Vulcan seemed too alien. And he had been gone just a week.
Before Zarmal, before Quinark, before the unwise escape… before the humiliation at Stonn's hands, Vulcan had been home.
An unwelcoming home. But still home.
And now he was an outcast; where the stable hum of polite, rational voices surrounded his world, but inside he felt like he was less than a person.
Besides, his shameful story was painted on his back and his hands.
Mercifully, he wasn't going back to the seminary just yet. He could hide for a few more days. Rest his sore body and rebuild his defensive walls before he again went back to the insults and the otherness of his being.
To Spock, it did not matter that they had been back for nearly three days. The familiar smell of home often made him panic internally.
And sometimes he wanted to escape all over again.
Because while his parents had found strength and comfort in each other while searching for him, now they fought all the time. It was unbearable to be around them.
Sometimes the silence was exceedingly heavy and oppressive. His father had never been a talkative individual. Vulcans seldom were.
But his mother had always had the easy habit of keeping up a constant stream of conversation. And Spock knew his father had liked it too.
Even through the impenetrable mask that the Vulcans wore.
And even though Sarek's eyes were nowhere as expressive as Spock's or Amanda's, they were honest enough that Spock could tell what was happening behind them, even without tapping into the bond that he shared with him.
These days, those eyes were blank. And the bond was always stretched tight. Because even though Sarek didn't admit it, he missed Amanda's vivaciousness.
But he was unwilling to give to Amanda what she was demanding of him.
Sarek could not fight for Spock against the council. He could not force action against the seminary. He could not erase the disgrace Spock had brought upon his name by escaping.
All he could do was to request the seminary to take action against Stonn and the bullies who had hurt his son. But for that, Spock would have to testify. He would have to face them. And tell everyone what had happened all these years. He would have to expose himself to cold questioning. And he would have to allow himself to be judged.
He wasn't ready. Even the thought of saying anything made him want to curl up into a tight ball and go to sleep.
Which wasn't very far from what he was doing anyway. He only slept. And sometimes he watched the world from his window.
He ate a few mouthfuls of food every day just to humor his mother. But even she wasn't fooled.
And that was what they were currently arguing about. He wished they would stop. But they never did. They loved him too much to stop fighting over his wellbeing.
XXXXX
"He needs a mind healer, Sarek," Amanda said impatiently. "Can't you see? He is not getting better."
Sarek was aware of his wife's arguments. And while he agreed with her in part, he also knew that a Vulcan mind healer would not help Spock completely.
"He needs to control the human part of himself, first," he said. "They will force it into him otherwise, because they do not know how else he might come to a measure of peace."
"I'd like to see them hurt like him and then talk so high and mighty," Amanda said coldly.
She could see the logic in her husband's arguments. She knew that Spock's recovery would not come through a mind healer. But she was also getting desperate.
Her son was depressed and it was killing her.
"He barely eats anything," Amanda said quietly. "Did you know that? I can sense it that he eats only because I ask him to."
Sarek did not know what to say.
"I know this is difficult on him," he said. "And I do not know what we can do to aid him. But I do have a request, my wife. If Stonn, Satok, and Saban are to be brought to justice, Spock will have to appear before the disciplinary council at the seminary."
Now it was Amanda's turn to be quiet.
"He's not going to do it," she murmured, knowing fully well that this conversation was over.
XXXXX
Baking was a hard thing to do on Vulcan.
For one, their version of the classic terran oven was seriously lacking.
Thanks to her prowess with technology, Amanda had managed to make adjustments to it and use it normally for the most part.
Plus, it wasn't like she used her oven for fancy things like croissants or quiches. No, she baked bread… and sometimes cake.
Though her cakes were unique. They tasted nothing like the cakes her own mother used to make. These cakes were sweetened only slightly, and that too with the natural flavors of Vulcan fruits.
Spock liked it when she baked. And so did Sarek.
Though neither of them said a word to anyone else. No self-respecting Vulcan would even try to understand why this was such a special thing.
But then most self-respecting Vulcans weren't half human or married to humans or parents to half-human children.
Today she was baking a cake with T'Kiri juice. This fruit was a lot like the lychees one found on Earth during the warm summer months. The sweet, nectar-like syrup was rich in nutrients. She hoped that this gesture of hers would bring a shred of normalcy back into their lives.
She couldn't bear to see her son just stare into nothingness all day.
She focused her mind on the methodical tasks required to prepare the cake.
Each little cup of flour was measured with the utmost care. The juice of the t'kiri fruits was pressed into a clean jug lined with nuts and herbs.
Amanda worked busily for a while, lost in the repetitive, soothing, and somewhat hypnotic motions of the baking process.
Soon, a wonderful smell wafted from the kitchen.
Amanda waited anxiously to see if Spock would come out like he usually did. And ask her in a semi-controlled voice if her cake was ready, trying to hide just how pleased he was by this little thing.
She waited, hopeful that the smell of a familiar and happy memory would encourage him to come out of that soulless bedroom.
He didn't.
She wondered if she was pushing him too soon.
And that might have been the case had he been older.
But he was a child. And children were supposed to bounce back.
She forced herself to go into his room. She wanted to appear happy and carefree around her son. She wanted him to feel safe and secure. But she also knew that the problems between her and Sarek were causing him great discomfort.
And it was a human weakness that she was unable to rid herself off.
"Spock, I made the t'kiri cake for us," she said, a little smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"My olfactory senses are functional, mother," Spock said tonelessly. "I am aware of your culinary labors."
"Then won't you come out and try some?" she asked, her voice hoarse and heavy with the tears that were threatening to come out and shatter her control.
"I must decline," he responded. "I do not require sustenance at this moment."
And with that, he started turning from his side onto his stomach, as if he couldn't bear to look at his mother. His movements were awkward, jilted, and pained. The slight tightening of his lips told Amanda that he wanted to say something or let out a sound to express his discomfort, but he wouldn't do it. He was trying to be Vulcan. He was trying to be strong.
"Let me help you, Spock," she said and rushed to support his shoulders.
"Negative. I am capable of changing my position under my own capacity," he said, and finally managed to lay down on his belly.
"Oh Spock…oh my baby," Amanda could not say anything. She felt old and spent, like something had consumed her from the inside and drained away all her zest for life.
Spock did not respond.
Resigned, she walked out of his room.
She did not dare step into the kitchen again. The smell of the t'kiri cake was suddenly too overwhelming, too mocking.
She rushed to the bathroom and broke down in tears.