Margaret's studio was a large, bright room with a generous picture window overlooking the back yard, itself at the top of a hill overlooking wooded park land. Along one wall were cabinets and counters containing her supplies, a sink, and a small food storage unit for snacks or a small lunch for when she wanted to work uninterrupted. Backdrops of various colors hung along the opposite wall. On the ceiling aimed at the backdrops were key lights, which Margaret could position to illuminate her subjects as she wished. A couple of freestanding lamps stood at the ready for ground-level lighting as well as a couple stools and high-backed chairs for seating her subjects, depending on the mood she chose.
A desk, complete with comm unit, computer, and comfortable office chair, occupied one corner. In front were two more chairs for visitors. Margaret also had a couch with a couple pillows and an afghan draped over the back where she occasionally lay when she needed a break or wanted to brainstorm.
In the center of the room stood Margaret's high director's chair, an artist's easel on which there was already a blank prepared canvas, and a stand with various brushes, tubes of paint, an artist's palette, and jars of cleaning solution.
She led Nyota and Spock to one of her storage cabinets. "Spock, stand here, please." She looked at him as she selected various tubes of paint, placing them into a small divided tray. She had notes about the colors she had used before for his previous portrait, and she pulled those colors now. She also selected a few new ones as her intuition and artistic sense directed her.
"Now, if I could have you sit over here," Margaret directed, indicating one of the stools in front of her collection of backdrops. She expanded the black backdrop to its full length, went to a control panel to adjust the key lights overhead, then put a diffuser in one of her floor lamps and set it a couple meters in front of Spock and to the left. She stood back to assess this setup.
"Hmmm," she considered. "Black would be an interesting backdrop, but it doesn't feel right—and I don't want this looking like some tacky velvet painting."
Nyota giggled. Spock had no idea what a velvet painting was. He had never seen one in a museum. This would be another question for Nyota later.
His aunt looked at him some more. "You look good in that deep burgundy color you're wearing. Maybe that's what I'm looking for." She expanded a different background in a deep burnt red, then returned to the front to survey the effect. "Hmmm, better. Amanda's palette had golds, bright blues, and corals—very inviting. Sarek's was stately and dignified, in the browns and tans with accents of gold and primary red and blue. Yours, I believe, is composed of the deeper, more jewel-toned colors. Deep reds, deep blues, royal purples—regal colors, but still warm, expressive, vibrant…"
Warm? Expressive? Vibrant? Spock had difficulty reconciling these descriptions with anything that would refer to him. Most people in comments he overheard described him as cold, formal, and aloof.
Margaret stepped back again and reconsidered. "No, the backdrop isn't right." She returned and expanded a new one, this time in a deep midnight blue, then returned to the front. "Yes, this is the one. Not quite black, but deep. And it plays off the blue tint in the highlights in your hair. Nyota, what do you think?"
Spock sat ramrod straight on his stool, hands squarely resting just above his kneecaps. This was another unusual experience, one similar to a medical physical or ship-wide inspection. Like the photos Margaret had taken, although he could not classify it as unpleasant, it was not comfortable, either. Did all artists work this way? He wondered if this was a standard protocol or one unique to Margaret.
"You're talking to a biased audience, but I think you're right." Nyota smiled, inspecting Margaret's subject with an overt appreciation that Spock, trying to maintain decorum in front of his aunt, tried to ignore. "He also looks good in dark brown or a dark charcoal."
"I could see that," Margaret agreed, inwardly amused at the teasing Nyota inflicted on her nephew.
Margaret rearranged the tubes of paint in her tray, returned some to her cabinet and replaced them with others. She opened several tubes of paint, dabbing some from each on her palette, then dipped a brush in one of the colors and stroked a small canvas square that she had on the table. She repeated this with a few more colors. When she was finished with each color, she picked up the canvas square, walked over to Spock, and held it near his face.
"Yes, these will work as my base colors. I may have to blend a few of my own, though. Thank you, Spock. You may move, if you'd like."
"So, what do you do next?" Nyota asked as Spock stood up. She was intrigued by Margaret's process.
"This afternoon I will start the background, maybe paint general shape and form if my progress is good," Margaret answered. "I will begin to fill in the details as I observe and get to know my subject better. I won't finish until after you leave—I always want to see what stays in my mind after my subjects leave because it brings clarity. Then I can put on the final touches. I also have my photographs for reference if I need them, but I seldom do."
"Interesting approach," Nyota mused. "What kind of final touches do you typically make? Like to Spock and Amanda's portrait, for example?"
Margaret's eyes looked upward as she searched her memory. "That was an interesting project because Amanda changed between the time she arrived and the time she left, and so some of her accent colors changed, too."
"Margaret." It was Spock. Up to this point, he had been silent. "If I may, do you know why Mother arranged our visit at that particular time?"
His question seemed abrupt. "Yes, I do," she replied. Margaret was suddenly uneasy at where this might go. She had the impression that Spock's question was one to which he had wanted answers for a long time, and he was taking advantage of an opening into the subject. "Why do you ask?"
"The timing of our travel was inconsistent with educational or diplomatic timetables. And our arrangements were sudden." Spock remembered Amanda announcing to him one morning that the two of them would be leaving for Earth the next day for a family visit. He had always wondered about this, and he had inquired about the reasoning at the time. But Amanda had been unusually evasive. Normally he would have sought information from his father, but Sarek had left on a mission a couple days before and was unavailable.
Spock was a bright 8-year-old and had had his suspicions. It had been an inconvenient break during his schooling. Of course he kept up with his lessons while he was off-planet. His absence did put him behind in some physical disciplines. His inquiries, unwelcomed by both parents, went unaddressed in the years afterward, and Spock eventually ceased his inquiries on the matter altogether.
"Oh, Spock, do you really wish to know?" Margaret was hesitant. "Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully. It was a difficult time, and it was so long ago."
"I wish to know," he said plainly.
Margaret deliberated. She had kept her sister's confidence for so many years. But she could see Spock's point of view, why he might want to know now. When the pair had arrived, looking like a couple of refugees, Young Spock seemed very confused about the purpose of their trip. The poor kid was caught up in something he could not control. This was a part of his history, and he could no longer talk to Amanda about it.
Nyota recognized that Spock was asking Margaret to divulge some very personal information. "Should I leave?" she asked.
Spock wanted her to stay. Taking her hand and setting his palm to hers, she felt his need for closure.
"OK," Nyota said, understanding. "OK."
Margaret put her hand toward the couch. "Perhaps we should sit…"
-o0o-
[18 Years Previously]
Margaret received Amanda's written message.
Urgent. Need to talk to you. Please receive subspace transmission at 6:00 GMT Tuesday.—Amanda
Margaret blinked. Amanda was going to pay for a real-time subspace call from Vulcan? Except for very special occasions, their messages had been text- or vid-based, ones that could be sent whenever the Federation communications agencies sent multiple messages in bursts between worlds. This had to be important, especially for Amanda to ask Margaret to be awake at midnight local time to receive it.
Margaret was already sitting by the comm station when it beeped.
CommLink Requestor: Lady Amanda Grayson, Shi'Kahr, Vulcan
"Accept," Margaret said.
The image that appeared on her screen shocked Margaret. It was Amanda, but she was not the sister she knew. The woman was sad, distraught. Her eyes were red. Her usually perfectly coiffed hair frizzed around her face.
"Amanda! Omigosh, what's wrong?"
Amanda looked back, then burst into tears.
"Amanda?"
"Margar…et," Amanda choked. "I'm sorry. I need a favor." Her tears were streaming.
Margaret would have done anything. "Yes, of course. What can I do? What's going on?"
Amanda tried to compose herself. "I need a break. I want to come home. Soon. Would you mind if Spock and I stayed with you?"
"No, I wouldn't mind. We'd be glad to have you," Margaret said.
Amanda had always felt more comfortable staying with Margaret and Allen than she did with their parents. Although Howard and Jeanne had accepted Amanda's marriage and, eventually, their grandson, they sometimes made her uneasy with some of their questions and comments. There was little of that in Margaret and Allen's household.
"And…," Amanda continued, "…would you please not tell anyone except Mom and Dad that we're coming. I don't want anyone else to know."
"Amanda…." Margaret needed an explanation, and Amanda appeared to know it. "Did you and Sarek have a fight?"
"Oh!" Amanda exclaimed in exasperation. "Sarek never has a fight. He has discussions. This whole damn planet has discussions. Of course, they never really discuss what they're discussing. It's all passive-aggressive subtlety! For just once I'd like someone to just say what they're really thinking instead of obscuring it behind declarations of logic that are really poorly disguised insults!"
Uh-oh.
"I'm tired of it. Is it illogical to want to be treated with respect? Is it illogical to want Spock to be treated with respect? Is it illogical to ask for some support?" Amanda was sobbing now. "I'm through with this! We're not taking this anymore! I need to regroup!"
Margaret's stomach tightened. This was bad. "Are you walking out on him? Isn't Sarek even going to try and stop you?"
"Ha! He just left on a mission to Telev III, and he'll be gone for a week. Just. Like. That. He'll just have to figure it out when he gets back because no amount of talking to him has done any good!"
"Amanda, Amanda,…I'm sorry…"
Margaret's concern grew, first when Amanda cursed—she never cursed—then with her sister's sobs. Amanda had always been calm. It was unnerving to see her otherwise. Margaret wished she could reach through the screen and hug her sister.
"Our home is yours for as long as you need, you hear me?" Margaret comforted. "Don't worry about that. When will you arrive?"
"In three days."
Three days? Amanda was paying for express passage on a very fast ship. It was worse than Margaret thought as she mentally went down the list of things she would have to prepare for their visit: the guest room, proper vegetarian food, a talk with Norah and Alaina, breaking it to Allen…what would he say?
"Are you going to be OK?"
Amanda nodded, though the tears continued to fall. "I need to be somewhere where I can get my head back together. And that's not here."
"When you pack, remember that it's winter here. Do you need me to find some winter stuff for Spock?"
Amanda's brows rose in surprise. She was so upset that she had not thought of that. "No, we have cold-weather attire for off-world visits. We were on Andor a few months ago. He's grown a bit, but it all should still fit."
"Do you need me to do anything else?"
"If you could keep this conversation completely confidential…"
"Absolutely. As far as anyone else is concerned, you just happened to have some free time in your schedule that suddenly came up, and you decided to use it to visit your immediate family. End of story."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." Amanda was relieved that her sister would keep her secret. "I hate to end this, but I need to pack and make arrangements for the household while I'm gone. I will see you in three Earth standard days. Don't worry about picking us up at the shuttleport. We'll take a taxi."
"Take care of yourself, Amanda. Safe travels. I love you."
"I love you, too, Margaret."
The screen went dark. Margaret shut down the comm station and made her way to the bedroom.
Allen waited for Margaret's summary of the call when she crawled into bed. "Well?" he asked.
"Amanda and Spock are coming for a visit in three days. She suddenly had free time in her schedule," Margaret recited.
Allen saw right through it, as Amanda had never brought Spock with her on previous visits, and this truly was sudden. "Is that Margaret-Speak for 'It's a secret and I shouldn't ask because it's personal'?"
Margaret nodded. "Something like that." She was relieved that he would not pry.
"Three days, huh?"
"Good night, Allen."
"Good night, Margaret."
-o0o-
"She wasn't so angry about dealing with the bigotry on the outside," Margaret remembered. "What she was angry about was that Sarek was not realizing or acknowledging the fact that it existed and the effects it might have been having on you, Spock. She wanted him to show you more support in that regard. It was tearing her up so much that if she had to leave him to make her point, to make him understand the seriousness of the situation and protect you, then she was prepared to do so."
"What happened?" Nyota asked.
"Sarek returned from his diplomatic mission to find Amanda and Spock gone. She left him a message telling him that she had gone to Earth to determine her options, but she did not say where she went. It didn't take long for him to figure it out—she really did not try to hide it. He looked through their own comm records and saw that she had called me, so he knew where she went.
"Over the next week it was like negotiating a peace treaty with the Klingons. Our comm station saw more use that it had during the previous six months. At first she was very tense every time he called. Then her mood got better. By the end of the second week, she was back to her old self in most ways. She was still cautious, and she wasn't letting him off easily, but I think the two of them discussed and worked out every marital issue they had up to that point."
Spock took in the information. It was as he had suspected. Many nights before their Earth visit, Spock, who was supposed to be asleep, had heard Amanda's muffled voice raised in strong emotional outbursts through the walls. In the mornings afterward there had been a cold regard between his parents. He had been concerned.
Amanda's sudden departure with him in tow also explained the appearance of the Vulcan covert service agent that he thought he saw as he played outside with his cousins. Now he was sure of it. Spock never would have known about the agent if he had not heard the agent slip on the ice. His cousins never noticed. Spock recognized the Vulcan kinesiology as the agent's form moved away, which led him to suspect that he and Amanda were under surveillance, perhaps at his father's behest, maybe T'Pau's, but he could not be sure of that.
Amanda's action, taking Spock, a Vulcan citizen, outside of Vulcan jurisdiction without his father's knowledge, might have been classified as kidnapping. As Spock was the son of a prominent citizen from a high-ranking House, the situation may have escalated. Spock was sure that Margaret knew nothing of the potential ramifications had his parents had not reconciled.
"Do you think she ever consider leaving for good?" Nyota asked.
"I don't think so," Margaret declared. "It would have been too hard because she loved him. And, after her time here, she realized that she had changed, her home was with him on Vulcan, and that Spock needed to be raised there. Fortunately it never came to that. They worked it out. Spock, you'll have to tell us if she seemed happier after your visit here."
"Our home was more…," he hesitated, trying to choose the best descriptor, "…harmonious," he said finally. "Father also preferred that Mother and I accompany him on diplomatic missions more frequently thereafter."
"I'm jealous," Nyota said. "That must have been fun."
"Our excursions were most illuminating, and they did offer opportunities to explore many cultures, languages, and thought," he replied, looking down at her. "You would have found them enlightening."
"And I will; that's why I'm in Starfleet," Nyota grinned.
