The security sensor at the front door alerted, an unusual (if not rare) occurrence on this world at this domicile. It is not that visitors did not find their way here, it is that seldom do they surprise the owner; whomever it was had neither arranged nor notified the single inhabitant of their intent.

The sole inhabitant approached the nearest console pad to activate passive security within the home. A career spent serving the tumultuous creation of the Federation — and defending its nascent membership against detractors and opposers within and without — led to caution and preparation. She'd not lived this long being a trusting fool.

Approaching the entryway calmed her (although she chose not to deactivate her inconspicuous protections); she knew that mind and could not miss the deafening telepathic broadcast aimed at her.

Pushing two concealed buttons on the frame of her inner door, she broadcast her own message —

Come. It is illogical to shout at me when you know I am here, Spohkh.

— and the broadcast stopped as the outer door seal allowed swirling air to escape, keeping the ever-present dust outside from coming inside.

Spohkh — or Spock Prime, as he was known amongst the knowing — completed his arrival ablutions quickly. Conversation would be impossible until he satisfied her rigid demand for tidiness in her home. Seeing her retreating back, he eschewed flashing the ta'al — the Vulcan hand-symbol for courteous arrivals and departures — and spoke in the more colloquial manner she preferred with him.

"Greetings, T'Pol. You are well?"

He couldn't see her small smile during her dry reply —

"Well enough to prepare tea and nourishment for an unexpected visitor. It is, as you know, well past my evening meal time. Yet I sense your haste avoided all care of your always large appetite."

Spock, in a place where he could be his complete unguarded self, chuckled in a very un-Vulcan manner.

"You have always known me well. Do I recognize the aroma of sweet potato and cashew stew?"

"You do," she sent as a quick answer, her efforts and attention on preparing his meal.

Spock made his way to the window at the back of the residence. An expansive garden extended from the small rear patio well into the yard sprouting plants from many worlds. In this planet's climate, sweet potatoes and cashew trees thrived year-round, providing access to healthy ingredients without overtaxing her small body. Contemplating the lengthy conversation they needed to have, she surprised him when she sat the tray, laden with tea for two as well as his meal, softly on the center table.

"The disciplines of my time in Africa remain. I freeze large portions of stew against a major failure of my garden. I am no longer so willing to miss meals as I once was in my rebellious youth. I also retain sufficient memory of your ability to — as Amanda put it — 'eat me out of house and home'. More than 100 quarts remain in stasis. I doubt even you could eat them all in a single evening."

"You are teasing, Elder."

"Your meal is cooling rapidly, young one."

Both smiled and Spock returned quickly to the living area to eat while she prepared their tea. She let him slake his hunger unmolested (although it had taken another two quarts of stew to slow his consumption at all) before she focused on the motivations behind his unplanned arrival.