Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you to everyone who reviewed.

A/N: Kind of a sad chapter here, guys. If that upsets you, I suggest you find some nice fluff to read instead. ;) LOL jk.

A/N: I beta'd for Lauren 2468; her story is about Vorik, and it's called "Thoughts of the Illogical Beings". I think you guys will like it – it's got twists and everything. So, if you would, go read her story.

Months passed, the negotiations for the Federation began, and life moved on at its unrelenting pace. Soval was kept busy with meetings and dinner parties and side-dealings with less influential races, and thankfully his wife could often make the dinner parties with him. He did not want to be so separated from his family, but it was a blessing that negotiations took place in stages, with a few weeks in between each new round, allowing the diplomats to rest and recharge, and perhaps reconsider a few of their points. Soval took that time to do all those things, and to spend time with his wife and children.

Amanda Cole became pregnant once more, much to Sorak's delight. His aide was almost insufferable again, but he excused it on the account that he himself had been just as insufferable when Genevieve was carrying his sons.

It was nearly five months since his pon farr when things took a dark turn again. He was sitting in his office, reviewing the agenda for the next round of negotiations, and he knew his Genevieve was off work today. Most likely she was relaxing in their quarters, or doing her paperwork in peace. He wished he could join her, but he needed Sorak at hand to make appointments and confirm meetings and the like. Another hour, maybe two, and he would go to her and cook the evening meal at her side.

And then he felt it.

His heart started racing, speeding up from its usual slow thrum, and he suddenly felt rather sick to his stomach. Tears pricked his eyes, and his throat felt like it might close up. This was not his reaction...it was hers.

My wife! he cried out through the bond. What is the matter? Are you injured? Answer me, Genevieve!

In response, she opened the bond wide, and a wave of intense, hot grief washed over him. A few tears escaped his eyes before he controlled himself, but he felt her emotions settling into the pit of his stomach: worry, guilt, an almost overwhelming sense of sadness. But then it eased, apparently in her attempt to get a hold of herself, and he heard her mental summons clear in his mind.

He had never felt anything like that from his wife in all their years of marriage, and he knew immediately that something was very wrong. He rushed out of his office and saw Sorak working away at his desk, content and oblivious. So it was not Amanda or her child – Sorak would have known immediately if their unborn child had been hurt. He pulled out his PADD and contacted Maxwell, and the admiral answered a few moments later.

Soval, I'm in a meeting. What's wrong?

He typed as quickly as he could. Maxwell, is your wife well?

She's fine...I think. I talked to her during my lunch break. What's going on?

Once you are done with your meeting, Genevieve and possibly Bridget need you here. I believe someone has died.

…

Bridget worked steadily through her usual routine, cleaning test tubes and doing the laundry. Thanksgiving was almost here, along with some time off, and she couldn't wait for next week and the feast of soup, vegetable casserole, potatoes, and the vegetarian side items most often eaten with the Thanksgiving meal. The last two years, her father had hosted the feast in honor of Earth's traditions, inviting Sorak and his family (including Sirak and Oratt), her grandparents, Dr. Yuris and even Tos, who didn't seem to enjoy having a large meal with a crowd of people, but bore it for Soval's sake.

"Bridget?"

Oratt's voice tore her from her reverie and made her straighten. "Yes, doctor?"

"There's a man here to see you," he said carefully. "His name is Cory...he says he knows you."

She blinked, frowning in confusion, racking her brains for the answer. The name rang a bell, but she couldn't think of it. She must have subconsciously shook her head, because Oratt's posture stiffened and he raised his chin.

"I'll have him removed."

"No, wait!" she cried, running after him. The man in question was fidgeting with his shirt hem, loitering by the door, and he looked up at her with glassy eyes as she approached him.

"Uncle Cory?"

He nodded and pulled her into a tight hug, and she returned it, confused as to why her biological mother's brother was seeking her out, and why he looked like he might cry.

"Hey, squirt," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "It's been years since I've seen you...you're all grown up!" His voice cracked at the last word, and he cleared his throat.

She smiled indulgently, still confused. "Yeah, how are you? How's the family?"

"Oh, your Aunt Hannah is doing just fine...your cousins are in school now...they weren't even born when you were sent here. How's life treating you, kid?"

"Things are good, thanks. I have two brothers now. Sokal is seven, and Sekir is eight months old."

"How old are you now?" he asked, breathing in slowly.

"Fourteen." She swallowed thickly, and he smirked, though it looked rather wan and empty.

"You look just like your mother did at that age..." He breathed in another slow breath, she guessed to steady himself. Her heart was pounding in anticipation, and somehow she knew she was about to hear something she didn't want to hear.

"Listen, kid...I have some bad news." He breathed in again. "Your grandma, Jess..." His voice cracked and he seemed to be fighting very hard against the tears sparkling in his eyes.

He didn't even have to say the words. She knew what he was going to say, and just the sight of her uncle getting choked up was enough to set her to tears. Grandma Jess had spent the last seven years in a nursing home, and Cory obviously thought it was his duty as the only functional member of the family to tell her the sad news. She embraced him and tried to breathe around the tightness in her throat, and then he finally confirmed her fears.

"Your grandma is gone, Bridget," he croaked. "I'm so sorry."

She breathed in, and then started to cry in earnest, holding tightly to her uncle's prim and proper dress shirt, rumpling it in her hands as she fisted the material. He was crying too, even though she knew Oratt was hanging back several biobeds away, probably watching the scene with a mixture of pity and disgust. She clung tighter to his slender human torso, breathing in the smell of his cologne and sweat as she tried to get a grip on her emotions. But it was no use. The floodgates had opened, and this wasn't a case of heartbreak. Her grandmother was gone forever.

"I didn't even...get to say goodbye to her," she sobbed into his shirt, and he stroked her back, clutching her just as tightly as she clung to him. "Have...have you told my mom?"

"Lacy or Genie?"

She gasped for breath. "Both," she managed to say.

"I talked to Lacy this morning, and she'll be coming to the funeral. I haven't spoken to your mom yet because I thought it'd be better to tell you first. Maybe this gentleman could tell me where she is?"

"I do not know where the wife of Soval is, sir," Oratt replied stiffly. "And in any case, my place is here," he stepped forward and placed a gentle, warm hand on her shoulder. "Does your mother have duty today, Bridget-am?"

She shook her head, trying hard to wipe her tears. "She's in our quarters."

"You may ask the secretary to show you where that is," the doctor suggested. "I will send Bridget up to you in a minute. Or...simply wait a moment outside while I speak with her."

Her uncle nodded and quickly headed for the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him. She turned to Oratt, his outline blurred by tears, and before she could even get a word out, he had lifted her onto a biobed, and his warm arms encircled her, steadied her. She was pressed to his broad chest, her tears wetting the hem of his tunic, but he stroked her hair and whispered calming words in Vulcan.

"Oh, sweetling," he muttered, stroking his warm fingers down her tear-stained cheek, "I grieve with thee."

"Thank you," she replied, and she sniffed deeply, trying to get a hold on herself. It wasn't much help, and she allowed herself a minute to cry into his neck.

"I'm so sorry." Her voice was getting husky now. "I'm sorry about...crying all over you and...I know it must be hard for you to comfort–"

"Hush," he insisted. "It is no trouble...go be with your family, little one. You don't have to come into work if you don't want to, at least not until after the funeral. If you need anything...tell me. Please. It pains me to see you like this...and I realize that grieving is natural for your people...don't hesitate to ask for me if there is something I can do."

She didn't hesitate when she cupped his face in her hands and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I love you...and thank you...I guess I'll see you in a few days then?"

"Whenever you're ready. Do not feel obligated to rush back here if you are not prepared for it."

She nodded, avoiding words lest she choke up again, and she walked out of the infirmary, hastily wiping her cheeks in case she came across any other Vulcans, which was likely at this hour. She hoped none of them talked to her; she wasn't in the mood to talk. She didn't think she was physically capable of talking. All she knew was that she wanted to cry, and she wanted her parents. Comforted by the fact that her uncle was beside her, she led him to her quarters.

"Mom," she croaked as she entered, and rushed right into her arms before breaking down into tears again.

…

Soval did not expect to see three crying humans on his couch when he finally reached his quarters. Genevieve had tears in her eyes and on her cheeks, but Bridget looked almost inconsolable. Another man was seated on his couch as well, though Bridget was between him and she who was his wife. The human male looked somewhat familiar, and Soval caught his wife's eye and raised his eyebrow in inquiry.

Jess is gone, a'dun. And this is Cory, Bridget's uncle, she explained.

His gaze flicked back to the human man, who was now wiping his eyes with the tissue Genevieve had offered him. Cory waved in half-hearted greeting, and as Soval raised his hand to form the ta'al, he saw a blur of dark auburn hair before Bridget slammed into him, holding him as if she might collapse at any second.

"Daddy," she gasped, her breathing erratic. Her voice came out as a squeak, which he thought might have been endearing but for the circumstances. She nuzzled into his chest and held him tighter still, and he wrapped his arms around her, gently returning the pressure. The situation did not please him, but her willingness to touch him again was a relief. She hugged him with a desperation and trust that nearly made his eyes water, and he sighed as he stroked her hair.

"I grieve with thee, Bridget-am," he whispered, and she nodded. He looked up at Cory. "And with you, sir."

The man nodded, sniffing and hastily wiping his eyes. "Genie, I have to get back home. The funeral is on Friday...we haven't scheduled a time yet, but I'll let you guys know."

"Thanks," his wife replied, and Soval stiffened as Genevieve pulled Cory into a brief hug. "I'm so sorry." He nodded to himself and patted her back, and then they were parted again. The contact had lasted for no more than five seconds, and he shoved away the primitive twinge of jealousy that wriggled in his stomach. Cory was married with children, he knew, and seemed very devoted to his family. He had only met Genevieve a handful of times, and embracing another member of the family (even when the two were almost strangers) seemed a common funeral rite among humans. He held his daughter tighter and nodded to Bridget's uncle as he left.

Now was not the time to make mountains out of molehills, as his wife sometimes said. Bridget needed his comfort, as did his wife, and it was his duty as father and husband to provide it.

…

The funeral was not very crowded, in fact, no more than fifteen individuals had come to pay their respects to Jess. Sokal sat diligently by his father, fighting the urge to fidget and swing his legs. Father expected him to sit quietly and to be still, and he bowed his head when the Earth priest began the ceremony. The sadness around him was pressing in on his consciousness, and his eyes began to water until Father laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, bolstering him with his strength.

Mother had dry eyes today, even though she was engulfed in the tide of grief surrounding them. Sekir was in Father's arms, silent, but still fidgeting as infants were prone to do. He was locking eyes with one of Bridget's cousins on the other side, a young girl of two, and they smiled and pointed at each other. Father allowed a tiny smirk to grace his lips and touched two of his fingers to Sekir's temple, calming him and bolstering the eight-month-old against the wall of sadness. He must have felt it too, to know that his sons needed extra strength. Mother's fingers wrapped around Father's for a brief moment, and under Mother's other arm was Bridget, crying silently into a tissue.

He wanted desperately to go to his sister and offer him some mode of comfort, but Father seemed to sense his want and silently shook his head.

"Later, Sokal," he murmured in Vulcan as the priest spoke of some place where all katras go to rest. "Let her be."

He would have asked why, but he knew Father would not appreciate it. His sa-mekh surely had a logical reason for keeping him and Sekir separate from Mother and Bridget. In fact, Mother had not held Sekir once since they had arrived in the spacious, echoing hall of worship. Perhaps it was because she was too sad to control her emotions, and Sekir would cry when he felt her grief, and the ceremony would be disrupted. Yes, Father was logical, though he still wanted to comfort his sister.

In the front pew, Bridget's uncle Cory sat with his family: his wife and three children. Cory's family and Bridget's family made ten, and the two nurses plus three strangers made fifteen. The nurses were teary-eyed, and two of the strangers (both women, and as old as Jess looked) were crying outright. The third stranger, a woman about his mother's age, had tears in her eyes too, and she briefly glanced over at Bridget.

And then he saw it.

The woman had to be Bridget's biological mother; they resembled each other too much for her to be anything less than family. Sokal smirked to himself, recognizing the woman's beauty. She had the same auburn hair as her daughter, the same blue eyes, the same nose. Her lips were fuller than Bridget's, but then his sister had to have gotten some features from her biological father.

Lacy caught his eye and smiled at him, and it was Bridget's smile that lit up her face. Sokal nodded in silent reply, and she faced front again, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

His gaze slid back to Bridget, who was still crying, though not as hard as when the ceremony started. Mother was comforting her, rubbing her back and gripping her hand as if her life depended on it. Mother had this under control, but still, he wondered if there wasn't something he could do to make his sister feel better, if not to give her the physical comfort humans required during times of turmoil.

An idea popped into his head, and he managed a tiny smile; after Bridget had grieved for Jess, she would be in for a pleasant surprise.