Not Enough Information

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine!

Worry is illogical. No matter how he tries to use this as his mantra during his meditation, Spock is unable to concentrate. His parents have long ago retired for bed—he should, too, but he is unable to let go of his... worry. He can dress up the feeling and re-label it as something less provocative—concern, perhaps, or care—but as his first night home drags on and he is unable to meditate, Spock at last admits that he is worried about Nyota.

She may be uncomfortable with limited water and power, but the odds are overwhelming that she is safe. He tries to picture her, as he often does, standing outside the lab building, in twilight—smiling and waving at him as she turns and walks across the quad toward her dormitory--an actual image he has filed away from a month ago when they had worked late setting up a new program for some advanced phonology students.

The next day she had scolded him, mildly, for letting her walk off into the dark without more worry—or concern or care.

" You stood there so long I thought you were going to offer to walk me back to my dorm," she had said during their first break of the morning, "but you just stood there, and I kept looking back, but you never moved."

Spock knew her well enough to recognize the dissonance between the content of her words and her tone—he knew this is one way she teased him, but he had rarely tried to return the banter. On that morning, Nyota was in a particularly sunny mood—a difficult assignment in one of her classes had not only gone well but had garnered her praise from a demanding professor—and she wanted to share her excitement. They were in the break room, this time alone, and Nyota was brewing some coffee for a change.

"Your dorm was not on my route home," Spock said, "nor did I think you needed assistance finding your way."

Nyota had laughed and replied, "But after dark all the rules change."

"The rules?" Spock had said, accepting the cup of coffee that she placed on the table in front of him.

"Well, not rules, exactly, but patterns of behavior. You have to be more careful in the dark—people behave differently there—you might lose your way, for instance, or trip up, or…"

Spock could hear the slight hitch in her voice as she continued. "…or, you could get confused in the dark….or think you see things that aren't there…and it helps if you have someone to tell you…"

Her voice trailed slowly and she said, "…if you are on the wrong track…."

As she spoke she lowered her cup to the table and raised her eyes until she was gazing at Spock, and for an uncomfortable moment he was certain that she was speaking not literally but metaphorically, that she was trying to communicate something more with her words than he was used to hearing. He imagined reaching out to touch her fingertips cradling her coffee cup—to sort out what she was telling him. His alarm at that impulse brought him back suddenly, and he said, "I fail to see how you might ever need such assistance," and Nyota said, "No, I don't guess you would." And then she said again, "No, you wouldn't," and Spock felt rebuked somehow.

His chronometer is still set to San Francisco's time—it is the middle of the night there so he does not call Nyota's comm but tries to send another note to her computer. Within minutes it bounces back with a notice that the connections are still down. The news feeds must have minimized the damage, then, he thinks. Surely communications would be back up by now otherwise. This idea invites a flutter of panic—his source of information is second-hand, as is everyone else's, but that thought doesn't settle him. He gives up trying to meditate and stretches across his bed.

Although he doesn't sleep, Spock drifts into a haziness that is interrupted when the sound of his father's transport rushing away makes him sit up. He dresses quickly and leaves to go running through the dark canyons surrounding his parents' home. Eridani 40 will not rise for another hour, at least, and Spock welcomes the challenge of running without turning his ankle or getting lost. He thinks—again—about Nyota's comment—you could get confused in the dark—and he sprints faster and harder, relishing the burn in his muscles and the ache in his throat.

X X X X X X X X X

Amanda has always been the late riser in the family. In the hour before sunrise, she is dimly aware of Sarek showering and dressing—and then the muted sounds in the kitchen as he prepares himself an early meal. She has fallen back asleep by the time he leaves the house for the trip to his office in the city.

Soon afterwards she is startled awake by the sound of the front door closing again. Then she remembers—Spock is home. For a moment she considers rising and making him some tea, but he has probably gone out for an early run and won't be back for some time. She hears nothing else and closes her eyes once more.

It is still early when she finally gets out of bed and slips on her heavy robe. As she walks down the hallway she notices that the door to Spock's room is ajar. She reaches out to pull it to and sees that Spock is lying on his back on the bed, his left elbow crooked and his arm resting under his head on his pillow. He is dressed in loose athletic clothes—so he has been out running—but he is clearly asleep now.

Her hand still on the edge of the door, Amanda takes a tentative step into his room and stops for a moment to regard him. When Sarek is asleep, his face is composed—as it often is when he is awake—but Spock is an open book. When she looks at him now, Amanda can see a slight sheen on his skin, the result of the heat of Vulcan and the early exercise. His eyelashes fan darkly against his pale skin; his lips are parted a fraction. Yet to Amanda he looks unsettled, the faintest frown across his brow.

His hair is uncharacteristically tousled, and this leads Amanda to step into his room and move to his bedside.

Carefully, slowly, quietly, Amanda reaches down and smoothes her fingers across the top of Spock's head. His hair is silky and slightly sweaty and Amanda's breath catches—the touch takes her back instantly to when he was a small boy sitting beside her, allowing her to circle him with her arms, her chin resting on his head, as she read to him or they talked over the events of their day. Through her fingertips she feels the familiar effervescence that she associates with Spock's mind, and she knows that she has awakened him.

"I'm sorry," she says, as Spock lowers his arm and squints up at her. "Go on back to sleep."

But Spock unfurls his body and sits upright. "I have rested enough," he says, and Amanda nods and looks around his room.

"Were you comfortable last night? You look tired this morning."

Spock is quiet for a beat and Amanda has to force herself to be patient. They have been apart for so long that she has forgotten the rhythm of their relationship—the necessary silences and careful replies. She sighs, and at that Spock looks up and says, "I am grateful for the time to rest. This has been a taxing semester."

Something in his tone of voice warns Amanda not to press him yet. Instead, she touches the palm of his hand and says, "Here, let's get something to eat, and then you can give me a ride to the market. I thought we'd try one of those recipes in that new cookbook you brought."

A few minutes later they are sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, their hands cupped around mugs of steaming tea. The heat of the day has begun in earnest, but neither Amanda nor Spock seems to notice. They drink a second cup of hot tea and then Amanda slices some flat bread and sets it on the table.

"Have you heard anything else about the earthquake?" she asks, picking up a piece of bread and dipping it into her tea. She watches Spock carefully as she does and is rewarded by noticing a slight tremor in his hand as he reaches for his own piece of bread.

"Communications are apparently still patchy," he says, and then he adds, "I tried to contact several colleagues last night but could not get through. I will try again soon."

Amanda sits back and considers what to say next. As much as she hates to admit it, Sarek is right—Spock values his privacy and might resent her questions as intrusions. However, wanting information and not asking for it is illogical, Amanda thinks.

"What has been so taxing about this semester in particular?" she asks, and she can tell immediately that her forthright approach is the wrong tack. Spock stiffens slightly and picks up another piece of bread before speaking.

"The work is…less challenging than I would like," he says.

"I thought you were teaching an extra class this semester," Amanda says, truly baffled. "I expected you to say that your workload was too heavy."

Spock glares at her from lowered eyes—and Amanda laughs softly. Trust a Vulcan to be offended if you suggest a lack of competence in anything.

"The workload is not the problem, Mother," Spock says.

"Then what—"

When he was an adolescent, Spock had spent one summer visiting teenaged cousins on Earth. He had come back adept at making eye rolls of disgust. He gives her one now.

Amanda laughs out loud at this, and Spock is also amused, though his expression does not change.

"Come on, get dressed," she says. "Let's go shopping before it gets any later."

Clearly she will have to winkle out whatever is troubling Spock more indirectly. She stands abruptly and starts clearing the table.

"I will dress and join you shortly," Spock says. "I want to try again to make some calls."

Amanda watches him as he heads to the study and closes the door behind him. This may take longer than she had imagined.

A/N: Please take a moment to leave me a note! Your reviews are my only pay! Thanks to StarTrekFanWriter for her excellent editorial help.