The house that Allen and Margaret made their home was a two-storied structure with several gables like many of the vintage dwellings in the area. The couple created an environment with character, one that welcomed its inhabitants and guests with warm tans and browns, infused with splashes of jewel-toned reds, blues, and greens in the trim and accessories, inside and out. Framing the red brick walk, various patches of wildflowers, now nearing the end of their seasons, still welcomed visitors cheerily while rose vines climbed several trellises next to the cedar steps leading to the front door. Old oak trees, now in their burgundy and brown phases, cast impressive canopies over the yard. Several evergreen trees stood on the edge of property, both in the front yard and back. The wide wood-planked porch with old-fashioned spindles wrapped from the front and around one side of the house. White wicker furniture provided a resting place for anyone who wanted to sit back and enjoy the view of the neighborhood or hillside down into parkland below.

Inside, old-fashioned couches and chairs covered with bright afghans, quilts, and pillows promised cozy comfort. Oriental rugs provided their own warmth on the gold-toned wood floors. The colorful bindings on the printed books, which completely filled the shelves that, themselves, filled an entire wall in the spacious living room, beckoned to their readers with a wide range of topics and stories. They were a fixture in any Grayson household.

The rest of the home echoed the vintage furniture and fixtures from the living room. They added interesting details through the kitchen and breakfast nook, dining room, a powder room, and the study that Allen used as his office, and Margaret and Allen's bedroom suite on the first floor. On the second floor were four more rooms: Norah and Alaina's childhood bedrooms, an extra room that had at various times served as a playroom, music room, and guest room, and a full bathroom. Over the garage was Margaret's office and studio.

Throughout the home hung many paintings of friends and family, with a landscape or two, that Margaret had completed throughout the years. Other pieces of art, smaller sculptures and wall hangings, accented the larger pieces.

Margaret, Allen, Spock, and Nyota shared a pleasant supper their first evening in. The conversation focused mostly on their careers as the four of them slowly became acquainted. Allen tapped into Spock's considerable scientific knowledge as he consulted him on a materials science problem he was having at work.

Afterward, Spock and Nyota settled into Norah and Alaina's old rooms for the night, each finding their accommodations comfortable and—thanks to the typical Grayson touch—comforting. Although Margaret and Amanda were worlds apart, the sisters chose similar colors, arranged their rooms likewise, and outfitted them nearly identically for their guests' peace and relaxation.

Again the similarities between Margaret and his mother tugged at Spock's human side, which incited a riot of thoughts, and he had trouble falling asleep. Because he could not meditate, he spent most of the night staring at the ceiling in the dark.

-o0o-

"Good morning, Spock," Margaret greeted him cheerfully as he descended the stairway to the main floor. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Nyota, already seated at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, munched on a muffin and some fruit. She looked him over; he rarely slept in. Their eyes met. His were pleasant enough, but clearly his mind was obsessing on something. She raised her eyebrows in question, but he simply took the chair next to her.

"The muffins are good," Nyota said, passing the basket of them. "Would you like one?"

Using his fork, he selected one and set it on the plate in front of him. Margaret set down a steaming cup of tea to the side.

"There," she said, finally sitting down to her own muffin and tea. "I hope everyone slept well."

"Oh, yes, I did," Nyota said. "It's so nice and quiet here. There is always ambient sound on the Enterprise."

Spock nodded in agreement. "Where is Allen?"

Margaret sipped her tea. "Oh, he's at work. He's working on that materials problem he told you about last night. I think you gave him some ideas for another approach, so he'll be talking to his team. But he should be back at around lunch."

Spock seemed in good spirits, at least from what Margaret could discern from the few cues he gave. Now would be a good time to broach her proposal.

"Spock, I invited you here so we could get to know one another better."

"Yes, that was your stated goal," he acknowledged.

"As you well know, I am a portrait artist. Do you remember the portrait I painted of you and your mother years ago?"

"I remember sitting for it, but I never saw the portrait."

Margaret sat back and thought. Spock was correct. She only completed it after their departure. She showed the portrait to Amanda on one of her return visits, but Spock had not been with her. "You're right, you didn't. Come with me."

The three of them rose. Margaret led the way down the hall to the study. They entered the room, rounded the corner, and Margaret pointed to the wall where the images of Amanda and Young Spock looked back at them.

Spock never would have anticipated having to prepare himself emotionally to look at a portrait. But here before him was the essence of his mother. Margaret had captured the same affection and warmth in Amanda's eyes as they had held in life. Her reassuring smile was the same one he remembered when she offered him encouragement or comfort whenever she felt he needed it, and he had needed it many times in the months since her death. The pangs of loss and remorse tightened his chest, and he reasserted his control to numb them. Breathing life into an image was impossible, but Margaret had came close.

Nyota was amazed by Margaret's work. "This is beautiful," she said. "Oh, Spock, you were a lovely child." She smiled thinking about him. The qualities she saw in his younger self were many of the ones that she found endearing in him now. "Margaret, you have incredible insights into both of them," she observed.

"Thank you," Margaret said. "And, if Spock is willing to sit for another portrait, I would like to get to know him again. Are you willing, Spock?"

Spock hardly heard her question as he continued to stare at the painting, the closeness of the child to the mother, the closeness he missed. Suddenly his cool Vulcan mind emerged, reminding his human side of the pointlessness of such thoughts. He set his jaw, evened his breathing, and carefully returned to a neutral state.

"How will reproducing my image better acquaint us?" he asked.

"It is how I see people," Margaret explained. "As a scientist, you see by looking through the patterns in data. Mine is a different way of seeing, through line, shape, light, texture, color…. As a former linguistics instructor, you certainly understand that communication comes in many forms. Allow me to get to know you through my craft."

He considered her request. He was uncomfortable; this seemed too intimate, although he could not discern why it would be. Between this request, the surroundings reminiscent of his mother's home, and seeing his mother's image, his chest was tightening again. He needed to meditate. Now.

"Yes," he agreed, just to put the matter at rest for the moment. "Excuse me."

He abruptly left the study and walked directly up the stairway to his room, closing the door behind him. He left a stunned Margaret behind.

"Nyota, what just happened?"

The younger woman nodded to herself in understanding at Spock's hasty departure. She had to resist the urge to go after him. "Your work is very, very good, Margaret, and I think he just had an intense reaction to it. We need to leave him alone for a while."

Margaret's eyes widened in shock, then misted while she recalled Amanda's descriptions of her son's devotion to her. "I know how he feels," she said. "Or maybe I don't. All that he's lost, I thought the Vulcan in him might make him immune to some of that. I had no idea…. No wonder why he resisted coming here. I feel terrible."

Nyota patted Margaret's arm in a gesture of comfort. "Don't feel bad. You meant well. No one could have predicted how hard this would be," Nyota reassured, remaining calm, though she was near an emotional edge herself. "Did Amanda tell you how intensely Vulcans feel everything?"

"Not really," said Margaret, dabbing the excess moisture from her eyes, then tried her best to lighten the mood. "When she commented on anything like that, it was about how stubborn they all were."

Nyota smiled briefly, picking up on Margaret's cues. "I have had some experience with that myself," she said, shaking her head in mild amusement through her own concern. "But seriously, Vulcan society is ordered with limited and predictable interactions, which helps Vulcans avoid overstimulating themselves. The truth is, buried deep inside they are passionate, and emotional control is important because when they lose it, they fall far quickly. They can't just shrug off a momentary lapse like we can, so they meditate when control is threatened to put their thoughts and feelings back in order. That's what Spock needs to do now."

"Will he be all right?" Margaret's tone indicated lingering doubt.

"I think so." Nyota squeezed Margaret's hand to reassure her some more. "It's going to take time. He has to work through grief like anyone else. And he knows it, even if he won't admit it. He just has to do it in his own way. "

Margaret was impressed. Nyota had a maturity that few her age had. Perhaps because of her experience in battle and the enormous responsibility thrust upon her, she had been forced to grow up faster than she might have otherwise. But Margaret noted that these experiences had not hardened Nyota. The young woman had somehow retained her empathy.

Margaret nodded in understanding. "He's lucky to have you."

"I feel that I'm the lucky one." Nyota smiled. "I hope you'll feel the same after you get to know him."