Expressionism, Part II

Spock loved plomeek soup. He would not admit it often, and only alluded to the dish's agreement with his palate, but Spock was quite certain his mother would imply that he loved it.

He suspected that his fondness for the dish had prompted his mother to prepare it for dinner. Plomeek soup, he reminded himself, was not a difficult meal to cook from scratch, as Amanda had taken the time to do, but it struck him as a bit peculiar that she had served the broth, traditionally a breakfast food, as an evening meal. Spock surmised that his mother's human circadian rhythm, which differed from the day cycles of Vulcan, might have influenced her decision to serve breakfast at night, though her sleep schedule had never disrupted meal choices previously. No, he decided, it was much more likely that she was attempting to improve his mood after witnessing his loss of control.

However, Spock also decided that his mother would instruct him to stop over-analyzing a happy occurrence. Instead, he focused his attentions fully on his father and mother exchanging accounts of one another's days. Sarek explained the particulars of a certain document the Vulcan elders had perused that day as Amanda listened intently, asking an occasional question.

"I notice a fleck of pigment on your neck, Amanda," Sarek noted. "What sort of projects did you invest yourself in today?"

"I painted," Amanda replied, a smile spreading across her face. Sarek inclined his head, indicating his wish for her to elaborate. "Abstract, mostly. Tempera on canvas," she explained. "Spock joined me for a while."

One of Sarek's eyebrows rose, and Spock cringed a bit at his father's obvious surprise. He wondered if his delving into his mother's practice could be seen as especially un-Surakian. "How did you find painting, Spock?"

Spock could only derive his father's surprise from slight changes in the mask-like expression. Spock knew that some of the more conservative Vulcans found painting, at least, the way his mother practiced, to be wholly illogical. Then again, they did not approve of humans in general, while his father had chosen to marry a human. Surely Sarek would not admonish Spock for simply experimenting with the exercise.

"It was a bit challenging at first, but I found the experience to be overall relaxing." Spock's eyes betrayed his slight nervousness, though he deduced that the likelihood his father would have a negative reaction was quite small.

"Did you also paint?" Sarek's smooth voice betrayed nothing, but the sparkle that remained alight in his mother's eyes allowed Spock to gauge that his father's curiosity was simply that.

"I chose to sketch with graphite pencils possessing varying degrees of hardness," Spock obliged.

Sarek raised an interested eyebrow, and Spock was instantly grateful that his father consciously attempted to use more obvious body language within the confines of the household. "If you'd like, Father, I could further explain after dinner as I show you the finished product," Spock offered.

"I believe that would be an agreeable course of action, Spock," Sarek returned. Spock felt strangely happy, but justified it as relief after being unwarrantedly nervous about his father's reaction to his afternoon activities. Additionally, he cited satisfaction resulting from his ingestion of a generous serving of warm plomeek soup.

After clearing the table, Spock and his parents adjourned to Amanda's studio. Spock noticed that the bottles, pallets, and brushes that had earlier haphazardly lain across the work space were cleaned and organized and the still-damp canvases were arranged about the room to dry. Sarek cast an appraising glance over his wife's work, and made eye contact with her briefly, making a flush rise to her cheeks. Spock started to analyze this, but was distracted when his father's attention focused on the pencil sketch on the table.

Spock found himself unusually tense as his father's eyes scanned the paper in front of him. Amanda stepped behind Spock, lightly laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his mother to find her smiling down at him reassuringly. If his mother, who had known his father for a significant period of time longer than he, could honestly reassure him, as evidenced in her expression, tainted only by happiness, then surely his anxiety was poorly founded.

For the next several minutes, Spock's father intermittently made comments about Spock's sketch. Sarek noted, among several other strong points, the natural strengths of composition in the subject Spock had chosen and with the accuracy with which Spock captured the external paneling. Though the positive aspects his father chose to mention were in no way over-stated, Spock noticed several weak features in his sketch that Sarek, for reasons Spock could not readily recognize, had purposely neglected. Spock realized that Sarek was most likely avoiding negative critique in order to avoid instigating further emotional distress. Whether this course of action had been requested by his mother or not, Spock decided not to venture a guess.

Instead, he studied a set of colored pencils. He felt a degree of shame with the knowledge that his mother had shared the news of his tantrum with his father. Spock knew that shame was illogical, especially considering that his father was one of the few beings who could help him master control. It was clear to Spock that the meditation exercises he had been recently practicing were inadequate, as evidenced by his outburst, however, he surmised that experimentation in his mother's techniques might help him curb his human tendencies toward rash expression of one's emotions.

With that in mind, Spock picked up the colored pencils. "Mother, I believe that before my bedtime meditation, it would be prudent of me to exercise your techniques again." While his mother nodded, and gave him a piece of paper, she also looked a bit worried if not confused. Furthermore, his father glanced at the colored pencils, then up at Spock with a slight air of skepticism. "I wish to deepen my understanding of this expressive meditation process, and to perhaps add it to my daily routine in order to avoid any future loss of emotional control." Spock lowered his head ever so slightly to the side, trying to mimic the movements he'd seen his father use while speaking to his mother as a cue to convey his wish for her to not misunderstand him. "I believe that it is wise to experiment in less traditional methods of meditation, as my lineage, itself, is less than traditional."

"That is a logical decision," Sarek replied with a nod. "Using art as an emotional outlet has worked well for your mother for many years."

"You're welcome to any of my supplies as long as you let me know first," Amanda added, a slight smile ghosting about the corners of her lips.

"It's getting late," his father noted. "If you have no further studies to attend to, I suggest that you meditate, then sleep."

"Thank you," Spock nodded to each parent. "Good night."

"Good night, Spock," his father replied.

"Good night, Spock" his mother replied. "We love you!"

Spock noted this addition as he walked to his room, pencils and paper in hand. He knew it was a human custom to return the sentiment, but when considered from a solely Vulcan perspective, the phrase was viewed as extraneous. Vocalizing that which was already known, through familial bonds, marital bonds, or otherwise, was seen by Vulcans to be elementary, unproductive, and even somewhat dishonorable. Even while considering that, however, Spock felt the return of a certain feeling, and this time he had no qualms about identifying it as happiness.

a/n- thanks always to my beta carynna. thank you also to those of you who put this story on alert or favorites. a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review. i have a few more bunnies in line for this work. cross your fingers for me! feedback would be most appreciated. as always, thank you for reading! xoxo-xan