They took a break, finding a convenient stopping point where the trail hugged a higher bluff along the creek at an overlook that offered a pleasant view of the forest below. Nyota steadied her foot upon the bench as she tightened a loose fastener on her shoe while Spock bent at the waist to stretch his long legs before his muscles tightened in the cool air. He had just touched his toes when his communicator beeped. Nyota looked up, surprised, while Spock stood back up and retrieved the device from his pocket.
"Spock here," he said.
"Hey there, it's Margaret. I hate to tell you, we have a situation here."
The tremor in Margaret's voice raised their own concerns. Nyota walked to Spock's side where she could hear the communicator more clearly. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Sorry, kids." It was Allen. "The paparazzi have found you out. We're under siege."
"How many?" Spock asked.
"I counted 32."
Nyota's lips thinned in consternation at her own visions of a mob scene. Spock automatically steeled his features into careful control, as he always had throughout his life whenever he had to deal with the media.
"Is there anything on the news feeds about why they are there?" Nyota asked. "Are they there because of Spock, me, or both of us?"
"That's a good question—I'll do an information search and let you know," said Margaret. "In the meantime, you need to stay out of sight. The police are controlling the crowd now, but I don't know if they'd be able to hold them off if they saw you. Chief Birkholtz is here, and he wants you two to find a place to hide out until he and his officers figure out how we're going to get you back to the house without causing a riot. Do you have somewhere to go? By the way, where are you?"
"We're on the trail," said Nyota. "About seven or eight kilometers down."
"We are 8.2 kilometers from your location," Spock supplied. From the communicator speaker, they heard Allen try to hold back a laugh. This was not the first time Spock wondered why humans often laughed when he provided accurate data. For now, he ignored his own query and turned his attentions to finding a hiding place. "We are within two kilometers of Mayo Clinic D-3. Perhaps a waiting room there is appropriate for our needs."
"Waiting in a waiting room…that will probably work," said Margaret. "Anyone else who's waiting there has bigger things to worry about and won't give you a second look. Just find a quiet corner."
"We will do so."
"And Spock? Nyota?"
"Yes?" they replied together.
"You two need to talk about how you are going to handle the media exposing your personal lives to the world. Amanda and Sarek had a plan in place for when it happened, and it turned out to be a very wise precaution. The reporters couldn't rattle them into accidentally revealing things or saying something embarrassing because they knew ahead of time how they were going to handle the reporters' tricks and tactics."
Spock and Nyota nodded to one another. It was practical advice, and they had discussed this eventuality before. But with the situation upon them, they needed to make final decisions.
"I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening, not on this visit," Margaret continued. "Your personal lives should be no one's business but your own. It's unfair."
"We will manage," Nyota said. "It had to happen someday."
"Too bad that it's today," said Allen. "We'll call you as soon as Nate decides what to do. In the meantime, be careful. And if you feel the least bit threatened, call us immediately. We Markhams and Graysons stand by our own. We'll do whatever it takes to rescue you."
We Markhams and Graysons stand by our own. Spock found temporary comfort in that. For now, he and Nyota needed to deal with their situation. "We shall do so. Spock out."
As he closed the communicator, Spock looked to Nyota, who stood stiffly to his side. Her eyes were hard, staring off over the forest below their vantage. He reached for her hand to assess her emotional state and received waves of anger at the media and apprehension for their future. He was accustomed to reporters, their cameras, and listening devices that had intruded upon him his entire life. Although Nyota already knew media intrusion in her public life as a member of the Enterprise bridge crew, now she would have to face a new level of intrusiveness that delved deeper into her personal life, and not all of it would be complimentary.
"Argghhh!" she growled suddenly, letting go of his hand and pumping her fist in the air. "They can just go to Hell! All of them!" She turned to him, her brow concentrating in fury. "Want a plan? Well, here's our plan: No matter what they do, no matter what they say, we are not going to let them come between us. You hear that?"
"I am Vulcan. My hearing, as you well know, is excellent," he replied, trying to diffuse her anger.
Her jaw dropped. What did he just say?
Surprisingly, Spock's outward calm was mirrored inside. First, for Spock to be otherwise violated Vulcan behavioral models, and he found strength in Vulcan mind disciplines. Second, meditation on Nyota's request to acknowledge their relationship more openly had provided many revelations about their situation. After attempts throughout his life to live up to others' standards, standards that could never be satisfied no matter how hard he tried, he had decided that it was illogical to concern himself with them. And, he could not discern how general knowledge of their social arrangement, one that billions of other couple also entered, would have any real affect on their relationship.
Finally, under stress, Spock had observed that his and Nyota's inclinations were to rely on one another instead of turning away, despite the stresses of their Starfleet careers and their personal losses. Sarek and Amanda had withstood similar challenges successfully as they dealt with their careers and the press. Margaret's stories about their experiences had made that clear. Armed with this knowledge, Spock was confident that he and Nyota could do likewise.
Nyota's anger caught up with her again. "This is serious! We're on the verge of having our private lives put out there for the entire quadrant's entertainment. And it pisses me off!" She turned, facing Spock squarely, and punched her right fist into her left palm. "Dammit!"
"Nyota…"
"This may be the most stupid question ever, but aren't you upset?"
"I am not fond of the prospect, but no." He stepped closer to her. "As you said, it was inevitable. And I have reconciled the consequences with the benefits of this development."
"Benefits? What benefits?"
"The considerable attention and effort we have expended in taking precautionary measures in our discretion and concealment would no longer be necessary."
"And what about being the subjects of—what was that you said? 'Intrusive observation and prurient conjecture'? Can we handle that?"
"My parents did so successfully, and we shall do so as well," he said, taking her hand again and projecting calmness to comfort her.
She nodded. Although Spock often had personal doubts, they never interfered with his devotion to her. Once he set his mind to something, he refused to fail.
"And, we have an advantage that they did not," Spock continued. "In 5 days, 3 hours, and 23 minutes, the Enterprise leaves Spacedock. Paparazzi are prohibited aboard Starfleet vessels."
Nyota managed a small smile. "And we are an open secret among the crew anyway, so we won't surprise anyone there."
"Indeed."
"OK, maybe I'm feeling better, but I still hate this. And we still have to figure out what to do until we get back on the ship."
"Yes, Margaret is correct. We need a plan," he stated. "Your expertise in this area surpasses mine. What do you suggest?"
She considered. "Ideally, we need to take control the flow of information—how it gets out—to influence first impressions and perceptions," she said. "If the media are going to find out about us, we're better off telling them about it ourselves instead of them discovering us trying to hide it."
The Terran media's handling and prioritization of information often mystified Spock. Even the communications professionals at the Vulcan Embassy had admitted to Sarek their confusion with some practices, though after a time they did discover several strategies that produced the results they intended. Where they lacked in expertise, Sarek and his staff had turned to Amanda to explain the intricacies, as Spock turned to Nyota now. "I do not understand."
"The more you try to hide a secret, the more curious the paparazzi and the public become," Nyota explained. "They can't resist the mystery, so they become more aggressive, looking for more detail. It's worse if they are the ones to uncover the secret because it's assumed that where there's one secret, then there must be many more. The cycle continues, and the paparazzi become more aggressive."
Nyota took a deep breath before continuing. "If we reveal our relationship on our own openly, they don't get the thrill of discovery. They will be interested, but they won't be as vigorous in their coverage because they did not 'uncover' it. We're also less likely to be billed as 'forbidden lovers' or something else stupid that starts equally stupid speculation."
Spock remained unsure about the motivations of the Terran press. Would additional explanation resolve his confusion? Probably not. Instead he nodded, accepting Nyota's observations. "We should proceed to the clinic," he said, noting that more people were populating the trail. "We can review our prospects more privately there."
Nyota agreed, and the two, now rested, leisurely jogged again down the trail, doing their best to look like the rest of the joggers out that morning. Fortunately, few gave them a second look, lost in their own minds as earpieces spilled music through their ears to block out the rest of the world. Ten minutes later, as they neared the clinic, the scenery began to look familiar to Nyota. From the clinic trail access, she identified Amanda's garden, the one Spock had showed her telepathically just days ago. "Spock, that's…?"
She did not need to finish her question. "Yes," he replied.
A pathway drew Nyota's attention toward the garden's central fountain, now emptied of its water to preserve it during the winter. Spock followed and noticed several differences from what he had seen just days ago. Two big, slimy, creepy purple hands gripped the fountain walls while six green eyes on a bulbous purple mass peered out from the fountain's interior toward passers-by. At each walkway corner and sitting on some of the benches were Halloween pumpkins carved in the more traditional faces and patterns that they had learned about at Janelle's party. From the trees overhead hung sheets configured to look like ghosts.
Nyota laughed. "You didn't show me any of this. I'm guessing that they decorate for Halloween."
Spock tilted his head in acknowledgment as he guided her closer to the fountain and the plaque dedicating the garden to Amanda. Nyota read it, solemnly closed her eyes, then reopened them slowly looking up to the woman's devoted son. Nyota's chest constricted a bit as her sadness and compassion flared in response to her thoughts of his loss. "Your mother…this is a beautiful gift she left here."
"She served," said Spock quietly. "Now others do so in her stead."
"To touch lives and heal hearts, and it continues because of her inspiration. I wonder, how many leave a legacy like this one?" Nyota asked. She put her arm around his waist, and he did not resist. "I'm glad I am here to see this place in person. Maybe it's not the Vulcan thing to do, but you should be proud of her."
The human in him was, though the Vulcan would not allow him to say so easily. Nyota, however, understood his silent contemplation through the warmth he sent when she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently, briefly before letting go. Deep in their thoughts, they missed the sound of approaching footsteps.
"I did not expect to find you here again."
Spock and Nyota turned. David Swenson raised a hand in friendly greeting.
"And who is this?" Swenson asked, brightening as he saw Spock's companion.
"Good morning, Mr. Swenson. This is Nyota Uhura."
The volunteer gardener/hospital dietician smiled and extended his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Miss Uhura," he said with a wink at the pretty young woman. He thought Spock had very good taste.
"The pleasure is mutual," she said in return, instantly liking the man before them. "Spock told me about you and this garden. It's lovely, and I bet it's even lovelier when the roses are blooming."
"It is. You'll have to come back and see it when they are. What brings you here this fine morning?"
In Margaret's stories, Amanda had put her trust in "Davey" at pivotal times in her life. Spock decided he would follow his mother's lead and trust his mother's friend as he and Nyota faced their own pivotal moment. Somehow it seemed right. "Mr. Swenson, we find that we are in need of assistance."
"I will help as best I can," Swenson promised. "What do you need?"
Spock relayed the events of the morning, ending with Chief Birkholtz's directive to find a place to conceal themselves. "Do you have suggestions?"
"For avoiding the media circus?" Swenson snorted. "If it's anything like your mother had to go through, I don't doubt that they are all over town looking for you now. Let's hide you in my office, out of sight, until the police figure out what to do."
"You do not have duties here?"
"I'll be done as soon as you help me set the rest of these pumpkins around the garden—there aren't too many left. My office is just across the lawn. We'll go in through the back. Then I'll get you something else to wear. You'd be less noticeable if you didn't have Starfleet Academy logos across your shirts."
"True," Nyota agreed. "Maybe we should have painted targets on our foreheads instead. We'd stand out less."
Spock, recognizing the sarcasm, rose one eyebrow slightly. Swenson laughed, then pointed to his wagonload of pumpkins. Starfleet efficiency took over as Spock and Nyota quickly located display spaces for the laughing, frowning, and surprised pumpkin faces at pathway junctures and atop prominent boulders. The three quietly dropped off the wagon at a gardener's shed, then walked across the greenspace to a building at its far end. Swenson swiped his identity card through a reader at the back entrance, and they were in. A climb up two flights of stairs, then a short walk down the hallway brought them to Swenson's office.
Swenson opened the door. "Sorry for the mess; these baskets have taken over."
Nyota looked over the scene, curious. The room looked like a Moroccan bazaar with, she guessed, 50 big, round orange baskets that resembled pumpkins themselves on Swenson's desk, the couch, the two chairs, on top of the books on the bookshelves, and, except for a small pathway, everywhere on the floor. Filling each basket to the brim were candy, toys, and small amusements.
"Here, let me clear these chairs for you," he offered, moving a couple baskets to balance precariously upon the pile of others on his desk.
"This looks like a project," Nyota observed. "What are they all for?"
"It's for the 'Reverse Trick-or-Treat' event today," Swenson said, gesturing to the two seats he had just cleared for Spock and Nyota to use. "You can imagine how awful it is to be a kid, locked up in a hospital room during Halloween. Many of our younger patients are room-bound and would normally miss out on trick-or-treating. So we give them each a bag, and volunteers in costume and celebrities make rounds to the kids' rooms. Each drop off a treat or favor for their bags while they visit awhile. By the end of the day, the kids have a bag full of treats and a head full of memories."
"That sounds like fun. What a great idea!"
"It is fun, but before we give anything out, I have to be the mean dietician who codes these baskets." From his desk drawer, Swenson pulled several bags of ribbons cut into shorter 30-centimeter sections. "Not every child can receive every treat, and some can't receive any at all, but at least they get some small toys and other favors." Swenson started tying a yellow ribbon section to a basket handle. "We have different colors for different dietary restrictions. Ah, this is the last of the yellow ribbons."
"How long has this been going on?" Nyota asked, sitting still, trying not to disrupt the baskets at her feet. Next to her Spock attempted to configure his own body to fit in the almost-inadequate space his chair offered among the stacks of baskets and other materials that threatened an avalanche.
"The hospital has been doing this for years, and so have I," Swenson continued, now reaching for a blue ribbon, as a spark of recollection lit his features. "You might be interested in some Grayson family history here. Dr. Grayson got Amanda and Margaret involved in volunteering for this when we were teenagers, and I tagged along. Amanda and Margaret's cousin Janelle joined in about the time Amanda left for Berkeley. Margaret dropped out after she had Norah. But Janelle is still involved. It's not trick-or-treat without a Grayson," he joked.
"We just met Janelle on Saturday," Nyota said.
"Oh? That's great. She's a nice lady. Being a celebrity herself, they put her in charge of celebrity recruitment. And she knows the movers-and-shakers at several candy companies who she arm-twists into giveaway donations as well. She's probably wrangling all the volunteers at the other end of the building right now…. Say, Young Man, would you tie these green ribbons on the baskets of puzzles at your feet? A simple bow would be fine."
Spock, silent in thought as he listened until this moment, took the ribbons. "I shall." Now he needed to figure out how to move without bringing down the baskets of glowsticks behind him that seemed to depend on his chair for stability.
"Great. Miss Uhura, how about these red ones for the chocolates in the baskets next to you? While you're doing that, I'm going to step out and get you some surgical scrubs or lab coats for you to wear. I'll be right back."
Nyota picked up a basket and started tying her ribbon on as instructed. Swenson left them alone, closing the door behind him.
"Spock, maybe you should call Margaret and let her know where we are." She finished tightening her bow and looked over. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the office's far wall; apparently he had returned to his thinking. Nyota had seen that look before many times. "What?"
He turned his head, angling it conspiratorially. "Do you know what it is to 'hide in plain sight'?"
"To hide in plain sight," she repeated, considering. "It means to be seen, then instantly forgotten. To blend in." Inspiration hit, and she believed she understood his train of thought. "What do you have in mind?"
"The Mayo Clinic public relations department will recruit media coverage to promote public awareness and interest in this event, will it not?
"Yes," Nyota replied. "Local media types will show up. You've got celebrities, children, and tradition—everything you need for a heart-warming story. And the publicity is good for the hospital."
"Were they to observe our participation and choose to report on such, our cooperative appearance would provide an indication of our status, thus undercutting the opportunity of discovery and impetus to devote inordinate attention to the matter."
She understood. "You want to 'out' us here, at a trick-or-treat event? Are you sure?"
"The focus on ourselves could be diluted by coverage of the greater event. Would this not be an advantage, an opportunity to control initial dissemination of information?"
"Yes," she nodded, mentally putting the variables into a grid in her head, calculating potential outcomes as she tied another red ribbon onto a basket handle, then set it down to face her companion. "Yes, I agree. They wouldn't be able to say that they caught us in hiding, and I'd feel less like prey. It is probably our best option before they found us anyway. But you know the best thing about it?"
Spock tilted his head, waiting for her revelation.
"The Mayo PR department will break the story, not the paparazzi!" she declared, pleased at that concept. "It might a few days for the gossips to figure out whether we're here on Starfleet's behalf or our own. Maybe by time they figure it out, we'll be gone." She lowered her voice. "You're more manipulative and media-savvy than people would suspect."
"Your tutoring in such matters has been most enlightening, and the tactics I propose are similar to those the captain might implement," he defended.
"Now you're blaming Kirk and me?" she laughed. "Why do I think that this is your very logical way of saying 'Up Yours' to the paparazzi?"
A small spark of amusement lit his eyes. "I cannot disagree with the sentiment, however that was not my intention. One cannot dismiss the percentage of successful outcomes despite the captain's unorthodox methods, therefore some emulation of them is logical."
She rolled her eyes in response. He ignored her expression and continued.
"Before we proceed, first we must assess the wisdom of using this vehicle for this purpose. Second, we do need to ascertain the possibility of our participation."
Nyota considered his concerns. "Well, our being here and helping out could draw attention to the hospital, just like the PR people want. And it's an event that your mother, Margaret, and Janelle have worked on at a hospital where your grandfather was a doctor, so it should surprise no one that you'd carry out a Grayson family tradition."
She paused to consider another point, then continued. "You know, even if we were not trying to beat the media at their own game, this is something that I'd enjoy doing anyway. The more I think about those kids, the more I'd like to help. David Swenson is right; being stuck in a hospital bed on Halloween stinks. I don't care what they'd want us to do. Maybe they'd let us carry baskets for one of their celebrities, or clean up after the event—anything to help out. We didn't have much planned for today anyway, and Margaret isn't going to get to work on your portrait until the paparazzi go away."
"That is a given," Spock concurred, tying the last green ribbon to the final basket of puzzles.
"Even if the press doesn't see us, let's do some good while we're here. It's better than sitting in here hiding out."
Spock did not care for inactivity, either. "Agreed. We will consult Mr. Swenson."
The door opened. "Consult me about what?" Swenson asked, setting down two sets of surgical scrubs.
Spock and Nyota looked at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. Swenson stood patiently.
"It's your family's tradition, Spock," Nyota prodded, setting the stage for his inquiry. "You ask him."
"Indeed," he said. "Mr. Swenson, we wish to offer our assistance in your endeavor today. Are there opportunities for us to do so?"
Swenson's eyebrows rose at the unexpected request. "Well, yes, we can always use a few extra hands, but … but weren't you supposed to stay out of sight? Reporters show up for this event every year. They'll see you."
"Yes, they will."
Swenson looked Spock and Nyota up and down thoughtfully. He could tell by Nyota's resolute expression and Spock's posture that they knew exactly what was about to happen to them, and that they were actively instigating it. Nevertheless, he felt bad for them. "It's a big step," he said sadly. "It was for Amanda. Once they find out, there's no going back."
"We are prepared," Spock stated, unwavering.
Swenson was not surprised. He expected no less. Made out of the same strong stuff as his mother, Swenson believed that Spock would find a way to manage the pitfalls of added celebrity. Was there a tone of resignation in Spock's voice, though? Swenson was not sure what he had heard, if anything. But he had the impression that it had been there.
Nyota sensed Swenson's unease. She rose from her chair and stepped around a basket to touch the older gentleman's arm in a gesture of comfort, again donning one of her brave smiles. "If the whole quadrant has to hear about us, we'd also like people to hear about the good things happening at this hospital." Her big, deep brown eyes projected only sincerity. "If we'd disrupt the event too much, you can turn us down. But if not…we'd like to help."
Swenson looked up to find himself staring into another pair of brown eyes. Spock had managed to navigate his way through the crowded office to her side to stand with her. For a second, those eyes served as conduit to memories of his friend Amanda. As David Swenson had helped her then, he would help his old friend again by assisting her son.
"Maybe we do need a couple more celebrities to make the rounds. Let's see what Janelle has to say."
