You know what happens when you try to do too much at one time. You screw up royally. Third time is a charm. That's what I hear.
Thanks to the readers and reviewers.
Much love to a talented beta, thank you LadyFangs.
Chapter 3 – Father of Mine
"Father."
Spock's voice rang out in the foyer and only his echo returned. The sun was just beginning to set and dark shadows were cast about the house. Traces of the warmth and love that were present when his mother was alive and walking the expansive halls were long forgotten. Amanda's smiles and muffled laughs had been replaced by dust and despair.
The formal living room reserved for the visits of important guests and dignitaries sat untouched. The furniture pristine and in place, while family photos lined the walls, and hid the shame enclosed in every beam of the home. The picture Nyota had returned to Spock after their breakup was posted on the mantel with Sarek and Amanda's wedding photo. Spock traced the lines of his former lover's face, wishing for a simpler time. A happier place instead of his present state of desolation.
The only son of Amanda and Sarek treaded through the halls, the only sound the echo of his footsteps on the hardwood floors as he made his way silently to the massive kitchen located in the rear of the house. Carefully Spock placed the bag of takeout on the counter while surveying his surroundings. There was at least three days worth of dirty dishes with clumps of dried fool on them shoved in one side of the sink. The incessant drip of the faucet had created a pool of dirty water on the side containing no dishes. Mold had formed on the top of the coffee still in the pot and the offensive stench in the room made his stomach turn. He opened the refrigerator and found the same gallon of milk that had been present the week before. The only other food was a bag of grapes that could now be claimed as a dependent on his father's taxes due to the amount of time they had spent residing on the shelves of the stainless steel chiller.
Spock sighed, shrugged off his jacket, pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and began the task of making the kitchen fit for dinner with his father. He drained the water in the sink and washed the dishes by hand, careful not to damage or break the china. He emptied the coffee pot, disinfected the unit, and cleaned out the refrigerator. Before warming their meal, Spock compiled a list of his father's favorite foods, called the housekeeper, and left detailed instructions for the following day. It had become a weekly routine. So much so that he knew where to find his missing father.
He walked outside towards the gardens that Amanda once poured her heart into were now withered and dead. Dried brown stems shot up stubbornly from the mass of unraked dead leaves lying on the groud. With each step he took, the crunch of decay met his ears. At one time it had been a means for her to heal the soul that had been destroyed by the transgressions of her family. Now it was just a token of remembrance that after all the years of feigned happiness, only the ugliness of lies stood the test of time.
Among the bare branches and shriveled flowers sat Sarek. He was positioned on his wife's favorite bench, staring out at the spot on the horizon that once held the sun. He called out:
"Father."
Sarek did not respond. He remained silent as he stared off in the distance. Spock's father had become a shell of the man he once was. He was no longer confident. No longer proud and elegant he lacked the life he'd possessed during the last years he had spent with his wife. He was depressed. He was alone. He was a ghost of the future that Spock could expect if his own life did not change drastically.
Spock moved closer to Sarek, "Father." He said quietly, gently resting his hand on the older man's shoulder.
His father turned to face him. The dark circles evident under bloodshot eyes. His face wet with the tears he had obviously shed before his son's arrival.
Sarek did not attempt to smile. There was no energy left in the man to operate under false pretenses.
"Please come eat, dinner is waiting."
Son escorted father to the table where they partook of their meal without words or simple pleasantries.
Spock watched quietly as his father poked at his Eggplant Parmesan, pushing it around the table. It could not compare to the favorite dish his mother once prepared for her husband, but he hoped that it would cause the man to focus on a time in his life that once brought joy.
"Nyota was injured in an accident today." Even if Sarek was not in the condition to offer advice or wisdom, Spock needed to discuss the events of the day as well as the feelings that they had stirred up deep within him.
A look of fear struck Sarek. It was the same helpless look that had resided on his face that fateful evening in the emergency room.
He hurried to offer reassurance to his father. "She is recovering in the hospital. They just wanted to keep her overnight for observation. Her condition is not serious or life threatening."
"I will send Nyota a nice arrangement of flowers; to let her know our thoughts are with her." The man offered absently, an edge of disappointment in his voice. Although Sarek would never admit to his son, Spock was well aware that a piece of his father grieved for the loss of Nyota's presence in his family's life.
"Your gifts are not needed." There was a bite to his words and it came out harder than he had intended. Although what happened in his relationship with Nyota was not directly attributed to his father's actions, Spock believed that Sarek held a portion of the blame.
There were things that the young man had seen in the past, experiences that had shaped his idea of what it meant to commit to another human being. It was also his father's past friendship with Nero that created an academic partnership between Spock and the professor. Spock's introduction to Nero in his youth, coupled with his father's devotion to the man established an undeserved bond of trust.
It was Spock's turn to poke and prod at the food on his plate. There was no need for pretense. The silence between the two men spoke volumes.
"I hope one day you will forgive me." Sarek's voice sounded like a faint whisper; a voice on the television in the other room. Surely the man in front of Spock had not spoken words that attributed to his guilt. "I did not provide a suitable example for you."
Spock swallowed the growing lump lodged in his throat, wanting to desperately change the course of the conversation. "Are you finished with your meal?" He was standing now, retrieving the dishes from the table.
"You can no longer run from this conversation my son; it is one we both must face."
Spock froze, and the plates he held broke into pieces as they connected with the marble tile of the kitchen floor.
Quickly he moved to clean up the mess, grabbing at the broken shards of what used to be Amanda's favorite china…it was as if he was scrambling to pick up the broken pieces of his life…
Sarek rose to assist in the task and together the two men cleaned the mess that had been created before moving to settle on the bench where they both felt closer to Amanda's presence. The night air was cold and swirled around them and after a while of staring out at the blackness of night, Sarek once again started to speak. And Spock listened as the sounds of consonants and vowels leaving his father's lips carried him back to where it all began.