AN: I'm not especially satisfied with this chapter but the more I stare at it the less it goes away. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors and, as always, THANK YOU for all of your lovely reviews!


Eventually, she took Mrs. Thurston's advice and took the rest of the day off to "ponder her options."

'It's not like that. I'm not sure what it is, but it's not romantic. It's more like I just miss him… and maybe so does my magic? How is that even supposed to work?!'

Harriet sighed; the whole thing was giving her a headache. And, now, so was Joe's. The place would no longer be the same now that she knew she was being watched.

[You're not being watched. Stop being paranoid.]

Harriet mentally scoffed. 'Says the voice inside my head.'

No, Harriet definitely did not want to go to Joe's right then. Instead, she went to what passed as home these days: a small abandoned shop she had converted into a pseudo living space. Well, converted wasn't exactly the right word and, well, neither, really, was abandoned; she did live there after all.

The shop itself was old and quaint, reminiscent of the London shops she grew up with (sorta, it's not like the Dursleys ever really took her shopping). When Harriet initially came across it in those first few confusing days, it was relatively empty (– well, not empty per se but let's stop being technical). What little she could see through the shop window was all books: stacks of dusty old books, with yellowing pages and all the other tells of years left untouched.

She had loved it immediately, had been drawn to enter and explore and learn more.

That is, until she looked at the entrance and noticed the not so subtle mark engraved on the door.

'Death.'

The mark of the Deathly Hallows was outlined in white, clear as day. At this point, she wasn't even really surprised. It was more of a bone weary acceptance that Death always found a way. That had been the first day she'd gone to Joe's Bar. For obvious reasons, coffee just didn't seem to be the appropriate remedy. Well, not plain coffee anyway.

The shop had been otherwise deserted so she had quickly converted the space to meet her needs, transfiguring a nice sized bed from a stack of old newspapers she found in the shop's loft and clearing spaces behind the initial dozen or so feet of stacked books to use as work tables, a cooking nook, and a small but cozy reading area.

She really didn't need much more. The first time she'd encountered one of these 'homes away from home' that Death so thoughtfully provided, she had done far more – only to loose it after her next jump. No, now both she and Death had an understanding: Death provided the basics to make her feel comfortable, to help her blend in, and to feel like everything wasn't forever lost to her. In exchange, Harriet didn't get too attached or settled in. Instead, she treated every new 'home' more like someone had changed the desktop theme, continuing to treat the locals to her special brand of 'holistic' medicine, and acting as Death on occasion needed her to act.

Yet, in the end, then as now, she'd still rather face the equally socially awkward green tinged Vulcan male than face her issues with the hollows. So, once more, she threw herself into fighting the good fight. She sat at her work table and warily faced off with the PADD. She'd be lying to herself more than usual if she didn't admit she was worried the volatile mix of magic and technology wouldn't set off a small fire.

As it happened, there was no fire and no explosion of Jubilee sparks to speak of.

Death always provided for its Master.


Mrs. Thurston found it all somewhat strange. Sitting down to have a pretend cup of tea with a PADD. Having video chats with a Vulcan up in space. Pretending as if she were drinking tea when all involved knew darn well it wasn't tea she was drinking. Well, at least now the poor girl wasn't try to hold it all in.

And yes, she'd figured out Harriet was barely more than a child; her mental maturity didn't change that, nor did the paperwork she brought in that second day to prove her age and identity. She couldn't pin down what had happened or why the girl still got skittish whenever she asked about her past but she knew something had happened.

It didn't really matter in the long run though. Harriet was good people and Mrs. Thurston didn't have the luck of meeting too many of those sorts on a regular basis (even if her own first meeting with Harriet felt a little hazy at the edges). Besides, she also knew darn well she had something to do with the shop's increase in business – tea business at that. Herbal remedies and extracts she called them. Sure. If that were the case she wouldn't be so selective about who she advertised them to. She had thought the whole idea rather off when Harriet first pitched it. But, well, the girl had been confident and the few sample cups she had brewed for her had been rather terrifyingly effective at soothing her joint aches.

She had tried to convince Harriet to make larger quantities and to place her items on the menu or at least put them on display but she always insisted there was a right 'tea' or 'essence' for the 'right' customer and any mismatching could be 'detrimental.' So they stayed in a locked tea box 'for freshness' under the counter, only to come out when Harriet was on shift and the 'right customer' happened to walk in and 'happened' to have 'just the right number' of credits.

Mrs. Thurston had never really believed in 'alternative' medicine before but now… now, she just wished she could use some of those same calming teas or bathing salts to keep her blood pressure down.

"Hi Spocky Pocky. Thanks for the PADD, it took me awhile to figure it out. I was told to remove myself from the Shop yesterday, something about forced time off. Has that ever happened to you?" Pause. "Of course it has. You work too much. It's called free time, not study time." Lengthy pause. "I personally have no reason to believe that I have a problem but Mrs. Thurston, the owner, thinks that I do have a problem." Harriet leaned in closer. "It may just be the years catching up to her."

Slam.

'Oops. Too loud.' Pause. 'Yup, totally unrepentant.'


Harriet once more ever so not discretely set the small café table as if she were chatting with Spock at any other of their 'tea-time' meet-ups. On this particular occasion, she had a slightly stronger brew of liquid courage: a mocha latte with latte art, first brew. Beautiful. She just knew the first sip would be worth the wait.

The shop itself was still closed as it was early yet but here she was, ready for her now near weekly chats with Spock. Ever since her last mishap, she'd decided it was better to volunteer to open the shop and to have these little relays earlier in the day.

"So what is the crew like these days?" Lengthy pause. "I wasn't asking you for a lengthy run down of the facts." Pause "I'm well aware, however, I was asking indirectly how you were getting along with them." Pause. "It is not irrelevant. The facts are colored by circumstance and context. Facts alone are only useful when you're seeking an unbiased opinion." Pause. "The fact that gem was both culturally and monetarily valuable alone is not sufficient to understanding why the crew reacted as they did." Pause. "Yes, your responses are predictable. Stop dealing firmly in facts and that bit may just change." Pause. "I know, check mate in four. I've already devised a possible solution."

'And they say Vulcans didn't have emotions. If only they knew just how wrong they were.' Harriet took a sip of her coffee.

Harriet had been doing her research: she new quite a bit about Vulcans these days. She was even thinking of enrolling in some of the Vulcan language classes. 'Should probably get to that sooner rather than later.' But she also had those bimolecular physiology books she was going through…

'Soon,' she thought, then relayed her next two moves.


Captain Daniels wasn't sure what to make of his Third. Professional, certainly. Stoic, beyond a doubt. More emotional than he lets on, very likely. If he didn't know better, he'd say he and Number One were competing.

Beyond that, well, there was this whole business of him having a possible girlfriend and never mentioning a word of it!

Of course, he didn't know if his Third was actually involved with the girl. Although, that was actually the problem, wasn't it? No one actually knew if he was involved with the girl and, if so, to what extent.

He'd been surprised to receive the small file on the girl, Harriet as she called herself, when Spock had been transferred to his ship. Apparently, Command had yet to determine if she was a threat. She had some form of gift or mutation (depending on how you looked at it) that had allowed her to pop in and out of the Academy grounds some months ago. It had since been deemed some form of accident, but the fact she had managed to do it at all put them on edge.

That and the fact they didn't know who she was, where she came from, what she was capable of, and what her intentions were.

After what happened when she'd first appeared, it had been agreed to quietly use Spock's tentative overtures of peace when she'd popped back on to their radar to observe her from a distance. When attempts to follow her repeatedly failed, they'd even gone so far as to monitor her and Spock's weekly conversations, gathering as much information about her as they could and cross referencing it against any public records they could find, which were few and far between and wasn't that alarming in and of itself.

Only the basics existed. Name, age, date of birth, and an immunization record. No place of birth or hometown listed. No parents, school records, or operational permits. The most frustrating part of course being that those records only showed up after she'd reappeared at the hospital weeks after they'd tried to use facial recognition to find her. The fact that they knew she lived in the city and couldn't figure out where was a close second.

Suffice it to say, even with Spock's efforts to draw information out of the girl, the amount of hard facts they had gathered was still rather sparse.

It was enough, however, for him to determine the girl was relatively peaceful. She may be involved in some form of backward alternative medicine nonsense but it seemed each of the people she helped was grateful, if tight lipped as to the particulars.

Starfleet simply had no grounds to bring her back in for questioning without violating its own standards. Not that some of the higher ups weren't pushing for it regardless.

At the moment, reception of outside communications was relatively limited. As a result, many of the crew were sharing communal stations to send and receive messages and to chat with family back on Earth.

"- then, my client actually had the nerve to criticize my methods!" Huff. "Moving on, I take it the crew is being most unreasonable again?"

So now, for him, it was a question of whether or not one of his crew was in danger and, if so, was a special person of said crew member being threatened?


"My mother will be visiting Earth with my father. She has requested a meeting with you."

"Oh? Did she provide a reason why?"

Spock's eyebrows inched toward each other ever so slightly. 'Consternation.'

"She wants to know more about you."

'Wait, did he just admit to speaking about me to his mother. Oh no, oh no no no no nonononono. NO.'


Amanda's first impression of Harriet was that she was only physically young. There was something about the way she found every exit when she entered the shop that only added to the slightly haunted look about her eyes.

She briefly wondered what had happened to the girl, Hari, as she called herself, to cause such grief, then pushed the desire to mother aside.

Amanda's second impression of Harriet? That she was a better pick than T'Pring. She had a way about her that vaguely reminded her of Spock. 'Perhaps she's picked up some of his mannerisms?' That implied that they were closer than she was quickly coming to realize they actually were. 'So they really are just fledgling friends then. Dear me.'

Harriet also vaguely reminded Amanda of herself when she'd first met Sarek. So new to Vulcan culture, vaguely overwhelmed yet comfortable with it nonetheless. Then she found out Harriet had started to study the language, said she'd found a book on it of all things.

"How have you found it so far?"

"Difficult but no more difficult than any other language so far."

"And you have learned many other languages?"

Harriet paused. "Not many and near none that are currently useful."

"I am certain you are underestimating yourself dear." Amanda sipped her coffee. Spock had mentioned Harriet was fond of the beverage when she had asked for particulars.

"I believe it prudent not to overestimate my skills as they are." Harriet's head was ever so slightly cocked to the side, her strange 'they keep the Nargles away' earrings glinting in the sunlight.

"Spock doesn't seem to agree. He's not the type to give praise where praise is not due." Well, 'praise' probably wasn't the word he would use but Amanda was well practiced in the art of liberally translating Vulcan into Human Standard.

"Spock may not be the sort to evaluate skills unfairly but he is not so skilled in evaluating the dispositions of others."

Amanda could only blink. 'Dear me, this will take some work.'


Prompts: Nothing is sure in life but Death and Taxes; Spot the Doctor Who reference; Cupid's Got A Shotgun (Carrie Underwood)