Although he had fallen asleep easily, Spock awoke in the middle of the night a few hours later, reflecting on his cousins' visit the evening before. His easy camaraderie with Norah and Alaina simply continued from where it had been when they were children. And they still shared a few secrets—the snowball fight and Norah's broken bed frame were not the only incidents that they had kept to themselves all these years. Outside of the girls' school and homework, as well as Spock's independent study, the three had found creative avenues outside of their parents' supervision for their energies and curiosity. Not all of their activities would have met with parental approval, however, especially the experiments conducted with common household products in the basement. If Spock had not known how to neutralize one concoction-gone-awry, green foam would have submersed the home's entire lowest level. The three had barely cleaned up their mess before Allen called them upstairs for supper. For the rest of Spock's stay, the girls had giggled at anything resembling green foam.
So, last night, when Margaret had served everyone green pistachio pudding for desert—one in the same green shade as the foam had been all those years ago—Spock looked up to see his cousins looking back at him, stifling giggles. Their faces had the same expression that Nyota's did when she was thinking of a humorous secret. It did not take long for Spock to realize what they were remembering, but he was unsure why they found it funny. It had been an interesting experiment, however. He tilted his head back at them, then rose an eyebrow to acknowledge his recognition of the memory before spooning in a mouthful of pudding. Fortunately Nyota and Safi, engrossed in their own conversation, had missed the trio's silently shared moment. Margaret and Allen's attentions were on dishing their own desserts before they settled into their own seats, and Allen regaled them with more family tales.
Spock noted the easy flow of food and conversation. During the week in this home, the familiar atmosphere continued to remind him of his parents' home on Vulcan. There was a certain comfort here. How? Was it that he was among family the seminal factor in this?
No, he had never found such easy affinity with his Vulcan relatives in their homes. Then what? Nyota said that the family accepted him—surely this eased their interactions. But he could not help thinking that there was another contributing factor contributing that he could not identify. As with many things this week, the question demanded more meditation. But that would have to wait. For now, he should sleep.
He went back to sleep for a couple more hours before a new round of consciousness determined he would sleep no more. He got out of bed and reached for his gym duffle, taking out his running shoes and workout clothes. According to the external temperature readout on the room's comm station, it was a colder morning, so he reached for thermal base layers as well before dressing. He finished with socks and shoes before walking out into the hallway…where he met Nyota on her way back from the bathroom.
She looked him up and down. "Isn't it early for a run, even for you?" she whispered.
"I am in no need of further sleep," he replied. "You are awake earlier than is customary for you."
She smirked. "Nature called. After all that wine last night, I drank too much tea to compensate. But I'm not going back to sleep, either. Wait, I'll go with you. I need to work off that lasagna."
He nodded. This was a most agreeable development. She disappeared into her room while he walked down the stairwell and into the foyer to grab his hat and gloves. Fortunately she was quick, and he did not have to wait long. He wrote Allen and Margaret a note telling them that he and Nyota went jogging, and he made sure that he propped it up prominently against the kitchen table's centerpiece so that it would not get lost under dishware again. Nyota nodded her approval.
"Let's go," she said, opening the front door into the darkness of the early morning. She wore a hat with a headlamp, as she often did for early pre-sunrise morning runs. Spock's night vision was excellent, so he did without. The pair began a slow jog to the trail access, then increased their pace once they reached the trail itself.
* * *
The aroma of coffee pervaded the kitchen as Margaret breathed in the steam from her freshly poured cup. She could use a punch of caffeine. It had been an eventful week. Maybe the four of them could take it more easy today. For now, Spock and Nyota were out jogging. Allen was in the shower. Aside from another hour or two working on Spock's portrait and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, she had no plans. Good.
"Good morning, Allen," she greeted her husband once he arrived in the kitchen. "I'm about to make some waffles. The kids will be hungry when they get back from their run. How many do you want?"
Allen grabbed his own cup and sat down. "Three. They're running?"
"That's what the note said." Margaret picked it up and waved it in front of Allen's face. "Which I found because no one sat his plate on it this time."
Allen rolled his eyes.
The comm station in the next room beeped. Allen sighed. "So much for a peaceful morning."
"I'll get it," said Margaret. "It's probably Janelle offering us Halloween goodies." Margaret walked to the study, sat, and flicked on the screen.
CommLink Requestor: Gladissa Garvin
What could their neighbor want at this time of day? "Accept," said Margaret.
The screen revealed that Gladissa had not been awake long. Though her hair was neatly combed and pulled back, she remained in her robe. "Hi, Margaret," she said. "How's it going?"
"Hey, Glady, what's up?"
"I was about to ask you that."
"Huh?"
"Which of your relatives is in town this time?" Gladissa asked, trying to keep the mood light. "Or haven't you noticed the mob of reporters in front of your house yet?"
"What?!" Margaret's heart fell. This was the last thing anyone needed. "Allen!"
"I'm already on it," Allen replied, having overheard the conversation. He walked through the foyer and peered out the shutters next to the door. "Oh, crap! Margaret…there's dozens of them! The spooks have shown up for Halloween. How appropriate!" he grumbled tightly.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Gladissa asked. Over the years, she and her husband had been helpful whenever Amanda or Sarek visited. Margaret and Allen could not have expected nicer neighbors. The Garvins were family-oriented people who understood the value of discretion and privacy. In fact, Gladissa, who railed against intrusive journalism in all its forms, had proven to be an excellent ally in thwarting nosy paparazzi in any way she could. She knew the routine. "I already called the police. Nate said he'd be right over. So, Margaret, which one is it?"
Margaret appreciated her neighbor's initiative. "It's my nephew, Spock, this time. This is the last thing he needs right now." She intentionally did not mention Nyota—no sense letting any more people know about her than necessary.
"What is it, anyway? The press has no business pestering every Vulcan they can track down!" Gladissa was setting up for one of her tirades on this topic. "Don't those poor people have enough to deal with right now? Don't people have a right to privacy?"
"Well, here's the situation," said Margaret, interrupting the rant that could have gone on for 10 minutes. "He went out for a jog, and the horde outside probably showed up after he left. I wish I knew how we are going to get him back without putting those piranhas into a feeding frenzy. He's like his father and can handle himself, but I'd rather avoid subjecting him to any more than he already gets. I need to call him and warn him."
"You do that," said Gladissa. "Call me if I can help."
"You've already done so. Thanks, Glady."
Knowing Margaret needed to warn her nephew, Gladissa ended the call quickly. "Anytime. Good luck."
Margaret was entering Spock's communicator designation when Allen shouted. "Thank goodness! Nate and his bunch just arrived. Oh, they're pulling out the barricades. Good, Nate, you put those no-good, pain-in-the …" Allen's commentary continued until Police Chief Birkholtz broke away from his officers to walk up to the door. Before he could knock, Allen opened the door and eagerly let him in.
"Hi, Nate," said Margaret resignedly.
"Seems like old times," Birkholtz said. The only difference was Stiran's absence—Birkholtz now ran the whole operation. "I take it you have another relative in town."
"Commander Spock, my nephew."
"Amanda and Ambassador Sarek's son…," Birkholtz nodded, feeling a momentary pang for Amanda. On her visits, she always made a point of thanking the police for their assistance. He always liked her. "I can see why the throng would be interested in him. Where is he?"
"Out jogging. I was about to call and warn him when you arrived."
"He's out there by himself?"
"No," Margaret answered reluctantly. In order to do his job, Birkholtz needed to know the entire situation. "He has a friend with him—an Enterprise crewmate, actually. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura."
Birkholtz's eyes widened. Like most people, he knew who Lieutenant Uhura was. What was she doing here with Commander Spock? True or not, he knew where speculation would go: The Vulcan hero bringing a woman home to meet his mother's family—what a juicy tale the tabloids would make of that! The paparazzi would stop at little to be the first to photograph them together. It raised new concerns about controlling the crowd outside.
"That…is interesting," the police chief said. "The gossip-mongers are going to have a field day with that."
"To say the least," said Allen. "It would be Amanda and Sarek all over again."
"They are nice kids; they just want to be left alone. It was supposed to be a nice family visit," said Margaret wearily. "Why do they have to deal with this crap? Can't your people just haul the lot of those buzzards outside off to the pokey?"
Birkholtz realized Margaret's questions were rhetorical, a way for his long-time friend to vent. "Contact him," he said, giving Margaret something productive to do. "If there is somewhere where he and Lieutenant Uhura can hide out for the time being, tell him to go there, lay low, and wait for instructions until we determine the best way to handle this."
Author's Note Jan8-2010: Hi, I'm back from my hiatus that included the holiday hubbub, a cross-country drive to visit with family (2,500 miles on the road), and writing the short story "Silent Night." Thank you for waiting.
Sorry for the short transitional chapter; I wanted to get something up, as it's been a month since my last update. But it leaves a good question: Nyota and Spock may be outed -- how will they handle it? Don't worry; I won't make you wait a month to find out! ;-)
