Several days had passed since Spock spoke to Lauren in his cabin. He had called over to her quarters one evening after the Enterprise left Memory Alpha, but her cabin-mate answered and said that Lauren was too tired to talk. Out of concern for her condition he devised a workable excuse to see her.
Spock found Lauren on duty in her lab and remained at a distance, just watching her for a moment. He was relieved to see her eating from a plate on her desk. Her color looked better, and though she did not appear to have gained any weight, she did not seem to have lost any, either. Carefully composing himself, he approached her.
Without looking up at him, she coolly said, "I wondered how long you were going to stand there."
"I thought you might need a fresh supply of my blood for your research," he told her, exactly as he had planned. "It has been nine weeks and three days since—"
"I know how long it's been." She stared at her biocomp screen. "I know exactly how long."
Spock waited, motionless.
At last she said, "Ask one of the nurses to draw some." As he was turning to leave, she added, "I need to talk to you. When would it be convenient?"
Surprised, he faced her. "This evening, 1900 hours."
She nodded. "Your quarters."
oooo
Spock tried to approach the meeting with no expectations. The fact that Lauren was speaking to him at all was more than he would have believed possible only a few days ago. As the appointed time neared, he prepared the cabin for her human comfort, then waited. The hour came and passed. Then five minutes. Then six more.
Lauren burst through the door suddenly, without bothering to sound the chime. Her step brisk, her eyes full of purpose, she confronted him as he rose from a chair.
"I'm thinking about raising the baby myself," she announced.
Relieved, Spock said, "That is good."
"I'd bring him up as a human."
"He would be fully three-quarters human," Spock noted.
Her chin rose. "I wouldn't give him a Vulcan name."
She was thinking. She would raise him. She would name him. Obviously Spock would play little if any part in the child's future. With a leaden heart he said, "That is sensible."
"It means I'd have to leave the Enterprise."
"Yes." At present there were no accommodations for children aboard Starfleet vessels. It was for that very reason that Spock was going to San Francisco. He said, "I will offer you any assistance I can, financial or—"
She coldly cut him off. "I've told you, I don't need your help."
"Of course," he agreed. "I realize that. But I have a responsibility to—"
"A responsibility…or a right?" she snapped. "For your information, you have neither—and I'll thank you to keep your hands off me and this child."
Spock suppressed a swift stirring of anger. Now, of all times, he must remain calm. "I turned my back on T'Beth before she was even born. It is a mistake I will never make again. Lauren," he appealed to her, "I am not without feelings. You, more than anyone, know that."
Her eyes narrowed to blue flame. "Feelings! Yes, you're right. I know all about your feelings—firsthand." She pointed toward the door. "Right there, on the floor, you showed me exactly how you feel—" Her voice broke. Trembling, she turned aside and fought for composure.
Spock stood quietly remembering the shameful rage that had made him lash out like an animal.
Once more she looked at him, her hand beckoning. "Maybe you'd like to show me again. Now's your chance, it's just the two of us. Come on, and I'll send you to prison where you belong."
He remained as he was. "I have assured you that it will never happen again."
She gave a bitter laugh. "How can I believe that? I don't even know who you are, anymore. I don't even know why I came here. What I do with this baby is my business, not yours."
After Lauren walked out the door, Spock thought deeply about their conversation.
oooo
The following afternoon, Lauren received a summons from Captain Kirk. Spock had accused himself of serious charges and if she substantiated the claims he would be arrested immediately.
Lauren sat before Kirk's desk in a turmoil of emotion. Spock—accusing himself of vile behavior—to his captain and his friend. How easy it would be just to say, "Yes, it's true. He did it." So much for that ground assignment, so much for his career, so much for his relationship with his daughter. He certainly deserved it. Didn't he? But why bring it on himself? She still understood him well enough to know the answer. And with that knowing, something in her heart shifted.
Integrity. Vulcan or human, it looked the same.
At last, finding her voice, she said, "Captain…I want you to disregard everything he told you."
Kirk looked very much relieved. "Everything."
"Yes." And with that single word she gave up all thought of legal revenge.
All that week Lauren actively avoided Spock and the confusion of feelings he aroused. Then, one evening, he came to her cabin door, but she did not invite him inside.
Standing in the corridor, he said, "My duties aboard the Enterprise are officially over. I am transferring to a flight that will carry me back to Earth. If you need me, I can be contacted through my personal phone, or through Starfleet Academy where I will be teaching." He paused and extended his right hand, palm upward. "I am sure you will want this."
Her eyes settled on the key she had once given him as a symbol of her trust. He was right. She no longer wanted him having access to her beach house. She wished she could scrub every memory of him from that place. Yet as she took the key, there was an undeniable pang of sorrow. Why? He was finally leaving. Surely that's what she wanted.
"Goodbye then," she managed to say. The words sounded very cold.
His eyes looked black in the shadows. With startling directness he said, "You should have pressed charges."
"Well, I didn't," she replied without offering an explanation. Even she was not sure why.
"Lauren," he said, and nothing more. It was a moment before he added, "More than ever, I know you will be a good mother."
Lauren felt her cheeks flushing. Her hand pressed against the heaviness in her lower abdomen.
He asked, "Will you remain aboard ship for now?"
"My mother wants me to take leave and—" But why was she telling him that? Spock's gaze held steady, as if waiting to hear more. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she started to turn away, but some strange impulse stopped her and she revealed, "My brother Larry will jump to his own conclusions, but…I want you to know that I haven't told anyone what really happened…not even my mother."
"You continue to be kind," he said.
The words threw her into confusion. "I…I only meant…" But what had she meant? One Vulcan eyebrow rose and deep in her heart something stirred, making her want to touch him. But the moment passed and as he walked away, she did not even wish him a safe journey.
oooo
Spock stood at the window of his faculty apartment and watched the late November wind blow leaves over the courtyard below. Another weekend, another tedious stretch of hours spent trying to comprehend what seemed forever beyond his understanding. Turning, he gazed at the source of his bewilderment. T'Beth was curled up on the sofa, reading a frivolous novel on her lap viewer. His daughter was seventeen now, and looked very much like a woman. Unfortunately her level of maturity did not match her appearance. Her attitude could be so cold and vicious that it worried him—a rather ironic situation considering that he was guilty of even worse behavior. But knowing that did not make T'Beth's dark moods any more tolerable. Even when he made a special effort to be gentle with her, she seldom responded positively.
But what had he expected—some hint of gratitude for reordering his career and taking a ground assignment? He had stayed away from her too long—many years too long. He could not hope to recapture so much lost time in the span of a few weekends.
The more failure he experienced with T'Beth, the more he longed to know his son once he was born and take an active role in his life.
"T'Beth," he said. She lowered her viewer and looked at him warily, as if anticipating some sort of reprimand. He told her, "You will not be able to come next weekend. I am leaving town."
"Leaving?" The arch of her eyebrow rose speculatively. "Where?"
"To New York City."
"Why?"
Spock gazed back out the window. He had not yet told T'Beth about the breakup of his marriage or that Lauren was now living in New York with her mother. She assumed Lauren was still aboard the Enterprise.
"Why are you going to New York?" she repeated.
He said, "I am seeing an acquaintance."
"Can I come along?" she asked eagerly. "I've never been there before. Maybe we could visit Lauren's mother. I like her."
"Perhaps…on another occasion." He turned in time to see the anger brewing in her hazel eyes.
"That's alright," she snapped. "It's a bore doing things with you, anyway. I'm glad I spend the weekdays with Aunt Doris. You treat me like a kid."
She had said it before and now he answered, "I see very little evidence that you are anything but a child."
Her angry eyes narrowed and she slammed down her viewer. "I'm seventeen! I don't see why I have to stay cooped up here every weekend while everyone else my age is out having a good time."
"I will not have you roam the streets," Spock countered.
"Roam the streets?" She rose to her feet, the very picture of wounded adolescent dignity. "Father, all I'm asking is to meet a friend, go out on a date or two. Things weren't even this strict on Vulcan."
"It was on Vulcan," Spock reminded her, "that you first began roaming the night, and promptly got yourself into trouble. Before I returned to Earth, you had started the same behavior here. I don't know what you did on those occasions when you disappeared, but I will not have it."
Her face went sullen. "If you'd just let me go out once in a while, I wouldn't have to sneak around."
"I suggest you forget about sneaking anywhere tonight. My ears are sharp, as you well know, and I sleep lightly when you are here."
Tears welled in her eyes. "You don't trust me."
"Should I?" He looked at her so intently that her façade of innocence began to crumble, and she turned aside. Mumbling something that he would rather not have heard, she stalked off to her bedroom and remained there.
Perhaps, Spock considered, a separation next weekend would do them both good.
oooo
Lauren sat brooding at the window seat of her mother's Manhattan condominium. Four stories down, the pavement glistened under a light fall of snow.
"Is it sticking yet?" her mother asked.
Elizabeth Stemple Fielding came up beside her and looked for herself. "Ah," she said, resting a small, delicate hand on Lauren's shoulder. "It's a sign, don't you see? Stay home where it's safe and warm. If that man had one bit of consideration, he would never have asked you to go out in such weather—not in your condition."
Lauren tensed, as she did every time her mother got on the subject of Spock. "He didn't ask me to go out. He only asked to see me. Going out was my idea."
"Why you want to see him at all is beyond me," Elizabeth went on. "That one is no good for you. He's a selfish, cold-hearted, domineering creature. I knew it from the first."
Lauren swung around and faced her. "You knew no such thing! Mother, you liked Spock."
Elizabeth raised her hands dramatically. "Oh Laurie, I was just making nice for your sake. You were in love—blind and deaf. Would you have listened to me?"
Lauren did not understand the burning anger she felt. Jumping up, she went to the closet and put on her coat. "I don't believe it," she said, shoving her shoes into over-boots. "You're only saying that now, because I left him. You don't even know why I left him."
"See? So terrible a thing, you can't even speak of it. What would you have me tell you? That you should—heaven forbid—listen to his lies and go back for more of the same? Why, he isn't even human!"
"Yes, he is!" Lauren snapped, and opened the door.
Her mother followed her into the hallway. "Half human isn't the same! What are you doing? You're not actually going to meet that halfbreed, are you? He says one word and you come running?"
Lauren struggled to contain her temper. "Don't call him that—don't ever call him that, do you hear?"
It was better out on the sidewalk. The cold, brittle air stung her nose and exhaled into little puffs of vapor. Snow drifted around her as she walked beside the roadway where an occasional groundcar glided past.
She should not have lashed out at her mother. After all, she had thought the very same things at one time or another. Yet somehow it was jarring to hear the insults spoken by someone else. It always made her want to defend him, if only to prove to herself that her mother was wrong, as wrong as the voice whispering its warnings inside her own head. If only that inner voice could be escaped by just walking out a door. She could not help but hear it, not help but listen to the terrible, pragmatic things it had to say.
You haven't seen him since his last day aboard ship. Why start now? You have more sense than that. Have you forgotten what he did to you?
No, she had not forgotten. So what if he was in New York? So what if she had agreed to meet him? For the moment she would just walk along and do her best to enjoy the snowfall.
oooo
Spock had spent the better part of the morning at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, studying the exhibits. A steady stream of Saturday visitors had come and gone, most sparing little more than a curious glance at the solitary Vulcan in civilian garb. Once more he stopped and scanned the area where Lauren had arranged to meet him. Finding no sign of her, he was drawn back to a painting by Chagall on loan to the museum from a private collection. It was entitled "The Expulsion From Paradise", and the anguish of the main figures seemed to mirror his own continuing pain.
Apparently he had come to New York City for nothing. Lauren had changed her mind. She would not see him. Now that she had settled into the comfort of her mother's home, it was very likely that he would never see her again.
"Horrible," a woman spoke behind him, "isn't it?"
Spock turned quickly and found Lauren standing just out of reach. Her cheeks were flushed and her golden hair damp from melted snow.
"Horrible?" he wondered aloud.
"The painting," she explained. "Adam and Eve, the fall of mankind. It's so sad."
"Yes," he agreed, fully realizing that in doing so he admitted to knowing sadness. But she already knew that. His eyes went to Lauren's midsection, visible between the folds of her open coat.
Noticing, she said, "I'm starting to show…just a little. Pretty soon there'll be movement."
Their son, alive and moving. Spock briefly looked into Lauren's blue eyes. She glanced away, as if uncomfortable with even that much contact.
"You seem well," he said.
She nodded, and an awkward silence descended. Spock invited her to a snack area, where he bought her a cup of hot chocolate. Talking came easier with a table between them. He told her something of his weekdays at the academy where—among other things—he had written a curriculum for handling bridge errors, based on personal experiences.
"Your mistakes," she asked, "or those of others?"
"Both," he replied.
She took a sip of her chocolate. Then she said, "How very humbling. Is it some form of penance?"
Spock let the remark pass, and Lauren spoke of volunteering at a medical clinic in Brooklyn.
"Is that wise?" Spock asked, regretting the words immediately.
Lauren's lips pressed together in annoyance. "I'm a doctor, remember? I would know if something is likely to endanger my pregnancy."
"Naturally." Spock gathered his patience and tried again. "Have you found a satisfactory specialist here in New York?"
"No," she said with more sarcasm, "I've decided to deliver the baby myself. In fact, I think I'll just lie down and have him in the street."
Spock inwardly stiffened. "I did not mean to offend you. I suppose you would also be offended if I suggest, once again, that we enlist the services of T'Mira to dissolve our marital bond."
"Yes, you said that quite clearly over the phone. And I still don't like the idea of her fishing around in my mind."
"Very well," he said with a hint of asperity. "Whatever pleases you."
"Pleases me!" Lauren immediately lowered her voice. "Do you really think it pleases me that it's come down to this? Do you think it pleases me that you ruined our life together?" Tears flooded her eyes and her lip began to tremble. "Spock," she said barely above a whisper, but said no more.
Spock felt his emotions rising. Leaving the table, he strode through the museum and out the main door. Walking a short distance from the building, he stood alone in the snowstorm, fighting to contain the bitter feelings her words had aroused. After a time he heard someone approaching and knew she was there.
"We never seem to communicate anymore," she said sadly. "Every time we try to talk, even you end up sniping."
His eyes stung as he stared into the swirling whiteness of the storm. "Our marriage is clearly over. We should not see one another beyond what is absolutely necessary for the welfare of the child."
Lauren moved in front of him, but he could not bring himself to look at her. Not this near, knowing she would never come any closer.
Quietly she said, "So that's how you feel."
"It is not a matter of feeling," he insisted. "I am only speaking the truth. When the child comes—"
"Is that all you care about? The child?"
How could she ask such a thing? They were still bonded, husband and wife. They were meant to be as one, and the pain of their separation was difficult to suppress. As the silence stretched she reached out and grasped his hand. Astonished, Spock turned his head and gazed at her, his mind reeling from the bittersweet resonance of her emotions. A thick flurry of snowflakes floated down, sticking to their hair and clothing.
Abruptly she let go and disappeared into the storm.