Chapter 6

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.57, 2000 hours. The Hippocratic Oath must not apply to one Leonard H. McCoy, Spock mentally cursed as the day wore on. Each hour had brought with it some new indignity to be endured in order to fulfill his part in the bargain that allowed him to return to work and it was all due to the Chief Medical Officer. The only solace Spock found throughout the day was in his time in the science lab; everything was clean, well-ordered and well-run. He had suitably trained his subordinates and aside from a few directives he was permitted to review his backlog of reports in relative peace.

Now though, he could put the day behind him and enter his quarters to meditate—or he could engage in '2 hours of any recreational activity of his choosing' so that he might enjoy the privilege of working tomorrow.

Spock stared in what could best be described as forlorn at his closed front door debating over which was the lesser of two evils.

The distinct voice of the Chief Engineer echoed down the hall. "Ach, the wee beastie, I hate it when he's right!" Spock looked up and saw the man's entire body was covered in grease, with the only clean thing being the scanner in his hands. Mr. Scott looked up just in time to avoid colliding with him. "Oh, Commander! I dinnae see you there!"

"I find that statement rather difficult to comprehend, Mr. Scott, as I am currently occupying a solid 1.859 meters of space in a hallway that is an even 3 meters across."

"Aye, right you are. Well…" the engineer looked him over dubiously. "Sorry 'bout that agin. Have a good night, Sir." He went back to manipulating his scanner and carrying on down the hallway.

It was then that Spock had an interesting thought; Doctor McCoy specified that he must spend time away from his quarters, yet he did not specify how or when or where. Surely offering to assist Mr. Scott in Engineering would fulfill his obligation? Spock inquired after whether any help was needed.

The Scotsman stopped in his tracks and perked right up. "Why sure! That's right nice of you! Plus it'll be good to see you in Engineerin' agin. It's been too long."

The men turned together and walked down toward the bowels of the ship, Mr. Scott talking rather animatedly the entire way about a man named Keenser as well as the repairs and modifications he was currently attempting to make to the engines. Only when he was alone, flat on his back and firmly ensconced under a bulk head with a wrench in his hands did Spock allow himself a moment of pleasure for having thwarted Doctor McCoy at his own game.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.64, 1930 hours. The Doctor quickly caught on to his ploy and began placing more conditions on his conditions. There would be no more midnight trips to 'assist' in Engineering (unless the ship was in a state of emergency); no more brief periods of activity followed by prolonged periods of seclusion eventually totaling 2 hours; no more counting meals as time spent engaging in a 'recreational' activity, etc. The list went on and on until Spock felt like a child again, only even then he acknowledged he had had more freedom to pursue his own interests than he did now.

It had been a long week and in an attempt to unwind and also appease Doctor McCoy Spock brought his ka'athyra with him to the recreation room. Playing music was a solitary pursuit he could engage in while in the company of others and it also helped him relax; better still it was not yet on the list of restricted activities. Spock did not doubt that when the Doctor learned about this latest pursuit he would be thwarted in this effort too.

The room was 68.3% occupied this evening yet he managed to find a quiet corner where he could warm up and properly tune his harp with minimal distractions. As he pulled the instrument out of his case he heard several appreciative murmurs throughout the room. Apparently he had played in public on numerous occasions, and if one reference was to be believed he had also at times been accompanied by a colleague. He wondered who that crewmember could be.

Many lost interest when he did not immediately start to play and the crowd thinned as he worked. When the instrument was tuned to his satisfaction he began idly plucking the strings, casting about his mental repertoire for a suitable piece to play.

There was a composition he had begun 9.68 weeks prior—no, that was not accurate. Spock suppressed a sigh. He had begun composing the piece 3.978 years prior, in his spare time at the Academy. Last he recalled it was very nearly finished; perhaps he could complete it this evening.

He closed his eyes, positioned his hands along the harp, and plucked out the first few chords. To the casual listener the opening sounded almost like a funeral dirge but it was deceptive; the melancholy simply set the stage for the first act. Still, Spock could not help but be carried away by the emotion pouring forth from his fingers, compulsively adding in layers to the previous piece to express his current sadness, rage and grief.

Faster and louder he played, carried away by the sound until the room was all but forgotten, the notes swirling about and cocooning him until he reached the apex. The mood shifted again, still despairing but yearning too, aching for a light to break through the dark clouds; much like he sought the relief for his own warring emotions as he strove to find a place for himself in this strange new world.

And slowly—ever so slowly—that longing gave way to hope.

The notes buoyed his spirits, feeding Spock an optimism that was neither logical nor by any right his to feel. His joy was contained, as if he were somehow afraid that by playing it with more enthusiasm it might vanish, until at last his composition reached it's own natural conclusion of tempered bliss.

Spock felt strangely at ease as the last echo faded away into the air. A tranquility settled over him that he had only felt briefly before in his life, and the first since his awakening. The turmoil in his mind and in his katra was no more.

It was then that he heard the pneumatic doors shut and realized he had yet to open his eyes; blinking into the bright light Spock turned to find all 47 personnel members staring straight at him, 16 in open-mouthed shock. The close scrutiny sent a trickle of agitation through him and he hurried to pack the ka'athyra and vacate the premises. He had bared his soul in a most public forum and was suitably disgusted with himself for his unrestrained actions.

He hated that he could neither contain nor quantify his feelings—he hated having so many heated feelings—yet Spock could not deny that there was something aside from his own state of duress that compelled him to play so uninhibited. He hustled back to the sanctuary of his quarters before the rest of the room recovered, not wanting to make another untoward display by snapping at an unsuspecting crewmember.

That night the ka'athyra was placed on his list of restricted activities—not by Doctor McCoy but by his own hand.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.64, 1936 hours. It had been a long week for her but Nyota knew it was only going to get worse. She knew Spock was back on half-duty in the science lab and had heard enough of Len's rumblings on the bridge ("I know he's complyin', Jim, but dammit it's too soon!") to put two and two together. The thought of Spock working beside her everyday had Nyota anxious in a way she hadn't been since boarding her first shuttle bound for the Academy.

Maybe Kirk would let her work Gamma shift for awhile?

No; she was an Uhura, she could handle this. So what that Spock had caught her unawares the last few times she'd seen him about the ship? She wouldn't let her personal feelings get in the way of her career. Besides, the last time she saw him outside the ready room he looked to be back to his old self: centered, intelligent. Calm.

Looked like she'd been right not to tell him about the bond all along.

Told you so, a smug voice in the back of her head fairly crowed.

Nyota grabbed her bowl of chocolate pudding and stormed out of the Mess, muttering about 'stupid hormones' into her spoon. Stalking the halls, dessert in hand, she debated which way to go. They'd all tried talking to her—Jim, Len, Christine, Janice—about how she was hiding, but she'd been grieving. But not anymore, not tonight. Now…now she'd show them how strong she was; she could do that, for Spock's sake.

The Rec. Room on 5 forward perfectly fit the bill; catering to officers and junior crewmen alike it tended to be busy without being loud or too overcrowded. It was just the place to be seen and yet still be left alone and with a technical journal under her arm she made her way down the hall.

Then the music hit her the minute she opened the doors. It was like a slap in the face.

Spock was sitting just a few meters away, easy as you please, playing "K'diwa Yel" in front of the whole crew. .

"K'diwa Yel" had always been her song—he'd told her as much the first time he played it for her—and now here he was, playing with more passion than she'd ever seen him exhibit before. By the time she arrived Spock was well into the third movement. Eyes closed and fingers flying over the strings he was lost in his own little world and hadn't even registered her presence let alone her shock. It was the song he played to let her know how he felt; he'd played it for her before the first night they'd been intimate; he'd played it again shortly after their bonding. And when they lost the baby and all she wanted to do was lie on the couch all day and cry Spock sat by her side and played and played...

Now though, he'd gone and taken something so intensely personal and put it on display in front of crewmembers he hardly even knew.

It hurt.

The crescendo of the last few bars rose to a fever pitch and Nyota found herself holding her breath. This was not the "K'diwa Yel" she remembered; this was more. Spock had never played with such abandon and he almost looked enraptured as the music arrived at it's end. Watching him play was like getting a glimpse into his soul and seeing him so at peace…it took her breath away.

When the last string was plucked and the final note hung in the air everyone froze. They were all in shock at the moment they'd just witnessed, not fully comprehending exactly what they'd been privy too.

It was too much—just when Nyota thought she'd gotten a handle on the shitty situation she was dealt a new blow. Stepping out of the doorway she marched straight for her quarters. Alone in her room…that was exactly where she needed to be right now.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.80, 0845 hours. McCoy looked at his PADD and groaned. He knew he should've stayed in bed this morning. Spock was coming in for a check-up at 0900 and Nyota was coming in for one of her own at 1030. Len thanked the stars that whichever of his nurses scheduled his appointments today hadn't placed the two of them back-to-back. This whole situation was beyond ridiculous and he was kicking himself daily for giving in…but he never could say no to a pretty woman in her hour of need.

Leonard, you're gettin' too damn soft.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.80, 0901 hours. "Ok, Commander, have a seat." He pulled the stethoscope from a drawer as Spock dutifully took a seat on the edge of the biobed. The Vulcan eyed the antiquated device in his hands but said nothing. Good. Len liked to get a feel for a patient and in a case like this a quick readout from a scanner wasn't going to cut it. By taking Spock's vitals individually he could draw the appointment out and maybe get the elf to open up…because judging by the almost scowl on his green face somethin' was eatin' away at him.

He gingerly lifted up the edge of Spock's shirt and the science officer stared at him in surprise. "Relax, I'm just going to take your heart rate."

"Doctor, I do not…"

"Shhh."

Len placed the diaphragm over Spock's heart and stuck the earbuds in on either side. The staccato rhythm beat out so rapidly he couldn't keep track of it on the chronometer.

"As I attempted to inform you," the man said coolly, "Your stethoscope would not be the most effective instrument in your medical arsenal for recording my heart rate as the Vulcan heart beats at an average of 242 beats per minute."

He rolled his eyes. Of course. However, a simple, "Stethoscopes won't work on me you idiot," would've been faster. "Fine, let's just check your blood pressure then," he said as he reached for the cuff.

Spock cut him off. "I am afraid you will find much the same result with all of your Terran equipment."

Well damn. Looked like he was just going to have to get the hobgoblin to open up to him the hard way. He pulled a chair around and sat beside the bed, legs stretched out before him. Len thought he detected a mild look of annoyance on the hobgoblin's face.

"Well then I guess we're just going to have to wait since someone forgot to re-charge the scanners overnight," he lied, locking his hands together behind his head. He looked like he was ready for a day at the beach instead of stuck in sickbay surrounded by ill and injured crew.

The non-scowl on Spock's face deepened. "That is a falsehood, Doctor. In the event of a medical emergency there are battery-operated scanners located in the supply cabinet that can run up to 72.4 hours without fail. If your daily scanners are not in working order at this time then I suggest you utilize one from your reserves."

Len frowned. Spock really was a walking Starfleet manual; he must've been a hit on the recruiting circuit. Still, he wasn't about to let the Vulcan get the better of him. "Like you said, those are for medical emergencies only, and since this ain't a medical emergency we're just going to have to sit here and wait." Spock couldn't fault the logic in that. If the Commander were human McCoy would've expected a long-suffering sigh but the man simply sat there stoically.

One minute ticked by, than another and another, and neither said a word. His patient's shoulders twitched infinitesimally but otherwise Spock didn't move.

"Any aches or pains you want talk about?"

"I am in peak physical form and am not suffering from any aches nor any pains at this current time, therefore there is nothing to discuss."

"Anything else you want to talk about?" he countered.

"Negative."

Len harrumphed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He just had to buy himself some time and crack that tough Vulcan nut…

"Doctor."

He jumped in seat and chanced a glance at the chronometer. Fifteen minutes had passed; he must've dozed off. Shit. "Yes?"

"I believe your scanners are sufficiently charged for you to conduct your exam. If the scanners are not available then I respectfully request that we re-schedule this appointment."

"What's the matter, Spock? Got a hot date?"

There was a flash of something in the Commander's eye and the man stiffened in his perch. Oh God, had he actually hit the mark? Was Spock dating? Who would allow that to happen? Everyone knew he was married 'cept him so why in Heaven's name would they say yes?

If Spock was dating again then when word finally got 'round to Nyota the news might just kill her.

Shit.

"I need to return to my shift on the bridge where my time is better spent, unless my presence in the sickbay is required while you sleep."

Why you little…

If looks could kill…but if that's how Spock wanted to play things than fine, let him keep his damn emotions all bottled up inside until he throttled someone, see if he cared.

Sometimes being friends with the hobgoblin was more difficult than practicing medicine.

A quick once over with the scanner confirmed Spock's self-diagnosis and he sent him on his way with a nod, giving himself an hour to prepare to deal with Nyota.

"Anything else you want to talk about?"

Spock considered the offer for .002 seconds. Despite returning to full active duty and prime physical health he found he still had a great host of issues weighing on his mind; however, those matters were best dealt with introspectively.

Although his mother often derived a great deal of satisfaction in discussing her problems with an objective third party…

…however, the Doctor was not an ideal confidant.

"Negative."

Doctor McCoy leaned back in his chair in an obscenely relaxed posture while he remained on the bio bed. Outwardly, Spock knew he was the picture of a model Starfleet officer. He arrived promptly at the beginning of his shift, completed each task as assigned, led his team in a professional and efficient manner…yet he was well aware of the whispers behind his back about how well he was getting on despite his 'disadvantage'.

His shipmates were oblivious to the seething rage these comments brought.

Firstly the word, no matter the context, always set him on edge. Secondly, there was the fact that no one on the ship—not even the Captain, and that was a breech in protocol all it's own—knew of his increasing multitude of emotional slips. He was having difficulty finding his center, more so than before, and spent more time in meditation each evening in order to ensure that he would have sufficient control the following day so that he might be allowed to continue to work. So far his solution was proving most effective; however, Spock was not so naïve as to think his prolonged sleep deprivation would not catch up with him. The fact that Doctor McCoy had not immediately detected his symptoms surprised him but he was not about to point out the physician's oversight.

No, his issues would resolve themselves on their own—eventually.

The Doctor's sonorous breathing alerted him to the fact that the man now holding him hostage in sickbay had in fact fallen asleep. "Doctor."

He derived a great deal of satisfaction watching the CMO spasm in his seat. "Yes?"

The sooner he could get the exam moving along the sooner he could return to the bridge. "I believe your scanners are sufficiently charged for you to conduct your exam. If the scanners are not available then I respectfully request that we re-schedule this appointment." Doctor McCoy's retort was as swift as it was surprising.

"What's the matter, Spock? Got a hot date?"

He was not unfamiliar with the phrase 'hot date'; however, what startled him was the up-swell of negative emotions the terms brought. Vulcans did not date—they were betrothed as children, well before the Time—and though he and T'Pring had not been well-suited for each other he was still disheartened to learn that she was one of the six billion that had perished when his homeworld was destroyed.

Doctor McCoy's words were yet another reminder that, despite the tentative relationships he had begun to forge here on the Enterprise, he was well and truly alone.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.80, 1042 hours. Despite all the advancements in obstetrics in the last 200 years nothing beat a good old-fashioned ultrasound. Requisitioning the private exam room McCoy now had Nyota lying on the bed with her stomach exposed and the equipment in place. "Looking good, Ny," he reassured her as he ran the wand over her abdomen. She flashed him a tight smile, eyes glued to the screen.

There it was in 3-D, the second-ever Vulcan/Human hybrid in the known universe. He was going to have to review the available notes surrounding Spock's mother's pregnancy and labor, make sure to have an obstetrics team assembled and properly drilled, contact the colony on New Vulcan and consult with a healer…

Oh. Oh that was interesting. Surely the little tidbit he just saw on-screen might make her happy?

"Do you want to know the sex?"

Good God, was that him? Why did he sound so stupidly giddy? If anyone else heard him talk like this his reputation would be shot to hell.

"No," she answered flatly.

He considered pressing the issue but the pained look on her face warned him off. McCoy moved the wand over and continued to monitor the baby's development.

"I'm going to start showing soon." She rubbed a hand over her tiny bump as she spoke but there was no cheer in her voice. At nearly four months along she hardly looked pregnant at all but Len's understanding of Vulcan pregnancies showed that the rate of development was slow until around about the fifth month. So far baby Sagin Tiggy…Skin Tigger…oh who was he kidding, Baby Spock was developing normally, if it's father was any kind of precedent. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is when the baby's father doesn't know he or she is coming."

Len couldn't fault her there. A new life was a hell of a thing to celebrate when an old one was ripped right out from under your feet—just look at Jim.

He considered Nyota carefully as she lay there, brows knit and worrying her lower lip, and debated what to say. He'd tried talking to her before about the whole Spock thing but she was incredibly good at her job and managed to deflect him more often than not. Dealing with pregnant women was always a delicate situation, what with the outbursts and the crying and the misunderstandings. Just thinking about it reminded him of some of the bigger blow-ups he'd had with Jocelyn in the weeks before Joanna's birth. How was it his baby girl had come out all sweetness and smiles when such spleen had come out her mother's mouth?

The hell if he could figure it out; then again, that's probably why they were divorced.

But with Nyota he wasn't about to chalk her melancholy up solely to hormones. One wrong word from him right now might send her screaming for the door and he didn't want to hurt her feelings—either as his patient or his friend.

He motioned for her to pull her shirt down and sit up. "I think you ought to tell him, Ny."

She scowled, reminding him again of the hobgoblin. "Why? What's changed between now and when he first woke up? Nothing."

Len shook his head. "I disagree. He was in here earlier for his check-up and I'm tellin' you somethin's off." Nyota opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off. "And before you say it I think it's more than the amnesia. Whether he knows it or not I think he misses you."

The fuzzy image on screen cleared and she watched in rapt attention as the ultrasound displayed her son's or daughter's features. The nose was hers, she was certain of it, and she worriedly scanned the screen for signs of her husband. Maybe the baby had his eyes? It was too soon to tell. The ears also had yet to fully develop but when they did she prayed they'd be as pointed as Spock's.

"Do you want to know the sex?"

Len had released her from sickbay but Spock wouldn't put her down, not until he had her tucked safely in their bed. She didn't know what to feel—she supposed she was still somehow numb to it all. Up until the miscarriage she hadn't even realized she was pregnant.

She lay there for G-d-only-knows how long and the only time he left her side was to retrieve a glass of water and place it for her on the nightstand. Finally, after an eternity of heavy silence, she asked the question she'd been holding onto since Len first told her what was causing her to bleed.

"Did you know I was pregnant?"

He looked down at her and the way his eyes caught hers suddenly made her feel so small, just a tiny speck nestled among the sheets; and for the first time in a long time Spock closed himself off to her so she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "I did not." He clamped his mouth shut tight and inhaled deeply. When he next looked down at her again all she saw was disappointment.

"I did not know that what I detected in you was a life spark. As we were not actively attempting to conceive, nor were we aware that natural conception was a viable possibility, I had no knowledge that the event had occurred. I was only aware of the presence once, 3.47 hours before you fell ill, and the sensation was fleeting. Having had no prior experience…"

"What was it?" she cut him off, a swell of anger stirring within her.

"Clarify."

The demand, the cold monotone…in spite of herself she picked up the glass of water he left on the nightstand and hurled it across the room. "What was our baby? Was it a boy? Was it a girl? Tell me!" His lips remained set in that irritatingly tight thin line and all she wanted to do was smack it off his face. "ANSWER ME!"

If she weren't staring at him so hard she might have missed the quiver of his chin. It suddenly occurred to her that the disappointment she thought was directed at her wasn't; Spock thought he was to blame for their loss.

"I believe we were about to have…a son."

It was the personalization—not just referring to it as fetus or baby or it—that broke the dam. Nyota had never been much for tears but that night she cried like she'd never cried before. Spock held her and stayed by her side all those long dark hours and she knew then that she was truly blessed to be loved by him.

And when she felt a warm tear or two not her own stain her face she said nothing of it and only held onto him tighter.

"No."

She didn't bat an eye even as she felt McCoy's calculating look on her turned cheek. Giving the baby a gender would only remind her of what she'd lost and make this pregnancy all the more real; besides, she wanted to share that moment with Spock, to have him caress her stomach, feel the life spark of their new child and tell her what they were expecting, not Len.

Nyota looked down at her gel-covered belly and the slight swelling there. Soon she wouldn't have to worry about keeping the news from anyone, the entire ship would be able to see for themselves. "I'm going to start showing soon."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he remarked, eyes focused on the screen.

"It is when the baby's father doesn't know he or she is coming."

As she stared at the image all she could think of was Spock sitting two floors up at his workstation, oblivious to her and her condition. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she brushed them away before Len could see.

"I think you ought to tell him, Ny."

His reputation for his surly bedside manner was duly earned. "Why?" she spit back. "What's changed between now and when he first woke up? Nothing."

"I disagree. He was in here earlier for his check-up and I'm tellin' you somethin's off." She was about to remind him that practically four whole years of his life were stolen when he cut her off. "And before you say it I think it's more than the amnesia. Whether he knows it or not I think he misses you."

Would that were true, Nyota thought as she covered her face with her hand. Damn him for preying on the hormones of a single pregnant woman. Why was Len pushing her like this? Why now? Couldn't he of all people see she could only take so much before she broke? "It isn't."

She turned away from him but couldn't help but feel his disapproval piercing her formerly thick skin. "Alright," he said softly. He stepped out of the room so she could dress and she was grateful he finally let the subject drop.

A/N: Hi all! Two things, really quickly. One, I made some edits to this story based on some reviews I've gotten—just thought you might like to know that I do read them (and appreciate them!) and take the things you say into consideration. Two, I've got a VERY big day on Monday (lots of important personal things going on—EEP!) so if you could send a review my way or think a kind thought about me I'd be very grateful to you.

Thank you all in advance and enjoy the rest of your weekend!