Welcome back and thank you for your very kind reviews so far! In this one, their day to themselves continues. But is someone feeling suddenly insecure? Read to find out what happens.

They stayed at the table until their friends had left, then made their way to the arboretum. They had stopped at Christine's cabin on the way, as she had insisted to bring a basket with snacks, and a book, maintaining that she didn't know how long he planned to stay in the arboretum but they might as well skip dinner and have a picnic instead.

As they strolled along the rows of plants, Spock took the basket as Christine bent to smell some tall, white blossoms. Her brown hair fell into her face, soft and springy. It had been blond when they had first met. Blond and pinned up in complicated curls, the exact hairstyle and shade changing regularly.

"Would you prefer it if we had already bonded during the five-year mission?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" she protested vehemently, shaking her head.

"Why?"

Christine shrugged. "Because that was then and this is now."

Spock was tempted to scoff at her cryptic answer. On the surface, it seemed completely nonsensical. But he saw what she meant. They were different people now than during the five-year mission. Wishing that they had bonded then would invalidate their personal history, their development, and the changes that had brought them together now.

He followed her through the winding pathways of the arboretum until they had almost circled back to the entry. Christine sat down under a small cherry tree and waved at Spock to join her.

"Is this your place of choice for a 'picnic'?" Spock asked.

"If you want. I'm not hungry yet, though. Have you ever had a picnic?"

Not for the first time, Spock was taken aback by the suddenness with which she managed to turn everything into a personal question. He would get used to it. After all, he had gotten used to much more invasive questions by certain other people. He didn't remember her as always having been so interrogative. Then again, she had not always been in a position to pry into his affairs, now she was his personal affair.

"I have not. I have been camping, but I've never partaken in a picnic."

"Well, we must change that at the next best planet!" she exclaimed. "The arboretum isn't really a good spot. It doesn't feel right."

"It doesn't feel right?"

"Why, something's missing. It's not natural enough, not the right environment. It doesn't evoke the same feeling."

"I will have to take your word for it. You seem to be an expert on so-called feelings."

For a moment, Christine thought about admonishing him, as she knew perfectly well that he was capable of feelings. But that wasn't what he had said.

"On human ones, maybe. But I doubt it," she murmured. "What about Vulcan feelings?"

Spock seemed on the verge of answering, but he hesitated. Then he almost whispered: "I wouldn't know."

He was leaning back against the trunk of the tree, looking into the laurel bushes opposite.

Christine recognised that this did not come easily to him. He talked very little about struggles with his human heritage, but he talked even less about difficulties he might have with his Vulcan one.

"Right," she said fondly, "a child of both worlds."

"Or of none."

"That's a matter of perspective, Spock."

He turned to look at her at the mention of his name.

"And does it even matter? This is enough, isn't it?" she asked.

He knew she meant this starship as much as her crew. He had chosen the stars as his home and this crew as his family. Yes, this was enough.

They must have sat there for hours, talking about whatever came to mind. After a while, Christine had leant back against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with Spock, and they had sat in silence for a long time while she had flipped through her book. She had basked in the calm radiating from Spock and in the knowledge that he felt at ease with her. He had looked over her shoulder once or twice but had not seemed particularly interested in the story. After they had eaten their snacks, they had leant back against the tree.

Christine looked up at Spock who had his eyes closed. His hands were lying loosely in his lap, and now that his defences and mental barriers were lowered, she could feel how content he was.

Carefully, she slipped one of her hands into his and squeezed gently. He opened his eyes but did nothing to remove his hand. After looking up at her only fleetingly, he fixed his gaze on their intertwined hands. Christine could see that there was something on his mind.

"Spock?"

"I will never be able to give what a human partner could," he murmured after a moment of deliberation. "I cannot live up to the human ideal of a spouse."

"I know, Spock. Listen to me. You don't have to, and I don't expect you to. You are unique. No other person could give me what you can give," she said boldly. "You don't have anything to live up to but to yourself. And I expect no more and no less. Not any ideal, human or otherwise."

He met her eyes at last and she could see unfamiliar insecurity reflected there.

"I don't know how to navigate this," he said, indicating their hands.

Christine almost laughed. "No one does. They just say they do. It's a new adventure for everyone at some point, just another strange new world."

She struggled to explain how little his inexperience mattered, to her, or anyone else. Then, she had an idea and took his face with her free hand, caressing his cheek. "I'll show you," she whispered. "Meld with me."

He put his hands against her face and she closed her eyes, listened to him reciting the traditional mantra of 'my mind to your mind', opened up to the identity knocking at her conscious mind, and then they were one.

Spock saw himself sitting at a dinner table with Christine. He saw what she had seen and felt what she had felt. They were talking about some scientific experiment Christine had considered. He felt her awe at his expansive knowledge on the topic, her immersion in the exchange, and her thrill at the depth and detail of the conversation. She was sucking up his ideas like a sponge, not because it was him but because she found his opinions genuinely interesting. It was fun, talking to someone at a similar academic level, even more fun if that conversation was with a friend.

Then the discussion was a lull in the background. She looked at him and he felt a burst of emotion, some quivering feeling that made her laugh out loud at something he had said. And that was the moment she had taken his hand. She hadn't thought about it, and Spock could see his own minimal reaction through her eyes. Before she removed her hand, there was the faintest flutter in her chest, and he felt her body temperature rise.

He saw himself sitting on the stone at the beach. A soft breeze was ruffling his hair and his face was relaxed in perfect serenity. The word 'ethereal' came to mind. It wasn't his thought; it was Christine's memory of watching him. A tingling sensation of immense fondness accompanied it, and Spock marvelled at the tenderness of the emotion.

The next emotion he felt from her was loss. She had missed him during that confusing week when they had tried to break the bond. How silly that endeavour seemed now.

In her memory, she was wandering the hallways, resisting the urge to press the buzzer to his door. She was perhaps realising slowly that her feelings were deeper than she had thought, that he meant far more to her than he had ever done.

For a moment, Spock regretted being the cause for her anguish. But none of her frustration was directed at him. She had missed their times together all the more because she knew Spock had enjoyed them as well.

Reminiscent of the flutter of affection from before, they were feeling her fondness for him, a heavy beating deep within, marred only by the confusion that characterized the week, as feelings only grew stronger but she didn't dare jump to conclusions. She was confused but she trusted him. They were in this together.

And they were back in the arboretum, but it was still a memory, hazy around the edges as human memories mostly were. He was talking about his heritage, about his insecurities. He would have never called them such, but she knew. She acknowledged his vulnerability and thought him none the weaker, and liked him none the less.

A louder emotion overshadowed the affection for a moment: protectiveness. She was angry at everyone who may have made him feel that his human side was something to be ashamed of, or that his Vulcan stoicism was off-putting to humans. There was no shame, and she didn't mind his stoicism, they were both parts of what made him the man she cared for: kind, compassionate, intelligent, and loyal. He could appear cold at times, but she didn't mind too much. She was safe with him, and she'd do everything to keep him safe. She knew he'd never hurt her willingly. She also knew that living beings could hurt each other unwillingly, but she trusted him. And she trusted truly him, not an image of a Vulcan, or a dream of a human, but Spock; she trusted Spock.

All this Spock felt with her. It caressed, cradled, hummed softly in the pathways of his consciousness, so very gentle. And yet, it was almost overpowering in its depth of sincerity. He would not need to be concerned about the future. Pure trust radiated from her as she opened her whole being to him, and he responded by lowering the last of his barriers. It was overwhelming, but they were ready for this. It was simple. They both knew equally little but felt equally much. She loved him, and he loved her.

Very slowly, Spock ended the meld and opened his eyes. It took him some long seconds to readjust. When he found his voice again, it was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time.

"That is how you see me…"

"Yes."

"You…feel so deeply," he murmured. He doubted he had ever been so positively overwhelmed by a telepathic experience.

"Yes," she whispered again, her hand still on his cheek. She looked into his eyes and was shocked at the raw emotion she saw. "Does it overwhelm you?"

He shook his head. "It does not…"

Spock met Christine's eyes. She was very close now. Their noses were almost touching. Spock's glance flickered to her lips. She smiled at him, caressed his cheek once more, and kissed him, very gently.

To be continued...

I dare say at least some of those Vulcan worries were dispelled. Stay tuned to find out what he does with that knowledge, and if someone might find out.