I started this many years ago when I first wrote A Study in Humanity, but I was never quite happy with most of it. Since I've recently received many requests to see more Kirk & Amanda interaction, I was inspired to dig it out, realize how awful a lot of it was, discarded 90% of the first draft, re-watched TSFS and TVH, and started over twice. The resulting word vomit is as you see.

Please note: I have not yet seen Discovery or Strange New Worlds, and my writing is a loose interpretation of the Original canon, not the Extended canon. Suspend your belief accordingly, if you please.

I.

Amanda Grayson meets Captain James T. Kirk for the first time, in a manner of speaking, about three weeks after the Enterprise leaves Earth for its five-year mission. Sent as they are on the dot of midnight the first Friday of each Standard month, Spock's punctual, regular, and extremely impersonal written communiques to her are the first indication that something unusual may be afoot.

At first, there is simply a vague sense of frustration at the transition between Spock's former captain of over a decade and this new, clearly exceedingly different, commanding officer. She well knows her son is a creature of habit; and even for a Vulcan, upending a decade of habit is likely unsettling, to say the least. He had fallen into a sort of comfortable working relationship with Captain Pike, and while they had certainly not been close, he is likely feeling the transition and loss keenly.

To her surprise, however, said frustration has nearly vanished in the second missive, and is completely in absentia on the third. By the fourth, a most un-Vulcan sense of exasperated curiosity tinges his communications; and by the sixth, she suspects that her unstoppable force of a Vulcan son has met an equally immovable object in his new human captain. By the arrival of the eighth, it is quite clear, if somewhat incredible, that Spock has – horror of Vulcan horrors –actually made a human friend.

This is, as far as she knows, a momentous event in its rarity. Spock has always struggled to create a social circle: on Vulcan, in Starfleet Academy, aboard a starship. Even T'Pring, who had been one of extremely few suitable candidates for Spock's childhood bonding, did and still does not seem to really click with her son, to use a very human expression, either in person or over distance. He has never allowed this to really affect him, and seems to be perfectly content in that state of being; but no mother wishes her child to remain lonely for the entirety of his life.

And so, it makes her even more curious to know who this Jim person really is, that keeps creeping into Spock's letters home – letters which are, she notices after re-reading them chronologically, slowly growing warmer each time; sounding less like an official report and more like a conversation, as the months pass on.

What had been clinical accounts of Spock's work in the Science laboratories and the minutiae of operations aboard, have over time gradually faded into details of brief shore leaves, adventurous landing parties, midnight philosophy conversations over a chess board. Whereas her son had never shown visible interest in seriously advancing his career, preferring instead the satisfaction of scientific work to the relentless drive of a potential leadership position, this appears to be changing, even if the process is an arduous one.

The Galileo mission was not a success, to say the least, his last missive had detailed. I have discovered that it is far more difficult to command humans than I previously anticipated; particularly to command their respect, not simply compel their compliance. It is a skill I have not yet developed to an acceptable level, and Captain Kirk is as intolerant of this as he is of the aforementioned disrespect toward my admittedly poor performance in the role.

I have much work to do in understanding humans, if I am to perform above standard as First Officer.

Reading between the lines, it is not difficult to see that Spock's new tenure aboard the Enterprise is rapidly shaping up to be a very different experience from his first, as satisfying as he had clearly found that posting.

But this is different.

Both humans and Vulcans, in her observation, have always taken Spock's split heritage as invitation to force him into choosing one or the other, with a few rare exceptions among the scientific community, who recognize that having the advantage of human imagination would only benefit a Vulcan scientist.

It would be a rare thing indeed for someone, particularly a human, to accept him as he is – not Vulcan or human or both or neither, not a child of two worlds, but simply Spock.

Ironic, that such a pacifistic being of two worlds would be so vehemently against following in his father's diplomatic footsteps. She grows weary of being the neutral zone between father and son.

But time will tell, if this new captain can actually be trusted with her son's best interests, or if this 'intolerance' mentioned in the last message extends to Spock's Vulcan nature as well as his command potential. Her son has always been a gentle soul, more likely to concede ground than defend himself. Oh, he has always been prepared to stand up for others, certainly; but not so, for his own wellbeing.

She will be watching this young man very closely, even if it must be through her son's eyes only.

II.

Some months later, Amanda is much alarmed one quiet evening in the peaceful serenity of a three-day spa retreat to receive a live communique from Spock himself.

Alarmed, because soon after his initial posting to the Enterprise under Captain Pike, her son's live video-comms had trickled into solely written ones, due more to an inability to connect with her over multiple star systems and changing time zones rather than (she hopes, at least) a lack of desire to actually converse. She had accepted this change with equanimity, as befits one who understands the Vulcan Way, even if she at times has wished that Spock would prioritize speaking to her in person.

One must see a Vulcan, oft-times, to actually discern if there is emotional intent behind the words; she has found that written communication does not convey the wealth of information that an eyebrow does.

But what is, is. And so, for over a decade, she has contented herself with written communication only – until this evening. As Sarek is off-planet for a week, she had taken the opportunity for some self-care and reflection at a spa many kilometers from their home, the peace of which has now been shattered by the dread that something is very, very wrong.

But as the screen flickers into life before her, Spock immediately leans forward and hastens to say, "I am quite well, Mother," in a tone which indicates her panic is very much visible on her features.

She sighs, and leans back in her chair with relief, making good use of a paper fan. "My son, you could have given some warning, you know."

"This occurred to me just before you answered."

She smiles slightly at the apology she knows it is. "It is good to see you, Spock. How have you been?"

"I am…quite functional, Mother. Much has happened since we last spoke face to face."

To be clear, several years have happened, but she does not waste time in pointing this out, as he would not feel guilt and she would not wish him to.

"Indeed." She inclines an eyebrow ever so slightly. "But what, exactly, has happened which warrants you calling me directly? I am not so arrogant as to assume you simply wished to see your mother."

Spock shifts slightly in his seat, a guilty tell he never quite broke from troubled childhood, and making him uneasy was certainly not her intent.

"I am merely teasing you, Spock. You must live your own life, and I am pleased you are doing so. I do wish your father would feel the same, but I do not blame you for refusing to defend to him what should not require defending."

"Nevertheless," he says slowly, as if thinking over something. "I could, perhaps…improve this behavior if it would benefit you?"

She blinks in surprise, and then gives him a genuine smile, because it is a very significant change of mind, or possibly of heart. "I should like that, when it is convenient, Spock." His eyes brighten, clearly pleased at having in turn, pleased her. "Now, my son. What can I do for you?"

He hesitates slightly. "I have no wish to make a habit of requesting such favors," he finally begins, and it is quite strange, almost rambling, in its uncertainty.

"Spock, what do you need?"

He straightens, as if unconsciously coming to attention. "I wish to inquire if Sarek still owns a small secondary estate seven kilometers outside of Dzhaya'an'Kahr, at the foot of the mountains."

She tilts her head in genuine curiosity. "He does, Spock. Although I believe it has stood empty for more than five years now, as neither he nor I have much desire to holiday there."

Even after decades of living on the planet, she is still as intolerant as any human to the intense, almost unbearable heat of the desert regions for an extended period of time. And as for Sarek, well. The old Vulcan proverb to rest, is to rest aptly describes his distaste for what humans might call a vacation.

Spock straightens even further in the chair, as if steeling himself. "I would request the use of this estate for a period of seven days, beginning in four days' time. I am prepared to commensurately compensate Sarek for its usage."

"You will do nothing of the kind, Spock," she chides gently. "Whether you wish it or not, and however strained our relationship may be, our home will always be yours as well. This extends to any and all familial properties."

He regards her with the Vulcan equivalent of fondness. "Sarek may not agree with you, Mother."

"I will handle Sarek," she replies airily, waving a hand in peremptory dismissal. "Besides, he will not return to Vulcan for another twelve days, and as I said, the place has been empty for years. He will not even be aware of your presence."

"Then I thank you, Mother."

She regards him thoughtfully. "Spock, your distaste for recreational leave has always been quite clear. May I ask why you require such a retreat, at this time?"

Spock's eyes soften, even if he is likely unaware of the fact. "It is not my story to tell, Mother," he says quietly.

Interesting.

"Then I will not inquire further, my son. But is it accurate to say you will need the housekeeping staff to prepare for the arrival of two guests, not one?"

Slight hesitation. "That is accurate."

"You could just bring your friend to the estate home, Spock. As I said, Sarek will never know."

"He is not my –" Spock stops, as if for the first time evaluating the truth of the statement, and surprisingly changes it entirely. "I would prefer not to do this, Mother. Privacy is the primary reason behind my request."

"Well, all right, dear." He looks slightly skeptical of her easy acquiescence, and she merely blinks placidly back at him, well knowing it would be foolish to press him further. "Is that all you needed, my son?"

"Affirmative. But…I would not be averse to further conversation, if you are amenable?"

Well, well. The times are indeed changing. (1)

III.

The next time, it is through a third party that she receives a recorded communique from their immediate clan members on Vulcan, relayed through multiple subspace channels by the time it reaches her in the ambassadorial suite aboard the Endurance. Concerningly, it is not prefaced nor followed by any direct communication from Spock himself, short of a terse, fifteen-word text-communique saying he is alive and well.

She had been more than a little surprised, though not disappointed, by Sarek's declaration of intent to retire from active work, following this final negotiation between two feuding clans of distant Vulcan ancestry. He is rather young for retirement, but the last few years have also been exceedingly busy and increasingly stressful; and at any rate, she certainly will not mind being able to spend more time with him at home on Vulcan, rather than traipsing across the galaxy every few weeks.

Incidentally, for some reason Sarek continues to be blind to the irony that he is assisting other households to find peace, when he himself cannot apparently find the same with his own son.

But she digresses.

Because of this final mission, she and Sarek are many days' journey from Vulcan when the Enterprise drops out of warp unexpectedly over the planet and requests planetary visitation rights, due to Spock apparently going into a very premature Time.

This is a shock, and not a welcome one, as the taboo topic is nothing which any Vulcan wishes to be surprised with; and she suspects it has also wreaked havoc on what seems to be a very tightly-run starship.

But outside those factors, she had until now assumed that neither Spock nor T'Pring had really given the matter more thought over time than it being a future biological necessity, upon the consummation of which they might logically decide to part ways or continue as they had been. Certainly, neither had seemed to make plans for the event happening long before it should.

However, she has clearly been in error here, as it is now very obvious that T'Pring has actually given the matter far too much thought, over the years.

The entire affair (or lack thereof, if you will) is completely finished by the time she and Sarek receive the report from T'Pau, but it does not require Vulcan intuition to read between the lines, impersonal as the missive might be. She is more surprised to read that Spock had actually brought two humans to the planet with him, than that T'Pring had challenged. Such a thing is quite definitely not done, and it speaks volumes both of his mental state and his priorities. T'Pring was clearly not oblivious to this, and had adapted her immediate strategy accordingly, in the way that would afford her the most desirable outcome. It was quite logical, from her point of view.

Amanda does not entirely blame her for her actions, as the female has very few rights, if any, regarding the Time, particularly once the fever has already taken hold. But T'Pring had clearly been making plans for far longer than the few days' warning she had. Once she admitted to desiring Stonn, Spock would never have held her to a childhood bond against her will; and while by Vulcan law she could not have released herself from the betrothal prior to the challenge, Spock certainly could have.

There were, to put it simply, other ways to dissolve their relationship, and she had chosen not to even discuss them with the other party. Amanda suspects this is because their clan name carries great weight (and significant financial status) in Vulcan society, and T'Pring had only benefitted from having her name attached to it. If Spock died in the challenge, she would have by law inherited all; and if he did not, she would be released to seek another, as Spock would never want her. Amanda suspects she was actually counting on the former rather than the latter.

Clearly, Sarek is of the same mind, even if he does not say this aloud (his feelings over their marriage bond are quite clear, and somewhat distracting in their rare appearance). As disapproving as he is of Spock's chosen field of study, and despite not having spoken with his son in well over fifteen years, her husband is nonetheless quite logically incensed over T'Pring's handling of the matter, she notes with a private, vindictive satisfaction.

"I do not understand why the human agreed to the challenge, my wife," Sarek says as they discuss the matter over the evening meal. He is clearly mystified, in addition to uncomfortable with discussing such a taboo topic, but she had insisted upon using actual words rather than a mind-joining, and he had not denied her. "The laws are not binding upon an outworlder, and there was no logical reason for his involvement. He should not have even been present."

Amanda does not vocalize the obvious, that Spock clearly disagreed with this, and had the right to do so under Vulcan law.

"Perhaps he was concerned that Spock would not be in sufficient health to survive the challenge from a clear-headed Vulcan in peak physical condition," she suggests. "He might have thought disarming Spock was possible, not fully understanding it is a fight to the death."

"Then he is both ignorant, and a fool," Sarek replies bluntly.

"Perhaps." She picks up her tea, offering a look of practiced calm across the gilded rim of the cup. "Cultural ignorance does not equate to stupidity, Sarek, you know this. And I do not believe Spock would suffer the company of a fool."

"You have always been far too lenient with Spock's Vulcan shortcomings, Amanda."

"And you have always been far too ignorant of his human ones, my husband."

She feels a flicker of amusement across their marriage bond, despite his obvious disdain for the entire situation.

She sets the cup down with a delicate clink. "What is to be done about T'Pring?"

"T'Pring has brought dishonor upon our clan, and disrespect upon Spock's chosen profession, my wife." He offers her a hand which is clearly meant to be reassuring, and she takes it, clearly meaning to appear reassured. "I must remain focused upon the final negotiation table tomorrow; however, I shall deal with this personally when we return to Vulcan."

It is unnecessary to point out to him that for a Vulcan, that seems to be quite the emotional statement.

There is also no need for her to mention how very unlikely it is that Spock's fever would simply vanish after his victory, combat with an outworlder or not. Sudden dissipation of the physical symptoms is quite unheard-of, except in rare cases of extreme emotional shock forcing the body to reset the physical.

T'Pau had clinically noted the anomaly in her report, which had been surprisingly lacking in disapproval for the obvious displays of emotion their son had shown more than once during the events.

It is certainly not conclusive; but it is, in a word, fascinating.

IV.

It is a silent night in the recovery ward of the U.S.S. Enterprise's medical bay.

This has been a most eventful week, but one which is finally resolving into peaceful quietude. Well on his way to recovery, Sarek will be released to his own quarters the day after tomorrow; and Spock is supposed to return to light duty in the morning. They still have several days before they will reach the code-named Babel location, and so by the time they dock, both should be in relatively good health and spirits.

Captain Kirk had returned to full duty earlier in this day, amid much grumbling from his Chief Medical Officer. No doubt the man could do with another day or two of recovery, but she has noted in her brief observations thus far, a sort of dogged stubbornness that could give any Vulcan a run for his or her money. It is not surprising that he made his somewhat gleeful escape from Sickbay as soon as possible, sparing only a single pitying shrug in the direction of her still-bedbound son before leaving him to the good doctor's ministrations.

Spock has, surprisingly, been calm and compliant with the majority of Doctor McCoy's orders, although she can tell he is rapidly losing patience with the lingering weakness and ongoing anemia from the experimental drug regimen which had saved Sarek's life days before. McCoy, to his credit, seems to realize the same despite Spock's expressionless demeanor, and makes himself scarce for most of the day, only popping in to say goodnight and warn Spock (as well as his parents) that the doctor would know if there was an escape attempt during the night.

Spock had proceeded to feign sleep through the entire charade, which she found most hilarious. (When she commented on their son's actions, Sarek intoned that he quite understood the temptation.)

Now, nearing midnight and the ship quiet all around, she is attempting some meditation to calm her mind enough for slumber. Sarek has been well and truly unconscious of his surroundings for more than two hours, and there have been no sounds from the other recovery cubicles or the outer ward for some time; so when the outermost door of the medical ward opens, the sound seems incredibly loud and startling, even if it is barely a whisper of sliding durasteel.

This is followed by quick but extremely quiet footsteps, far unlike Doctor McCoy's authoritative stride, and a shadow passes their unlit cubicle before continuing to the next, where Doctor McCoy had left a single light dimmed to a comforting glow.

A murmur of voices comes from the small room, and without thinking, she closes the few steps' distance to see why her son is being so disturbed when he should be resting. She cannot imagine Doctor McCoy having given anyone permission to awaken his patient.

But a clear and very much amused voice brings her up short, still hidden in the shadows of the darkened corridor.

"It's just me, you can stop pretending to be asleep." This is followed by an indistinguishable mutter and an indignant "And I got past the night nurse without being seen, thank you very much."

A patient sigh, which she can hardly believe came from her unexpressive son. "Captain, Doctor McCoy was most explicit in his instructions for your recovery. They do not include midnight shipwalks or what I can only assume was an unscheduled inspection of the experimental Botany laboratories."

Most curious now, she moves a little closer, still well hidden but able to see inside the dimly lit cubicle. Spock is still safely abed, she is pleased to see, although his face is half in shadow, turned as it is toward the door with an expression she would call the desire to laugh on a human.

And Captain Kirk is standing between Spock and the doorway, holding what looks to be a ridiculously large flowering fern, over which bright purple blossoms his eyes must barely be visible. She stifles a laugh of her own, despite her initial annoyance at his intrusion.

"I bring you recovery flowers, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You have brought an entire ecosystem, Jim. Into a sterilized Sickbay cubicle."

Kirk grins and places the pot down in the closest corner with a careful thud. "I thought you'd want to see the thing, considering you've been working on it for ten weeks and it only blooms for six hours a year. It has impeccable timing, I must say."

"Indeed. I would have been satisfied with a dimensional rendering, but I believe a human would say it is the thought which matters." The tone is tinged with exasperation, but she can definitely hear an undercurrent of amusement and, dare she even think the word – fondness.

"Sulu took pictures before I absconded with it," Kirk reassures him cheerfully, perching on the edge of the bed instead of using the perfectly functional chair beside it. "You'll have a full report in the morning, and he'll come get the thing before it sheds the flowers. Bones will never know."

Spock mutters something she cannot quite hear, which triggers a hearty laugh in response. "I'll take my chances. Really, though, I'm glad he's releasing you tomorrow. I will be happy to have you back on the Bridge."

"And in the Visitors' Rec Room, I presume," Spock replies dryly.

"This afternoon was not my fault, and it's been dealt with. The Corollian ambassador has been duly informed he is not permitted to indulge in his hookah in a publicly accessible area."

"I am pleased to hear it."

Kirk's rueful amusement fades slightly into a weary sigh. "In all seriousness, I will be making a recommendation in my report that we nominate a better-equipped ship to perform the clandestine civilian ferry mission next time. There are too many species for a ship this size to accommodate safely, much less comfortably. It isn't fair to any of us, but most of all to them."

"I will not make an opposing recommendation, as I believe your assessment to be correct."

A light chuckle, and the captain slides off the bio-bed and back to his feet. He is moving a little stiffly, but is nowhere near as graceless as he had been two days before, overextending his recovery.

Still, Spock's inclined eyebrow is clearly admonishment enough, and Kirk scowls good-naturedly.

"Don't start with me, mister. See if I bring you flowers again, next time you're stuck in here."

"I have no intention of requiring Doctor McCoy's attentions to such an extent a second time, sir."

"See that you don't," Kirk replies almost absently, rummaging about in a nearby cabinet for a moment and then emerging with what looks like an extra Medical-issue blanket in soft shades of burgundy. He brandishes it dramatically at the bed before shaking it out and letting it fall in a sloppy arc of soft knit. "And tell the man you tend to freeze in here overnight if you're meditating, for pity's sake. It is not logical to suffer in silence just because you don't want to worry him."

A tolerant sigh, and Spock's eyes close again. "As you wish."

"Hmf. Lights, five percent." The dim glow fades even more to a gentle halo around each wall sconce, nothing more. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She fades back into the shadows, as she has seen and heard enough.

V.

A few days later, it is the last evening of their stay aboard the Enterprise, for they arrive at the code-named Babel location the next standard morning.

Despite the terrifying events of the last week, she cannot bring herself to regret making the journey, now that all involved are safe, well, and actually able to remain in the same room without devolving into very uncivil familial argument. She has no real function in such a voyage, save to assist in balancing Sarek's state of mind, but she does not consider the trip a waste of her time, all things considered.

Certainly, she will rest easier knowing that while Sarek and his son may not actually like each other, they have at the least mellowed into a state of reciprocal respect. She really cannot ask for more.

She has not seen much of Spock today, as pre-docking responsibilities have, according to his kind but firm messages declining mid-day and evening meals with her, taken up much of his time, particularly with Captain Kirk only just now returning to full active duty. While she has no doubt at this point that the captain would excuse Spock from his responsibilities without a second thought, given how competent this crew is, she suspects Spock himself requires the return to normality. He has always been so, and she has disrupted his routine enough for one fortnight.

However, when the computer locates him within his own cabin this evening, she does not hesitate to stop and request entrance. If nothing else, he will appreciate being given her far too human, far too emotional farewell in private, rather than in the public shuttle bay tomorrow.

The door opens in invitation when she chimes for entrance, and he stands quickly from behind the desk to greet her.

"I am sorry for disturbing you, my son."

"You are no disturbance," he replies readily enough, gesturing toward the small sitting area with a questioning tilt of the head.

The words seem genuine to her eye, untrained as she still is in recognizing this calm, self-assured version of the uncertain and slightly rebellious young Vulcan who had left their home well over a decade earlier.

"Thank you, Spock. But I will not linger. I simply wished to bid you goodbye with a little privacy." She shakes her head ruefully. "It has been…brought to my attention that I have embarrassed you before your crewmen enough for one journey, hm?"

"I do not require Sarek's oversight of my emotional state, or lack thereof," Spock responds, with a twitch of eyebrow that she knows signifies purely Vulcan annoyance. "And you are quite capable of making your own behavioral choices without his input, Mother."

"Yes, yes, your feminism does you credit, my son. But I too, am a diplomat, Spock. One chooses one's battles with care, in these matters."

Given that Sarek is about to have unleashed upon him what she believes Doctor McCoy would call "a shuttleload" of human anger over hiding a serious medical condition from her for weeks, as soon as they are out of earshot of any other delegates and the negotiations no longer requiring his full concentration…yes, battle is the most appropriate word.

Spock seems to read some of this on her face, for his lips twitch suspiciously. "Then I stand corrected, Mother."

"Indeed you should." She smiles, then, as the cause is sufficient. "It has been good to see you, Spock. Truly."

He inclines his head in agreement, which is more emotionality than she'd expected.

"And perhaps, it need not be a decade before we meet in person again?" she asks, slightly more pointedly. "I am under no illusions that you and Sarek have completely set aside your differences; but at the least, I can assure you he will no longer be so vocally in opposition to your work here."

"You seem to be far more confident in that eventuality than I."

"Oh, I am." Her smile turns slightly mischievous. "I have my ways of ensuring his compliance, Spock."

His ears-tips turn slightly green. "I believe humans call that 'over-sharing,' Mother."

She refrains from laughing, out of respect for being a guest in his cabin, and simply pats his arm briefly before stepping back. "At any rate. You are content, here? Among these humans, and serving on this ship?"

"I am." The words are simple, yet unhesitating, and she beams.

"Then I am pleased to hear it, Spock. Human as it is, happiness is all I have ever wished for you, you know."

"I do know. You have always been remarkably and directly communicative, for a human."

At thiat, she raises an eyebrow in question. "Am I to deduce from this, that some humans of your acquaintance are not so directly communicative, Spock?"

"I do not believe that to be a deduction worthy of your intelligence, given my observation of the species as a whole."

"On behalf of the species, I believe I have just been insulted." He does not look at all amused, and so she hides her own mirth, at least temporarily. "Spock, is there something you wish to talk about?"

"I would…value your advice, in a matter," he admits, with unusual hesitation.

"Well, I am of course at your disposal, my son." She takes the seat across the desk from him, knowing he will appreciate the barrier in the event of an emotional topic. "Tell me about it."

"I have…" He pauses, and clearly chooses his words carefully. "Unintentionally strained a relationship with a human, and do not understand what in my actions could cause this."

"That is remarkably unspecific, Spock."

Spock's eyes flick almost imperceptibly to the side of the room – the wall adjoining the next-door cabin, not the door to the corridor – which only confirms her growing theory.

"Oh, Spock. What exactly did you say to him?"

"To whom?"

"You only just mentioned my intelligence, so kindly do not insult it," she replies, looking pointedly across the desk. "You are not the first Vulcan to say something insensitive to the one human whose opinion they actually value, dear."

A minute sigh, nearly imperceptible. "It would appear to be not what I said, but rather what I did not."

"Meaning…?"

"I did not disclose my relationship with you and Sarek to anyone aboard, prior to your boarding the Enterprise."

"Ah." She schools her expression to avoid any semblance of amusement. "And this omission was not well received by the parties involved?"

"Apparently. I was only apprised of this a full week after the fact." This last, as close to a disgruntled mutter as a Vulcan can possibly be.

It is adorable, though she would never say so.

"I see. And this has resulted in conflict between the relevant parties?"

"Of a sort." Spock looks at her pointedly. "You, conversely, do not seem at all surprised. Clearly I am missing key variables in the equation."

"Well, yes." She waves a hand to dismiss his incredulous look. "Spock, it is likely a matter of human custom; that is no reflection on you."

Slightly mollified, he nods. "I had already presumed as much. Please specify."

"Of course, my son. Simply said, the introduction of one's…relationships, as you put it, to one's immediate family members, has rather more significance to a human than to a Vulcan."

"I do not understand."

"Indulge me in a thought experiment, Spock. Tell me, what do you know about your captain's immediate family?"

"He does not speak of them often," he supplies readily enough. "His father died during the first year of the Enterprise's mission, but they had grown apart over time and it did not appear to unduly distress him. His mother currently lives on Earth, and is in reasonable health."

"Siblings, romantic partners?"

"His elder brother and sister-in-law died late last year, in the Denevan star system. His youngest nephew, their child, now lives on Terra with the senior Mrs. Kirk. To my knowledge, he has had only a few serious romantic partners, and none since he accepted captaincy of the Enterprise." Spock tilts his head quizzically. "May I ask why you find this information necessary?"

"Humor me a moment longer, Spock. I assume that you did not see fit to disclose your relationship with T'Pring to him until she forced your hand, so to speak?"

"There was no reason to do so, particularly as the topic is Unacceptable to speak of with an outworlder."

"And you also did not mention your parents were coming aboard now, because it had no relevance to your work here or the Babel mission, correct?"

"That is correct. No one on the Enterprise would have behaved in a different manner, had the knowledge been public, and I had no idea if Sarek would even acknowledge my presence. It was simply not pertinent to the mission."

"And outside the mission?"

Spock blinks. "I do not follow."

"To a human, in a non-professional context, meeting one's family is considered to be an indication of how serious a relationship is, Spock." She tilts her head meaningfully. "This refers to a relationship of any sort. It is…an unspoken human custom, if you will. A desire for the people we care for, to approve of the other people we care for. Sharing information about one's family is also a significant indicator of trust, among humans."

"Fascinating." She can fairly see the wheels spinning.

"You would have no real way of knowing this."

"Obviously."

"But you can at least in the abstract, understand how a human might receive the situation?"

"You are intimating that, by not disclosing my familial connection to two of the Babel delegates, I…"

"Unwittingly indicated that your regard for your…friendship, is that what you call it? With your captain, is not as serious as he clearly thought it was?"

Spock's eyes widen, like a cornered animal.

"Yes, my son. That is likely how it appeared, to a human."

"That was not my intention. Nor is it an accurate representation of reality."

"No, I didn't think it was," she replies, with a small smile. "Perhaps you should directly communicate that to him, Spock."

"I acknowledge and respect your advice." He sits back, clearly pondering this. "At any rate –"

The slight hiss of a door opening behind her – no, to the right, it is the adjoining door – sparks what looks like a very controlled Vulcan panic in her son's eyes.

"Soooo, I come bearing apology tea, because I had no right to lose my temper like that over – aheh."

Frozen just in sight of the desk, Captain James T. Kirk blinks at the tableau over two steaming mugs of what must be Vulcan spice tea, judging by the familiar smell. His eyes flick over to Spock's resigned expression, back to her, and back-and-forth again, and then he clearly turns up the wattage on that ridiculous charm, proffering one cup to her with a dramatic flourish.

"Tea, Amanda?"

She allows herself a single unladylike snort of amusement, and rises from the chair, declining the mug with a gentle gesture. "That might have worked on me thirty years ago, Captain, but I am not so young and foolish now."

"I would have been, and am, flattered. Ma'am."

He winks at her, taking the non-verbal cue to appropriate her chair, and shoves one of the mugs across the desk, sending it rattling precariously close to a data-padd. Spock eyes the steaming drink like it's a very large arachnid, and then the desk-top as if debating the merits of applying his head to it repeatedly.

"All levity aside, I really didn't intend to interrupt," Kirk adds, strangely hesitant. He glances back across the desk, then returns his attention to her.

"Nonsense, Captain. I believe we were nearly finished, were we not, Spock?"

Spock's eyebrows clearly say he does not appreciate being abruptly thrown under the proverbial shuttlecraft, but there is still tolerant fondness in the look.

She is not entirely sure which of them it is directed at; but then again, it does not truly matter, does it?

VI.

If one good thing had come out of Sarek's reconciliation with his son, it might be that she no longer feels the need to resort to subterfuge when conversing with Spock, due to her desire to mitigate unnecessary conflict.

Oh, Sarek had always very much known better than to do something so drastic as forbidding her to speak with her son, but just the same. Even when Spock had, shortly before the Babel voyage, begun on rare occasion to call her instead of simply sending messages, she found it less frustrating to receive them in private, to avoid the silent disapproval she could very much feel coming from her stubborn husband.

But now, she reads Spock's letters in the evening, while they unwind (if it can be called that, in a Vulcan household), and on very rare occasion, Sarek will ask about Spock's well-being, and that of his fellow Starfleet officers. To an outsider, the relationship likely appears quite cold and distant; but she knows better, and this is an almost miraculous turn of events which she very much enjoys.

And due to this newfound familiarity, she does not deem it the dangerously emotional act it might have been considered two years ago, when she decides to attempt a live communique with Spock, to wish him a happy birth-day.

Like all Vulcans, Spock does not observe the date of his birth, as it is quite illogical to celebrate an event in which he took no active part. However, he has always been tolerant of her desire to do so, going so far as to justify his allowances as it being far more logical to celebrate one's mother for a date of birth, than one's self.

She privately suspects he is simply indulging her, but she will not look a gift sehlat in the mouth, as the saying goes.

Spock answers the comm with a tiny frown line between his eyebrows, no doubt puzzled at the diversion from normality in her actively reaching out.

"Mother." His voice is very quiet, and he moves quite close to the screen, clearly in an effort to keep it so. "Are you well?"

"I am, my son. Your father is, too. I am sorry if I alarmed you by calling directly." She has modulated her own tone accordingly to match his, but is somewhat curious. "Is this an inconvenient time, Spock?"

"Negative, provided the volume of our conversation is kept relatively low." Spock turns the computer screen briefly to the side for her benefit, giving her a sweeping arc of the room, and back again to the view of the desk.

She raises an eyebrow, refraining from a more human expression of surprise. "Spock, why is your captain asleep on your sofa?"

Spock actually sighs, clearly audible due to his proximity to the screen. "We are two days behind in the Enterprise's annual crew evaluations, due to an…incident, last week, on a landing party." His eyes dart to the side, and then back again. "Sickbay has not proven conducive either to his recovery or the privacy needed for completing these evaluations. We were attempting to accomplish both this evening, with limited success, as you can see."

"I do recall you saying he does not sleep well under Doctor McCoy's gentle ministrations in your Sickbay."

Spock's lips twitch, though he makes no other indication of amusement. "Indeed. As he is typically an exceedingly light sleeper and your initial call did not wake him, it would be indicative that adaptation has been successful."

"Of course, my son. I can simply call back tomorrow?"

"That is unnecessary, but if it is your preference, I will make the time."

She hides a smile. "You still will do nearly anything to get out of my wishing you a happy birthday, won't you?"

"I maintain that all associated customs are most illogical."

"Well, I will not argue that point, Spock. But just the same, I –"

Her words are abruptly and alarmingly cut off by what sounds like an explosion on the other end of the connection, followed by a crash off-screen and a strangled sound of surprise and pain. The entire screen before her jerks to the side, the view wildly distorted as the camera attempts to stabilize, moving in and out of focus on the chair, another computer monitor, the polished desk-top. Reddish light suddenly starts blinking on and off, somewhere off-screen.

A blur of blue disappears as the camera starts to reset itself, skewed to the left and fixed on the wall with its blinking red light rather than the now-empty desk chair.

"Captain, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I just…tried to catch myself with the wrong hand." A shrill, urgent chirp sounds from somewhere close to the computer monitor. "I need a minute. Get that, please."

Much relieved that it does not seem to be an urgent emergency, she settles back in her chair to wait.

Footsteps, and then a mechanical click, much closer now; likely the depressing of a comms switch on the desk keyboard. "Spock here. Lieutenant-Commander Scott, would you care to explain what precisely is happening in Engineering."

She hides a laugh, knowing the sound would be distracting. But he sounds positively dangerous, and it is so unusual that she is quite eager to hear his crewmates' reactions.

From somewhere off-screen, Captain Kirk seems to think the same, because a faint chuckle drifts over to them. "Play nice, Spock. He's the only Chief Engineer we have."

"Judging by the increasing frequency of these malfunctions as we traverse the nebula, he may be the only one we shall ever have."

A snort, followed by a brief scuffling that ends with the captain's voice having moved much closer. "Thank you. Kirk to Engineering – I need a report, Scotty, what happened."

"Ahhhhh well sir, I'm still lookin' into it! We blew a compressor valve, but that shouldn't've caused the rest. The computer dropped us out of warp with no warning, sir, that's a basic safety protocol that triggered the red alert. But I'm still trying to figure out why we dropped."

"Casualties?"

"Nothing serious down here, sir."

"Damage report," Kirk says, in a much quieter tone, and there is the clicking of keys on a data-padd.

"No indication of serious casualties, no major damage to all decks. Sickbay deems the incident a level seven, no higher. The last three were much worse."

"That's something, at least. The red alert is just an automation, then, no outside factors?"

"Correct. It is standard procedure with any unscheduled drop from a speed higher than Warp Three."

The comm chirps again, and there's another click. "Go ahead, Mr. Scott."

"Sir, I still dunno what triggered the drop, but on first glance it does look like it's not just the gravitational anomaly, there's a possible issue with our secondary power couplings."

A very human sigh. "Of course there is. You did warn me last week."

"Aye, so I did, but I also thought we'd have until we dock at Starbase Eleven to replace the necessary parts, so that's on me, sir. I'll have a full report for you by the time you get down here."

"Understood. On my way."

There is a click as the channel closes, and a few seconds of red-hued silence broken only by what sounds like too-heavy, painful breathing.

"Captain. May I ask how you intend to navigate to Engineering, when the turbolifts are offline for scheduled maintenance for another seventeen-point-four minutes, and you have but one working arm with which to descend eight decks' worth of Jefferies tube ladders?"

Ah, that explains the sling, which she had seen in that brief glance earlier.

A muffled groan. "I forgot about the turbolifts."

"As well as Doctor McCoy's strict instructions that you were to remain off of active duty for another three days, presumably."

"Oh, I didn't forget about that one," Kirk replies, sounding amused. "I was just hoping you did, Mr. Spock."

"I most certainly did not." A brief scuffling noise, an aborted noise of protest, and her view is suddenly obstructed by command gold.

"You are very fortunate I have no energy to argue with you right now." Despite his evident amusement, Kirk's face is deathly pale, lips pressed tightly together as he settles back stiffly.

"That would indeed be foolish."

"If it's going to delay us more than a week –"

"I am aware of the consequences for such an eventuality, and am capable of communicating them to Starfleet Command and Starbase Eleven. I will handle it, Jim."

The captain exhales unsteadily and nods, eyes now closed.

"I shall return shortly."

Amanda wonders in mild amusement which of them he is addressing. Possessing an eidetic memory, there is no way he has forgotten she is still connected via subspace comm, so he is either giving her the option to remain on the line to continue their conversation upon his return, or he is actually asking her to remain to keep an eye on his human captain.

Considering how stubborn she remembers this particular human to be, she suspects the latter.

However, she also remembers a good deal of professional pride in his image, as befits the captain of such a starship, and so after silence follows Spock's departure from the room, she clears her throat to notify Kirk of her presence in the gentlest way possible.

He still starts visibly, eyes flying open in an instant.

"My apologies, Captain," she says, not without amusement at his chagrined expression. "The human dislike of being observed unawares, has clearly escaped my son's notice."

A genuine laugh, low and pleasant. "Clearly." He reaches forward to carefully move the computer screen back into position without jostling the arm bound in a tight sling close to his body. "How are you, Amanda?"

She returns his smile in kind, a pleasant gesture she rarely indulges in given her constant proximity to Vulcans. "Much better than you appear to be, Captain."

"It's nowhere near as serious as everyone seems to think. But I'm sorry your conversation was cut short. I am but a poor substitute right now, I fear."

"Nonsense, Captain. My call was merely to indulge myself, at any rate."

Despite the fatigue, his eyes dance with amusement. "May I guess: Celebrating the date of one's birth is incredibly self-centric and illogical?"

"Indeed." She is less surprised that he is aware of Spock's feelings on the matter, and more surprised that he managed to wrangle the actual date out of her secretive son at some point. "He has always felt this way."

"That is a Vulcan opinion, then, not simply his personal preference?"

"As a rule, yes. Celebrating one's self is a rather emotional action, after all."

"I suppose so."

"Captain, Spock mentioned an…incident? On a landing party recently?"

"An accident, not an incident," he corrects, but not unkindly. "I assure you, there is a considerable difference between them, on this ship."

"Indeed?"

"Most definitely. Incidents are typically preventable, and accidents typically are not." He flicks an almost unconscious look at the door, and back again. "He is just annoyed I had made him stay on the Bridge at the time, since it was purely a survey mission and we were already behind in the Science evaluations."

"Annoyance. A human emotion, Captain?"

A small smile tugs at his expression. "On the contrary, it was very much Vulcan annoyance, as our unfortunate Security team discovered after beam-up. I believe all involved would have preferred the human version."

What sounds like a wall-comm suddenly squawks into life. Spock to Bridge, stand down red alert. Prepare to return to Warp Four at Mr. Scott's command.

"Well, that is good news." As the light stops its obnoxious blinking, relief seems to wash over him in an almost visible wave, and she frowns.

"Captain, I will certainly be unoffended if you retire for the evening. I daresay you might need the rest."

But as if triggered by her observation, all traces of weariness suddenly vanish with a fluid rapidity that a Vulcan might be proud of. On a human, it is slightly disturbing."While I appreciate the concern, we do have several hours of work left to do in documentation of these evaluations."

"Indeed?"

Mid-sentence, something seems to catch his attention, and he leans over slightly to peer at it. "I stand corrected," he then adds dryly. "Apparently only my signature is required now." He does not seem at all perturbed about the fact, only amused. "One would think it was my birthday."

"Is my son in the habit of this, Captain?"

Kirk's eyes flick to her sharply. "Of doing my paperwork for me?"

She smiles at his guardedness, unnecessary though it is. "Of recognizing your date of birth, Captain."

"Oh." He fairly beams, radiating warmth like a star. "Well yes, actually. It is a point of contention between us."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he is permitted to give birthday gifts, and I am not permitted to reciprocate, because birthdays are an entirely human custom and abhorrent to the Vulcan Way," he replies, not without humor.

"Oh, dear."

"When I responded by saying according to that logic, he should at least accept a gift half of the time, perhaps on odd-numbered years? I was met with a considerable lack of enthusiasm and a merciless checkmate in seven moves." He glances toward the door as if to evaluate the possibility of being overheard, and then his eyes dance back to her, sparkling with mischief. "So, we compromised."

"How so?"

"He does what he wishes, and I pretend to accept it. I then reciprocate with something on his half-birthday, for my own amusement. He has yet to catch on, or else is simply tolerating the idiosyncrasies of the poor emotional human."

She laughs at that; it is so unexpected. But this small bit of knowledge warms her heart. It bodes well for Spock that someone has taken the time to respect his wishes, and yet somehow find a middle ground, coming one step closer to bridging the chasm between his dual natures without making him uncomfortable. It is a rare skill, and one to be respected.

There, too, is the knowledge that however tolerant Spock has been of her own recognition of the day, he has never felt the need to reciprocate on her own birth-date. She certainly had never expected him to, but the knowledge that he has voluntarily done so, and apparently regularly, for this one human is certainly…noteworthy.

Thr sound of a sliding door is followed by a rush of noise from the corridor, lasting but a moment before being muffled once more.

Kirk leans forward, elbow on the desk and chin in hand, and blinks innocently at her before slyly casting his gaze off-screen, his voice slightly louder as he speaks. "Well, I for one appreciate the baby pictures, Amanda, they were quite enjoyable."

Her exclamation of protest is buried under his laughter at what must be a suitably horrified expression on Spock's face. Her son appears behind Kirk a moment later, posture ramrod-straight, and he does not look amused as he hands a data-padd and what appears to be a hypospray down to his seated captain.

"Spock, I would never do such a thing without good reason," she says solemnly.

"I would sincerely hope not, Mother."

"Mmhm, because hope is not a human emotion at all," Kirk murmurs, with a suspiciously intense scrutiny of the padd's report. The hypospray, he has discarded on the desk without a second look.

She stifles the urge to giggle at the Vulcan glare which is directed at the back of Kirk's head. The man himself remains blissfully unaware, scrawling a very sloppy signature across the screen with his uninjured left hand and then dropping it on the desk.

"Twelve hours' delay is much better than I expected." He glances up with what looks like relief.

"Indeed. Mr. Scott assures me that they will be able to repurpose one of the machinery replicating units to create what he is calling a jury-rigged solution that should permit us to continue at current speed to Starbase Eleven with no increased risk of further damage to essential systems."

"This is why we don't bother to do an annual evaluation on him, as he has eternal job security."

"Affirmative. Captain." Spock nods toward the hypospray, carelessly discarded on the desk. "You will utilize that, or I will summon Doctor McCoy."

Amanda blinks in surprise, for the tone is actually quite fond, almost teasing, if on its surface lacking the respect due to a commanding officer.

"Indulge my curiosity - was he a bossy child?" Kirk asks her in an exaggerated undertone, all wide-eyed innocence.

"I believe in this case I must decline to answer, Captain. As the wife of a diplomat, I'm sure you understand that I cannot be seen taking sides."

A brief snort of laughter, and the man stands up, swiping the cartridge from the desk-top with an unnecessarily demonstrative gesture. "Happy now?" he asks over his shoulder.

"I am pleased I will not be forced to suffer Doctor McCoy's irascible presence for the second time in a thirty-minute period, if that is your inquiry."

"Well, that's close enough," Kirk responds with a grin. "Good night, Amanda. I enjoyed speaking with you."

"And I with you, Captain." She watches as the man moves out of sight of the desk, followed shortly by her son.

"Yes, yes, I'm going," Kirk's amused voice lilts from closer to the door. "I am perfectly capable of picking up after myself with one arm, thank you."

Spock's reply is inaudible to the computer's sensors, but she hears a lighthearted agreement in response before the sound of a sliding door. Her son returns a moment later to the desk.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mother."

"Apologies are illogical, my son; particularly when I quite enjoyed the wait. Your captain was most informative."

"I believe I should be somewhat concerned."

"A human emotion, Spock?"

"Negative. An entirely logical sense of self-preservation."

"Well, we'll agree to disagree there, dear."

VII.

She had not been expecting the call, per se, but nor does it surprise her when it comes. She is seated at her writing desk, Sarek reading something by the window, when the transmission arrives, chirping insistently on the computer before her.

"Is he all right?" Kirk demands immediately, without extraneous greeting.

"Good morning, Admiral."

The title is still strange, and from the look of him, it feels equally strange to him. She suspects this has not been a welcome transition. That is no excuse for a lack of courtesy, but her admonishment is gentle enough.

"I'm sorry, I just – he did go home, right?"

She blinks at the screen in confusion, and a growing sense of alarm. She glances quickly at Sarek, who seems equally bemused, if slightly less concerned.

"He did not tell you?"

"No." She can fairly see the realization dawn on his expressive face, and it is a horrible, swamping wave of dread – like light being absorbed into a black hole, a star winking out of existence. "No, he very much did not. He was just…gone, this morning, when I went by. His 'Fleet quarters are completely empty, his resignation was filed last week, and he left no forwarding address."

She closes her eyes briefly, praying for patience.

"I mean…I knew it was a possibility, but I thought he was just considering it as one of many options," the young admiral almost rambles, staring off-screen at what is likely nothing in the middle distance. "I even said I'd support whatever he needed to do, to find peace." He passes a hand over his face briefly. "One of us should find some, at any rate."

"Admiral –"

"He didn't, however, explain just what this kolinahr is," Kirk adds, fairly radiating controlled frustration. "And by the time I did my own research, well."

"He had already left," she supplies with a sigh. "Admiral, my son's behavior is…unjustifiable, Vulcan or not. I am very sorry."

"Do not apologize for him, Amanda. He would certainly not do the same." The words are almost cold, frozen in a rictus of calm, deadly anger. "I suppose, all things considered, he did not want to start this…journey to enlightenment, with an emotional human goodbye."

This last, delivered in a tone of bitter desolation, breaks her heart. She knows it is far more likely that Spock realized he would never be able to leave, if he could see what she sees now.

"It is permanent, isn't it," Kirk asks miserably. "The process, if he is successful. It purges all emotions. Not controls them, it completely destroys the ability to feel them."

Reluctant, she nods. "It is irreversible once completed, yes. I have met a few of the honored beings who have achieved it, and I do admit it suits them. You have only to look at them to see that they are at peace, and that it was likely badly needed. That is why," she adds, raising a hand to stop him from interrupting in protest, "I have some hope that Spock will fail, Admiral."

"Really?"

"Very much so, though I cannot answer for his reasons in pursuing the ritual. You knew him better than I ever will."

Kirk looks surprised at this; had he really not known? Spock has failed in more ways than one, if that is the case.

"But I do know that kolinahr is not right for Spock, and it would not suit him. And if that is the case, if it is not meant for him, then he will never achieve it. And for what it is worth," she adds, after flicking a glance at her husband, who is studiously pretending not to listen, "Sarek agrees with me, in that we do not believe he can achieve this."

"Nothing says he won't spend decades making the attempt, though," Kirk replies wryly. "He is the most stubborn being I have ever met. And I have known Doctor McCoy for over a decade now."

She cannot find it in herself to laugh, even if that was likely his intention. Spock has erred, here, and he has likely shattered the strongest shield he has ever held to defend his dual nature.

"Well. I am sorry for bothering you so early, it's barely 0500 there, isn't it?" Kirk shakes his head, looking somewhat lost. "I didn't even realize. I just…assumed he would at least check in with you, before..."

"Before attempting to bury his humanity forever?" she supplies wryly. "Would that he had done so. I would certainly have given him a piece of my human mind accordingly."

A broken laugh, and Kirk sits back in his chair, just looking at her for a moment in resignation. "I don't know what to do now," he says, and it sounds for all the world like a lost child.

"That is just one more thing you share with my son, Admiral. I believe he likely is just as lost."

"Yes, well. Some of us can't run home and purge our emotions so that we can move on with our lives, now can we."

She raises a reproving eyebrow, and he shakes his head, making a helpless gesture at the screen. "I am sorry, that was inappropriate."

"A bit, yes. But not incorrect, for all that."

His lips twitch in mild amusement. "Thank you for allowing me to get some answers, at least."

"They should have come from Spock, Admiral, but I am always pleased to speak with you." She leans forward slightly, to emphasize her next words. "And whether Spock is successful in his quest or not, you will always be welcome on Vulcan."

"Despite the…events, of my last visit?"

"T'Pring was not a fitting addition to my house, Kirk. You are forgiven." Sarek's deep voice from behind startles them both, judging from the faint spluttering on the other end of the comm.

The admiral looks very much like he wants to laugh, but can't quite summon the energy. "Well, in that case. I don't know that I will have opportunity to take you up on the offer, but I thank you. Both."

She bids him farewell, and possibly goodbye; for she does not doubt that he cannot in good faith visit Vulcan, knowing Spock is on the planet but having disowned every part of his former life.

And so for the first time since he was born, she hopes that Spock fails miserably at the path he has chosen.

VIII.

Morning has dawned and rambled onward into mid-day by the time the house grows quiet.

Sarek has yet to return home, though Amanda certainly does not blame him for that. His messages have been almost human in their endearing desire to set her mind at ease, to give only good news; and good news it does seem to be, so far. She knows it will likely be evening before she sees him again.

Or Spock.

She can still scarcely believe this last is even an option, and has absolutely no idea how to deal with the knowledge at this time. She had only just begun to assimilate the idea of her son's death; and now, she is being asked to accept that he has somehow, in some mystical, ancient Vulcan rite, been returned to them.

It sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but Vulcans do not have such things, which makes the events of the last twenty-odd hours even more incredible.

But it is time she took back that which she can control, and so she readies herself for a day of the least enjoyable activity known to a human – sitting around waiting for news. Perhaps while she does so, she will have time to properly absorb this new world state, in which her son who was dead, apparently is no longer.

Mid-day on Vulcan at this time is brutally hot and dry, and so the first order of business after preparing for the day in her chambers is to spend an equal amount of time preparing an iced beverage.

That in mind, she leaves her room and moves through the halls of their estate to the dining area.

A few of the humans' guest room doors are closed (Saavik had opted to remain in the city with a distant relative), and one is propped open with the stone left there for that purpose – Doctor McCoy's chambers, she notes in moving past. She suspects the man left it that way on purpose, so as to hear if he was needed in the night; but now, he appears to be sleeping quite soundly, no doubt exhausted from the events of the previous day – including, she is still shocked over the discovery, his unexpected duty of being katra-keeper.

It is just another piece of the strange puzzle that was – is! – her son.

She glances into Admiral Kirk's room as she passes the door, only to see the bed has clearly not been slept in; all is as it was, when she aired it out last evening. The man himself, she finds a moment later in the kitchen area, carefully placing what looks like an empty water glass in the small sanitizing cubicle.

His hands are shaking, she can see that from across the room.

"Admiral?"

Startling him was clearly a bad idea, and she regrets it the moment her words abruptly shatter the silence. He fumbles the glass, nearly dropping it to the stone floor before he is able to set it on the counter unbroken and turn toward her.

"Amanda." His kind greeting is genuine enough, though there is an undeniable aura of grief and pain that fairly drape him like a burial shroud. "Sarek said last night that you weren't feeling well. I apologize for dropping half a dozen unexpected guests in your home without asking."

"You are no guest in this house, Admiral," she replies gently. "And whether he ever said it or not, Spock regarded your crew as more his family than any Vulcan ever has been. You are welcome here, and always will be."

She can see grief glimmering in his eyes as he nods, blinking rapidly. "I should have called," he finally chokes out, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "When it happened, I should have…I am so sorry. Sarek was right. You deserved better."

Receiving that impersonal Starfleet call that no one ever wishes to receive had not exactly been easy, certainly. But if she is any judge, this man had not been in any condition to deliver such horrible news himself; it is testament to his strength and sense of duty that he had been functional, remaining in command to conduct a wake according to Spock's medical directives and wishes, then doing the same for the cadets who had been killed during the horrible battle; and only then bringing the badly damaged Enterprise safely back to Earth and through the painful investigation to follow.

And despite his initial indignation over what seemed to be a human lack of care for Vulcan custom, Sarek had actually been deeply horrified to discover how much pain Kirk was in, when he demanded a mind-meld to discover what precisely had happened to his son. Her husband has firmly refused to share what he learned within Kirk's mind – which tells her more than anything, just how much they have likely underestimated this man and his regard for their son.

Whatever that relationship might have been, the loss of it had clearly been nothing short of devastating.

On Vulcan she may live, but human she still is; and so she does not spend another moment in thinking about what might or might not be appropriate emotional expression on this planet. She takes two steps forward and pulls him down into a gentle hug, cutting off his still stammering apologies mid-sentence.

He freezes for a few seconds, clearly taken off guard, and then it is as if whatever vestiges of strength had been holding him upright simply collapse, and he exhales raggedly over her shoulder. One hand comes up to rest ever so gently at her back, as if he is afraid she will shatter like glass with any wrong move.

She is not so fragile.

After a moment, she steps back, and looks him in the eye. "Spock's death was not your fault, Admiral," she says, directly and calmly. "I do not know the details, but I am certain of this. And so is Sarek."

"Your faith is…misplaced," he replies hoarsely.

"And your guilt is not?"

A flicker of a smile, ghostlike and haunted. But he does not respond further in his own defense, clearly withdrawing from the field in a gesture of self-protection that she both respects and despises, for it is an all-too-Vulcan coping mechanism that does neither species any good.

"For years," he finally says, almost dreamlike, "I always thought that the worst thing I could think of was losing the Enterprise. Now, I realize how wrong I was, and…well." He looks down for a moment. "I think I could be wrong yet again."

"How so?"

"Losing him a second time would destroy me, Amanda." The words are raw, and weighted by an unspoken pain. "How…how selfish am I, to not just be grateful he is alive, but rather already be wondering what will happen if he doesn't remember?"

"Grief is by nature selfish," she replies softly. "That does not make it wrong; it makes it human."

And this man is grieving not just the loss of her son, no – but also of losing his own estranged family, his future in Starfleet, that very ship he loved so dearly and for so long.

Selfish is the last word she would use to describe him, or any of his fiercely loyal crew.

"…I don't know what happens now."

"Nor do I, Admiral. We are in uncharted territory, all of us. But for now, you can do something for me."

"Anything."

"Sit with me, for a while." She reaches out and catches his hand, which is alarmingly cold despite the bold rays of sunlight slanting through nearby windows. "Unless you intend to retire for what I suspect is badly needed rest."

"I haven't slept much since everything happened." The admission seems to surprise him as much as it does her, and he blinks slowly down at their hands as if a kind touch is a foreign sensation entirely.

"Nor have I, Admiral. It was not a reproach upon your actions in this matter," she adds firmly, as she can already see the guilty response being formulated. "Merely…a reminder, that I too now know what it is like, to lose a son. I grieve with you, not because of you."

For a moment it looks as if he might just finally break down, here and now; but it is fleeting, and he almost visibly pulls control back to himself, the only armor he has left in this particular war.

"I can hardly be classified as a parent," he finally whispers. "But I thank you." A prolonged, quite exhausted sigh from somewhere deep within. "You said something about sitting?"

"So I did." She pauses, debating for a moment, and then decides she will take the risk. "Would you like to see baby pictures, Admiral?"

A startled laugh, warm as the Vulcan sun after storm. "You know what, I do believe there is sufficient cause," he replies, grinning. "Yes, please."

She leads him to a sun-warmed, cozy settee in the living area, and diverts herself to the study bookcase, where she retrieves a holo-disk and soon makes her return with it and two glasses of iced tea in hand.

Well.

Even the appeal of those visuals in question is apparently not enough to outweigh exhaustion fueled by equal parts grief and hope.

She can wait.

IX.

She is not surprised that Spock plans to return to Earth with his former crew; but she is rather disappointed to find that he is doing so because first-hand witness is the most logical, most impactful in a testimonial; not out of friendship, or even of mild regard, for the loyal humans who have sacrificed so much for him.

Is is possible that, in time, he will regain the emotions that are tied to the memories he now possesses; but at the moment, it does seem as if Spock is merely parroting back information to those around him, like a computer processor returning values for a programmed command. The phenomenon is disconcerting, and though she is immensely grateful to have her son back, there is a difference between being well and being whole – and he is not the latter, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

But if it is painful for her to watch, when Spock at least acknowledges her and their familial relationship, then she knows it must be as painful and more for the former, now exiled, Enterprise crew. They have made a huge sacrifice, all of them, when Spock would certainly never have asked them to – and their plans for their own futures are over because of it. They gave nearly everything, for a being who still does not understand why they did.

At the least, Kirk himself will certainly be facing severe Starfleet and diplomatic consequences upon his return, that much is clear from Sarek's last message. The sole remaining Klingon commander they had somewhat unceremoniously dumped on the Federation embassy doorstep in Shi'Kahr had had much to accuse them of, even if half of it was obviously skewed to show the Federation and her errant officers in the worst light possible.

Amanda is quite pleasantly surprised that her husband has gone so far as to leave his self-imposed retirement a week ago, traveling ahead of the humans back to Earth to see if his presence and explanation might mitigate what lies ahead for them.

Such an act shows clearly how much his opinion of these humans has changed, over time, and particularly over the last few months they have spent in peaceful, if slightly awkward, exile on a planet that is in awe of a mystical procedure such as the fal-tor-pan. These humans will go down in Vulcan history for their actions here; and yet, those actions may have damned them to dishonorable discharge at the very least, from the Starfleet they have served so faithfully.

But they have each, all but Saavik, decided to return to Earth to face consequence for their actions, rather than remaining in Vulcan exile for however long they wish. Certainly, none on the planet would refuse them sanctuary, not after what they have done.

She stands on a rocky bluff overlooking their stolen Klingon ship, and senses a lone figure draw near and waiting a respectful distance away down the path until she gestures him closer.

"I didn't want to intrude," Kirk says quietly, offering her a somewhat rueful smile as he approaches. "But we're to leave in about an hour, and, well."

"I do wish you would remain here a little longer, and let things cool down, so to speak," she replies, almost fretfully. She would not see these brave officers crucified by Earth for what they have done for Vulcan.

He cracks a smile, and it is genuine enough, if still a little sad and worn around the edges. "It is very tempting, ma'am."

"Do not start calling me that again, if you please. It makes me feel every bit my age."

"I find that hard to believe. You couldn't have been more than, say, twenty when you had Spock, I presume?"

She snorts, a quite unladylike sound that carries strangely in the stillness, and turns to face him, smiling despite herself. "You are ridiculous, Admiral."

"Now that makes me feel every bit my age," he replies, eyes twinkling. "Also, I likely will no longer have the title by this time in two days, so. Perhaps you should start calling me Jim."

"Perhaps I should."

Someone should; and for the present, it unfortunately does not appear her son will be doing so.

Two figures moving across the sands near the caverns catch her attention, and she sees Kirk turn to look as well. He is quick, but not quick enough to hide the pain that shutters his expression, dousing what had been a lighthearted moment like a star winking out, at how closely the two are conversing as they walk.

None had been more surprised than she, to discover that Spock had naturally gravitated toward McCoy far closer and far quicker than the rest of the Enterprise crew. As the doctor was keeper of the katra, however unintentionally, she supposes it is natural for Spock to do so; but she had hoped that some small part of her son's re-connected brain and far more slowly re-awakening soul would be drawn to Kirk more rapidly than it obviously has.

Certainly, after several conversations in the last ten weeks, she well knows that the gentle physician would never have intentionally driven a wedge between Kirk and her son, and he has been something at a loss to redirect Spock's attention. In trying to be a bridge between Spock's old life and the future, neither McCoy nor Spock himself have been completely successful in melding body, mind, and soul into the same being who had finally assimilated all three to his own satisfaction, years before.

And now, Spock seems to be fully functional in all things Vulcan; but there is clearly a disconnect between his mind and his katra, where sits the heart of his humanity. It is eerily like what she had been prepared for, when Spock made the rash decision to undergo kolinahr. This is what he would have become, had he succeeded then.

"Well, I should be getting aboard," Kirk finally says, a little awkwardly. "I have been informed that pre-flight checklists take twice as long when being read in Klingon, so. I believe this is goodbye, Amanda."

"Admiral. Jim." She steps closer, one hand hovering but not touching, bridging the distance between them. Kirk's eyes flick to hers in surprise, and no little concern. "Please. Do not give up on him?" He seems about to protest, and she continues with urgent intensity. "He needs you more than he knows, and I know that he will remember that, someday."

"Amanda…"

"Please. I know that these months have not been easy, and I know what I am asking of you will be harder still. But please…wait for him to catch up?"

He puts both hands on her shoulders, gentle and warm, and gives her his entire attention. "Amanda. There are times that I think I waited my whole life to meet him." He smiles, and it is bright as morning sun over the burnished cliffside. "A few more weeks, a few more years – whatever it takes, I will do it again. I promise."

"Thank you." She steps back, retreating slightly into the folds of the lightweight Vulcan robe to help disguise the abject relief she feels. "Then Godspeed, Admiral."

"May nothing that we do, be done in vain," he murmurs, almost to himself. He takes one last look at their stolen warship, reflecting shades of gold and red against the Vulcan cliffs, and then disappears down the rock-strewn path. (2)

X.

Amanda is in their estate courtyard, watering the few hardy houseplants which, much like herself, can thrive in higher gravity and Vulcan's latest unrelenting heat wave, when Sarek steps out into the shade of the awning to tell her she has a subspace transmission waiting. She can feel his mild affection through their marriage bond, and it piques her curiosity enough that she sets the watering-can down, careful not to spill the precious liquid, and returns indoors, removing her wide-brimmed hat and long gloves on the way.

She sits at the computer, where the indicator blinks a steady green indicating the channel is already connected, likely because Sarek had answered and then left to fetch her. Hastily rearranging the folds of her lightweight robes, she then presses the switch to turn on video and audio.

"My son, this is a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed?"

She tilts her head quizzically. "Yes? I was not expecting to hear from you for some time, particularly until you are quite settled in your new responsibilities aboard the Enterprise-A."

He frowns, slight but unmistakable, and his eyebrows draw closer together. "Then it was an accurate assessment. I have been remiss in recognizing your date of birth for many years."

She blinks in surprise, and no little amusement. "It is not remiss if there was no expectation of such an action. Spock, what in the worlds has brought this on, after all this time?"

He regards her with adorable solemnity. "I am reliably informed that I have been known in the past to be, I believe Doctor McCoy's peculiar expression was, a pain in the…gluteal region, with regards to indulging in harmless human custom."

From somewhere off-screen, she can hear what sounds suspiciously like someone choking on a laugh, and a pause in the rhythmic clicking she only now realizes is someone typing on a keyboard.

She hides a smile of her own. "It is a metaphor, Spock, and likely in the case of your charming katra-klashausu, a hyperbolic one."

"Ah. A colorful human expression used to convey emotion when more intelligent conversational nuance is not readily available."

A faint splutter in the background, and Spock raises an eyebrow, glancing somewhere over the screen. "She can hear you, Jim."

"Indeed I can," she replies in amusement. "How are you, Captain?"

The man himself appears like a jack-in-the-box over Spock's shoulder, his arms crossed on the chair-back and fairly beaming at the new (old) title. "Quite well, thank you ma'am. May I also wish you a happy birthday?"

"If you must," she replies, not without humor. "Provided you do not address me as ma'am along with it."

Kirk grins cheekily at her and then promptly vanishes from view, though not without a brief trailing hand on Spock's shoulder.

She raises an eyebrow, and Spock merely mirrors the expression. "My son, I appreciate your sentiment, but you need not adjust your actions on my account. I love you as you are, not as you have been or might someday be." He looks vaguely uncomfortable at the clear emotional dialogue, and so she kindly refrains from further expression. "Thank you for calling me today. It was a lovely birthday gift."

A muffled "I told you, didn't I" drifts from the nearby desk, and she hides a smile at Spock's very obvious and very human eyeroll.

"We will be passing the Eridani system in eight days' time, on our way toward the galactic barrier, and have already scheduled maintenance on the docking station over Vulcan. We shall be within beaming distance of the planet for approximately fifty-two hours. Might I impose upon you and Sarek for a period during that time?"

"It is no imposition; but of course, Spock. You and any of your friends, in fact, do not require invitation." She smiles a little secretively. "And if you would prefer to stay in the estate outside of Dzhaya'an'Kahr, you have but to ask."

"Oh, that was nice, let's do that!"

Spock pointedly ignores the commentary with a tolerant sigh. "I will inform you of our final plans at a later date, Mother."

"Of course." She gives in to human custom and waves at him, upon which his lips turn up fondly. "Until then, my son."

He responds in kind, and closes the channel, leaving her smiling at the now-empty screen. From behind her, Sarek sends a vague inquiry over their bond, and she assures him the conversation is finished, turning to greet him as he enters.

"Our son called to wish me a happy birthday, Sarek. What do you make of that?"

"Indulging in such frivolities is an unfortunate but expected result of his exposure to his human crew-mates."

"In other words, it is in these circumstances quite logical."

"That is not what I said, my wife."

"No. But I love you anyway."

(1) The Blish novelization for COTEOF adds a closing scene in which Spock invites Kirk to Vulcan for an undefined period of rest to recover from recent events.

(2) Nothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all my soul, that we shall see triumph. – from A Tale of Two Cities

(3) Katra-klashausu: One who protects or keeps watch over the katra