14.

It was evening, and the summer heat was evaporating up from the grass now instead of pulsing down from the sky. Spock, seated on an aged wooden bench in the farm's large garden, could feel the damp warmth rising to his palms as he held his hands out before him. The noise of wind in the wheat had died down, and what light filtered into his eyes was tinted with the rich flame of sunset.

'I always liked this time,' Kirk murmured beside him. 'It looks like the sun's setting fire to the wheatfields. I don't think about it on board ship, but when I'm here, I realise how much I miss it.'

'I have never before been to Earth and been denied the sight of its sun,' Spock said, startling Kirk with the overtones of emotion in his statement.

'Can you see anything right now?' Kirk asked curiously, turning to look at the Vulcan.

Spock turned his head towards the setting sun. His gaze did not falter as it passed over the dazzlingly bright orb.

'A certain redness, redolent of Vulcan skies. Nothing more specific.'

The house behind them was almost silent now. The guests had returned home hours ago, leaving a degree of chaos in the farmhouse. Spock had stood at the sink meticulously washing all that would not fit in the dishwasher, while Jim and his family roamed the empty rooms, gathering crockery, tipping leftovers into the composter, and cleaning up spills and crumbs from the carpet. Apart from the total lack of decoration in the house, they could almost have been clearing up after a party.

Peter had long since gone to bed, exhausted emotionally and physically by the long day just gone, and Mrs Kirk had followed him soon after, but the two elder sons of Sam and Aurelan Kirk were still sitting inside, and Spock and Kirk had thought it prudent to leave them to their grief. This was why they were now sitting on a bench in the growing chill, while the sun slipped below the horizon.

'It must be getting cold for you out here,' Kirk said finally, glancing at Spock. The Vulcan was dressed for a warm summer day, not a cool, clear evening.

'It is tolerable,' Spock said quietly.

Neither of them had spoken about either Spock's operation or the sharpness of Kirk's loss since they had argued on the dirt track, and both were content to leave it so. A quiet sense of acceptance seemed to have fallen over both of them, and neither wanted to disturb it. There was something strangely therapeutic about just sitting here surrounded by nature, after the sterility of the ship. Kirk was sleeping here tonight, and so had nowhere to go, and Spock – was waiting.

Finally Spock heard a low hum, and Kirk saw a gold sparkle coalesce before them, gradually solidifying into a tall, copper-haired female figure, clad in an ankle length dress of translucent blue swirls, shimmering over a more solid, but astonishingly sparse, blue minidress beneath. Rings sparkled on more than one of her fingers. Kirk drew breath at the sight. He passed her almost every day in the corridors, but he had not realised that his ship's head nurse cut such a striking figure when she was out of uniform, with her hair styled high on her head to increase her already ample height.

'Captain,' she nodded as the beam released her. 'Spock.'

Spock got to his feet instantly, moving toward her voice.

'I'll see you tomorrow, Spock,' Kirk called, and he half turned around to his captain.

'Good night, Jim,' he nodded.

He suspected that Kirk knew more about his plans for the evening than he himself did, since Christine had presumably cleared the leave with him. At this point all he knew was that Christine had called down to say that she would meet him at the house. Jim's mother had taken the call, and Spock had had no opportunity to question the nurse about her unexpected beam down.

'Night, Spock,' Jim replied. 'Miss Chapel, the skimmer should be at the end of the drive in about two minutes.'

'The skimmer?' Spock asked quietly as he reached Christine. The familiar scent of her perfume, and the softer scents of her human body, drifted around him as he touched her loose, silken sleeve.

'Well, air-taxi,' she amended, letting him take her arm. 'A skimmer wouldn't cover the distance required in the time we've got, but an air-taxi's far more discreet than beaming up to the ship and down again together.'

'I see. Perhaps you would confide your plans to me?' he asked as they walked away from the house. The path they took was the same he had walked with Kirk to the funeral cars earlier – a firm, stone-laid surface that was far easier to navigate than the dirt track out to the fields.

'My plans?' she asked lightly. It was obvious that she was smiling. 'A hotel, dinner, a bedroom with a spa bath and a emperor size bed – and no interruptions, no red alerts, and no ship concerns for either of us.'

'A – hotel?' Spock asked slowly. As pleasant as her surprise sounded, he did not want to have to learn a whole new set of surroundings just for one night.

She put her hand over his, registering the uncertainty in his voice. 'Don't worry – you won't be lost. Dr McCoy told me a little anecdote a few weeks back,' she said.

'Did he?' Spock asked, a certain amount of suspicious curiosity in his tone. 'I do not see the relevance – '

'He said how last year both you and he were called on last minute to present lectures in the Serving Officers week at Starfleet Academy.'

'We were,' Spock said, his voice growing ever more suspicious. 'The ship made an unexpected trip to Earth. We were able to attend when previously we had thought it impossible.'

'He said it was at the height of the vacation season in San Francisco, and there was very little accommodation left. He said the only room that turned up for both of you was a luxury suite in Le Salon Bleu. Apparently you refused to sleep for six nights – but you did use the room.'

'That is true,' Spock nodded. 'Although I did take the opportunity to sleep once, when McCoy was lecturing. It is – almost impossible to sleep in a room where the good doctor is turning and muttering and snoring in his bed.'

Christine laughed at the image of McCoy acting precisely as so many humans did in their sleep, and Spock sitting at the side of the room, disapproving, and despairing of getting any rest.

'Well, I did a little checking,' she told him. 'Room 325, ocean view, spa bath?'

'Yes, I believe so,' Spock nodded.

'Well, luckily, it's not the height of the season now, and the room is free. I booked us in for tonight,' she told him. 'I figured that if you'd stayed there for a week last year you'd be familiar enough with the layout. I called them up, and they haven't changed the room since.' She saw the slightly confused look on the Vulcan's face, and smiled. 'Spock, over the last month or so you've been subjected to immeasurable pain and exhaustion, blindness, and a hostage situation. This is what we humans like to call *a break*. Since the Captain's going to try to get to Rigel as quickly as possible, I thought we should take the opportunity for this – moment of sanity – before the medical procedures begin. I know it's only one night, but – '

Spock turned to her, a smile touching the edges of his lips. 'A lot can be achieved in one night,' he told her. 'Can I hear the air-taxi?' he asked, turning his ear towards the soft sound of an engine.

'You can,' she nodded. 'It's just set down. They promised no longer than half an hour to make San Francisco, once we've lifted off.'

******

Spock stood with his hands on the balcony rail, aware of the varied sounds of the city at his back, and of the gentle, pulsing, swooshing noise of the ocean before him, crashing its waves onto the yielding sand. He could smell the salt water in the air, but that scent was faint against all the mingling odours from closer by – the scent of vegetation, and of dampness on tarmac, layered over with many varied scents of foods and alcohol from nearby restaurants, and the occasional tang of sweat or drift of perfume from passers-by.

He found it curious that the last time he had been in this room it had been with McCoy, and that he had been able to stand on the balcony and see the water undulating to the horizon. Of course, it must be approaching darkness over the ocean now, despite the extra daylight they had gained by their swift flight west. He could imagine the many lights in the street below, glittering from the buildings to the left and right, and pin-pricking the ocean where boats moved on the water. Logical or not, he found it immensely reassuring to be able to visualise the room behind him and the scene before him, and he was grateful to Christine for the lengths she had gone to to secure that for him.

He turned back into the room, hearing Christine shutting the door as she came out of the bathroom.

'I thought we could take dinner in our room, if you wanted,' she said as she came to him, the scent of soap and fresh cosmetics hanging around her.

Spock paused, then said decisively, 'No. I am quite content to eat in a restaurant of your choice. I think I am capable now of a passable standard of neatness, and I – would be honoured to be seen with you.' He touched her arm, toying with the sheer fabric of her over-dress. 'I imagine you must look – quite stunning tonight, Christine.'

'Well, I don't know about that,' she demurred.

'The fabric of this garment feels quite expensive,' he pointed out. 'I don't imagine you would waste money on such a garment if it did not look well on you. It is a dress, is it not?'

'This is an ankle-length sheer over-dress,' she told him, lifting the flimsy fabric so that it rustled through her hands.

'It is transparent?' Spock asked, raising an eyebrow in intrigue. He let his fingers slip over the thin, silky material, trying to imagine how it must look.

'Pretty much. It's a loose feather pattern in varying shades of blue – a little gold and green thrown in too – but it's see-through.'

'And beneath?' Spock asked curiously.

'A deep blue minidress, scoop-backed, no sleeves. I know you can't see it, but I still wanted to look nice for you.'

'I appreciate it,' Spock nodded, letting his fingers run across the surface of the dress, feeling the shoulder-straps of the minidress underneath it. 'I'm sure it will prove interesting to investigate the layers – later. For now, where do you wish to dine?'

'If you don't mind, I know a nice place about ten minutes walk from here. They do the best seafood, and some lovely vegetarian selections too.'

'That sounds fine,' Spock nodded. 'Are you ready now?'

'Just let me pick up my wrap,' she said, turning to pick up a dark blue shawl and draping it about her shoulders. 'Oh, and I picked up this coat from your quarters,' she said, putting a charcoal grey coat into his hands. 'I thought you might need it once night fell.'

'This is the dark grey wool mix?' Spock asked, running his hands over it. He carefully oriented the coat and put it on. 'There. I am ready. Shall we?'

******

Spock was grateful that it was night-time and the street was quiet as they walked together along the sidewalk after their meal. Although he had kept his cane collapsed and in his pocket, he imagined that it still must be very obvious that he was blind, as he walked holding on to Christine's arm. There had been enough subtle reaction to it in the restaurant, and he did not want to parry any more curious questions. He knew from experience that his was a very recognisable face in this Starfleet-centred city, and while the news of his blindness had, so far, been confined more or less to the ship, it would not be long before whispers of it were travelling around Headquarters, and the Academy campus. He didn't look forward to the idea of his parents being told of it through careless gossip.

'You seem preoccupied,' Christine murmured as they walked.

'Strange places take far more concentration than familiar ones,' he reassured her. 'That is all.'

'I'm sorry about all that in the restaurant,' she said quietly. 'I – didn't quite expect you to be recognised by so many people.'

'We spend so much time in deep space,' Spock shrugged. 'It's rare that we come to Earth, and we forget just how well-known the Enterprise and its personnel are here.'

'How well known you and the captain are, anyway,' she corrected him. 'I don't think they would have been able to tell me from Adam – or from Eve, at least,' she laughed.

'I imagine the local gossips would have been fascinated to see me both without sight, and dining with a beautiful woman,' Spock said with a hint of mischief in his tone.

'Then you really don't mind?' she pressed, unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

'No, I really do not mind,' he said, shaking his head.

He stopped on the sidewalk, turning her to him and taking her arms in his hands.

'You may, Christine, be forced at some point to accept that I am content with this relationship,' he said softly. 'I do not want to hide in corners. I am not ashamed.'

He touched a finger to the underside of her chin, tilting her face upwards. He stroked the fingertips of his other hand lightly over her face, touching her lips, before moving forward to touch his own lips to hers. That most illogical sensation descended again – the feeling that he was falling into a realm where sight and sound had no place, and all that mattered was the soft sensation of her lips against his, and the taste of her mouth and the air that she breathed. He was becoming accustomed to that feeling, and each time it came about him it became easier to dismiss his automatic objections to the irrationality of it.

'I would rather we were in our room now, than out on the street,' he said huskily as they broke apart.

'That can be arranged,' she smiled, letting him take her arm again. 'It's only a block away – and I think that spa bath's waiting...'

******

Christine had been right. Some kind of wonderful, illogical transformation had taken place in Spock's mind for that one night of careless luxury in a San Francisco hotel. He could not quite see why eighteen hours or so away from the ship and from any of the troubles attached to the ship could effect more of a change in his mind than a period of focussed meditation. Despite that, he beamed up with a sense of lightness in his being that pushed the dark discontent toward the edges of his mind. He could not say that the constant blurred darkness no longer bothered him, but he could, at least, look on the future with a greater degree of optimism than before. There was, after all, a chance that Helsand's operation would work for him – and if it did not, he was continuing to learn and adapt every day, perhaps well enough that Starfleet would allow him a continued role on the Enterprise.

By the time they beamed back aboard, the last of the handful of refugees from Deneva had left the ship, Peter Kirk was with his family on Earth, and everything – or almost everything – was back to normal. Spock was relieved that Jim seemed to be coming to terms with his brother's death. The short time on Earth seemed to have done wonders for him, too, as if the funeral had somehow managed to seal off the immediacy of his grief.

'I have been off duty too long,' Spock confided to Kirk over a glass of Saurian brandy. It was evening on the ship, and Kirk had been talking through the long shift on the bridge he had just finished, trying to keep Spock up to speed on ship business. 'I am fast running out of ways to occupy myself on the lower decks.'

'Sentimentality, Spock?' Kirk asked with a smile. 'You miss the bridge – that's what you're saying.'

'Not sentimentality,' Spock corrected him gravely. 'Perhaps – concern for how long I have been away from my post.'

Jim took a sip from his glass, letting his gaze settle on the Vulcan's blank eyes. He was getting too used to seeing Spock sightless. Everyone was getting too used to it. He had got to the point now where he would turn to the science station expecting to see Chekov in his gold shirt, not Spock in blue. Even though Spock was sitting in on briefings and consulting with those in his department, it could not compare with the reassurance of his presence on the bridge.

'We were – what – a month at Deneva, after we killed the parasites?' Kirk asked, putting his glass down on the desk beside him.

'Twenty-seven days, to be precise,' Spock nodded.

'And just over a week to Earth, three days in dock, two days so far to Rigel. Spock, you've been blind for – almost a month and a half,' he said in astonishment. 'I didn't realise how long it had been…'

'I imagine my blindness holds a higher priority in my own mind than in yours,' Spock said wryly. Each second that ticked away was another that he could add to the total in his head.

'Maybe it does. Do you have a schedule for the operation yet?' Kirk asked him.

'Assuming we arrive on time, without diversion, I will beam down with McCoy and Dr Helsand on the morning after our arrival, for the primary consultation. The doctors on Rigel will wish to carry out a series of tests to determine the best possible procedure for my type of injury. Those will be out-patient appointments, of course. When those tests have been completed, a date will be set for the operation itself – as soon as possible, I am told. There is a short recovery period, but there is a possibility that I could return to the Enterprise for that, if we are pressed to move onto a new mission.'

'Well, we're cleared for two weeks,' Kirk told him. 'Rigel's got a first-class maintenance facility, so Scotty's got some essential maintenance scheduled on the warp drive. We'll be immobile during that work at any rate.'

'That is reassuring,' Spock nodded.

Kirk knew that was as close as Spock would get to admitting that he wanted his friends and his home close by when he underwent the operation. Although something seemed to have brightened in the Vulcan since the visit to Earth, it was obvious that the coming surgery filled him with trepidation.

'It'll be all right, you know, Spock,' he said softly, putting his glass down again so that he could touch the Vulcan's arm reassuringly. 'We'll be at Rigel before we know it – and then the operation, and then – '

'Perhaps, I will see,' Spock nodded.

'No perhaps about it,' Kirk said stoutly. 'I'm looking forward to having a game of chess that I don't have to describe move by move, Spock. You can't let me down.'

******

The ship arrived at Rigel precisely as scheduled. Somehow, it seemed that someone had caused all of Starfleet to hold its breath – at least as regarded the Enterprise's mission status. It was almost unheard of for the ship to pass from one place to another without some small but vital errand being tagged onto its duties. Even during the transit from Deneva the ship had acted as a transport service, ferrying the few dozen people who could no longer stand to live there to their new homes. This time, Spock could only imagine that Kirk had managed to use his admirable skills at persuasion to clear absolutely *everything* from the ship's schedule. For that, he was grateful.

The first few meetings with the Rigelian doctors were unnerving, to say the least. Spock had McCoy at his side, and Helsand, but he found it quite discomforting to spend so much time in an alien hospital environment where he was forced to rely totally on others for guidance, and where absolutely no one had remembered faces that he could attach to the voices. Every person he met seemed fascinated by his mixed heritage and the structure of his eyes, to the point of forgetting that they were dealing with a person rather than a collection of biological oddities.

The extended interviews and examinations, the hours of leaning into optical scopes or lying on his back with Rigelian doctors bending over him, at least had the benefit of filling up his time. It felt as if very little time had passed between arriving at Rigel, and the date being confirmed for the operation. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would lie in that alien hospital, and be anaesthetised, and lie in oblivion on an operating table while Helsand and one of Rigel's most prominent ophthalmologists stood over him, doing all they could to remove the useless inner eyelids that were obscuring his vision.

He stood in front of his suitcase, considering what else to put in for his short stay. Ordinarily he might have included a book, but there seemed little point in doing so this time – even if the operation did work, he had been warned against straining his eyes in the early days. He was uncertain as to how many clothes to put in. Would he be bound to wear hospital garments, or, since he was not ill, be allowed to wear his own clothes? Would he be treated as if he was ill, despite the fact that only his eyes were malfunctioning? Hospitals often did so…

'Just put in enough for four or five days,' Christine said softly over his shoulder. 'It doesn't matter if you don't wear them – and I'll be there to help you pick them out if you need me to.'

Spock turned toward her, and nodded, allowing a small smile onto his face. 'It is really not necessary for you to take leave,' he said quietly, although he both knew that she would not agree with that statement, and he did not want her to agree with him.

'It is *very* necessary,' she said. 'Perhaps it's not necessary according to logic – but it is necessary according to me.'

'Yes, I know,' Spock nodded. While Kirk and McCoy would be visiting around their scheduled duties, Christine had been granted a week's vacation, and would be able to beam down and be at his side whenever hospital visiting hours allowed.

'You're nervous about the operation, aren't you?' she asked softly.

Spock paused in folding a pair of trousers, his hands betraying him by gripping tensely at the dark fabric.

'There is little logic in feeling nervous about an operation that I *must* have.'

'That doesn't mean you don't feel nervous,' she pointed out.

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgement.

'However, it is imperative that I undergo the operation. It is imperative that it *work*.'

'The doctors' reports have been very favourable, haven't they?' she asked him, picking up the padd that held the data, and scanning her eyes over it. 'It says here, *tissue type – receptive, reaction to drugs – positive*.'

'Yes, that is true,' Spock nodded, beginning to fold the clothing again, and laying it very carefully on top of the other items in the suitcase.

The positive side of being forced to act the guinea pig again, and be subjected to dozens of tests again, was that the doctors on Rigel had managed to push the odds up above fifty percent. Finally there was a greater chance that he would wake up from the operation able to see, than that a doctor would be there to tell him he would never see again.

He shut the lid of the suitcase, and held out both hands to her. She took them, stroking her thumbs softly over the backs of his hands.

'I promise,' she said firmly. 'It *will* work.'

Spock shook his head. 'That is not a promise that you can make.'

'Maybe not,' she told him. 'But I know it's true, anyway. It's illogical, I know. It doesn't make sense. But I know it's true.'

'My entire way of life is dependent on this operation,' he said quietly. 'You know that there is a possibility that my eyes will only be further damaged by the procedure.'

'Yes, I know it's possible,' she said soberly. 'I know it is. Spock – ' She looked down at his case, and about the room. 'Spock, you're all sorted here. Will you come for a walk with me? There's somewhere I wanted to take you.'

'On the ship?' Spock asked curiously.

'On the ship. Come on. It won't do you any good sitting in your room going over and over something you can't control.'

'Logical,' Spock murmured.

Despite what he had said in San Francisco, he was not totally at ease with being seen about the ship with Christine, and being exposed to all of the gossip the relationship would kindle. But there was only one way to deal with his unease, and that was to push it away, and continue with Christine as if they were the only two people in the world whose opinions mattered.

He felt on his desk for his cane, and extended it to its full length, then turned to Christine.

'Where do you wish to take me?'

'Wait and see,' she smiled. 'It's a surprise.'

Spock deliberately tried not to keep track of where they were walking, in order to make Christine's surprise as effective as possible. He was not sure of the purpose of surprises, but he was willing to go along with it purely for the pleasure that it would bring the woman beside him.

When a door finally opened before them and they walked through he stood still for a moment, taking in the warm, humid atmosphere and the many scents of plants about him.

'We are in the ship's botany department,' he said. 'This is usually Mr Sulu's province.'

'We are,' she said in a satisfied voice. 'Mr Sulu has been working on something that I wanted to show you. I don't know if they'd have the same resonance for a Vulcan, but I love them.'

She touched his arm again, walking across the room with him to one of the inner chambers. As the door opened, Spock was surrounded by a dozen different but related scents, billowing around him like a blanket. The room was warmer than the one they had just left, and a gentle breeze touched his face and ruffled his hair. Presumably Sulu had altered the temperature and set up a fan to simulate natural growing conditions. For a moment the combination of warmth and scent and soft wind conspired to transport him to another place. Without sight, he could almost be standing in a garden.

'Roses,' he said in wonder. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand, although evidently he was not quite close enough to the flowers to touch them.

'I wasn't sure if you'd recognise them,' Christine said, happiness filling her voice as she took his arm and steered him closer to the raised beds. 'I think they're absolutely beautiful, but I didn't think Vulcan was quite the place… They're here, just in front of you.'

Spock reached forward, until his hands encountered a hard, thorn-studded stem and a mass of surprisingly cold, smooth leaves hooked with tiny claws up their spines. He moved his fingers upward, searching, until they touched the head of a rose blossom, packed tightly with masses of soft, scented petals. He bent forward, inhaling the scent and recognising it almost instantly.

'Your surprise is more resonant than you could have imagined. My mother has grown a rose garden at our home since the early days of her marriage,' Spock explained, feeling out for more blossoms. It was a little cooler than it had been in his mother's sheltered garden on Vulcan, but the scent and the breeze together brought a thousand memories into his mind. 'My father actually had soil and minerals and the young bushes transported from Earth. I used to spend hours sitting on the stone seat in the centre of that garden, practising at my meditation. This is a Princess Abigail, is it not?' he asked, drawing a flower to his nose. 'Deep pink, with streaks of red at the centre of the petals?'

'It's not labelled – but the colours are as you describe,' she said.

'It is a Princess Abigail,' Spock said with certainty, smelling the flower again. 'And this,' he said, moving sideways to touch his hands to the blossoms on another bush. 'A Golden Lady. Deep yellow flowers, orange at the centre.'

'I think you're right,' she smiled, moving closer to him again. 'I'm glad you like it,' she said, touching a hand to his shoulder. 'Most couples on this ship seem to head for the observation deck, but I thought in the circumstances…'

Spock straightened from the plants, and turned to her. 'Ordinarily, I would spend a very large amount of my duty time studying the stars. This is somewhere – entirely different. What has prompted Mr Sulu to grow roses?' he asked curiously. 'Is he conducting a study?'

'He's been trying to persuade the captain to have more plants in the recreation areas. I think roses are the first weapon in his arsenal.'

Spock lifted an eyebrow at the laughter in her voice. 'Roses as weapons,' he murmured. 'That is an – interesting tactic, considering the captain's romantic inclinations.'

'Your mother's garden must be beautiful,' Christine murmured, reaching out to touch the roses herself. 'With that Vulcan sky behind it.'

Spock cast his mind back to the last time he had stood in his mother's garden, with the slight shimmer of the forcefield above him, protecting the plants from the worst of the Vulcan heat. The sky had been dark orange, streaked with red, and with tiny ribbons of evening cloud that caught tones of vermilion and fuchsia and bronze-gold from the dying sun. The roses had surrounded him, the scent muted in the cooling air. His mother had stood next to him, not quite touching him, in the Vulcan way, but he could feel the pain radiating from her mind.

It had been four years ago that he had last made a fleeting visit to his parents' home. Even fifteen years after his decision to join Starfleet, his father's disapproval had been so thick in the air that it was almost impossible to spend time inside the house. His mother had tried and tried and tried to effect some kind of reconciliation, but it seemed impossible. Spock would not consider giving up his life's career, and his father would not bend to accept it. But he had noticed how there were new lines on his mother's face, and how his father seemed a little slower in his walk, and a little stiffer in his movements. He did not want this disagreement to act as a barrier between them for the rest of his father's life.

'I hope the garden is still as beautiful as it was the last time I saw it,' he said, with the regret fully evident in his voice.

'I – forgot about that,' Christine said quickly. 'I'm sorry. Have you not been there since – '

Spock turned to her, reaching out to find her arm. 'I last visited four years ago, when the ship was at Vulcan for five days.'

'I remember that,' Christine realised. 'It was – some kind of conference, wasn't it? Something about engineering?'

'A conference of the foremost warp engineers in the Federation,' Spock nodded. 'As I recall, Mr Scott was in his element, with seven men and women at the top of their field to which to show his *wee bairns*.'

'Oh and I – ' Christine's voice faltered, and Spock nodded slowly, remembering.

'You saw me in the corridor just after I beamed up from seeing my parents,' he said, remembering how her face had lit up at the sight of him, and how he had noticed but, as always, had pretended not to notice. 'You asked me if I had enjoyed my time at home. I – '

'You looked at me, with that cold look in your eyes that you get when you're not happy,' Christine continued for him. 'You – asked me if it was relevant to the ship's medical department to know whether or not you had enjoyed your vacation.'

'I am sorry, Christine,' Spock said softly. 'I'm afraid I've hurt your feelings too many times in the past, haven't I?'

'Oh, I always knew it was just the Vulcan way,' she said, looking sideways at the roses in their prim white containers. 'I just – It was crazy, but I used to miss you terribly every time you left the ship. I was so glad to see you back. You looked so well after all that Vulcan sun…'

'It is not the Vulcan way to hurt people unnecessarily,' Spock said, touching her cheek to turn her head back towards him. It had been obvious by her voice that she had not been able to look at him as she spoke. 'Perhaps – it is a half-human way… My parting with my parents had not been pleasant. Each time I visit I harbour an illogical hope that my father will change his mind, and each time I am disappointed, and my mother is disappointed – and my father is – like a wall of stone… I saw you in the corridor, so pleased to see me, and – you represented everything that I fight to resist. All that in me that is human.'

'Being human isn't all that bad, you know,' she said with a sad smile, looking up at his face that was expressionless despite the emotion behind his words.

'It is on Vulcan,' Spock said grimly. 'I spent each day as a child trying to become as Vulcan as those lucky enough to not have mixed blood. Fighting guilt at the human emotions I must keep at bay. Feeling guilt at allowing myself to succumb to such an illogical emotion as guilt. And then – I look into my mother's face, and see the pain caused to her by the rift between myself and my father. I would look into *your* face, and see the pain that would be caused to you if I allowed myself to accept your love. Are human emotions worth all that pain?'

'Perhaps you should allow yourself to experience some of the good emotions, not just the bad ones,' she told him softly. 'Happiness, hope, love, *lust*.'

Spock quirked an eyebrow upwards. 'I think I have experienced my fair share of those emotions recently, Christine,' he said, with a muted smile.

'Exactly,' she told him, folding his hand in hers. 'And the sky hasn't fallen in, and you haven't stopped being Vulcan, and – and your father hasn't called up the ship to tell you how illogical you're being,' she finished wickedly.

'That is true,' Spock nodded. He reached out to the roses again, and snapped one off from the plant a few inches down the stem. 'I may incur Mr Sulu's wrath,' he said, holding it out to her, 'but rank must have some privileges. Is it a pleasant colour?'

'It's beautiful,' she smiled, taking it from him. 'Dark red, like ceremonial velvet.'

'Perhaps tomorrow, during the operation, it may provide you with some of that illogical human hope.'