Spock walked down the cool hallway of their assigned quarters, his feet carrying him toward the kitchen area. It was late, the Trial and celebratory feast having both concluded hours before, and the space was quiet, although none of the away team was asleep yet. As he neared the kitchen, he heard the murmur of two voices speaking softly. Nyota and Nurse Chapel.

He stepped inside. "Ah, Spock, come join us for a cup of tea," Nyota requested. "I think you'd like the blend."

He inclined his head. "Thank you, Nyota, but I do not wish to disturb you and Miss Chapel." It was evident that the two women—both perched on one of the counters, their hands that weren't holding their mugs interlocked—were in the middle of something private.

Both women smiled. "At least make yourself some tea," Chapel insisted, and Spock obeyed, striding over to the cabinet and beginning the process of making himself a cup.

"Spock, do you think that my trial is going to be like Sulu's?" Uhura asked after a moment.

"In what way?"

"The choices. I'm sure I'm capable of making them if I need to, but I'm not sure how the Ewlean would interpret those kinds of things in terms of artistic ability," she explained. Spock turned to face her fully.

"I do not know, however, I do not believe your Trial will contain the same type of choices that Lieutenant Sulu's did," he answered honestly. "Regardless, you have no reason to worry. I am confident in your ability to complete your Trial no matter its content."

He watched Nurse Chapel squeeze Nyota's hand briefly. "I told you so, darling," she said, and Nyota leaned her head against the other woman's shoulder.

"Thank you, Spock. It's just performance anxiety, but it's nice to hear your reassurances."

Spock nodded and finished making his tea. He was a step away from the exit when Nyota called his name again, and he turned back, raising an eyebrow slightly. "If you're looking for the captain, you might try the front room," she said, a knowing expression on her face, "I saw him heading that way earlier."

Spock blinked. He had not intended to seek Jim out—he needed to meditate after the stress of the day—but perhaps… "Thank you. Rest well, Nyota, Christine." He nodded to each of them and then quickly exited the kitchen, heading for the front room.

When he reached it, the only light illuminating the space was the light from Jim's PADD, which was lying beside him. The man himself was seated on one of the couches, staring at some unknown point in front of him. He did not seem to register Spock's presence.

Slowly, he stepped into Jim's line of sight, not wanting to startle the man to suddenly from whatever thoughts he was currently drifting in. Jim blinked when he did so, his face shifting from thoughtfulness to confusion to understanding in a second. "Ah, Spock, I didn't see you there. Have a seat," he gestured to the side not currently occupied by the PADD, and Spock obliged, sitting next to the man, careful to keep space between them. "Is there something you needed?"

A good question. Why was Spock here? He didn't know, aside from the fact that today had been difficult for Jim, and he desired to comfort his ashayam. But how? Eventually, he settled for saying, "You should be resting, Jim. It is 22:47."

Jim chuckled, and Spock could hear the weariness in the sound. "I've still got a few reports to go over, Spock, but thank you for your concern."

Spock raised an eyebrow. He knew for a fact that there were no reports requiring either his or Jim's attention, as he had completed the last of them twenty-two minutes and eight seconds ago. "You do not desire to repeat the dreams which disturbed you last night, so you are avoiding sleep." It was a statement, not a question, and Spock waited patiently for Jim to acknowledge the truth. Finally, the man nodded.

"I'm sorry for that, by the way. Bones said I woke both of you up and you had to do some kind of meld to get me to settle down. I know those aren't something you like to do lightly." Jim's eyes were fixed on the fabric of the couch beneath them, and despite his shields, Spock could feel the guilt and unease pouring off of him.

"Your apology is both unnecessary and illogical. I melded with you of my own free will, and I have no regrets as it was able to help you achieve restful sleep," he stated, his voice firm. He would not allow his ashayam to believe he did not deserve his aid.

Jim was silent for several moments. "I don't really expect the dreams to be bad tonight—I got a report from M'Benga that said Sulu had a headache for an hour or so and had to get a cut on his arm healed, but he's fine otherwise. The Trials don't seem to have had an ill effect on him, and I doubt it will be any worse for Uhura. The Ewlean weren't lying when they said this wasn't life or death for us."

"But dreams are rarely logical."

A long sigh fell from Jim's lips, and he sunk against the couch. "But dreams are rarely logical," he echoed, voice heavy. Then he seemed to remember that he wasn't alone and sat up straighter, a forced smile twisting his lips. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Spock. I don't want to keep you from your meditation."

The tea in Spock's hands was beginning to cool beyond the point of being palatable, but he did not notice. "Jim. You are not keeping me against my will. Let me help."

Jim blinked, eyes swirling with emotions and questions that Spock could not have begun to decipher even if he gazed at them for a hundred years. "There's not much to help with," Jim finally said with a bitter chuckle, "unless you can tell my brain to kindly shut up for a solid eight hours."

Spock put only a negligible amount of effort into attempting to conceal his frown. "I could meld with you in an attempt to quiet your mind, but I do not believe I would be able to fully shield myself from your thoughts and emotions." They had both experienced too much stress recently.

"Thanks, Spock, but I'd rather not." A silence fell, and Spock felt the couch dip and shift with Jim's uneasy movements.

"I could guide you through a simple meditation."

Jim stilled.

"There would be no connection between our minds, but my hearing would allow me to listen to your heartbeat and breathing and help you achieve a state of peace." He let the offer linger in the air, unhurried. Perhaps Jim would decline, as was his right, but if there were even a slim possibility that he would be able to help his ashayam, he had to offer. It was only logical.

A minute stretched into two, almost three before Jim spoke. "I can't promise I'll be any good at it, Spock, and I don't want to waste your time, but I'd like to try."

. . .

Jim stared at Spock, who sat cross-legged on the floor across from him, not quite believing the Vulcan was real. He wasn't sure why it surprised him so much that Spock had offered to help him meditate, but it did. This was something that was so uniquely Spock and not the kind of thing he expected the Vulcan to share with his captain just because he might have a few nightmares. But here they were, sitting on the floor of the front room—Bones was asleep in their shared room, and Jim was too relieved to see the man actually resting to risk disturbing him—Spock's incense and candle in between them.

"It would be illogical to attempt to teach you all I know of meditation in a single evening, or at all," Spock said, his deep voice barely above a murmur and yet clear as day. "The techniques that work for me will not all be equally beneficial to you, as our minds are constructed differently. You are a man of action, even in your thoughts. However, I will attempt to help you calm them and relax your body."

Jim nodded.

"First, focus on your surroundings. Notice where you are, allow yourself to feel the ground and smell the incense and hear my voice. You may close your eyes if you wish." Jim did so, and tried to do as Spock directed. The ground beneath him was hard, but not unpleasantly so, and the almost spicy scent of the incense seemed to drift through his mind like a miasma. Over it all was Spock's voice, anchoring him to reality.

"Notice your breaths; attempt to even them. As you do so, your heartbeat will slow."

Jim had tried meditation a few times over the years, and he had never been able to find the peace everyone promised would come from it, his mind far too active to slow at his direction. For some reason, it didn't seem so hard with Spock nearby.

"The first step to peace is recognition of that which keeps you from it," Spock said after several minutes. The sound startled Jim, but he quickly relaxed again, allowing his friend's voice to roll over him. "You would not expect to triumph over an enemy you cannot identify, and your mind is the same. What is it that keeps you from peace, Jim?"

'Fear, guilt, anxiety, memories of a time when I had no control,' he answered silently, the words coming almost immediately. There had been a time when admitting that much to himself would have taken at least half an hour—if it happened at all. Well, if nothing else came of tonight, at least he knew he had improved.

Spock seemed to sense that he was ready to continue. "Now, you must accept that these things exist. You need not embrace them or be content with their existence, but you must accept their presence in your mind."

Jim frowned slightly. Accept? Wasn't the point of all of this to make the noise go away, not invite it in? But he trusted Spock—endlessly, instinctually—so he focused on his breathing, focused on the emotions and memories that swirled in his mind and tried. It wasn't easy. He was the captain of a starship, and that meant that even when everything was on fire and three seconds from exploding he had to keep a level head. Often, that involved shoving unwanted thoughts and feelings into a place so deep he could pretend they didn't exist until he needed them.

He took a few deep breaths, in and out, and ventured carefully into that corner of his mind he had been doing his best to ignore. It was dark and uncomfortable, pressing against him on all sides as if it was about to swallow him whole. But it existed. His experiences on Tarsus, his past mistakes, his current guilt and frustration and anxiety were part of him, just as much as his penchant for speeches and easy smiles were.

It took him much longer, but eventually, he was able to leave the door to that dark corner open just a crack. It wasn't much, but it was an acknowledgement at the very least.

"The mind alone does not make up the whole, and your emotions affect your body as well," Spock rumbled, his voice seeming to drift with the incense into Jim's mind until it was threaded through him as much as his own thoughts were. "Catalog these effects."

As if Spock's words had woken a part of Jim's brain that had been lying dormant, he suddenly felt the tension in his shoulders and the headache that throbbed behind his eyes and the way his jaw unconsciously clenched and his stomach seemed heavy. Had he really been walking around like this all day?

"You do not deserve this pain, and you do not need it. Convince yourself of this. How would you consult a crewmember who suffered as you do?" There was something in Spock's voice, a note of emotion that Jim couldn't place but that he knew was significant. "You are a compassionate man, and you are worthy of the care you show to others."

Something in Jim seemed to melt at those words. They didn't fix everything, of course, but it was as if they lit a candle in his chest that he could use to slowly thaw the ice that these feelings had steadily coated his mind in.

Sulu was fine. The drug hadn't had any lasting negative effects, and the report he had gotten earlier from the man had been threaded with excitement and pride more than anything else. Even though he was the captain, he couldn't do everything, and he was blessed to have a crew like the one he did.

Tarsus was a horrible experience. But he was a child, and a child cannot be held accountable for the sins of those who failed him. He survived, and that was feat enough.

Spock was by his side, and he wouldn't be leaving. He wasn't alone on Ewle, and he wasn't alone on the Enterprise. Whatever he faced, he would face it with the best crew and best First Officer in the 'Fleet at his side.

Jim didn't know how long he spent in his mind, but eventually, his eyes fluttered open, the dark room in his mind a little lighter and the ice mostly melted. It was far from perfect, but it was better. Much better. His eyes found Spock's in the flickering light of the candle between them, and he smiled, hoping the Vulcan could read the gratitude in his expression. "Thank you," he said softly. Spock bowed his head.

"Thanks are unnecessary, Jim."

If there was a slight pause before Spock said his name, Jim was too caught up in the quiet warmth between them to notice.

. . .

Nyota walked confidently into the arena, her shoulders square and a smile on her lips. It was the same space that had been used the day before for Lieutenant Sulu's Trial, but now the plants and gravel floor had been removed and replaced with a stage in the center covered in a variety of artistic implements, including numerous instruments, painting supplies, cloth, potter's clay, and a microphone.

Nyota sat on a chair in the middle of the stage.

This trial would be less physical than Lieutenant Sulu's had been, the Trial Master had explained. The representative would see hallucinations of important scenes in both Ewle's history and their own and then had to represent them artistically. Nyota, of course, had agreed to be the Federation's representative without hesitation, leaving him and Jim to observe from the same room as yesterday.

Spock's eyes shifted to his ashayam. To call him relaxed would be a gross exaggeration, but he was more at ease than he had been during the previous trial. Spock too, had to admit that the apprehension he had felt yesterday was largely absent today—Nyota had been given a difficult but straightforward task.

The flickering of the viewscreen in front of them redirected his attention, and he turned to see that Nyota was now surrounded by four robed Ewlean—hallucinations. They seemed to be deep in discussion with one another, although Spock could hear no sound from the arena below. As one of them took a step forward and spread her hands to the sky, he realized he was likely witnessing one of the first meetings of the group that paved the way for the main Ewlean religion.

The four figures talked for several minutes before fading away. Nyota frowned and then stood and crossed to the side of the stage where the musical instruments were gathered. Several of them were in the Ewlean fashion, although a number of instruments from Earth had been included as well, he noted with some degree of surprise.

"There's no limit on how long she has to create her song, is there?" Jim's voice broke the silence in their small room. "Or on how long it has to be?"

Spock shook his head as Nyota reached down to claim a harp. "There is not. However, any sound she makes will be considered part of the performance, and there is no set number of hallucinations she will experience. The trial must be completed by the time the moon rises."

Jim hummed, his eyes on the arena below, and another silence fell. Strange, the comfort Spock took in it on this unfamiliar planet. Or perhaps not.

His musing was broken off by the first notes of a song being plucked on the harp Nyota held. The Ewlean must have a microphone in or near the stage that relayed its signal to their room.

The song Nyota played was a variation on a Vulcan piece he had taught her when he had first learned of her ability. Originally, the piece was meant to accompany a vocal performer recounting the history of the Reformation and rediscovery of Surak's teachings—an appropriate subject matter for the vision Nyota had seen. It was not an exact rendition, however; Nyota added a number of runs and gave the song a more triumphant and hopeful spirit than the original.

When the piece was finished, she laid the harp to the side and sat with her hands in her lap, waiting for another hallucination.

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw Jim shake his head, a grin slowly slipping across his face. "Best crew in the whole damn 'Fleet," he whispered to himself, still grinning. Then, he turned to Spock, eyes bright. "If I didn't know better, I'd say she's part siren."

Spock did not refute the statement. A few moments later, there was movement on the viewscreen, and they turned away.

The scene on display now was far from a peaceful one. In front of the stage where Nyota still sat Ewlean clashed. There seemed to be three separate forces of nearly equal sizes, although the hallucination blurred around the edges, the specific details of the individuals generic and undefined. The battle—fought with projectile weapons similar to those found on Earth in the early twentieth century—lasted seventeen minutes and thirty-nine seconds. When it was done, less than a dozen Ewlean were left standing, and they gazed at the carnage around them for a long moment before disappearing. The blood and gore vanished with them.

This time, Nyota took considerably longer in selecting her instrument of choice, and Spock could see tears on her cheeks. Eventually, she decided on a set of handheld drums and returned to her chair, remaining still, eyes closed, for fourteen minutes and eleven seconds. Then, she began to tap out an aggressive beat on the drums, steadily growing faster and louder as she played. As suddenly as she had started, she stopped. The silence lasted a beat, two, three, four, and then she began to sing. It was her native tongue—the Ewlean had said any language was allowed—and the words were powerful and haunting. A warning. A memory.

Over the next five hours and forty-one minutes, Nyota experienced fourteen more hallucinations, performing for each. The majority were scenes from Ewlean history, such as the founding of the council, First Contact, a deadly volcanic explosion that had destroyed half a continent. Five of them, however, had been scenes from Nyota's own life. Three from her childhood and two from her time aboard the Enterprise.

Of those concerning the Enterprise, the first had been her promotion to Chief Communications Officer and her first day as part of the bridge command crew. That had been accompanied by a lively, triumphant song on a guitar, accompanied by her voice. The second had been far more recent. Her and Christine Chapel holding hands as they walked in the Enterprise arboretum. The following song had been a cappella, a soft ballad in what Spock thought was Italian.

When her voice drifted away for the final time, Spock could feel the silence in the arena. Nyota frequently stated that music was a universal language, and looking at the faces of the Ewlean that he could see—there were far more people in the stands today than there had been for the previous trial—he was inclined to agree.

Nyota's throat and fingers were likely sore from her extended performance, but none of that showed on her face when the Trial Master announced the completion of the Trail. Instead, she stood and smiled, bowing slightly before the viewscreen flickered and turned black.