A/N: Happy Father's Day! To any and all fathers out there who might be readin thank you for doing all that you do.

On an unrelated note I only recently finished Chapter 15 and am still working on 16 but haven't had much time lately because of my new school schedule...sooo I will update again as soon as I can.

Chapter 14

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.225, 1709 hours.The one abiding memory he would take away from this particular episode, he thought angrily, was that the electrode on his right temple itched more than the electrode on his left. Even now when he was free to scratch as he pleased Spock still refrained from touching the last remnants of the adhesive residue still on his skin.

The premise of the experiment had been simple; utilizing compound Celera460B, Spock endured once-daily injections and then was observed by Doctor McCoy as he studied a series of images compiled for him by the Doctor and Nyota. Oftentimes the pictures appeared to be sheer nonsense—a Terran clown, a blue house near a waterway, an alien piece of fruit—but more often then not they were somehow connected to events from his past. The point of the trial was to gauge his reaction when the images were ones he should recognize and determine whether the Celera460B was helping his neural pathways re-form.

For lack of a better term Spock 'flashed' on a handful of pictures over the last 30 days yet the more he tried to focus and flesh out the details of these alleged memories the more they slipped away, like so much sand sifting through his fingers. These brief moments of clarity were never noted on any of McCoy's equipment and Spock was left wondering whether they ever really happened in the first place or if he was merely succumbing to a placebo effect.

Another irritant, and one that was decidedly greater than the electrode adhesive had been, was that Lieutenant Marks chose not to partake in this new trial. Seeing as how his colleague had only lost 9.18 days of his memory compared to Spock's 3.72 years it was logical that he would decline the opportunity; he was, in fact, coping very well with the gap and had no desire to subject himself to procedures whose outcome was dubious at best. That Lieutenants Marks' absence was reasonable did nothing to ease Spock's troubled mind, especially when as of 4.33 minutes ago Doctor McCoy declared the Celera trials closed. The results (or lack thereof) did not warrant further testing.

Another attempt; another failure.

Of course, the Doctor insisted that they had not failed, they had merely uncovered 44 possible cures that did not work. His cautious optimism was not helpful in the slightest nor did it alleviate Spock's own frustrations.

And now he was striding down the halls at a brisk pace to return to his quarters.

It was true that he had been more centered since his reconciliation with Nyota but the lack of progress in reversing his memory loss was truly provoking, especially after setbacks like these. In an undignified fit he entered their rooms and slammed the door shut behind him, his only outward conciliation to his anger. His wife was still on the bridge and would be for the next 46.8 minutes; he would do well to use this time in deep meditation. Stalking over to the wall he turned the thermostat up then stripped out of his uniform, roughly pulling on his meditation pants and settling down before the firepot.

Closing his eyes Spock turned inward, the flames of his emotions flickering and rising higher as he attempted to center himself. Why were the treatments not working? Why could he not remember his past? Better still, why was he the one most adversely affected?

More than anything he wanted the bond re-forged, wanted to be with his a'duna in the purely Vulcan way. They had come a long way since their marriage was disclosed to him yet there were still moments of uncertainty, times when they were awkward and unsure of each other as if the relationship were brand new. The past was there just beyond his reach, teasing him with a comfortable closeness with Nyota that had to have existed in order for them to bond, let alone create a child. He yearned for that intense connection more with each passing day.

Achieving calm through meditation was proving ineffective and so Spock rose and paced the length of the room. He did not want his wife to return home and see him this agitated, not in her current condition, and there was only 13.9 minutes left until she returned home from shift. Though he was loathe to be apart from her any longer than necessary perhaps the gymnasium would offer some relief…

It was then that he spied his ka'athyra case sitting abandoned in the corner. He had not played his harp since that evening in 5 Forward. Upon reflection, perhaps some music now might help soothe his troubled mind as much as it had then. Sitting on the sofa he took the instrument out and settled it on his lap, plucking a few chords to test the pitch. Even as a young child Spock appreciated the feel of the fine, sanded wood and the tensile nylon strings that fairly hummed under his fingers. The dichotomy of the materials and the harmonious sounds they produced resonated deep within him.

He wanted to give himself over to that sensation again now.

No sooner was he about to start on his unnamed composition then the front door opened and a gust of cool air rushed in. Nyota stepped inside as quickly as she could, sweat already forming on her brow, then looked in his direction with a frown on her face. "What's wrong?"

"What would lead you to the conclusion that something is wrong?"

She gave him a knowing grin and stepped forward, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. "Never play poker against me, Ashayam. I know your tells." Her fingers trailed along his shoulder as she pulled away, headed toward the bedroom. Automatically, Spock rose and followed her, intrigued.

"Tells?"

A muffled laugh was all he heard as she pulled her uniform shirt off over her head. "Yes, tells. You only ever increase the heat to something resembling Vulcan normal when you're really upset." Nyota shot him a look that told him it would be wise not to argue in the face of her logic. "So why don't you simply tell me what's wrong?"

Wordlessly Spock dropped to one knee to assist her in the removal of her boots. Teasing the zipper he gently tugged off first one, then the other, while she ruffled his hair and played with the tips of his ears. As small a service as this was to her and to their daughter he garnered a great deal of pleasure from it and slowly leaned forward to kiss Nyota's protruding belly button and caress her stomach.

"Ahh, you tease!" she moaned. Running her hands down his bare shoulders she opened up the bond. "Spock, please, let me help you. Tell me what's going on."

Suppressing a sigh he stilled and turned to rest his cheek on her abdomen. "Doctor McCoy has cancelled all future Celera trials. The injections have proven ineffective."

Much as he tried to wall it up Spock knew he was still projecting his disappointment. Nyota immediately stopped her teasing and drew him up to sit beside her, cradling him in her arms. "Don't hold back," she whispered against his thoughts.

"It would not be wise…" Spock had no intention of burdening her with his despair; indeed, she had enough weight on her shoulders already, both literally and figuratively. He would shield her from this.

But bit-by-bit Nyota chipped away at his already-worn defenses. Whether he was the one trembling with rage or she he could not discern but by the time the episode past they were lying back on the bed curled towards each other and utterly spent.

"How long have you felt this way?" she asked as they recovered. Spock could fairly hear her mind whirring with fresh thoughts of revenge against the Anguillidan 'scientists'.

"Do not…" Nyota shot him a look of ire and he realized it would be unwise to urge her to desist. Instead he answered her question and showed her the moment Kirk and McCoy informed him of his condition.

"Spock…" In the waking world he felt cool hands stroke the sides of his face as she nudged a little harder at his temple. "I'm so, so sorry. We'll find a way to reverse this, we really will." Unintentionally he let slip his doubts as to the veracity of her statement. "And even if we don't we'll make it work, you'll see. You have to believe that."

"I do." Whether it was logical or not to believe in her fervent declaration was another matter entirely. The sound of his voice made her open her eyes so that even if he had not been able to feel the love he could see it staring back at him in two deep, brown, reflective pools. Once he was sufficiently recovered Spock rose to retrieve some dinner for them from the stasis.

"Can you pass me my shirt please?" she asked on his way out.

The shirt in question, a grossly oversized garment recently purchased while in space dock for supplies, was generally issued to members of the Tindutu race who averaged three times the size of a Terran male. The fabric used was also fairly unique: a soft, breathable Orion cotton not normally found this far out in space. Those facts appealed to Nyota and made the shirt ideal off-duty loungewear for his adun'a. Reaching into the dresser he pulled the item out and handed it to her before leaving the room.

As he removed 2 vegetarian meals he heard her plod out into the living room and stop by the sofa, casually plucking a few strings on his ka'athyra. "You haven't played in awhile," she remarked as he set their food down on the kitchen table.

"No, I have not."

"Maybe you could be persuaded to play for me tonight?"

Nyota grinned as she sashayed over to him, sitting down and allowing him to push in her chair, and the corners of his mouth turned up ever-so-slightly at the pleasing prospect. "Perhaps."

Tears were brimming in her eyes as he finished, the last notes fading away in the stillness and privacy of their quarters. She wouldn't have thought it possible but somehow he managed to play 'K'diwa Yel' with even more enthusiasm than before. It was the most moving private performance they'd ever enjoyed in the whole of their relationship.

There was only one thing troubling her.

"Spock?"

He lifted his head expectantly as he closed the ka'athyra case. "Yes, k'diwa?"

The smile almost reached her eyes; if this were anybody but him... "Funny you should say that…" His utter confusion took the humor right out of her. "Ok, maybe not. Spock, I think we need to pay Len a visit."

He looked momentarily horrified at the prospect but quickly resumed his carefully neutral expression. "Why?"

She stopped chewing on her lower lip. "Because this song…this is going to sound vain, but you wrote it for me—after we boarded the Enterprise."

One eyebrow rose. "That is incorrect."

Oh really? He was questioning her memory now? "I think I'd remember something like this. You named the piece 'K'diwa Yel' and told me you wrote it for me."

Spock considered that as he set the harp case aside. "Fascinating..."

She smirked. "Indeed. Now if you'll help me get up we can…"

"Yet, you are still incorrect." Nyota's heart sank as he sat down beside her. "I began composing 'K'diwa Yel', as you have called it, 4.42 years ago back at the Academy."

Did he really just say that he hadn't written the song for her, that he'd mis-led her about it's origins for all these years? Nyota took a deep breath to smother her sigh. Really, it was so stupid in the grand scheme of things—she knew Spock loved her and after all, it was just a song—but for some reason she couldn't mask her hurt. If her math was right then she'd been his student for over a year but she'd only been his TA for about a semester and he couldn't have written the piece for her—they barely knew each other then. "Oh," she mumbled, crestfallen. "My mistake." She started to rise and get ready for bed.

"However," he interjected, reaching for her wrist as she struggled off the sofa, "You are correct in thinking that this piece was composed for you. It was." He held her hand in his and pushed his love across the bond.

"But I don't understand…"

"Nyota, there is a notion that I would like to disabuse you of, one that I should have spoken up about much sooner."

"Oh?"

Spock nodded. "Previously, you stated that as of 2257.115 your relationship to me was that of 'a cadet on a campus full of cadets'; it was this belief that led you to keep our marriage a secret from me. In point of fact you were incorrect."

"I was?"

He nodded. "While I was not fully cognizant of the depth of my—feelings—for you at that time, you had numerous favorable qualities that garnered my attention and respect, far more than any other cadet or colleague of my acquaintance. It was 9.68weeks before that date that I began arranging the piece you now know as 'K'diwa Yel'."

She gasped as he added, "To borrow a wholly human concept you were, in effect, my muse."

Nyota blinked hard then stared at him for what felt like an eternity. She'd had no idea…even after their bonding he'd never told her… His eyes held a question in their gaze and she nodded; with his free hand Spock reached for her meld points.

"It is my intention to never again let you question my love. You have had my heart since the beginning though I never betrayed that fact in look or deed. I will never have another, k'diwa; there is only you." She watched as he replayed every moment he'd ever spent in her company, from her first day in his class to the day before his memory wipe and all the days he could recall since. Not for the last time she found herself in awe of him.

"If I only knew…Spock, I'm so sorry, I never would've let you believe for so long that you and I…that we weren't…that you were…"

"Hush. I cherish thee, Nyota. Do not ever doubt that again."

His words soothed her even more than their reconciliation had. She was his Beloved; always had been, always would be.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.290, 2133 hours. Nyota brushed away at her hair, her lips pulled tight in an angry line. Who she was truly angry at—herself, Kirk or Spock—remained in question. At least Len (in deed if not in word) allowed for the possibility that her husband might feel anything less than excited when they presented the news to him. Still, if she'd just thought for a split-second before speaking up…or if Kirk didn't look so damn giddy the whole time…

Or if Spock would just admit to being apprehensive and talk to her now instead of burying himself in his research...

Heaving a sigh she set the brush down and stared at herself long and hard in the mirror. A few hours ago they were setting up the nursery, blissfully content. Now though…well she hadn't been this unsettled since the full scope of Spock's amnesia had been revealed.

"I got a call from a buddy of mine this morning," the Captain began, waltzing through the door uninvited and plopping himself down in an armchair. Sharing a look of forbearance with her adun he helped settle her on the couch before offering McCoy a seat. Len gave her the once over as if he hadn't just seen her that morning for a check-up then they all turned their attention back to Jim who was fairly bouncing around in his seat.

"His name's Stellan Sigurson, Captain of the U.S.S. Lexington. He and I go way back." Most likely recollecting their shared past Academy exploits she watched Kirk suppress a grin. "Anyhow, he's one of the few who know about…uh…" here he looked uncomfortably at Spock as he pointed to his own forehead. Discretion regarding Spock's condition had been paramount and very few knew more than the rudimentary details of the disastrous away mission on Anguillida; but if Jim trusted this man then she knew they could too. "And he told me something interesting about the Kerralians we're meeting up with in a couple days, something that isn't part of the official diplomatic record."

With roughly a month to go before her due date she was on full maternity leave and had very little hand in the day-to-day operations of the ship; however, Spock had shared with her what he knew about their upcoming mission earlier that afternoon. The Kerrali people were new members to the Federation, humanoid in appearance save for the cone-shaped heads and the men's mustaches and beards, the lengths of which signaled their status in society. They were also quite tall, the population on average standing a full meter taller than most humans, and were similar to Vulcans in their peaceable nature and telepathic abilities.

Spock had been intrigued and eager to meet them since their debriefing; she would've been too, if it were safe for her to travel off-ship. She knew she would simply have to settle for his account of the Enterprise's first contact until she had her own opportunity to meet them in the future.

"There's a holy place on the southern half of the continent called the Temple of Qua'lash. It's a place of healing."

Her head snapped up and she locked eyes with Kirk. Was he suggesting what she thought he was?

Len cleared his throat and threw his 2 credits in. "The Lexington had an ensign in Engineering who came down with Rigellian blood fever while they were in orbit. Normally it's treatable but this was a particularly virulent strain…"

"And somehow the Kerralians knew that Stell had an ill crewmember on his hands. Members of the delegation offered to take her to the Temple to be healed," Jim interjected, eyes alight with hope.

McCoy grimaced but kept his opinions to himself. To her, his reticence was very telling; for while he may have harbored the same hope as Jim he was also looking at the situation practically too. "Now I've looked over all the reports Michael Dieringer, their CMO, sent me. From what I gather this young woman wouldn't have lasted more than another 36 hours or so; modern medicine had done all it could do. Captain Sigurson consented to let her be treated by the Kerralians and they transported her down to the surface. The ensign was carried into the Temple on a stretcher and 7 hours later she walked out on her own 2 legs—assisted, of course, but on her own 2 legs nonetheless.

"By Dieringer's own admission the girl should've died but today she's back to full health and workin' like she'd never contracted the virus in the first place."

She watched McCoy watch Spock out of the corner of his eye but her husband didn't so much as even twitch an eyebrow. Looking back on the moment later she knew she should have recognized the signs but she was so caught up in what her friends were saying she overlooked his growing apprehension.

"The only trouble is…"—aha, a catch, she knew there had to be a catchv"nobody knows what was done to cure the ensign because the priests insisted on treating her behind closed doors," Jim informed them. "The ensign doesn't seem to remember much either. In fact, her only real memory is of the color blue."

She was shocked. If that was all there was to it… "But she was still healed." "Yes."

Excitedly she reached out and took hold of Spock's hand only to find the bond severely dulled. He was shielding her from his thoughts rather fiercely; the only thing Nyota knew for certain was that Len and Jim's news wasn't as welcome to him as it was to her.

"We don't even know if they'll offer to treat you," Len said almost as an afterthought.

Giving his friend a sideways glance Jim added, "But assuming they'll extend the same hospitality to us that they did to the Lexington we wanted you to know in advance. We just came from talking to Lt. Marks and he told us he isn't interested—and that's fine, that's his choice. If you don't want to consider it either then just let us know and none of us will bring it up when we beam down." Even as he spoke the words she could tell that that wasn't the answer Kirk really wanted to hear. If anyone wanted Spock back the way he was as much as she did it was Jim.

It was here that her joy at the prospect of a cure got the better of her. "Of course we want the chance to let them—!" Her speech was cut short when Spock unceremoniously dropped her hand and shot up from the sofa.

"I will carefully consider my options. Doctor McCoy, if you would forward Doctor Dieringer's findings to my console it would be much appreciated."

Len and Jim looked anxiously at one another but all were too stunned by Spock's dismissal to form any kind of intelligent reply. "Of course," Len agreed as he rose and headed for the door, Jim hot on his heels. No sooner had Spock shown them out then he hastened to his computer and began pulling up all the data he could find on the Kerralians and their purported healing powers.

Closing her eyes she took several deep breaths. She knew even before the door closed behind her friends that she'd really screwed up. "Do you want to talk about this?" she asked the back of his head.

"There is insufficient data to discuss this matter at this time," Spock replied, not moving one iota from his perch.

He didn't speak to her for the rest of the evening—in fact he never even left his chair. The steamed vegetables and tofu loaf she left for him on the side table were barely touched and his tea was only half gone.

Retreating into the facts and figures like this…well it was typical Spock but it also told her he was more spooked than even she realized.

What Nyota couldn't figure out was why he was afraid. The Kerralians were nothing like the Anguillidans; besides, he couldn't remember his encounter with them anyway, so why would such thoughts upset him now?

Was it as simple as all that or was there something more wrong with her adun? Just how much wasn't he telling her?

With more questions than answers Nyota slipped into bed and fell asleep much later in the night knowing there wasn't anything to do until Spock let her in; however, the time only gave her more reasons to hate herself for giving him reason to shut her out.

He had not been this frightened since the evening of Nyota's collapse and the fact that Spock could attest to this with the utmost certainty made his fear even more pronounced. The memory—a passing one as he and the Captain disengaged from their mind meld—was one he believed he had successfully repressed...

…until now.

Suddenly he was consumed by the image of himself, defenseless, bloody and unconscious, strapped to a table with an ominous looking needle aimed squarely at the center of his forehead, his captain and friend frantically working to free him as an Anguillidan scientist moaned and writhed on the floor.

Captain Kirk had not wanted him to see this—indeed, Spock would not have wanted to glimpse such an image if given the choice—but the transmission was unconsciously done.

He had been violated in one of the worst ways imaginable, and one of the only benefits to his amnesia was that he had no recollection of the mind rape that befell him...until the moment he saw it in the Captain's mind.

Had he fought against his captors? Most likely he had, though how they managed to subdue him was beyond his reckoning. The fact that they had conquered him, however, only contributed to his growing alarm, for if it happened once it could happen again.

The Captain's seeming willingness to hand him over to the Kerralians for treatment increased his panic ten-fold; that Nyota was unwitting of his distress and emphatically accepting said potential aide on his behalf taxed him almost to the breaking point.

Doctor McCoy alone remained sensible throughout the entire discourse. This fact was also disconcerting; not that Spock was not grateful for the man's level-headedness but it was atypical behavior for the physician. Had he not been so upset he would likely have been very alarmed by this turn of events alone.

In his heart of hearts Spock knew Nyota only wanted what was best for him. Recovering his memories was also what he desired; however, she had no knowledge of how truly loathe he was to place himself and his health in the hands of another unknown species. That the Kerralians appeared to be peaceful was not enough of a guarantee and what he needed to reassure himself right now were cold, hard facts. More than meditation he needed the certainty that only numbers could give.

Bidding his colleagues good night Spock settled himself before his computer to await the Doctor's reports, his pounding heartbeat humming in his ears.

"Do you want to talk about this?"

His adun'a spoke quietly yet he heard her well. The truth was that he did not want to discuss such matters with her as he was ashamed by the fact that he could not control his irrational fear. He could not bear the shame that would accompany such an admission his weakness would bring, nor could he stand the pity she would likely display as a result.

"There is insufficient data to discuss this matter at this time."

For the next 6.55 hours he sat at his console in studious silence. There was little information to be had and yet what there was he pored over until he was a veritable fountain of Kerralian knowledge…

…and yet his fears were not assuaged. Despite the fact that the Kerralians had proven themselves time and again to be nothing but trustworthy and honest people Spock was not moved.

He wanted to be cured and have the bond re-constituted, he just did not want it to come about this way. As much as Spock did not believe in the idea of 'Fate' he did not want to 'tempt' it either. His adun'a was just now nearing the end of her term. He had missed the early months of her pregnancy as a result of his accident and their own shared folly. Was he willing to potentially risk missing the birth of their child and her first months of life on the 5.87% chance he might be cured? It simply wasn't sound. Why would he sacrifice the future to reclaim such a small (albeit important) portion of his past?

Spock rose from the computer and stretched his stiff frame, unable to ease his troubled mind (the same mind, he thought somewhat ironically, which was the source of all his current trouble). Resisting the urge to adjust the thermostat he instead divested himself of his uniform and crawled into bed beside Nyota who was fast asleep.

Curling an arm around her, feeling her cool body nestled against his, he realized how fortunate he was to find love with her not once but twice. Nyota could have found better mates, human mates, yet she chose him. While he privately conceded that yes, in light of this recent dilemma her reasoning may have been flawed, she believed herself to be acting in his best interests and that knowledge more than made up for the heartache she had unintentionally caused. Nyota loved with her whole being; that he was the direct recipient of that affection awed him daily.

Spock began to nod off when he returned to the problem at hand again. Were a painless Kerralian cure assured he would accept it in the space of a breath; as it was he did not want to risk losing the love of his life who was just now safely ensconced in his arms.

He stood at parade rest some 5 meters away from Nyota, the L-langon mountains off in the distance over her shoulder. How and why they were on Vulcan was a mystery, one he chose not to ponder in favor of endeavoring to discover just why she was glaring at him so contemptuously. Studying her as closely as he was he did not immediately detect another presence until a soft coo emitted from the ground halfway between them. There sat a child—their child, he surmised—holding onto the wooden sehlat he had crafted for her with her chubby little hands.

"Talk to me, Spock!"

Nyota's shout arrested his attention again. He would gladly converse with her if given a topic to expound upon; however, judging by her demeanor he was uncertain that such a declaration as that was what she wanted to hear.

Casting about for something to say he attempted to open his mouth only to find his lips clamped shut. That was a startling discovery in and of itself but if he could not speak then he would simply meld with her instead. With great effort he tried to walk to her, lifting first one foot then the other, but they too were rooted to the spot. The only muscles currently under his control were his nostrils which flared violently now as he struggled against invisible bonds.

"Why won't you saying anything! Why won't you talk to me?" Their daughter, too, stared at him in confusion over his extended silence. "We can't fix the problem if you won't even talk to me about it!"

Nyota started impatiently tapping her foot when he still did not respond; even their child recognized the danger that single action foretold. She turned her worried eyes on him (so like her mother's) and he desperately sought to reach out and touch either of them to assure all was well.

But he could not. His entire body was fused in it's rigid posture save for the frantic breaths coming in through his nose. What was it that paralyzed him, that kept him from reaching them?

"She can't live like this, you know!" For the first time since this lopsided argument began Nyota gestured to their daughter, acknowledging her presence. "If you don't answer me," she threatened, "Then we're gone. I may have put up with the Vulcan silent treatment before but I refuse to stand by and watch my daughter suffer from it too!"

NO! It was the thing he feared most when he pondered his daughter's future. He wanted her to be able to live peacefully in both her parent's worlds, not be forced to choose between them as he had been forced to do. That Nyota was choosing for their child and choosing against him made the decision all the more painful.

Their daughter began to wail and stretched her arms out toward him looking for comfort. Every instinct screamed at him to take her, hold her, show and tell her how much he loved her, but his traitorous body would not submit.

With a shake of her head and exaggerated roll of the eyes Nyota stepped forward, scooped the infant up in her arms and calmly walked away, all while their daughter screamed and wriggled furiously in her grip.

"Sa-mekh! Sa-mekh! Sa-mekh!"

Only when they were mere specks in the distance did he discover what was holding him back: fear. His fear had forced Nyota away, kept her from knowing his true mind. Realizing this his limbs instantly thawed and he took off at a dead sprint but it was too late; his family were too far gone.

Spock sat bolt upright in bed, eyes stinging with moisture and the arm around Nyota flung back in haste to prevent further contact.

The dream—no, the nightmare—was portentous and the message crystal clear. He should have learned before never to go to sleep in such an agitated emotional state nor to shut his adun'a out as completely as he had. Without hesitation he gently shook Nyota awake. There was much they needed to discuss.