessly been left by the general populace.

Ms Alcott had read a schedule to him, which he had committed to memory, which contained things he had barely thought of attempting. Cooking, preparing hot drinks, and cleaning, all tasks which he rarely had to perform on board ship but which he could easily have carried out before the Deneva incident. Writing within a frame, learning to read and write Braille, use a tactile comm device and an echo device which would help him to build up an image of his surroundings. He would learn how to use adapted tactile and audio computers. In anticipation of his return to some sort of duty with Starfleet he would be shown how to use adapted tricorders and other vital equipment. He would be taught how to go shopping, how to groom himself and dress himself successfully, how to participate in various leisure activities. Until he had come to this place he had not realised just how very incompetent he was for normal life. Jim had sheltered him thoroughly.

'Are you with me, Spock?' Ms Alcott asked.

Spock turned toward her. 'With you, Ms Alcott? I am approximately thirty centimetres away from you.'

She laughed quietly. 'Metaphorically – and please call me Linda.'

'Linda,' Spock nodded.

'I wondered if you were listening to me, Spock. You seemed miles away.'

Spock immediately lifted his head and attempted to look more focussed. It was true that he had not been listening attentively, but he had been aware of everything that she had said.

'You were speaking of tomorrow's schedule and your intention for us to go outside so that you can teach me techniques for judging traffic flow by sound,' he said promptly.

'I was,' she replied, and he could hear her smile, 'but I still don't think you were totally with me. We're almost at the end, so would you like a coffee? It's been a long day with a lot of theory, and I know that can be mind-numbing to take in.'

'As a research scientist I am quite used to theory,' Spock corrected her. 'However, I would welcome coffee.'

Her chair scraped back as she stood.

'Let me have your partner's contact details and I'll put a call through so you can let him know we're almost finished here,' she told him. 'Tomorrow we'll look at non-converted comm devices and how you can use them without sight so that even if you're without a personal comm you should be able to call anyone you need.'

'The captain's personal comm number is 07632 502 4921,' Spock said promptly. He touched his pocket where his own comm was. Jim had insisted on getting him one as soon as they arrived in the city, reasoning that even if he could not use it, he could probably find someone who could help him. He took the small device out of his pocket. Unlike a Starfleet communicator, which he could simply flip open and activate by voice, this one had an entirely smooth screen which told him nothing.

'I have a comm,' he said, holding it out. 'It is not locked, and his is the only number in it.'

'That's great,' she replied, taking it from him. 'While you're talking to him I'll get that coffee. Black?'

'Black,' Spock confirmed.

He listened as she activated the comm and then took it from her. As she left the room Jim answered.

'Captain,' Spock said, aware that Jim might not be alone. 'Am I disturbing you?'

'Not at all, I'm at the apartment,' Jim replied quickly. Spock felt warmth grow at his voice. 'Are you all done, Spock? Need a ride?'

'Yes, we are almost finished,' Spock replied.

'Well, I hired us a car on the way back from Headquarters. I can be round in about fifteen minutes. Is that okay?'

'That should be just fine, Jim,' Spock assured him. 'Thank you.'

'I'll see you then,' Jim said. 'Bye, Spock.'

Spock realised that he did not know how to end the call. The touchscreen on the comm was featureless under his fingers. He sat with the device in his palm, and while he was cogitating he heard Ms Alcott return.

'Ms Alcott, could you cut the call?' he asked as she put the coffee down in front of him.

'Oh, sure,' she replied quickly, taking the comm from him. 'There you go,' she said, returning it. 'I think it would be a very good idea to look into adapted comms tomorrow, wouldn't it?'

'Evidently,' Spock nodded with a slight frown. It was undeniably frustrating to need help even to make and end a call.

'The first day's always hard,' she assured him in a rather softer voice. 'But you'll come back tomorrow and things will seem easier. I'm not saying it'll get easier hand over fist every day. Some days you'll feel back at square one, some days will be very hard. One day you might have a leap forward, only to have a difficult time the next. But you will see a gradual improvement.'

((O))

Spock walked down the path from the rehabilitation centre holding Jim's arm, but he also held his newly selected cane in his hand, using it to sweep the ground before him. Ms Alcott had instructed him to practise at every opportunity, and he had no intention of discarding the device. It was a revelation to hold it out in front of him and be warned of changes in the ground surface, and objects before him. The stick was composed of such a fabric as would flawlessly transmit vibrations to the handle, giving him a sensitivity to surface texture that had he had never experienced before.

'That's wonderful, Spock,' Jim told him as they reached the hired car and Spock found the kerb before Jim had mentioned it. 'God, it makes such a difference.'

'That is certainly true,' Spock nodded, although he still felt intensely blind as he climbed into the unfamiliar car feeling for the roof so that he did not hit his head, and for the seat before him. Jim still had to help him with the seat belt because he could not feel it to his side, nor could he find the place for the buckle to lock into.

'You know, Spock, I'm starving,' Jim said as he got into the driver's seat. 'How about a good meal out to celebrate first days?'

'Food is food,' Spock said rather distractedly as the air car rose up off the ground. The car would only travel at a maximum of two feet off the ground, but he had never been quite certain of Jim's piloting skills for anything smaller than a Fleet standard shuttle. He tended to become wooed by speed and performance when the vehicle in question was small and not owned by Starfleet.

'Relax, Spock, you look like I've got you on a roller coaster,' Jim urged him. 'Yes, I know food is food, but some food is better food. I want to talk to you about everything I went through with Admiral Williams today. It was – fascinating – to employ your terminology.'

'Then surely a discreet location would be best?' Spock asked. He did not want to say so directly, but he felt he would much rather return to the apartment, which was at least growing familiar to him, than experience another totally new environment this evening.

'There's the beauty of it, Spock,' Jim said, and Spock could hear his smile. 'We'll go to 'Fleet Club. I haven't been there since I was – god, I must have been in my twenties. We'll get a private room and we can talk in complete confidence, but we'll order up from the restaurant. You know, I get captains' privilege there now. That's something I've never made the most of.'

''Fleet Club,' Spock murmured, discreetly pushing his hand against the side of the car as Jim turned a tight corner.

He had not stepped foot in the Starfleet Officers' Club since he was twenty, and then it had only been at the insistence of his human companions. Doubtless the place had changed greatly since then, and he was no long in the company of five frankly adolescent-minded humans, but his memories of the club were centred around a dark bar vibrating with the heavy beat of popular music so loud that his ears rang, and of bodies thronging so close and carelessly that his psychic shields were assailed constantly.

'Private room, Spock,' Jim reminded him as if he had sensed Spock's thoughts. 'Captains' privilege, remember?'

'Yes,' Spock said, relaxing somewhat. Vulcans did not over-indulge with food and alcohol as a method of celebration, but he was content to accede to Jim's human need to do so. 'Yes, of course. You are right.'

((O))

To Spock's ears the 'Fleet Club seemed no different to his youthful experiences. Jim wanted a drink in the bar for old times' sake and Spock did not want to deny him, so they had made their way inside. The music was loud and resonated through every surface, travelling up through the bar on which Spock's arms were resting, through his arm bones and directly up into his jaw and skull. The music carried human-audible frequencies but also a fair few frequencies designed only to reach alien ears, and Spock for once wished for the dull hearing of his mother's species. The air stank of alcohol and bar snacks and human odours and nullified tobacco. The place was a Babel of speech and he could hear fifteen distinct conversations that he rather wished he couldn't. Five of them were discussing him, evidently unaware of the sensitivity of Vulcan hearing.

'What, that's Spock of the Enterprise? Are you sure?'

'Yeah, and Captain Kirk with him. You know they're banging each other, right?'

'No. No! Really? God, what I'd give to – '

Another conversation. 'What's wrong with him? I hadn't heard anything was wrong with him. Is he blind? Had you heard he was blind?'

He heard the murmured word, Deneva.

Spock sipped at his drink and tried to tune out the conversations, but he found that now he replied so heavily on his hearing it was hard to do. Jim was engrossed in conversation with an old friend, a discussion which Spock had little interest in and found it hard to engage with when lacking the normal visual cues of conversation. He had thought himself perfectly able to come here and have dinner, but he had not reckoned on how tired he would feel after a day of intense concentration and learning.

'Are you okay, Spock?' Jim asked him after a while.

Spock put his drink down and cocked his head to one side. 'Where is your friend, Jim?'

'Jack? He had to leave. He said bye. Didn't you hear?'

Spock shook his head wordlessly. Jim seemed to make up his mind suddenly, and his drink clattered on the bar.

'Come on, Spock. Let's go up to that private room and get dinner.'

'That would be very welcome,' Spock said without exaggeration.

He took Jim's arm to follow him out of the bar, grateful to be leaving this raucous and youth-oriented space for the calm quiet of the corridors beyond, where the space smelt of recycled air and carpet cleaner, and reminded him with a curious degree of nostalgia of the Enterprise. They were in officers' territory now.

'You should have said you weren't comfortable in the bar,' Jim said after a moment.

'I understand the human need to indulge nostalgia,' Spock countered. 'I saw no reason to deny you your fun.'

Jim stood very still in the corridor. Spock stood with him, wondering why he had suddenly frozen.

'Look, Spock,' he said eventually. 'Let's just go back to the apartment. I'll order take out. We can lie on the couch in our underwear if we want, or eat in bed, or whatever. I know it's been a hard day for you and I shouldn't have suggested coming out here. I guess you're right about nostalgia. That and that I forget how different things are now.'

Spock parted his lips as if to speak, but was not sure what to say. He did not want to admit how different things were. Before Deneva he would have been perfectly able to stay at Jim's side all night through any number of unpleasant, highly social human interactions. Now he craved the familiarity, such as it was, of the apartment that he was growing used to rather than yet another new space. No matter how little he wanted to admit that change, it was there.

'No,' he said firmly, startling even himself. This was something he had to force himself to do, to act as he always had, to continue in his life. What logic was there in giving way to feelings of helplessness or frustration? That would not help him move forward. 'No,' he said a little more softly. 'We will do that tomorrow. Tonight we are here and we shall have dinner here as you planned.'

Jim leaned close to him in the deserted corridor to kiss him. Spock was momentarily taken by surprise. Jim so rarely became effusive with his affection in a public space. But this time the kiss deepened, Jim's hand rested on the back of his head, his fingertips ruffling his hair, his tongue slipped between Spock's teeth, and Spock suddenly felt enlivened.

'Hey, get a room, guys!'

The pair broke apart, startled. Spock had noticed no one entering the corridor, but he felt Jim's relaxed reaction to the newcomer.

'Already got one, Bob,' he said. 'But thanks for the advice. What are you doing planetside, anyway? Given up the Constitution and decided to pilot a desk?'

By that Spock was given to understand that this was Commodore Robert Wesley of the Constitution, and he was grateful for Jim's covert way of letting him know that.

'Between us, Jim, Command's been talking about giving me the Lexington,' Wesley said in a confidential voice.

Jim laughed, and Spock waited politely for the conversation to end. There was a moment of slightly awkward silence, and then Wesley said, 'Commander Spock, may I express my sympathy – '

'Thank you, Commodore,' Spock nodded stiffly before he could finish his sentence, acutely aware of his own hand on Jim's arm and the cane in the other. Human effusions of sympathy made him uncomfortable because he rarely knew how to respond.

'Well, Bob, we'd better get on,' Jim said, sounding apologetic. Spock felt that he had smothered Jim's human social interactions all over again.

'Don't be silly,' Jim murmured to him as they carried on down the corridor, and Spock felt that warmth again at Jim's effortless knowledge of how he had felt. 'I'd far rather spend my evening with you than any amount of old friends. There. Here we are,' he interrupted himself, taking Spock in through a door. A scent of old wood and mock-leather filled the air. Despite the relative warmth outside a fire crackled in the air conditioned room. 'You ever been in one of these rooms, Spock?' Jim asked.

'I have never had the occasion.'

'Cosy. Real fire. Leather sofa and two wing-backed chairs around a low table facing it. A couple of bookshelves with real books. They really pushed the boat out to get a proper old world atmosphere. Nothing of the twenty-third century here.'

'The twenty-third century is usually more convenient,' Spock pointed out.

Jim laughed. 'They do have some twenty-third century conveniences in here. They have comms so we can order our food. Let's get sat down and we can work out what to eat.'

((O))

Jim leant back in his chair and regarded Spock. The Vulcan was sitting on the sofa, very upright, but he looked considerably happier than he had earlier – as happy as a Vulcan could look. His face had a little more colour, the lines about his mouth were more relaxed. Before them on the table were two plates that were almost empty of food. Soft music spilled from concealed speakers, and the fire crackled warmly.

'So, tell me, Spock, was that a good idea?' he asked in satisfaction.

Spock nodded his head minutely. 'It was a good idea, Jim,' he said.

Jim moved from the chair to beside Spock on the wide sofa, sliding across the cushions until he was touching him.

'Full privacy lock too, Spock,' he said in a seductive voice, nudging his shoulder against Spock's.

Spock stiffened a little, obviously unwilling to engage in anything romantic in this situation. No matter about the full privacy lock. The door was thin protection between them and the outside world.

'Jim, you intended to tell me about your meeting today,' Spock reminded him.

'Ah, yes,' Jim said, the romantic thoughts dying away. 'You're right, Spock.'

He straightened up a little, and picked up his glass of proper old Scotch whisky, turning it in his hands. Spock's own drink was untouched. Jim had been considering ordering dessert to share with the Vulcan, perhaps getting something chocolatey, but perhaps he'd leave it until after they spoken.

'I won't go into everything in full depth,' he began, 'but it sounds like there's something threaded deep into the fabric of Starfleet. A plot to destabilise the fleet from within so as to give Vulcan a concrete reason for bailing out.'

Spock stiffened at that. Jim felt his surprise, although none showed on his face.

'Vulcan, Jim?' he asked, one eyebrow raised.

'You heard right, Spock. You know certain sections of Vulcan society have always been uncomfortable in their alliance with the more emotional peoples of the quadrant. You know there's a strong protectionist movement who are afraid – ' He registered Spock's discomfort at that word, and cleared his throat. 'Ahem. Who are concerned about the pollution of Vulcan traditions and ways of life.'

'I am aware of that,' Spock said doubtfully, 'but to plot interference by subterfuge at the heart of Starfleet is – it is un-Vulcan.'

Jim leaned a little closer to him. 'Spock, I have learned through long observation that many Vulcans are, at their core, very Vulcan – about as passionate and emotional as a being can be.'

He felt Spock react with awkwardness again.

'Tell me it's not true, Spock. Tell me that the fundament of each Vulcan's nature is not deeply rooted in passion.'

'It is true that there are certain constants which unite us all,' Spock said rather reluctantly, 'and that many of the ancient traditions were founded before Surak brought his message of logic and peace.'

'And it's perfectly believable that a Vulcan might carry out such an action if it seemed the only logical way to secure their aims – yes?'

Again Spock hesitated, then nodded. 'Yes, that is true.'

'Perhaps it's beside the point, anyway, Spock,' Jim conceded. 'The question is not whether Vulcans are capable of such things. The issue is that they are involved. There's concrete intelligence to that effect. What complicates matters is that they seem to be using other races as intermediaries.'

Spock appeared to ponder that. 'Do you know which other races?'

'Not yet, Spock. I need to find out. At first that means a lot of drudgery – a hell of a lot. There are thousands of Starfleet personnel files to go through, histories to track, allegiances to discover.'

'I may be able to formulate a computer algorithm which would considerably reduce those numbers,' Spock began. 'If, of course, I am permitted access to the data.'

Jim grinned at the light that was beginning to creep into the Vulcan's face. Spock had felt useless for too long.

'Yes, Admiral Williams specifically told me to allow you full access.'

Then a slight frown touched his forehead. 'I do not know, of course, how I will access the data and make the necessary programming without sight.'

Jim put a hand over his. 'I have complete faith in you, Spock. Speak to your rehabilitation officer tomorrow. Ask her about accessible computers and the necessary training. I can't bring in another computer expert on this. My hands are tied. Can't trust anyone within the organisation. Can't hire anyone from outside.'

'I shall ask,' Spock said, his voice enlivened again. 'Yes, I am sure Ms Alcott could help.'

Jim slipped an arm about his shoulders, then turned to the Vulcan to kiss him warmly and deeply. He was gratified that this time Spock showed no hesitation in his response.

'You know, I was thinking of ordering dessert,' Jim said, 'but how about we grab something on the way back to eat at home? Good idea?'

He let his feelings of love and sexual attraction spill into Spock's mind, and felt the Vulcan begin to respond.

'Yes,' Spock said, his voice roughened and deepened with need. 'Yes, Jim, that would be a very good idea.'