Admiral Greyson's House, Seattle
Uhura's POV: In the dreamlike state of a mind link, she slips in and out of her own and Spock's perspective while visiting his memories.
A/N: Technical References from Wiki/Memory Alpha. (A little holiday reading for you.)
I am falling. I am surrounded in darkness. I have chosen to mentally link with Spock and the Healers. For a moment I am afraid but suddenly sense Spock's nearness. There is sorrow, but it is something I sense the Healers holding at bay. It is a thing that burns hot, but for now it is beyond the horizon of this darkness.
I am disembodied, ephemeral. I feel like I'm standing in the dark with a room full of silent people.
Spock wants to communicate to me what he's seen on Vulcan, its destruction, but he has not wanted to hurt me with the memories, either. I expect to see Vulcan: to work with the Healers to somehow resolve his guilt over his mother's death.
Let go of your fear.
I sense this thought, but it is not Spock's, not his alone. It is a chorus of minds, a unity. This is something very alien, very Vulcan and I sense myself recoiling, retreating. But I must trust them.
Let go of your expectations.
I clear my mind and I feel like I am in my beloved's arms.
I do nothing more than open my eyes and I am—unexpectedly-in a hospital room. The faint light is weak and cold and as gray as if all the life has been sucked from it. The windows are rain-washed and it gives a strangely suffocating and underwater gloom to the room.
I hold up my hands and see nothing. No self. No Spock. No Healers.
I let go of my fear. I let go of my expectations.
In the middle of a room is a hospital bed, holding a woman in critical condition. Her face is swollen and it is evident that it is taking a lot of specialized equipment to keep her alive. This must be Seattle, after the spaceport accident…this must be Spock's mother.
A rather square upholstered chair has been pushed up to the side of the bed, the back of the chair to the bed. On the floor nearby there is a pecked at plate of undressed salad and carrot sticks, with several empty applesauce cartons abandoned nearby. The sounds of the room shift and become clearer.
I turn around at a gagging sound and see a small boy picking up a saucer of spaghetti from a bed tray. Slim and dark haired, with unmistakable and delicately upswept ears and eyebrows I recognize the young boy as Spock, from the holograms both at his apartment and his Grandfather's house.
"Not only does it look like blood covered worms it smells like meat," he murmurs to himself. He picks up the plate and, holding it at arms length, he lets himself into the connecting bathroom. After a moment I hear a flushing sound.
A young and preoccupied doctor enters, "Greyson, Amanda." He turns her arm roughly to confirm the identification wristband's correlation with his pad's data.
He busily continues checking monitors and making notes on his pad when the young boy returns to the room. The boy seems startled by the doctor and hides the plate behind his back. With a rather deft movement the child surreptitiously slips the plate into a waste bin.
"No visitors. Family only." The doctor snips at the child, giving him nothing more than a perturbed glance.
The boy climbs up to sit on the back of the chair. Putting his feet into the side of the support structure of the bed, he takes the woman's hand.
"Kid. Come on. Humans are not here to be your personal science experiment. Now shoo."
At the child's defiant look, the doctor taps his COM. "Security. I've got a sightseer in room 2124." He sighs.
"I am not a sightseer. I belong here."
"Yeah, right."
"She is my mother and I am not leaving her."
He rolls his eyes. "You must not have noticed that 'your mother' is human."
The child's voice raises three pitches. "I am entirely aware that my mother is human."
"Right." The doctor then mutters, "Note to self: Vulcan kids have imaginations."
A nurse comes running. "Doctor Evans—"
"Has the staff been asleep? What are you doing letting children wander into the ICU?"
"Doctor—"
"Is he visiting, or does he have family somewhere in the hospital?"
"Doctor, he wouldn't leave-"
"Obviously—"
"No, his father asked us to watch over him while—" The nurse makes a slashing motion at his neck and makes a face.
"Oh, thank god. Security. Get that kid out of here."
The boy simply leans over and locks his arms around the bars that run the length of the bed.
The security guard swallows. "Ah, I don't think you want a diplomatic incident here. That kid's Vulcan."
"Obviously. So obviously he doesn't belong here." The doctor lowers his face to the boy. "Look. Your kind worships logic. Why don't you just do the logical thing and go back to the visitors' area?"
"If I were allowed expletives I would use them." The boy's eyes narrow in determination.
The doctor straightens and laughs. "Interesting. Well, kid. If you don't choose to go, and if our good friend the security officer here doesn't want to touch you, I have ways of helping you decide." He pulls up a hypo gun from his pocket and starts adjusting it.
The boy swallows. "Most medicine makes me sick. Really sick. Please don't use that. Don't."
From behind the doctor a powerful hand descends on the doctor's, plucking the hypo from his grasp. "You would threaten a child?"
The doctor whirls on the intruder, coming face to face with the Vulcan Ambassador.
"This area is restricted, sir. You should control your child." The doctor attempts to pull rank, even in the face of the Ambassador's dangerously glowering eyes.
"If he wishes to stay with his mother it is allowed under your facility's policy. I made sure of it. Your accommodation is appreciated during this most difficult experience for our family."
The doctor looks both furious and embarrassed. "That child is half human?"
"He is our son." Sarek steps to his wife's bedside and brushes her hair back from her face. And bends over and kisses her forehead.
In a blink, all is darkness again, warm and brown like a burrow, and I sense Spock's thoughts:
I did not understand my father's gesture. I had never seen him kiss Mother. I thought he'd performed some kind of diagnostic touch. I saw, but I did not understand.
I realize I am seeing Spock's memories.
I experiment, and think into the darkness: what's up with the spaghetti?
And I sense his humor: An unfortunate experience with Klingon cuisine during one of my father's postings.
And I sense I am falling yet again.
Falling and there is no end to the darkness, but suddenly I am looking into Spock's eyes and he is holding me and is as unguarded as when we are alone together. But before a thought can even rise to my mind he dissolves like sand blown by the wind and I am alone again. Alone…but before me is a trail, just barely visible, and I follow it. There is a dim light in the distance and it grows, glows, and I realize it is a wall. I walk along it for what seems like hours. There is something constructed about it; but it also seems old and scabby, like a wound. There is no end to it; no beginning, its height is lost in shadow. It glows though, dully, from within.
What are you? I ask the wall.
I suddenly realize Spock is before me, facing the wall and seated as if in meditation. My bond with T'Pring is blocked by this.
A wall?
Yes.
Whose wall is this?
My bondmate built this.
T'Qilah's voice is firm: Do not be a resentful child, Spock! Own this.
After a long silence: Yes. I…contributed to its construction, too.
I walk to the wall, raise my hands to touch it but it is like pressing into the opposing polarity of a magnet. I press my hands into the resistance, reach out…
There is an instant where the wall becomes hazily translucent and I see a Vulcan woman, tall and heart-wrenchingly beautiful, place a hand on her stomach and turn to a window. She presses a hand to the window, toward the city lights beyond. Spock...lost companion of my childhood: I regret my violent thoughts toward you. But I choose not to be unsettled by the imposition of your emotions. Her hand slowly caresses the rise of her stomach and the image slowly fades away. I turn back to Spock, but the meditating figure is a shadow: I can't see his face.
T'Qilah and Skaal flank us, hands raised toward the wall. There is a blinding flash of white light and suddenly the wall is gone.
Spock and the woman stand in the distance, facing each other, what looks like a smoldering vine on the ground between them.
Like a rush of wind T'Qilah blows past me, lightning flashes, and she stands in front of me, protectively, facing the couple in the distance. This foolishness ends now. Take the energy you wasted on this barricade and return it to your lives. This wall was a monument to pride—for both of you. And it might have destroyed both of you.
In the distance he stands alone, T'Qilah and the woman are gone. I walk and walk as if through some viscous fluid and finally reach him.
Spock?
Fascinating. I did not know the bond could be broken so easily.
Skaal straightens, lifting and examining the still smoldering vine. Easily? You've both spent the majority of your lives trying to kill it. Your resistance had more life than this bond.
I meet Spock's eyes and there is sadness there. And fear. If the bond is dissolved he is now at mortal risk if struck by his reproductive cycle. I hadn't truly felt the weight of that risk until now.
I realize the ruddy glow on the horizon is growing; and the dark plane of the wall stretches and is pulled toward that distant maw.
T'Qilah stands with us now, the four of us in a circle, the way this journey began. Somehow I understand we are gathering energy. Spock and I hold hands tightly, T'Qilah and Skaal stand on either side of us touching our faces like they are completing an electrical circuit.
Quickly, T'Qilah says, glancing at what appears as a ruddy horizon. The most dangerous part of our journey begins.
Spock's hands tighten around mine and I sense his concern for me, his will to protect me. Nyota…
I am plunged into a suffocating blackness unlike anything I've ever experienced.
Blackness, blackness and it is worse than the most horrible g-force training I have ever been through. Every step the gravitational pull seems to grow worse, and the air is blast furnace hot. But it is silent.
I realize I am running in the darkness, someone clinging to my arm; no, I am almost carrying her; I would be but for the narrowness of the passage, the danger of the falling rock. The intense gravity is growing, it feels like it's going to pull my heart from my body; each breath is an Olympic event. The woman on my arm is gasping for air, staggering, and only my strength holds her up. Gravity is increasing exponentially, exponentially! I burst from the cavern, but it difficult to see for the violent shaking of everything. Everything! The Llangon Mountains are caving inward on themselves. My communicator pulls from its holster with excruciating slowness! My mouth moves and there is no sound although my lungs burn from the violent gravity, and I am shouting into the device for our lives. I don't even turn to see if my father has survived.
I look into my Mother's eyes and suddenly there is SOUND: it crashes into me, crushes me, the screaming compression of the mantel of the planet as it is sucked apart—compacting, violently shaking. But I can just decipher her words: It's okay to be afraid—and then just as abruptly, silence.
We assume the transport pattern and Mother's hand slips from my arm only to take a half step away from me for the pattern—
In the silence my mother turns as the transport pattern begins to swirl around us; she turns, her face indecipherable, she turns to face me, to face my father, to see us…
My perspective shifts.
Everything stops. There is no gravity, no sound, no shaking. Spock too stands frozen in a shout into his communicator, his eyes taking in the horrific, violent scene: the entire landscape collapsing.
I wander around the frozen figures. Sarek is behind Spock, his lips parted as if to speak. The other elders stare at the scene before them in both disbelief and as if they are trying to remember it for posterity. There should be nine and there are five.
T'Qilah stands on the edge of the precipice with Skaal. Both hold their palms out toward the scene as if in protest, looks of horror on their faces.
The scene flicks forward one step.
Spock, even in the midst of transport forces his hand to reach toward his mother—a painful and dangerous act—he could easily have lost his arm if not his life—
Like a sound overlay I hear the repeat of what I heard on the ship, through the COM link: even with maximized filtration there is horrific turbulence, and there is Spock's voice in a single scream: Mother-!
I circle again, looking at the crumbling world, frozen for a moment of time, studying the shattered mountain above, the sudden burning abyss lurching toward Shi'Khar, toward us…
In a voice-over I hear Spock's adult voice whisper in a litany, listing: Grandfather Skon, Grandmother T'Rama, my aunt, my half-brother Sybok, cousin Horek and his twin infant daughters, the staff that has served us for generations, our neighbors…
On the ledge a small Vulcan boy reaches out toward the woman as she reels backward. From his hand to the woman a white light arches and glows like a tractor beam, keeping her from toppling.
…my ka'athyra teacher Sonet, the Vulcan Science Academy, the Federation Institute for Diplomacy and Peace Studies, the ancient Shi'Kahr library, the performing arts hall, Shi'Kahr's renowned medical University…
I hear the Healer's voice, clear and certain: find it.
…Grandfather Skon's original translations of the works of Surak into earth languages, his father's original records of first contact with earth…
What had Spock said? He'd blamed himself for inattention. Inattention to the fracturing world beneath their feet…
…the works of the great artist T'Leel and the scientist Sakar; all the artists, the teachers, the administrators, shopkeepers, researchers, cooks, workers, pets, gardens…
I slowly walk to the woman and study her. Even in her anguish, she is lovely, even featured, with beautiful dark eyes. I see where Spock got his sensual, expressive mouth.
…the Forge itself; the Llangon Mountains and the stars framing their peaks at night; the le matya and all the wild creatures there; Mount Seleya, the Healers and Adepts of Gol; the smell of plomeek wafting into the streets as the City wakes; the regional foods and crafts, the dust and spires and all that is Shi'Kahr…
I look at the ground. I am no geophysicist, I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for…but here I see something: a seam, not a fracture. Layman though I am in this area, I can see a fresh slip of only a few millimeters. This would be easily missed—it is an ancient fracture that will collapse from beneath, it is already beginning to slide unsuspected. With all the violent shaking and noise and collapse surrounding us, it would have been impossible to detect, and there would have been no sound, no crack of warning.
…the Katric Ark itself, the ancient place of meeting; all that is great and ordinary, all that is Vulcan…
I go to the boy. You have to let her go.
No. I swore I would protect her.
You cannot promise this.
I cannot let her go—
You can't hold her here. It's sickness to do so. Denial.
I cannot fail her like this—
You tried. You were incredibly brave to even try to save her.
I failed her. I failed her.
The tractor beam light binding the two fades and Spock watches her plunge backward into the abyss—
Even the Healers gasp—
And there is darkness. Silent, empty darkness.
Darkness and eternity. Darkness.
But a warmth grows, and I know somehow we have been joined in the link by the Admiral and T'Zel and their strength is renewing us, lifting us. Distantly I feel T'Zel's hands on my shoulders; I know somehow the Admiral's hands are on his grandson's shoulders.
In a flash it is a beautiful summer day and Friday Harbor is spreading out below as we slowly rise into the air. A teenaged Spock sits with his mother in a small seat on a Ferris wheel feeling quite conflicted.
How did I let her talk me into this?
The wheel swings to a stop with the pair seated at its summit. Amanda's mouth twitches mischievously, and she extends her arm around her son's shoulders.
"It's not every day they bother to bring a Ferris wheel over to the Island." She shifts closer and lays her head on his shoulder. "And where I can trap you enough to give you a hug."
"Mother this is inappropriate." But his tone is more of a sigh of resignation. He is not really objecting. The sea, the island, the harbor spread below them: all greens and blues and whites, with sailboats plying the Sound. The scene is incredibly beautiful.
Soon he will be entering the Vulcan Science Academy. Soon, if all goes well he will begin to study for Kolinahr—the purging of all emotion, the ultimate achievement for a Vulcan. Perhaps…she deserves this moment he realizes. He will never be able to share a moment like this with her again when he achieves it.
His mother leans back, basking in the sun, fully in the moment, fully enjoying the moment: purely happy. And he thinks she is extraordinary. And beautiful.
"Oh, son. I love you so much." Her eyes slide to his for just a moment, making eye contact, expecting nothing. "Thank you for indulging me, just this once. I know this is a thoroughly illogical activity."
There is an ache in his side. It is as close as he ever comes to telling her he loves her. He takes her hand in his and holds it tightly.