A/N: As always, many apologies for the amount of time that has passed between updates. I left you hanging, which I swore last time I wouldn't do, and I really tried not to. But it seems as though the muse has decided to take a vacation.

Firebirdgirl – Good suggestion. I'll go find a cactus.

Chapter Seven: Just Not Enough

It was official. Trip hated Vulcan. It was definitely the worst planet he had ever visited. Worse than that Trellium mine. Worse than the planet with the shapeshifter. Worse… Well, he couldn't really think of another example, but it was bad. He'd been to this planet all of twice and he couldn't think of anything more horrible. There was no worse experience in all of existence than watching the woman you love marry someone else, or having to stand idly by and let her go forever to stay with said someone else. Now he was going to have watch her march off into war following some warped concept of duty. And to add insult to injury, he and the others had been unceremoniously arrested for violating a nonexistent order.

He sighed. Why did he keep leaving Enterprise? Bad things happened when he left the ship. From now on, he was locking himself in his quarters.

Well, he'd let himself out to work on the engines, but that was it. Nothing else.

Oh, and meals.

Except, meals he could eat in his quarters, so there you go. Problem solved.

"How long do they intend to keep us here?" Malcolm asked from the other side of the room.

Trip rolled his eyes. Malcolm was really grating on his last nerve. Trip had no way of knowing just how long they'd been in here, but Malcolm had done nothing but complain the entire time. It was really irritating. "Got somewhere more important you need to be, Mal?"

Malcolm leveled a glare in his direction but said nothing, and Trip resisted the sudden urge to smirk. He knew where Malcolm needed to be – with Kamea. The smirk died on his lips. He was starting to get worried, too. None of them knew exactly what had happened to the girl; the Vulcans had separated them from her upon entering the building. They'd dragged Kamea off down one corridor and led Trip, Malcolm, Archer, and Travis down another, to what Trip presumed was some sort of conference room. It was all white, with a long, oval table in the middle and half a dozen fairly uncomfortable chairs. Apparently, Vulcans didn't believe in comfort in addition to emotion, time travel, and relationships with humans. The room offered a spectacular view of Shi'Kahr, Vulcan's capital city – not that Trip cared. Although he could see a large garden or park of some sort, which he grudgingly admitted was pretty cool. He hadn't really gotten to do all that much sight-seeing the last time he'd been here. Trip leaned further out the window, trying to see better.

Vulcan really was a beautiful planet. Too bad Trip hated it more than anything in the universe.

He wondered if he could see the Fire Plains from this building.

"They're definitely hiding something," said Archer. He was pacing restlessly back and forth and had been doing so ever since they'd been brought into the room. Trip had to stop watching him after a while – it was making him dizzy. He'd also kept repeating that same phrase over and over; the words had last all meaning.

Had everyone gone insane?

"Probably," said Trip. When were the Vulcans not hiding something? He hoisted himself onto the windowsill, braced both hands on either side of the window frame, and leaned as far out the window as he could without jumping.

He saw a bunch of buildings and that garden. No Fire Plains. Bummer.

Travis leapt up from his spot at the table and ran over to Trip. "Commander!" he said. He grabbed the back of Trip's uniform and yanked him back inside. "What are you doing?"

Trip offered a weak shrug and brushed off his uniform. "It's a nice view," he said, in an attempt to be casual, like he was always leaning so far out windows that one slip and he was a stain on the pavement. Travis didn't seem to buy it, though.

"What do you think they're hiding?" Archer asked, obviously having taken no notice of the fact that his chief engineer had almost jumped out the window.

Malcolm grunted. "I'm guessing it has something to do with the Syrannites." He said it with such contempt that Archer came out of his vacant stupor, and he, Trip, and Travis all turned to stare at the lieutenant. It took him a few minutes, but when Malcolm realized they were all looking at him, he coughed and said, "Sir."

Archer walked over to the table and leaned on it, bracing both his palms flat on the surface. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

Trip had never in his entire life heard a rank sound so much like an insult – not even when T'Pol and Kamea attempted to use "Commander" as an insult could they ever make it sound so menacing. Trip pursed his lips and sucked in a sharp breath. Malcolm was not the type to talk back to his superior officers, so Trip knew he must be under a lot of stress; he could imagine that Kamea was pretty demanding on Malcolm's time and energy, but he never thought he would act like this. He just didn't seem to have it in him.

For a moment, Malcolm looked as though he was going to tell the captain exactly what was on his mind, but he must have chickened out at the last second (or his innate Malcolm-ness had kicked in at last), because he shook his head. "No, sir."

Trip loudly cleared his throat. Everyone was tense and had been for a while. The Vulcans locking them in this tiny room was only serving to bring that tension to the surface. If he didn't say something soon… He didn't want to even think about what might happen. "Okay," he said, and the others turned to look at him, "so, what do we know about the Syrannites?"

"Not much," said Archer. He sat down at the table. He seemed to forget all about Malcolm for the time being, and Trip breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. "T'Pol said something about a different interpretation of Surak's teachings."

"That's it?" asked Travis. He took the seat across from Archer. "Seems like a lot of fuss over something so simple."

"You're forgetting, Travis," Malcolm said, and he also sat down, "that wars have been fought over less. Religious warfare is nothing new to humanoid society. Earth has undergone several religious wars – the Crusades being the most famous. People will do almost anything in God's name, believing that they are defending their religious ideals."

"But these aren't people we're talking about, Malcolm," said Trip. "They're Vulcans. They all look the same. They all think the same."

"Surely you don't think that, Commander," Malcolm said. "What about T'Pol? And Kamea?"

Trip snorted in response, but said nothing. He knew it was incredibly specist of him to lump all Vulcans together as though they all acted like they were connected by the same brain. He hated the way that Vulcans made vague generalizations about the human race, and now he was doing the same thing. Of course, he had every reason to be bitter and cynical, and if he had to piss off an entire planet in order to be bitter and cynical, then so be it, damnit, because it was his right.

"At any rate," Malcolm said, eyeing Trip with an appraising look, "I imagine it's much the same with Vulcans. They're so adamant in what they believe that anyone who challenges or opposes that belief in some way must be dealt with. Look at what happened to Kamea's father."

A lump formed in Trip's throat. Or T'Pol. She was forced into a loveless marriage because her unorthodox actions threatened her mother's position. What kind of horrible society forces people into an unwanted relationship like that?

He rolled his eyes. This one.

"Do you really think Surak advocated that kind of behavior?" asked Travis. "I thought he was all about peace and tolerance."

"There's a difference between tolerance and acceptance," Malcolm said. "You can be tolerant of something without having to like it.."

"Did any of Surak's writings survive the Reformation?" Archer asked.

Trip forced a laugh. "I think you're asking the wrong crowd, Captain. We've got to find Soval and V'Las and make them talk to us."

Someone behind him cleared his throat. They all turned. It was Soval.

"Highly unlikely," Soval said. "We're taught to resist torture, Commander Tucker. And I strongly suspect that anything you might attempt in order to 'me me talk' would be nothing short of torture."

Trip cocked an eyebrow. Had Ambassador Cranky just made a joke? He looked at Archer, who was staring at Soval with an amused look.

It was official. Everyone had gone insane.

"Where's Kamea?" Malcolm asked, his voice so tense it sounded as though it might break. He was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles almost matched the color of the walls.

Soval's face bore no expression, not that Trip expected it to, when he answered. "She is well taken care of."

Malcolm almost growled. "That's not what I asked."

Soval cocked an eyebrow, an expression that Trip liked to call 'the Vulcan'. "I assure you, Lieutenant, that she is quite safe. She is being attended to by our physicians."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "Physicians? Why? What happened?"

Trip could have sworn that Soval sighed. "She became hostile. We were forced to sedate her."

"I'm sure it was nothing you did, though," said Archer. "Right, Ambassador?"

Soval folded his arms behind his back. "She has a lot of aggression, and perhaps rightly so, but we could not have her becoming violent. If what her father told me about her is true, we would be ill-equipped to deal with her if she became violent." Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, but Soval continued before he could get the chance. He turned to Archer. "Now, Captain, about your unauthorized – "

"We have a right to know what's going on," said Archer.

Soval just stared at him. "No, Captain. You don't.."

Trip felt his blood boiling. He took a deep breath and a step forward, intent on giving Soval a piece of his mind, but Travis reached out and grabbed his arm. Trip turned to shoot the boomer a dirty look, but there was no real malice behind it. Deep down – very deep down – he knew that nothing would be accomplished by yelling at the ambassador.

"T'Pol is a member of my crew," Archer said. "If a member of my crew is involved, I'm involved. If T'Pol is going to be risking her life for this, I want to know what she's risking her life for."

This time, Soval did sigh. "I'm sorry, Captain. That information is classified."

Archer rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

Silence descended. Trip couldn't tell who looked angrier – himself, Malcolm, or the captain. Trip could only speak for himself, but he knew that if he opened his mouth to ask Soval anything, the only thing that would come out would be a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush and his mother reach for the soap. He couldn't remember having ever been so angry.

Not true. He'd been pretty pissed off when T'Pol told him she was marrying Koss. But this was a close second.

It was Travis, strangely enough, who broke the silence. "Isn't there anything you can tell us, sir?"

Soval looked at Travis with one eyebrow raised. Then he walked over to the still open door, peered out into the – presumably – empty hallway, and shut the door. He marched back over to the table and beckoned them closer.

"How much has T'Pol told you?"

Trip almost had a stroke. Was Soval actually going to tell them something other than, "That information is classified"?

Archer shrugged. "Not much," he said, looking suspicious. Trip could hardly blame him. Soval had never exactly been all about the free exchange of information before. "There have been a few uprisings, and these Syrannites have a radical interpretation of Surak's teachings."

Soval nodded slightly. "I thought as much. V'Las has been telling the people that the Syrannites follow a corrupted form of Surak's teachings."

Trip could tell, from the tone of Soval's voice, that he didn't entirely agree with V'Las's point of view. "But you don't think that."

"It isn't important what I think," said Soval. "The High Command must present a united front, otherwise our entire government structure will crumble. Nothing would be accomplished if there were discord and petty squabbles among the members of the High Command." After a pause, he continued. "But yes, I don't believe that V'Las is being entirely truthful about the Syrannites. I do not believe that their ideas are corrupt, simply misguided. They advocate many practices that traditional Vulcan society considers taboo."

Must be horrible, Trip thought, for it not to matter what you think. For all the Vulcans preach tolerance and objectiveness, they certainly don't practice it.

"Such as?" Archer asked.

"Mind-melds," he said. He said it so quietly that Trip wasn't sure if he'd heard him correctly. He glanced around (probably paranoid that one of his cohorts had heard him with their supersonic hearing). "Vulcans value their privacy, as you know. Mind-melds violate that. It is not a practice we encourage."

"But all Vulcans are capable of performing mind-melds," said Malcolm. Everyone turned to look at him. "It isn't just the Minority that can do so, correct? They simply choose to."

Soval furrowed his brow. "Where, Lieutenant, did you hear that?"

Malcolm coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "Kamea."

Soval exhaled through pursed lips and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "Of course. She would know about the Syrannites."

Archer looked confused. "Why would you say that?"

"Her father was a Syrannite."

Trip was dumbfounded. He was sure he must have looked like an idiot, standing there with his mouth open, but he really couldn't think of anything intelligent to say in response to that. He had been trying for days to get Kamea to tell him something about what was going on, and she kept insisting that she had no idea, when really she did. Her father was a Syrannite? She would know all about them. She should have marched into Archer's office the minute they found out about this political uprising and told them everything they needed to know.

"Lorian was a Syrannite?" Malcolm asked.

Soval gave them the Vulcan look. "Is that really so hard to believe, Lieutenant? Consider his unorthodox behavior. He shunned his betrothed, abandoned his life as a member of the High Command, wed a human, settled on Earth, and conceived a hybrid child. Then he convinced his child to masquerade as human, thereby completely disregarding half of her heritage."

Malcolm shook his head, his eyes burning. "You have no idea what it was like for her, growing up half-Vulcan."

Soval shook his head. "Do you?"

"I know more about her than you do. You spoke to her for all of five minutes. She's been on Enterprise for six months."

Trip had to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that, as she had been spending every night of the past few months in Malcolm's room, he would know her better than anyone alive. Somehow, he didn't think that would help matters any.

He couldn't help but grin. Still fun to tease him, though. He made a mental note to do just that, as soon as Soval left.

But still, Trip couldn't help but be suspicious as to why Soval was suddenly Mr. Informative. Soval had never so much as given them the answer to a riddle, and now he was spilling High Command secrets left and right – telling them about the Syrannites and that he didn't agree with the High Command's position. If Trip hadn't thought the ambassador was acting out of character before, this clinched it.

"Why are you telling us this?" he asked.

Soval averted his eyes, and alarms went off in Trip's head. Danger! Danger, Will Robinson! "I thought, perhaps, if I answered some of your questions, it might make you more amenable to what I have to say."

I knew it! Trip thought. Though what he knew, he couldn't say.

"Captain Archer," said Soval, "you and your crew are to return to Enterprise at once, with me as your escort."

"What about Kamea?" Malcolm asked.

Soval turned to look at him. "She is to remain here in order to be examined. Administrator V'Las is not entirely convinced that she is telling the truth. He wishes for her to be examined by Vulcan physicians. He will only believe their results."

Archer said, "If you think I'm leaving her here – "

Soval held up his hand. "V'Las has consented to allow one of your crew to stay and oversee the tests." He cocked an eyebrow. "He's under the impression, Captain, that you don't entirely trust us."

Archer looked at Trip. Trip nodded at Malcolm. If anyone was going to stay with Kamea, it should be the guy who knew her best. Also, if Malcolm really could speak Hawaiian (and when the hell had he learned to do that? It wasn't exactly like Hawaiian was a common language), it would come in handy, since Kamea had a tendency to speak in her native tongue at the most inopportune times.

"Captain, sir," said Malcolm, "if it's all right, I'd like to stay here with Kamea."

Archer nodded slowly. "I figured you would, Malcolm."

Trip couldn't take his eyes off Soval. The Vulcan was hiding something – not that that was some almighty revelation. He was always hiding something; he was Vulcan, after all. But Kamea having to remain on Vulcan couldn't be what Soval was worried about telling them. Trip had expected that the Vulcans would want to examine her themselves – far be it for them to believe some illogical old humans, even though they had more than enough medical evidence to prove that she was who she said she was.

"So we just go back to Enterprise and y'all will leave us alone?" Trip asked. Somehow, it didn't seem like something the Vulcans would do.

"When I said that I was your escort," said Soval, "I meant that I am to ask as your chaperone. V'Las wants to ensure that you don't attempt to interfere with our…problem. He has asked me to return to Enterprise with you."

Trip snorted before he could stop himself. "We don't need a damn babysitter."

Soval took a step towards him, and Trip automatically took a step back. Pompous and arrogant as he was, Soval was still a pretty intimidating person. "I assure you, Commander Tucker, that I have no desire to 'babysit' you. I requested to remain here and oversee the examination, but V'Las insisted that I return to your ship with you. He seemed to think that it was in everyone's best interests."

Archer let out a great barking laugh. "The only interests that concern V'Las are his own."

The light must have been playing tricks on Trip's eyes, because it looked like Soval was amused. "Be that as it may, Captain, it does not change what I have told you." He turned to Malcolm. "Lieutenant Reed, I will escort you to the room where Kamea is being kept." He looked at Archer. "Then, Captain, I will return and take you to your shuttle craft."

Soval and Malcolm left.

Trip shook his head. "I don't like it, Captain. Something fishy is going on here."

Archer nodded. "I know. But it looks like we don't have much of a choice. At least with Soval on board, we can keep an eye on him."

The farther into the compound Soval led him, the more anxious Malcolm became. The building hadn't looked this big from the outside, but Malcolm could tell that they were several levels underground. He got the feeling that the High Command conducted a lot of experiments here – experiments that weren't meant to be public knowledge, and so were performed far away from prying eyes. If he was getting the chills, he hated to think what Kamea was going through.

He suspected that her distaste for doctors stemmed from her ordeal with the Andorians. She claimed that she had no memory of what they had done to her, but he didn't believe her. He was fairly certain that she remembered exactly what they did to her and just chose not to talk about it. Every time he saw that long, ropy scar on her back he felt a sudden surge of anger directed towards the bastards who had done that to her. If she hadn't killed them, he most certainly would have.

Soval stopped abruptly and turned to face him, and for a minute Malcolm feared the Vulcan had read his mind, until he said, "Why did you volunteer to remain?"

Malcolm was pretty sure that Soval knew exactly why he volunteered to stay, but Malcolm opted not to delve into that messy situation, especially with the ambassador. "Kamea has a tendency to slip into her native language. I'm the only crewmember who can speak it." He narrowed his eyes. "It seemed like the logical conclusion."

"Ah," said Soval, but he didn't sound convinced.

They resumed walking, and several minutes passed before Soval spoke again. "She is a very attractive girl."

God, Malcolm thought, if only you knew. If you knew just how soft her skin was, or how silky her hair was, or how good she feels pressed up against you in the middle of the night… Malcolm shivered just thinking about it. Soval gave him an odd look, and Malcolm struggled to think of something to say. "I didn't think Vulcans cared about appearances."

Soval raised an eyebrow, but he seemed impressed by Malcolm's cheek. "This may surprise you, Lieutenant Reed, but Vulcans do appreciate beauty."

Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "I should say so. I've seen pictures of Kamea's mother."

It almost looked like Soval was smiling. "Kalea was a remarkable woman."

This time it was Malcolm who suddenly stopped walking. He was trying to remember if Kamea had ever told him her mother's name, had ever mentioned it all, and how Soval could possibly know it. "Have you met Kamea's mother?"

Soval nodded sadly. "Once. Lorian brought her to Vulcan."

Malcolm's chest constricted. Kamea never talked about her mother. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, to be forced to watch her mother being killed, but he sensed that it was difficult for her to talk about, and so he never broached the subject, even though he was dying to know. "What was she like?"

"I believe Lorian used to call her a 'firecracker'," Soval said, with just a hint of amusement in his tone. "She was not afraid to speak her mind. When she heard of the High Command's ultimatum, I am fairly certain she suggested just exactly where we could put it. She was remarkably intelligent – a highly gifted engineer. It was a shame that she was expelled from Starfleet. She was well-read and eloquent. She had an opinion about everything. I recall that she and Lorian once had an argument about Surak's teachings. Lorian was constantly quoting The Teachings of Surak." They began walking again, and Soval's tone became sad. "She had a kind heart, and she loved my brother very much."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. Had he heard the ambassador correctly? No, he couldn't have. "Lorian was your brother?"

Soval stared at him. "You didn't know?"

"No," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "Kamea never mentioned it. She doesn't like to talk about her father much." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Soval about the nightmares, but he didn't. It wasn't his place to tell. Although it explained a few things – like why Soval had asked to observe the examination (and probably why he wasn't allowed). Also, it put Kamea's claim that he had gone to the admiralty and asked that she be denied acceptance into Starfleet into some perspective. "So that would make Kamea…"

"My niece. Surely you knew that simple familial relationship, Lieutenant."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. It was as if the ambassador knew just what to say to irk him. "I did."

"Oh, good. For a minute, I was going to question Earth's education system."

Choosing to ignore that comment, Malcolm instead said, "How long will these exams take?"

Soval shook his head. "Difficult to say."

Not good enough. "I promised her I wouldn't let any doctors touch her." I knew I never should have made that ridiculous promise.

Soval narrowed his eyes, something Malcolm could honestly say he'd never seen the ambassador do. It was one of the most piercing stares Malcolm had ever seen, with the exception of all of the looks that Kamea gave him. Must have been a Vulcan thing. "Why did you volunteer to remain?"

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that Soval was actually questioning his intentions toward Kamea. He laughed without meaning to – he was nervous and uneasy in the presence of the Vulcan, and the question caught him off guard. Soval glowered even harder, and Malcolm cleared his throat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn't tell Soval the real reason behind his decision – it was something he couldn't even tell Kamea – but he had to tell him something. The ambassador looked pissed.

He sighed heavily, as though he was revealing the location of the Holy Grail. "She saved my life. I feel as though I owe her."

Soval continued to stare at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Just because I do not express emotion, Lieutenant, does not mean that I cannot recognize it."

Malcolm gulped. What the hell did he mean by that? Oh, he did not like where this conversation was going.

"You are in love with her."

Malcolm scoffed loudly, because it was expected of him. "That's ridiculous," he said, but he was really thinking, How in the hell did he know? Nobody knows. Hell, I'm not even sure I know that.

"Her native language," Soval said, his voice clipped and curt, "is Hawaiian. I know this, because Lorian used to write me how much he despised when she spoke it, because he could never grasp the language. Hawaiian, I also know, is not a common Earth language. In fact, it is only spoken on the island chain. Therefore, you must have learned to speak Hawaiian after having met Kamea. To invest that much time and effort into learning a language that so few people speak can only mean that you have feelings for her."

Malcolm could only stare stupidly at the Vulcan. If that was his reasoning, then he had figured it out from the beginning and had known all along. Malcolm felt his face burn with humiliation and knew he must be some vibrant shade of red. It was embarrassing, knowing that Soval was aware of his feelings for Kamea. "Someone had to learn it," he said, aware that the excuse was paltry at best.

Soval almost rolled his eyes. "I believe that one of the finest linguists on Earth is a member of your crew."

He was referring, of course, to Hoshi. But Hoshi wasn't there in the middle of the night, Malcolm was. But he couldn't tell that to Soval. The Vulcan already looked like he wanted to throttle him; it would only make things ten times worse if he admitted to the ambassador that he was sleeping with his niece every night.

"Look," Malcolm said, marching off down the hallway, "it isn't important. We weren't about to leave Kamea down here by herself, so someone had to stay, and I volunteered. It doesn't matter why."

The hallway was endless. It stretched on for miles, completely lined with doors. There were a thousand places to hide, a thousand places in which to get lost. The Vulcans could probably navigate the corridors with ease; Malcolm would have thought that the building was constructed this way to intimidate visitors, but he got the sense that very few visitors had ever stood where he was currently standing. Under different circumstances, the thought that he was in a place where very few people had been would fill him with a great sense of pride, but not now. Now he could only think about Kamea and what they may have been doing to her.

Good Lord. Where in the hell did they take her? A guy could die trying to find his way out of this place. Maybe that's the bloody point.

"Very well, Lieutenant," said Soval. "I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, it isn't important. However, I feel it only logical to warn you that, should your intentions be anything less than honorable, it would be only too easy for you to become hopelessly lost in the Fire Plains."

Malcolm swallowed hard and eyed the ambassador. He didn't think he was joking. He certainly didn't look like he was joking.

He's got a lot of nerve. Completely ignores Kamea for the first half of her life and then all of a sudden becomes the over-protective uncle? Who does he think he is? He doesn't know anything about Kamea. He doesn't know what's best for her. He doesn't know anything. Ruddy bastard.

Soval finally stopped in front of a white door with a single window. How he had possibly recognized that it was this particular door for which they were looking, Malcolm would never know. It looked the same as all the others they had passed. Maybe he'd been counting. Soval knocked sharply on the glass, and the door opened. Malcolm followed him inside the cavernous white room. The ceiling stretched high above them in a dome, and the room was filled with all sorts of medical equipment. Phlox would probably squeal with delight upon seeing some of the instruments. Malcolm didn't recognize the majority of them. He reached out to touch one, only to have a Vulcan dressed in what looked like a biohazard suit smack his hand away.

"How is she?" Soval asked one of the Vulcans. The room was filled with them – the physicians, Malcolm suspected – all of them wearing the same biohazard-like suits.

His anger flared. Kamea wasn't radioactive; they needn't bother with the suits.

The Vulcan shook his head. "We won't know until she wakes. T'Mun fears we may have used too high of a dosage."

Malcolm followed the sound of the voices into a little room off the side of the dome, the only contents of which was a small brass bed. Kamea was strapped to the bed, unconscious, and dressed in a long white gown. Malcolm's heart broke at the sight of her.

She was going to be so pissed off when she woke up.

He edged closer to the bed – as close as he dared, in the presence of all the Vulcans – and reached for her hand. As he closed his fingers around hers, he distinctly heard several sharp intakes of breath and turned to find the Vulcans all staring at him with barely disguised shock.

Malcolm turned back to Kamea. She would love knowing that he had managed to shock a whole flock of Vulcans. She'd probably be upset that she'd missed it.

She would have to have been blind not to know where she was.

Everything was the same. The walls were still that pale, seafoam green. She lightly ran her hands along them, savoring the feel – mostly smooth, save for the random spots where the paint was cracking. The hardwood floors were still cold beneath her feet as she slowly walked into the living room. A fire crackled in the fireplace – purely for show, of course, since it was most likely eighty degrees outside. The coffee table was stacked with all sorts of science magazines and technical manuals. But what held Kamea most entranced was the couch. Beige – difficult to conceal stains, and it had only taken her once or twice to learn not to eat on it – and quite possibly the most comfortable couch in the universe, that couch was as much a part of her life as the wilting lei that hung on the back of her desk chair. She took a running leap onto the couch and buried her face in the pillow that was propped against the arm.

The whole room smelled like sandalwood – potpourri, strategically placed all over the room. It reminded her of her father.

Kamea thought her heart might burst from pure joy. Home. She was home.

God, she hadn't been home forever. It felt so good she thought she might cry. She was home. Home – that most fabulous of all the four letter words. This was where she had grown up. This was where she had spent the vast majority of her childhood, where she had watched television with her friends, where she had assembled engines from scratch with her mother, where her father had told her about the operation. This was where she'd had her first kiss, after freshman formal while her parents were outside on the terrace. This was where she had learned to walk, talk, recalibrate plasma conduits. A burning in her eyes signaled that she was very close to crying, and she was half tempted to race upstairs and see if her bedroom still looked the same.

She rolled over to look out the window, where the familiar sight of the ocean met her eyes. She could practically smell the salt air; she could almost feel the sand squishing between her toes. How long had it been since she'd seen the cove? Too long. What she wouldn't give for her surfboard. It had been years since she'd caught a decent wave.

"Is she going to be all right?"

Kamea's heart leapt into her throat. Her mother. She hauled herself up and peered over the back of the couch. There she was. Her mother. Those same kind eyes, that same warm smile, that same ratty old bathrobe she always wore in the morning. Her long blonde hair – the only physical attribute Kamea had inherited from her mother – was pulled into a messy ponytail. Her legs were curled up underneath her; her fingers played with the edge of the tablecloth. Kamea's eyes stung with tears. God, how she'd missed her.

Both of her parents sat around the kitchen table – a beautiful old oak table that had once belonged to Kamea's grandparents; her mother wore that ratty old bathrobe, and her father was completely dressed in slacks and an Oxford shirt – polar opposites, but somehow made for each other. They were eating some kind of mushy breakfast – probably one of her father's experiments in cooking, Kamea couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. Both of them looked exhausted.

"She's going to be fine," Lorian said, and he reached across the table for Kalea's mug of coffee. "It's just a cold. Some antibiotics, fluids, and a lot of rest, and she'll be fine."

They were talking about her. She could tell. She was too young to remember this, but her mother used to talk about this one time when she was a baby and she caught the flu. Her mother had been terrified that she was going to die; she stayed up all night every night with her, in case something were to happen.

Kalea dropped her face into her hands, but she peered at Lorian through the gaps in her fingers. "I didn't realize this was going to be so hard." It took Kamea a moment to realize that by "this", her mother meant parenting. Kamea struggled to remember the details of the story and realized that she couldn't have been more than a year old at the time. "She's so fragile."

Lorian smiled softly and gently pried Kalea's hands from her face. "Kamea may be a lot of things, but fragile is not one of them." He kissed Kalea's knuckles. "She takes after you in that respect."

Kamea choked back tears. Kalea laughed and cupped Lorian's chin. "Ah, but she has your eyes."

"She does, doesn't she?" Lorian said, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He sounded almost pleased. A lump formed in Kamea's throat.

Kalea laughed again and threw her napkin at him. They resumed eating. Well, only Lorian was eating. Kalea appeared to be pushing the mush around with her spoon. Apparently, she already had enough experience with Lorian's cooking to know not to eat anything he made. After a silence, Kalea glanced up from her meal. "Have you heard anything from Soval?"

Kamea growled low in her throat, and for a moment she was convinced her parents had heard. Soval. How dare they mention that man's name in her presence? Although, she wasn't technically present, but still. If she never heard that name again, she would do her excited happy dance.

Lorian shook his head. "He isn't going to respond."

"But he's your brother."

"It doesn't matter. He won't respond. It doesn't matter that the universe's first Vulcan/human hybrid is his niece. He isn't going to want to see her."

Kalea sighed and shook her head. "Lorian, your brother may be a member of the High Command, but he is still your brother. He'll want to see Kamea."

"He's only going to be on Earth for a few days. He's meeting with Starfleet personnel to discuss the new warp project." He took a sip of Kalea's coffee and used the mug to gesture at her. "Which, by the way, you should be a part of. He probably won't have time to visit."

Something fishy was going on; Kamea could tell. There was something odd in her father's tone that meant he wasn't being entirely truthful. Kalea obviously noticed it, too, because she narrowed her eyes. "Lorian."

Her mother had a knack for being able to draw out answers using only one word. Kamea and Lorian had often fallen victim to that particular tone in Kalea's voice. This time was no exception.

Lorian sighed and sat back in his chair. He picked up the napkin Kalea had thrown at him and started absentmindedly shredding it. "He doesn't believe me."

Kamea couldn't tell whether she or her mother was angrier by that statement, but she would wager money on her mother. Kamea already knew that Soval didn't believe her, but at this point in time, it probably would have been news to Kalea. But still, to know that her father knew that no one would believe her was not entirely comforting. She had hoped that the Vulcans, with their freakish obsession with logic, would be able to accept what was right in front of their faces.

But no. They were stubborn jackasses. And now she had to pay for it.

"What do you mean, he doesn't believe you?" Kalea asked. "He doesn't believe you have a daughter? How could he not believe you? Didn't you send him pictures?"

Lorian averted his eyes, becoming suddenly interested in whatever food compound was on his plate. "Photos can be doctored."

Kalea slammed her palms on the table. Kamea jumped. Lorian's eyes twitched. "Did he say that to you?" Kamea could not ever remember having heard such malice in her mother's voice. It was frightening.

"He doesn't have to say that. I know how he thinks."

Kalea abruptly stood, knocking her chair over in the process. "How can you be so calm?"

Lorian looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "I'm Vulcan."

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Well, stop it." She sighed exasperatedly, righted her chair, and sat down once more. "I don't want Kamea to go through what we went though with the High Command. I don't want her to suffer like we do."

"Neither do I. And she won't. By the time we introduce her to the High Command, they'll be more accepting of us and our marriage."

Kalea just looked at him. "As long as we're dreaming, I've always wanted a pony."

Kamea could have watched them eat breakfast for hours; if she could have had her way, that's exactly what she would have done. It had been so long since she'd seen them like this – so happy, so in love, even though her father's emotions weren't apparent. This was her life the way she remembered it, until she left the sanctity of her home and gone out into the world, which sucked beyond all compare.

But the moment couldn't last, and Kamea knew that. As she stared at her mother, remembering the lilac smell of her shampoo, the picture began to dissolve before her eyes. Soon, everything was fading into darkness.

"Makua hine!" Kamea said. She tried to scramble over the back of the couch and found that she was unable to move. "Makua hine Mai ha'alele ia'u!" She stretched out her arm, but she knew she wouldn't be able to reach her. And her mother was disappearing.

"Kamea?"

The voice penetrated through the blackness, vaguely familiar, but she ignored it. All she wanted was her mother.

"Makua hine 'Olu'olu Mai hele!" She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. And her mother was gone.

"Kamea!"

Kamea jerked awake so violently that the straps restraining her dug into her flesh, drawing blood. She struggled to sit and only then did she notice that she was strapped to the bed. She looked wildly around, unable to remember where she was or what she was doing here. Where was she? She didn't recognize this place at all; she didn't recognize any of the faces that were staring at her. And then a familiar scent hit her nostrils.

Malcolm.

And there he was; those gorgeous blue eyes gazing down at her with a look of concern. He was holding her hand tightly in his own, and with his other hand, he began to softly stroke her forehead.

"'Oia a'e lā nō, Kamea," he said. "Au ma'ane'i."

But for the first time in a long time, Malcolm just wasn't enough.

A/N: Makua hine – mother
Mai ha'alele ia'u – Don't leave me.
'Olu'olu – please
Mai hele – Don't go.
'Oia a'e lā nō – It's all right.
Au ma'ane'i – I'm here.

Happy New Year! Have a fun and safe New Year's Eve.