Refuge

Disclaimer: I am borrowing these characters for my own purposes!

His parents' home is designed to fit organically into the landscape; the outer walls are curved to divert the worst sand storms, the deep windows keep out the afternoon sun. Spock appreciates none of this practicality as he parks his hired transport and lifts his duffle to his shoulder.

As usual the front door is open to allow the easterly wind to cool the house. Spock pauses briefly before passing over the threshold. He hears distant sounds from the kitchen and moves resolutely forward.

"Spock!" his mother says when he steps into the large kitchen where she is slicing a purple, globed fruit that Spock knows his father particularly enjoys. "When did you get here?"

Then his mother's smile abruptly leaves her face and she hastily puts down the knife and reaches for her son. She places her hand on his cheek and frowns.

"Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

"No, Mother," Spock says, but he recognizes the impatience in his voice and he tries to modify it. "The Academy is on break, and I had the opportunity to come home for a few days. That is all."

His mother does not respond but tilts her head and peers at him closely.

"As you wish," she says, and Spock knows that what she means is you will tell me more later. Then she adds, "Your father is outside on the terrace. Why don't you take this to him?" She places the fruit in a small decorative bowl and starts to hand it to him.

Spock pulls back and says, "I would like to put my things away first."

His mother eyes him again.

"As you wish," she says once more, and Spock knows that later she will corner him for a long conversation. He is resigned to it; indeed, part of him welcomes it. He needs to talk to her—not about his growing, unwanted attachment to Nyota—he is not sure he can reveal that to her—but about his changing sense of who he is.

But not now. Now he wants to retreat to the familiarity of his childhood room—the orderly books and notes; his early experimental equipment organized and laid out as carefully as a shrine; his one prize, an ancient Vulcan shard of grooved pottery found in the desert during his kahs'wan, mounted on the wall above his bed. His overly familiar conversations with Nyota—his playful and inappropriate innuendoes—have set him adrift. His room, he hopes, will help him feel anchored to a steadier self.

He picks the duffel from the floor and turns to head to his room. His father is standing in the doorway, and Spock feels, as he always does in the presence of his father, a faint flicker of his disapproval and disappointment.

"Father," Spock says, lowering the duffle once more to the floor. "The Academy is on break and I—"

When his father interrupts him, it is not with the rudeness that a human would employ, but with a directness and dedication to efficiency that characterizes most Vulcans.

"Have you seen the news feeds from Earth?"

"No," Spock says, "I just arrived—"

For a moment Spock is confused. His father's implacable expression wavers, almost too slightly to notice, and then Sarek says, "I didn't know you were coming. I thought you were still in San Francisco. On the news—"

Sarek's voice roughens and Spock steps forward in alarm. Before he speaks, Sarek pulls back and his voice is once more even and detached.

"Some sort of seismic event," Sarek says. "Twenty-two minutes ago. In San Francisco."

X X X X X X X X X

All day Amanda has fought a mild headache. Usually gentle exercise and a weak infusion of savas are enough to ward off most aches and pains, but today the dull throbbing in her temples has been relentless. If she were still living on Earth she would have suspected an impending dip in the barometric pressure was to blame, but Vulcan's skies are as sunny and hot as ever.

Twice Sarek has wandered out of his study to check on her—but both times she has shooed him away, reassuring him that humans sometimes suffer headaches for no known reason. To prove her resilience, she has insisted on preparing a special mid-day meal in addition to meeting a deadline for an article she had promised to write for a Vulcan education journal.

For all her resolve, by late afternoon Amanda seriously considers lying down to try to ease the ache in her head. The sunlight streaming through the window makes her wink with pain; her stomach feels fluttery and she realizes that she will not want to eat again today. What then, should she do for Sarek? She pulls out a large kasa fruit from the storage bin and begins slicing it to offer later for his evening meal.

The wind blowing through the house shifts almost imperceptibly, as if it is momentarily blocked, and Amanda is about to turn to look when she hears a soft scrape on the floor behind her. Nevertheless, she is startled to see Spock standing there—and with her mother's eye she takes in his slightly rumpled clothes, the shadow of a beard across his chin, the large duffel that he gingerly lowers to the floor. He looks thinner than she remembers, and gaunt, and with that realization, she becomes alarmed.

"Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

Spock flashes her a look of mild annoyance and Amanda is instantly reassured when she touches his cheek and senses...first his affection, and then his relief to be home. And underneath that, she senses his evasion. He isn't telling her everything.

She is neither surprised nor distressed when he balks at seeing his father right away. As he leaves the kitchen she sighs; she reminds herself what she always reminds herself, that she must wait for Sarek and Spock to find their own way to each other. She can't manufacture a false peace between them...though she is tempted to try.

Now that Spock is here Amanda forgets her earlier resolution to lie down. He has been traveling and will be tired and hungry-she goes outside to survey the hot pepper plants she has transplanted from Earth in large clay containers. Spock, in particular, has always favored the dark orange peppers, sliced and sautéed with a turnip-like vegetable native to Vulcan. Careful not to touch the peppers themselves, Amanda breaks several at the stalk and takes them back into the kitchen.

As she places them in the sink she hears Sarek speaking—so Spock has not been able to retreat to his room after all.

She feels Sarek calling her at the same time that she hears him. Before she can turn around, he is beside her at the sink, his hand reaching for hers. In an instant his concern reverberates in her mind, and she knows what he knows-that an earthquake has shaken San Francisco, that Spock is in the study trying to reach the Academy through the subspace video connection.

"Was anyone hurt?" Amanda asks, but Sarek shakes his head.

"Unknown," he says. "The news is preliminary."

Amanda starts toward the closed study door but Sarek doesn't let go of her hand and she stops. They share a glance—his concern is for Spock's privacy. She sends a prickle of irritation through their fingertips—I'm his mother! —and Sarek raises his brows and gives her a dry look.

Sarek tugs on Amanda's hand again and they walk into the large room where they entertain visitors from time to time. While Amanda settles herself on the trim sofa, Sarek flicks on the monitor to the news feed. Damage from the earthquake appears to be minimal and confined to the older portions of the outlying community. A water treatment plant has suspended service until a broken main can be repaired—an inconvenience more than anything else—and minor injuries caused by falling objects and overturned equipment dominate the news stories. Amanda breathes a sigh of relief and realizes with a start that her headache is gone.

When at last Spock opens the study door, Amanda calls to him to join her on the sofa. He does, though he sits ramrod straight and does not lean back against the cushions. Amanda reaches up and touches his shoulder, and Spock turns to meet her gaze. From across the room, Sarek turns off the monitor and sits on an adjacent chair. No one speaks.

Finally Amanda can stand the silence no longer and she says, "Were you able to get through to anyone?" Spock nods, a short dip of his head, and he answers, "The campus security office reports all buildings secure—though some structural damage might show up on closer examination. They have turned off the power until the grid can be inspected."

"And?" Amanda prompts, and Spock adds, "I was unable to contact anyone else."

Amanda lowers her hand from her son's shoulder. "I suppose most of the students were not on campus anyway if this is their break," she says, and to her surprise her words cause Spock to furrow his brow.

"Perhaps," he says, "though many of them live too far away to leave campus during the interim break."

"I'm sure everyone is okay," Amanda says, and then she puts up her hand as Spock opens his mouth to speak. "Don't say it. I know I don't know that for certain—consider it my human need to comfort myself with words."

"Or to offer up a mystical incantation," Sarek says, rising from his chair and reaching out his hand to give Amanda a lift from the sofa. "I will never understand the human faith in the power of words..."

"Then let me teach you some powerful words," she says, grinning up at him. "Like, come here and help me in the kitchen."

She is dimly aware of Spock looking at them curiously as she twines her arm around Sarek's and leads him away. At the threshold of the kitchen doorway she unhooks her arm and lets Sarek walk through first, but she takes a moment to look over her shoulder at Spock, still sitting on the sofa, still looking in her direction, the expression on his face a mixture of worry and distraction.

A/N: If you enjoyed this so far, let me know! It helps me keep going. Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her suggestions!