Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Other than Vulcan words, letters in italics represent people's inner thoughts or give emphasis.

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Chapter 6: What Are Wise Men Made Of?

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Shi'Kahr, 2152

It was early in the evening and the dark night made its presence known upon the city. Inside the city hospital, a healer of two hundred years stood and observed the sunset from a window inside his office, several floors above the ground.

At this hour, the heat of the day was behind them, and every resident of the city agreed that this was Shi'Kahr's finest moment. The sky was adorned with its most intense colors; deep red, bright orange, icy blue and emerald green engaged in a ferocious fight over which would make the deepest impression in the memory of the observer. A mark that, because of the Vulcan eidetic memory, would remain for a lifetime.

Observing the scenery, the healer took an unusually deep breath and let it out slowly. How many afternoons had he spent inside these walls, watching this mesmerizing sunset? Now, that so many years had passed…? Far too many, he admitted to himself, with a stabbing feeling of guilt.

It wasn't guilt for the years he served his people, the lives he saved, or the katras he had transferred. Rather it was guilt over things he had forsaken, perhaps some extra time with his bondmate, or supervising closely the upbringing of their children.

Not that she ever complained. His beloved bondmate, T'Lyra had never complained.

But since losing her one year ago, his view of the world somehow… changed. The Fires hadn't bothered him for many years. His children – and his children's children – had taken their own paths, decades ago. And now things that used to be important didn't matter so much. While things he rarely noticed, or took for granted, suddenly appeared in front of him, capturing his thoughts. T'Lyra's katra was safe. Yet he missed her in so many other ways: their lengthy conversations about neurosurgery, her specialty, her steady presence in his mind, a soft touch, the way she smelled, perhaps a warm purr during a cold night…

He didn't bother to suppress the next sigh.

Or perhaps he was getting very old and his ill temper was beginning to show. Amused by his own thought, he had to admit he didn't know which was worse. Perhaps age and ill temper were equally bad. But this was the way of things. And dwelling upon them was illogical.

Soon the scenery, like his thoughts, changed as dark night covered Vulcan's capital. One of the darkest nights in the galaxy's quadrant. Vulcan has no moon.

Kaiidth. What is is, the elder mused, when he heard a chime at the door.

His colleague had just arrived. "Come in."

The man who walked inside was young. Quite young, the elder thought. As young as he once had been, many, many years ago. He chose not to calculate the illogical speed with which the many passing decades had flown. His opinion was highly subjective.

"Healer Eiren," the young man said, bowing his head in respect, "you called for me?"

"Healer Paton. I did." He gestured to a chair. "Please sit". Resuming his seat behind the large desk, the elder took a PADD.

"During the last five months you have been with us, I noticed you choose to follow the old practice of working in continuous shifts."

"Expanding one's knowledge is a logical course of action," the young healer nodded. "I know that it is not chosen by others, but continuous shifts are allowed and the hospital has so many cases–"

"I did not call you to question your schedule or your personal choices," Eiren cut him off. "I too remain sometimes in the hospital after my shift. There is no greater honor than to serve our people. The reason I called you in my office is because I must attend a late meeting that will keep me engaged for several hours. Since you are available, and outside your official shift, I want you to monitor a patient of mine for the night."

"Of course, Healer. I am honored."

"The patient is someone of high status. The clan demands discretion. And that it is not a request."

Eiren was one of the hospital's elder and most respected healers. He was a member of the hospital's board. Paton knew that he could have chosen another healer, older and perhaps more experienced. Yet he'd chosen him. "Certainly," he nodded, satisfied with the trust that was placed upon him. "You can count on me."

"The patient is female and has remained in a healing trance for six days now. I expect her to emerge within the next eight hours. However this is a meeting I do not wish to postpone. Thus I need to leave by her side someone I can trust."

"You can trust me."

"If I thought otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Eiren said, offering his office PADD. His tone became more apologetic. "It is not a complicated task…"

"Nevertheless, I am honored," replied Paton, taking the PADD. He began viewing the data, studying the patient's medical profile, when the clan name caught his attention.

"S'chn T'gai."

"Thus the need for confidentiality. The contents of her medical file and what I shall disclose will not go outside your bond," the elder added emphatically and the young man nodded once more.

"The patient is a ninety-three year old female who has suffered her third miscarriage."

"Why has she maintained a healing trance for this long? Where there any complications?"

"No, no complications whatsoever… Just like the previous two times," the elder muttered while his gaze darkened. The lines in his forehead deepened, as his white eyebrows drew together, indicating his displeasure. "Our species has always had certain… idiosyncrasies in procreation," he said tossing a look to the younger man.

But Paton, avoiding his eyes, stared at the PADD in his hands. His controls were overworking to prevent himself from blushing.

"She lost the child during the twenty-second week of her pregnancy," Eiren explained. "She and her bondmate have been trying to conceive for more than a decade. Five years ago, they came to me, asking for assistance. Our efforts resulted in two more pregnancies, but… her previous two miscarriages occurred during the fourth and the fifth week, without any serious repercussions.

"However this time, because of the advanced stage of her pregnancy and the already established mental bond between her and the fetus, she became aware of the hemorrhage since its early stages and tried to stop it. Until her arrival in our hospital, the patient used various bio-techniques and controls, but at the end everything failed. Unfortunately, by the time we asked her to enter a trance she had lost a great deal of blood. That is why she hasn't awoken yet. Her body knows when it will recover fully. Based on the amount of blood she lost and her age, I calculate some time within four to eight hours."

A painful realization hit the young man. "So… she doesn't know that she lost the child?"

This time Eiren frowned visibly. "No. Although I believe she realized by that time that the child could not be saved. She had lost too much blood. Which is why I must warn you about something, should she awakes."

"Yes?"

"Her bondmate. He refused to leave her side and has remained with her all this time."

Curious, the young man tilted his head. "Such a behavior is normal. Why the warning?"

Despite his bad mood, the elder's mouth twisted in amusement. True, his young colleague had still much to learn. Not about healing of the Vulcan body and mind, but of the Vulcan soul.

"Have you ever awoken someone from a healing trance, Healer Paton? Outside your training?"

Paton considered that question as bizarre. Of course and he had but, even if he hadn't, it wasn't of any consequence. Awakening a Vulcan from a healing trance was not a complicated task. Even outworlders could do it, provided they were strong enough and skin-to-skin contact was not lethal. Yet out of respect, he answered the elder's question.

"Yes."

"Was it a female?"

"No, a male. But I do not see how that relates–"

"When we brought S'chn T'gai T'Rama in the hospital, she was still trying to stop the hemorrhage. Because of the gravity of the situation, I asked her to enter into a healing trance, while the healers would try to assist her. She refused. The miscarriage was almost completed, yet she was still trying to reverse its effect. I even considered a nerve-pinch, but it could have been dangerous then. She wouldn't go into a trance and her life was in grave danger."

Impressed by this, the young man raised an eyebrow. Vulcans rarely disagreed with their elders and almost never with a healer, especially at Eiren's age.

"Indeed? Most unusual."

"It certainly was. In all my years as a healer, it was the first time a patient disobeyed a direct order."

"How did you persuade her?"

"I didn't," the elder healer admitted, in a dry voice. "Her bondmate threatened her that if she didn't do as she was told, and if anything happened to her, he would refuse any other mate and perish in his next Fires."

Realizing the full parameters of such a threat, a chill crawled into the young man's spine; his face and hands froze and he remained speechless.

"And now," Eiren continued, "I am asking you to walk inside this room, and remain with S'chn T'gai Skon, son of Solkar of Vulcan himself, who hasn't left his bondmate's side, hasn't slept and hasn't eaten for the last six days. And should she move an eyelid, you will help her come out of the trance, in the usual way. And you will do so in the presence of her bondmate, who I doubt will leave the room."

Realizing the situation, Paton's eyes widened infinitesimally.

"I see that we have reached to an understanding," Eiren nodded, rising from his chair. "However, should the task proves too much-"

"No, on the contrary," the young healer shook his head. Following the elder's move, Paton stood. "I am here to serve," he said, regaining his confidence.

"I expected nothing less." For a moment, Eiren seemed to hesitate. "Paton, a note."

"Yes?"

"In the possibility the patient awakes, you will be the one who help her to regain consciousness. Regardless if her bondmate suggests doing it himself.

"Since you have never awoken a bonded female before, consider this a lesson. Awaking a male or an unbonded female from a trance is different from awaking a bonded female or a child. One needs to pay extra attention to the family. Nothing extraordinary, but the balances that need to be maintained are slightly different."

"Of course… Healer Eiren, may I ask a question?"

"Please."

"Could the child have been saved?"

A shade of sadness crossed the elder man's features as he shook his head. He was a long time healer but also a friend of the family.

"No. During the last month, its development did not progress at a normal rate. Once her brain registered that the abnormalcy exceeded the safety level, the miscarriage began, and the process was irreversible. It will be classified as "reason unknown," as were her previous two miscarriages. However, she is still fertile. I want you to emphasize this when she regains consciousness."

"I shall," Paton nodded.

"In case she awakes, do what is necessary. Do not wait for me. I shall read your report upon my return."

"Yes, Healer," the young man bowed, returning the PADD to its owner. He turned to leave but the elder's voice stopped him again.

"Paton… Skon belongs to a powerful clan, but don't let that intimidate you. In case he…" the elder tilted his head searching for the proper word, "forgets himself, just remind him that he will answer to me, the one who delivered him to this world."

"Of course," the young healer nodded and left the office.

Healer Eiren didn't remain in his office for more than a few minutes. Knowing that he would return the next morning, he closed the window blinds, picked up his PADD, and left the office.

The elevator would take him to the top floor, where Healer Heator, the hospital's director, awaited him. It was an appointment Eiren couldn't postpone, even if he wanted to.

Only he didn't.

He had promised Solkar that this issue would be solved tonight. And Eiren was a man who kept his word.

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The quiet that reigned in the hospital's large corridors was the same whether it was day or night.

Paton's steps echoed in the hall as he walked to his intended destination, room thirty-five in the fourth floor, where the maternity ward was. One of the smallest, least visited wards in the entire hospital.

The place wasn't empty because of a shortage of births, but because most Vulcan women chose to follow tradition, giving birth in their homes or in their clan caves, provided that the family healer allowed it and the midwife agreed.

Thus the hospital was used only in the rare cases when there was need for close monitoring of the pregnancy, or in case of a medical emergency that required treatment.

Like a miscarriage followed by severe hemorrhage.

The room was plain, although the controls behind and under the biobed showed state-of-the-art technology. There were two biofunction monitors, one at the head and one at the bed's foot.

Where the patient's bondmate stood, stoically watching his sleeping adun'a.

One didn't need to be a healer to see that the man was very pale. Paton wondered when he had last eaten.

"S'chn T'gai Skon, I am Healer Paton. Healer Eiren sent me for the night."

Skon turned and lightly bowed his head.

"Healer. Eiren has informed me," he said in a slow voice, gesturing to a nearby chair. "Should you wish to sit…."

Paton nodded, but his gesture was more of a polite acknowledgement rather that acceptance. Ignoring the chair, he approached the biobed where S'chn T'gai T'Rama lay. Standing next to Skon, he picked a PADD that was at the bed's foot and scanned the data appearing on the screen.

"All her vitals are within normal parameters. Heartbeat is strong; brain waves properly balanced. She will soon emerge from the trance. I estimate … four point one to seven point nine hours."

Skon didn't reply. Maintaining his stoic composure, he continued to observe his bondmate's face.

T'Rama, lying on the bed, had a face so pale it seemed as if all blood was drained from her body. Which was true, Skon thought. His bondmate had suffered a severe haemorrhage.

There was blood on the floor.

He could still smell it.

And she nearly died.

"In case she begins to emerge from the trance in the next few hours, I shall assist her," Paton continued. Better to state the obvious now and avoid future disagreements.

Skon's sole reply was a slight nod, his gaze always fixed on his bondmate. This silent acceptance encouraged Paton, who decided to offer more advice.

"Osu, I read your bondmate's file. You can still reproduce. Her future looks encouraging–"

But his words were cut by Skon's impassive voice. "I prefer a drop of luck, to a jar of cleverness," he said, observing T'Rama's pale lips. There were dark circles under her eyes. T'Rama never had dark circles under her eyes.

She nearly died. I almost lost her.

These thoughts couldn't leave his mind not for a single moment. If he had ever experienced fear outside his Time, it was the moment he sensed T'Rama's panic through their bond six days ago. From his office at the Science Academy, he had returned home as fast as he could.

Hearing Skon's strange quote, Paton tilted his head. This would be a long night. Better to acquaint themselves with each other. It would help when the patient emerged from the trance.

"Andorian?" he asked.

"What?"

"The quotation. I've never heard it before. Andorian?"

"Human."

The young healer flicked an eyebrow. "Logical."

"Indeed."

"When your bondmate awakes," Paton continued in his usual professional tone, "I or Eiren will explain the situation to her. She will be weak and perhaps a little disorientated. These are normal symptoms. Once her body recovers fully, you can repeat–"

"That decision belongs to her," Skon said, almost mechanically.

"Of course. I am merely stating that as you are both fertile, there is no reason not to attempt–"

"I will discourage her from repeating this… artificial insemination procedure."

Paton's eyebrows rose to his hairline. To hear a Vulcan reject a tested and safe medical procedure was almost unheard of.

"Osu, I understand that you are displeased by the outcome. But I assure you the second time has a success rate above eighty-nine percent."

"He who makes the same mistake twice, is not a wise man," Skon calmly replied.

She nearly died.

Skon wondered how long it would be until he slept without that thought ringing in his mind.

She nearly died.

"Another Human quotation, I presume," Paton said, slightly annoyed this time.

"And I already have repeated that mistake. This was our third loss."

"Surely the definition of 'mistake' is–"

"It was not very considerate of me. I endangered her."

And she nearly died.

Paton watched him, alarmed. He wondered if Skon had confided these thoughts to anyone else. Eiren ought to be notified. Skon's thought patterns were not logical.

"Perhaps this is something which necessitates consultation with your family healer. Our methods minimize the female's level of danger." He looked at the pale female lying on the biobed. "Osu, I understand that what occurred was disturbing, yet–"

"Disturbing?" For the first time Skon turned and met the healer's eyes without bothering to hide his annoyance. "It was unanticipated," he added, coldly.

Then he turned back to his adun'a.

"Our first two attempts were unsuccessful. We were told that the success rate increases with each attempt. But this was… The third time success rate was ninety point five percent. I saw the charts. The statistical probabilities were…" Skon remained silent for a few seconds, looking at T'Rama's pale face. "This was unanticipated," he murmured, defeated.

And she nearly died.

Skon's eyes tracked up and down his adun'a's sleeping form, sensitive to every breath. "T'Rama never gets sick – never. She is strong. And she has this… ability to foresee any potential problems before they occur. She is a much organised and disciplined individual. She… had started choosing special undergarments for her and the–"

He paused and swallowed hard. "She had even created some sketches… drawings for a nursery room. She wanted it to be original… Something that would match our clan's symbols. She was quite content because three weeks ago she had managed to establish for the first time a primal mental connection with the– She was–"

He stopped, unable to block from his thoughts the memory of these three joyous weeks when his family consisted of three mental presences. The future seemed bright and everything was possible. He swallowed again – there was a choking feeling in his throat and his lungs burned. "We were very content."

Paton observed him for a few seconds when he realised it – he wondered how he hadn't thought it before. It was possible that S'chn T'gai Skon hadn't meditated for the past six days – a potentially dangerous omission.

Taking two steps, Paton stood closer to the grieving man. "Osu," he said in a compassionate tone, "I understand your sorrow and mourn for your loss. But your bondmate is alive and well. She will recover quickly and once you are both ready, you may try again. Our night is dark, but it is followed by one of the brightest sunrises in the entire Alpha quadrant."

Skon threw him a cold, almost hostile look. "Spare me your metaphors, Healer. Nor there is any need to claim that you understand my loss."

At these words, Paton saw green. For Skon's words didn't insult him as a healer, but as a father.

"Yes, I do," he said in a severe tone, not caring a single bit about Skon's high-status clan. "You are not the only one in this room that has lost a child, Osu."

Realising his grave error, Skon blushed. For a few seconds he lowered his gaze, looking uncertain at the floor as if searching there for his famously good manners. "My apologies," he stuttered. "I– I grieve with thee, I–".

Skon looked completely lost and Paton took a heavy breath. He felt sorry for the confused, pale man standing in front of him, unable to handle his loss. But he caught himself. Feeling sorry for Skon would offer him nothing. And as a healer, Paton was there to serve.

Taking a chair, he placed it next to the biobed.

"Sit," he ordered in a tone that left no room for objections. When Skon wordlessly complied, Paton went to a small replicator that was at the opposite wall and pressed a few buttons.

He returned carrying a bowl of plomeek soup with four kreyla biscuits and offered them to Skon.

"Eat."

Skon opened up his mouth to protest, but Paton caught him.

"That is not a request, S'chn T'gai, unless you prefer a stimulant. Eat."

Defeated, Skon began with a biscuit and then continued with the soup.

"Call me Skon," he mumbled, biting another biscuit.

"When was the last time you ate, Skon?"

"Six days ago. Seven," he corrected himself.

"When your bondmate awakes and rises from that bed," Paton said, pointing at T'Rama, "she will be disoriented and weak. And she will learn that she has lost a child. Logically, she will need someone who has eaten at least once during the last seven days, to support and comfort her. Yes?"

"Yes," Skon nodded, feeling ashamed. Paton was right – T'Rama needed him; he couldn't afford to allow grief to consume him.

"You will mourn," Paton assured him, as if catching his thoughts. "But not now and not alone. Later. Together." He looked solemnly at the patient. "After all, it is only logical. Never should parents have to bury their child."

Finishing his soup, Skon returned the plate to the replicator. "Do you have children?"

Paton nodded. "Nickon is fifteen years old. His sister will be born in five months."

"You seem to be blessed with an entire waterfall of luck. Not just a drop," Skon said, walking slowly back to his seat.

The healer gave him a strict stare. "Human quotes aside, there is no such thing as luck."

Sitting on the chair, Skon leaned forward. His gaze travelled along T'Rama's long braid. He worshiped her hair. Sometimes when they were in her bed together and she had fallen asleep, he grasped a few dark curls and smelled them. After their mating, her skin and hair smelled like spice. He always found that scent intoxicating – it was one of the reasons he usually initiated another mating session. They were so perfect for each other in every way, except … they had not achieved this thing they both desired.

"Yes, there is," he replied. "I used to believe otherwise, but recently… I have reconsidered."

At this, Paton remained silent. This was not the time or the place to engage in a philosophical debate. Seeing Skon's bondmate lying on the biobed brought back a most disturbing memory of his own. Had it been only eight years, one month and thirteen days since his bondmate was in the same situation?

"Perhaps you will reconsider again," Paton suggested.

"Perhaps."

"After all, belief in luck or misfortune is illogical. Nobody can predict the future. We can only live our present as it comes."

"That is true," Skon readily agreed.

"But that doesn't mean that the present is easy."

"No …" Skon sighed. "Sometimes it's not easy… at all."

"Eight years ago, my bondmate and I lost a baby," Paton confided, as if recalling a secret buried in the distant past. "It was during the eighteenth week of her pregnancy, under circumstances similar to yours. She lost some blood and had to go into a healing trance for two days, during which she suffered a miscarriage."

Skon hesitated a little. "How did you … return to normal?"

Paton took another chair and sat next to him. "It took time. Mental bonds are a valuable asset but in such cases can transform into a disadvantage. Our logic is always put to the test, when our children are concerned. You are aware that this ordeal will be heavier on your bondmate?"

"Yes… Eiren spoke about the mental link between T'Rama and our child. At this stage it was already established… He informed me."

"Because of the loss of the newly-established bond between T'Rama and the fetus, her mind will suffer as much as her body. Because of their duality as carriers of new life, females are more resilient but also more fragile. After such a loss, they tend to question many things. That is why it is so important to mourn together. By sharing your loss, you share the burden and move forward." He paused as a thought came to him. "Now that I am thinking about it …"

"Yes?"

"Nickon was a great assistance to us during the next months. Just his presence … made some things seem worthwhile. And some other things were more easily left behind."

"I imagine processing loss is always easier if you already have a child," Skon agreed. "We have I'Chaya. Our sehlat," he explained, seeing the question on Paton's face.

"Well, in that case, and having been through a similar situation, it is my duty to inform you that Nickon's body fat increased considerably in the first year after our loss," Paton said, rising an amused eyebrow. "After his kahs'wan, we fed him constantly. It was very embarrassing…" Paton blushed. "Please do not share this with anyone."

Regardless of his grief, Skon's expression was lightened. He sat back on his chair and straightened his back. "I won't."

"He has lost that weight now, but… try not to fatten your I'Chaya too much."

Skon returned him the amused look. "We shall."

That was when the sound of someone taking a deep breath reached them. T'Rama was coming out of her trance.

Both men literally jumped from their chairs to each side of the biobed. With the edge of his sight Paton saw Skon grabbing his chair's back.

Skon looked at his bondmate. T'Rama's eyelashes began to flutter. Whatever Paton needed to do, it had to be done now.

Yet nobody had laid a hand on his bondmate before…

"Do it," Skon said, grabbing his chair's back as hard as he could.

Paton's hand rose. With a loud slap it hit T'Rama across the face.

Once.

Twice.

A cracking sound came as the chair's wooden back broke under Skon's steely grasp.

No third hit was necessary. With a surprised gasp, T'Rama opened her eyes wide.

Her hand went immediately to her abdomen. It was flat.

Instinctively, she searched her mind for another presence …

She found Skon. He was mourning.

In the far distance were her parents. They were mourning.

She found no one else.

There was no one else.

That small, joyous thread was missing.

It had gone…

Gone…

Gone.

I am here. Skon was sitting on her left. On her right, under the bright lights that hurt her eyes, T'Rama saw a young man – a hospital healer, judging from his white robe. The young man introduced himself and started talking.

Ashayam, I am here, Skon repeated in her mind, taking her left hand and enveloping her with all his love and affection.

Yet, somehow all his intense, deep emotions couldn't fill that tiniest spot that remained empty in the place of where that bright tingle had been.

A sickening feeling hit her in the stomach like a strong punch. For a telepath, loss was very hard to cope with. Most Vulcans chose to bury their feelings deep down.

It only it were that easy for everyone, T'Rama thought. Yet she also knew her control was failing her because of the hormonal imbalance she was experiencing. It was only temporary.

She tried to rise but suddenly the entire room began spinning around her. Quickly the young healer adjusted her position, raising the biobed's head to 45 degrees. That was more comfortable. The sickening feeling in T'Rama's stomach began to fade away as blood began to circulate more fully throughout her body. She became more aware of her limbs and her surroundings. She adjusted her inner eyelids; the lights didn't seem so bright any more.

On her right, the young healer was still talking. What did he say his name was? Vaton? Aton? Paton? Yes, Paton.

T'Rama wondered what he'd been saying all this time. And whether it mattered.

"…but all this is natural because you remained in a healing trance for six days. Please keep still while I perform a full body scan."

Paton passed a portable device over T'Rama's body. The data were also transmitted in the biobed's database and in Healer Eiren's office PADD.

"Your family healer could not attend you for the night and appointed me instead," Paton explained. "Now that you have awoken, I shall inform you of your condition."

T'Rama wanted to tell him to leave the room, never to return.

"You may proceed," she said, trying to steady her voice.

"You suffered a miscarriage–"

"Why?" T'Rama cut in, unable to fully control her anger.

Being a trained healer, Paton strengthened his mental shields and absorbed some of T'Rama's anger, lessening the tension inside the room. He knew from experience how to respond in such a situation.

He continued in a softer tone.

"Our examinations have not indicated a specific reason. Your diagnosis will state 'reason unknown'. T'Sai… I have some personal experience in this. Allow me to say that in a healthy body such as yours, miscarriages sometimes happen because the embryo is not viable. The pregnancy ends – it should end. This is not only logical, but also how a healthy reproductive system works. It is how nature works. However – please allow me to finish," he said gently when T'Rama tried to speak, "However, you are still fertile. Once all this is left behind you, and your body recovers fully, you may consult with healer Eiren should you wish to try again."

Her heart plunged to depths she had never experienced. She had known what the healer would say before he spoke. But that didn't make hearing the actual words easier.

Still feeling dizzy, T'Rama gulped. "I could feel it kick for the past four weeks. And then … that morning, I felt its distress…"

"That is unfortunate indeed," Paton nodded. "The brain was fully developed by the twentieth week. I shall make a note in your file that Eiren should consult with you about the potentially traumatic termination of this primal bond."

"How long did I remain in a trance?"

"Six days, seventeen point nine hours."

T'Rama's gaze travelled vaguely over the sheets. She wondered if anything else mattered. If anything else remained to be told.

Finally, she decided there was. "I have one last question."

"Yes?"

"What happened to it?"

"What do you mean?" Paton asked, throwing a puzzled glance at Skon.

"Where is it? The body… where is it?"

"Our parents took the body," Skon intervened. "They performed a small ceremony. She now rests in our clan's burial grounds. From there, our parents went to the Temple of Amonak, to offer prayers for your recovery."

Alarmed, T'Rama sat up and looked sharply at her bondmate as if seeing Skon for the first time. As if his face was unfamiliar.

At first Skon didn't understand T'Rama's odd, piercing look. Then he reached her through their bond – and realised his mistake.

His heart plunged too. He would have preferred a thousand deaths rather that face the pain in T'Rama's eyes, the devastating realisation that his words unwillingly inflicted upon her.

"She was a girl?" she asked in a voice that nearly broke.

Skon moved quickly – very quickly – and embraced her. T'Rama said nothing else as her adun took her in his arms, hiding her face in his chest.

Nobody ever saw T'Rama's face as it expressed emotion. Skon hid her in his arms, as if protecting her from Paton, from the rest of the hospital staff, from the entire world – even from himself. If he could have torn his chest open to hide T'Rama inside him, keeping her safe from everyone and everything, he would have.

Just as Paton had predicted, when they joined each other, their mourning began.

Yet mourning over the loss of a child was something private, and he should treat it as such. Realizing there was one more person in the room than there should be, Paton took one step back and then another.

Slowly and without making the slightest noise, he retreated and exited the room, taking the broken chair with him.

Out in the corridor, the healer let out a deep sigh and lowered himself into a seat, placing the broken chair next to him. He knew first hand what had taken place inside room thirty-five, and he now felt the compelling need to verify his family's well-being.

Through his marital bond he located his adun'a. A soft caress through their bond told him she was in her bedchamber, meditating. His son was sleeping but he would wake soon.

Paton felt like a fool. Why was he in the hospital and not at their side? His shift had ended thirteen point six hours ago. His next shift would begin in two point four hours. There were no emergency cases; hence there was no logical reason for him to remain away from them. Why he was here, and not there?

As Eiren had stated, there was no greater honor than to serve their people. But one's service began and ended with his family. Could it be that this was something all the other healers knew? Could it be that this was the reason nobody else took continuous shifts?

He rose from his seat and with determined steps returned to his office. There he wrote his report on S'chn T'gai T'Rama and his recommendation on the treatment she should follow. He sent that report to the hospital's database and to healer Eiren's office PADD as well. Then he sent a request to the hospital's maintenance department to remove a broken chair from the corridor outside room thirty-five.

He made a special note that the broken chair was not to be replaced until Healer Eiren allowed access to the room.

Then Paton exited his office and with haste steps left the hospital.

Pacing quickly along the hospital's courtyard, he began forming a plan. There was a little time left. He doubted there was enough time to join his adun'a in her morning meditation. But he could give his bondmate a quick foot massage after she had finished – the pregnancy had begun taking its toll with her.

When Nickon woke, the four of them would take breakfast, and he would drive Nickon to his school … or perhaps not. These past weeks the boy insisted on walking there alone, and for that reason he left earlier. Paton suspected his son met T'Athan, his ko-kugalsu, so they could walk to their school together.

Maybe it was for the best. He would take breakfast with his family and then he would see his son grow up. Nickon had grown up so very quickly these last three years. He and Paton were almost the same height now.

Then he would return here. To serve his people in the best way he could.

Yes, this was what he would do.

.


.

Because of the earliness of the hour, Paton's departure would have gone unnoticed, had there not been a figure watching the courtyard from above.

High above the ground, from his top floor office, Healer Heator, the hospital's director, stood and watched the young man who flew from the hospital's grounds.

"He certainly leaves in a hurry. Based on his report, I'd say your plan worked perfectly."

"It was only logical," Eiren replied, trying to sound indifferent despite his deep satisfaction. He rose from the small table he was sitting at and stood next to Heator.

Eiren threw a glance at the small figure of a man walking in a hurry. "It is only thirty-two minutes since S'chn T'gai T'Rama awoke," he said, checking the PADD in his hands. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say Paton will think twice before he opts for another continuous shift."

"Your lessons are hard, Eiren."

"Knowledge is earned, not given, Heator. And the harder it is earned, the more cherished we keep it, in our hearts and minds." He saw Paton crossing through the outer gates. "I do wish we would abolish this practice of extra shifts. Unless an epidemic occurs or an interstellar war begins, we have no need for them. We haven't for the last eight hundred years."

"It is optional."

"It is useless."

"It is an ancient practice of healers from pre-Reform times. Who am I to cancel it?"

Eiren gave him an austere look. "I thought you were the director."

Heator returned the hard stare. He wanted to say to his friend that his request was based on an emotional reaction caused by the death of his bondmate. Which he did.

"Your request is based on an emotional decision. Since T'Lyra's death you regret not spending more time with her. As Paton seemed to be following your habit of taking continuous shifts, you devised this plot to change his mind."

"Solkar was informed and approved of this, as you say, 'plot,'" Eiren replied. "Our real patient tonight was not his bondmate, but Skon himself. You saw how he behaved. He wouldn't hear any of us. For six days, he just stood there looking at his bondmate, ignoring the rest of us completely.

"You, Heator, were the one who caught the thoughts he was projecting. The images were so intense, your head hurt. You said that the only thing occupying his thoughts was the image of his bondmate sitting in a pool of blood.

"On a mental level, I am not sure if there is anything more disturbing than this. And I know Skon. I delivered him. He is so stubborn that, if T'Rama hadn't awoken, he would probably have forsaken everything and everyone else and starved himself to death.

"Is this what we wanted? The end of Surak's bloodline? For this was at stake these last six days. Trust me, Heator, I thought long before coming into this solution.

"It was logical to send them a healer who had also lost a child. Given their common experience, Paton was the ideal candidate. That fact that he took continuous shifts is merely a coincidence."

"Do not deny this, Eiren. You chose him based on an emotional decision."

Eiren drew back at that. "Yes, Heator, I did," he admitted flatly. "And forgive me, but I wasn't aware that in regards to your bondmate you make the most logical decisions. Tell me my friend, if you knew that your time with T'Omor was limited, would you spend your night here playing chess with me? And losing badly, that is."

Heator's shoulders stiffened. "I am not spending the night playing chess. We are monitoring a couple that has suffered a miscarriage. Given the circumstances, S'chn T'gai Skon was under close monitoring, just as his bondmate was. If anything occurred, I wanted to be present." His eyes narrowed as he observed his friend closely. After a long pause, he spoke.

"Very well, Eiren. I shall bring your request before the board. And I shall win back all those games," he said in a regal tone, returning to his seat in front of their three-dimensional chess board.

Eiren gave him a sarcastic look. "And they say, Vulcans don't dream."

"I do not dream."

"I have four awards from four chess tournaments that say you do," Eiren replied, amused, throwing one last glance at the empty courtyard. By now, Paton was nowhere to be seen. Satisfied, he returned to his chair, across from Heator. "I spoke with Solkar again yesterday," he said, scanning every level of the chess board, planning his next move.

"How is he?"

Eiren shrugged his shoulders lightly. "As one would expect him to be."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. That his daughter-in-law is a perfect addition to his clan; a female as stubborn as his son. And himself. That she will recover quickly. Stubborn people always do. And that she is healthy enough so that one day she will bring to their clan an equally stubborn heir. Or heiress."

Eiren sighed. Sadness colored his voice and suddenly… Eiren felt tired. Very, very tired. "T'Yann and T'Ella cut their hair."

"What?! Why?" Heator asked, clearly surprised.

In Vulcan, long hair was more than a sign of female beauty. Since the ancient times, when resources such as water were scarce, for a female to wear her hair long and elegantly styled was not only a sign of beauty but also an indication of her social and marital status. It showed that the bondmate was providing for her and sufficiently protecting her. As millennia passed, long hair became a distinctive characteristic of female beauty, especially among bonded females.

In short, what T'Yann and T'Ella had done seemed quite illogical.

"Solkar said that they offered their hair to their first grandchild," Eiren explained, watching carefully the chess pieces, "as a token of their appreciation. They said that it would be the only gift they would ever give to their first granddaughter and as such it should be something very special."

Heator wanted to say that this was illogical. That there was no proof the fetus had a katra. That it was illogical to follow an ancient tradition that dated back thousands of years to the time before the Awakening. That nowadays such a sacrifice was meaningless.

Then he recalled his own grandchildren. How they sat around him as he told them stories about his childhood and his experiences as a healer. How their eyes shone as he described how, during his kahs'wan, he had saved two wild sehlat cubs from a young le-matya.

How much time would pass before Solkar and T'Yann would know such bliss was unknown.

And suddenly, T'Yann and T'Ella's offer seemed most appropriate. A unique gift for their first grandchild. The one whose hair would never grow. The one they would never share their stories with. The one they would never hold in their embrace. The one they would never see grow up.

Heator felt a knot in his throat – something he immediately recognized as an emotional reaction. It was a most unpleasant and unwelcome feeling to express emotion through a physical reaction. This wouldn't have happened a few years ago. Being the hospital's master healer and director, he had experienced several similar cases, some even worse. But in this case he knew the family. As an exceptionally gifted telepath, he could sense Skon's grief. And being a father and grandfather himself… he didn't even wish to consider such a loss.

It was the first time he felt his age catching up to him, at a violently fast pace.

Eiren took a piece from the chess board. For a few minutes he held his queen in his hand, observing closely its elegant shape.

"T'Lyra and I were the first from our class who endured the Fires together," he recalled. "When we tested for admission to the Science Academy, T'Lyra tested with a perfect rating - just above me - despite the fact that she was nursing our first child. When I queried her 'How did you manage to clone yourself?' she advised, 'Eiren - drink more juices and spend less time focusing on my throat.' It's odd but somehow… she always knew. She always knew…" Eiren said and gently caressed the piece's smooth curves.

"Isn't it odd how our bondmates define our actions? Alive or dead, they… affect us. Eventually, they make us … wiser. It's odd … isn't it odd, Heator?"

"It is in our nature, Eiren. Having lived for two centuries and thirty-eight years, you should know by now. This is how nature works, in all its wisdom."

"Wisdom …" Eiren murmured, as if to himself. "Some people search for it their entire life. It is said that wisdom derives from our accomplishments, yet I dare say… we also gain it from our errors."

He looked out the window, to where Paton had fled the hospital grounds a while ago. "Youths should make their own mistakes. It is not logical to repeat ours... Do you know that Paton's bondmate is named T'Lyra?"

No, Heator didn't know that. But he was one of Vulcan's most gifted telepaths. He could sense how much his friend missed his late bondmate. He decided to change the subject – for the sake of them both.

''Aren't you a little old to notice other men's bondmates? You might face minor difficulties during the challenge." He pointed at their three-dimensional chess board, and then moved a piece. "Rook to king's level three. You, inattentive healer, are in grave danger."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that." Eiren returned his queen to the chess board, making his move. "Queen to king's level one," he said to a surprised Heator. "Check mate. As you can see, I still remember some good tactics," he said, enjoying his faithful friend's irritated look. Once again, he had taken the hospital's director completely by surprise.

It took Heator two point nine minutes to consider all the alternatives, frown, lose the frown, admit he had been soundly defeated, and set up the board for their next game.

Outside the hospital walls, a bright new day dawned. Its first rays still carried inside them failed promises and elusive dreams from the recent, hurtful past. And …

... Two very elderly friends began their next game, waiting for the morning that would bring their lives one day closer to the end. Their lives were full and well-spent. So when that final day came, it would not only be expected, but also welcomed.

... A young man walked from the Shi'Kahr city hospital to join his family, if only for a few spare minutes. He kept a fast pace to catch up with Time, that merciless foe that flows like a silent thief. It was his turn to steal something back.

… And a couple held on hard to each other, mourning deeply the loss of what once was, but was not meant to be. They mourned bitterly, for they desired wholeheartedly that life. But it was lost to them, before it had even begun.

Above them all, the dark night dissolved quickly like an evil dream.

Within minutes, Nevasa, the grandiose Vulcan sun, oblivious to all mortal pain and loss, took its place in the sky.

And another bright new day began.

To Be Continued...


Vulcan information (from Memory Alpha)

Temple of Amonak: one of the most sacred sites on Vulcan.

"Queen to king's level one," is a pass phrase Spock calls for transport back to Enterprise and my humble homage to TOS.

PADD: Personal Access Display Device


A/N: Skon's two quotes belong to Menander, an Athenian author. His famous quotes have been used by many historical figures, such as Apostle Paul and Julius Caesar.

Between pregnancies, my sister had a miscarriage. I often think about that child. Was it a boy or a girl? Whom did it look like? Would it be happy, if he/she was born?

To me, watching a pregnancy is like watching a boxing match. You admire the fighter, the way he moves, he strikes, his stamina, his power. But you can only stand by and watch him; you can't take his place inside the ring. And sometimes it's very difficult to watch.

In honor of the Fighter, the only female character appearing in this chapter is T'Rama, the mother.

So, what are wise men made of? My thoughts tell me that each answer is personal and depends on the lessons each of us learns watching the fight.

I guess this chapter is devoted to my fourth niece/nephew, who didn't stick around to meet his/hers noisy Greek family, but chose a one-way ticket to the stars.

SpockLikesCats edited this very personal and difficult chapter, provided helpful insight and made 'many, many wonderful' corrections. For that I am eternal grateful. But as I always make last minute changes, all remaining mistakes are entirely mine.

Are you still out there? I know I delayed posting (and that I ramble), but I always appreciate your thoughts.