Chapter 2

…An insistent chiming drew Spock out of a deep, self-imposed sleep. How could that be, he wondered, certain that he had turned off the phone. Then he recognized the ring pattern—Lauren's personal ring—coming from a hand phone beside the bed.

He reached out in the darkness and grabbed for it. With fumbling hands he opened the channel and spoke. "Yes! Spock here!"

He heard static. "Hello?" he said. "Who is there?"

A voice came to him, as if from a great distance. "Spock…Spock, is that you?" Lauren's voice! "Spock…Spock…" The connection crackled and faded to nothing.

"Lauren! Lauren!" Sitting bolt upright, he shouted the name over and over, but the phone was dead…

Spock woke from the dream suddenly, tears choking him, his chest aching with loss. In the dark he gathered Lauren's pillow into his arms, inhaling its faint perfumed scent, tormented by the sweet lingering reminder, yet desperate for it. When he could no longer bear the pain, he escaped once more into sleep, forcing it on himself in the Vulcan way. Time passed, measured only by the deep corner of his mind that never fully lost awareness.

…There was a sound of music. Spock found himself in the beach house, the day of T'Beth's wedding. The furniture had been pushed back. At Doctor McCoy's request, Simon played "The Tennessee Waltz" on his violin—the same piece of music McCoy once requested for a dance with Lauren at Spock's own wedding reception. Only this time, McCoy danced with T'Beth.

Spock turned to Lauren and they began to waltz in a fashion, careful of her injured leg held in a brace. As they moved to the music, he gazed into her exquisite blue eyes and felt her love reaching deep inside him, to the very center of their bond. It was stirring their sexual attraction.

Suddenly she laughed and came to a stop. "I'm afraid that's all my leg can manage." And rising up she whispered in his ear, "Later, for you. Look over by the door, Daddy. I think someone's waiting."

He turned and saw his youngest daughter watching the dance, hands clasped at her chest, clearly enthralled.

Spock went to the girl and bowing with decorum, said, "My Lady Teresa, may I have the pleasure…?"

"Oh, Daddy," she giggled and sprang forward, eager for the opportunity.

He positioned her, then stepped off. Of course she did not know what she was doing, but did not seem to care as their feet tangled again and again.

Eventually the music ended. Flushed with happiness, Teresa pulled his head down and kissed him on the cheek…

Spock gasped and opened his eyes. For a moment he lay very still, feeling the moisture of her lips as sunlight streamed across the bed. An agony gripped his throat and spread through his chest, all the way down to his heart.

From outside came a strange, wheezing cry that seemed to echo through the house. Distracted from his misery, Spock sat up.

Paco!

All these days he had not given a thought to the little burro that was so special to Teresa…or to the chickens. Were animals dying from neglect in his backyard?

He looked down at himself and saw that, as usual, he had slept in his clothes. Rising, he headed outdoors, but could not summon any real hurry, for he had grown weak from lack of nourishment. As he left the patio and walked out past the orange trees, the sun felt so warm on his body that it brought a reflexive shiver. Chickens milled about, healthy-looking, excited by his arrival. The corral came into sight. He saw the burro and stopped short.

A young, golden-haired girl stood in the enclosure beside Paco, petting the animal, talking softly to him. Spock realized almost at once that the child was not Teresa, but the instant of shock left him shaky.

A bearded man stepped out of the shadows beside Paco's shed and approached him.

"Bonjour," Aaron Pascal said.

Spock was vaguely aware of the deliberate way his son-in-law looked him over, and realized how bedraggled he must appear. Unshaven, hair in disarray, clothing rumpled.

Resenting the intrusion on his privacy, he coldly said, "I came here to be alone."

Aaron nodded. "Pardonnez-moi. I didn't mean to disturb you, but T'Beth was worried."

Bethany came out of the corral, warily eyed Spock, and headed straight for Aaron. As Aaron reached out and drew her closer, Spock looked at the grandchild he had once treasured and wondered that he felt nothing for her now, felt nothing but the loss that continued to consume him. No wonder he frightened her.

"Je vais bien," Spock said, though he was not at all well.

Once more Aaron nodded, took Bethany, and left. Alone, Spock checked the animals' food and water, and saw to his relief that someone had already replenished them.

Later that day, he thought he heard a tapping at the back door. He ignored it. For a long while he lay in bed, flat on his back, unable to impose more sleep on his body. Instead, he was forced to deal with his thoughts. The grief was gnawing a hole inside him, tearing its way down to the deepest deposit of his fears.

He saw the problem clearly, and it was not at all new. All his Earth contemporaries—friends, family, and acquaintances—rapidly growing old before his eyes. Had Lauren lived, it would have been the same. Soon they would all be gone, while he continued on, looking younger than his years. Living among humans, the two hundred plus lifespan of a Vulcan could be a curse.

More and more Spock felt himself withdrawing from life. Perhaps, after all, he was dying, too. He found the idea of oblivion somewhat comforting, but at sunset a great thirst drove him into the bathroom where he stood at the sink drinking cup after cup of water. And he knew that at least his body was not yet ready to surrender.

That night he stayed awake in order to escape the dream anguish that now came regularly. He rummaged in the bedroom, found a fresh candle for Lauren's vigil light and set it in a new spot, as an attunement flame, away from her little religious shrine.

The shadows writhed with memories as he sat on the floor. Closing his eyes, he attempted to meditate in the old way, by emptying his mind. A wall of bitterness shut away all thought of any Other but himself.

God.

What God?

What holy, infinite Being would allow evil to prevail over innocence? Yanash had promised life, but through Sobek, he had brought death into the heart of Spock's family. If this was how God behaved, Spock wanted no part of Him.

oooo

"Señor."

At the sound of the childish voice, Spock turned, still holding the flake of hay he was about to give the burro. A black-haired girl of perhaps twelve was walking toward him. He had seen her before, playing with Teresa. She was one of his landlord's seven daughters, each of them beautiful in her own way. They lived on the adjoining property.

"Señor," she said again, and Spock noticed that she was carrying some sort of covered dish.

"Yes," he said, wanting only to be rid of her.

"I'm Rosa Valdez," she said shyly. "Mama noticed you were home and sends you this…to eat. I came by yesterday and knocked on the backdoor, but maybe you were busy. The chickens and the burro…Paco…we took care of them while you were indisposed." Her dark eyes glistened with tears. "Poor Teresita…and the Señora. We are so very sorry. We went to the Mass, but we didn't see you. It must be very hard." She glanced around. "Where is Jamie?"

The question took Spock aback, as if…for a time…he had forgotten that Teresa had a twin brother. He realized that he did not know whether James was with T'Beth or in Idaho. He also realized that he did not care.

"Yes, James. He is…away."

"Oh," Rosa said, clearly disappointed, with more feeling than Spock felt for his own son. She offered the dish. "Well, here it is—and the eggs. Mama saved those, if you want them."

Spock tossed Paco the hay, then reluctantly accepted the dish from Rosa. He was in the house before it occurred to him that he had not thanked her, nor mentioned that her family should keep the eggs. Such a lovely child, so full of life that it pained him. He hoped that she would not come back.

He meant to set the dish aside, but the aroma escaping it awakened an appetite that he had not experienced in days. He was lifting the cover when the front doorbell rang. Almost without thinking, he put down the food and went to the door.

There on the porch stood a fair-haired Vulcan in the clerical garb of a Yanashite. It was Earth's only priest, Kero.

Spock tensed and nearly closed the door in his face.

Kero smiled sadly. "Spock, you have not answered my calls and I was deeply concerned about your welfare."

"Well, you need not be," Spock bluntly told him.

There was an interval of silence that quickly became very awkward. Spock had no intention of inviting the priest inside.

Finally Kero said, "May I enter?"

With a painful twist in his heart Spock answered, "No, you may not. And please do not trouble me again."

Though it was unconscionably rude, Kero showed no sign of irritation. He merely said, "I will pray to the Shiav for you."

Spock gave in to a surge of anger and slammed the door.

oooo

T'Beth was excited. "I can't believe I'm getting him out of that house. I can't believe he's actually coming to dinner."

"He's not here yet," Aaron cautioned her.

But a few minutes later, Spock's skimmer settled onto the driveway.

T'Beth grasped Bethany by the shoulders and leaned close. "Now honey, remember. Grandfather might act a little different, but he still loves you. It's just that he misses Lauren and Teresa so much. We all do, but we're not going to talk about that tonight, okay? It just makes everyone sad."

"Okay Mommy," Bethany agreed, her Sy-amber eyes wide and solemn.

Spock descended on the house like a storm cloud. The black he wore accentuated his reed thinness, but he had shaved and he was clean, right down to the shaggy hair growing over his Vulcan ear tips.

T'Beth put her arms around him, but he was as stiff as a statue and it hurt that he did return the embrace. Forcing a smile, she tried to shake it off.

"It's so good having you here," she said. "Are you hungry?"

She knew at once that the question was a mistake. Whatever had become of him, a Vulcan respected truth, and she knew by his hesitation that he was not looking forward to the meal she had prepared.

Finally he said "I will eat," as if it was an unpleasant duty.

They sat down to meatless lasagna, salad, garlic bread, and wine. Wondering how Spock would react, T'Beth offered grace with her eyes open. As she prayed, he picked up his wine glass and swallowed down its entire contents. Her father, who had hardly ever done more than sip liquor.

Her stomach cinched tight and she did not offer him a refill. Dinner progressed with awkward attempts at conversation. Aaron tried his best to draw Father into a discussion of the earth changes along the Pacific Coast, a favorite subject in the past, but Spock responded only in monosyllables. "Yes." "No." "Indeed." "Perhaps."

Bethany watched her forbidding grandfather and picked at her food until she said, "Mommy, I don't feel very good. Can I go to bed?"

The child was three-quarters Sydok and empathetic enough to be sickened by this strange darkness that had come into their home. Right then, T'Beth knew that inviting her father had been a truly bad idea and instinct told her the evening would not end well.

"Go ahead, honey," she replied. "I'll be in later." She did not ask Bethany to tell her grandfather goodnight. He had not once looked at the child.

Now, with just the three adults at the table, T'Beth caught her husband's attention.

Taking the hint, Aaron announced, "Spock, T'Beth and I have some good news."

Father looked up from his plate with complete indifference—or worse, as if the whole affair bored him.

T'Beth felt tears threatening. She clenched her hands and fought them back. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she said, "Father, we're expecting a child…early next year."

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but he was silent.

T'Beth felt her emotions wavering between anger and pity. Anger won out. Throwing down her napkin, she said, "Don't worry. We'll see that it doesn't inconvenience you in any way. Tell me, Father, why did you even bother to come here?"

He pushed back his chair and stood so abruptly that it nearly toppled. His eyes were black with a fury that froze T'Beth's heart.

"You wanted me to come," he said bitterly. "You banged on my door until I opened it, and you pleaded with me to come…"

For a terrible moment they just stared at one another, and T'Beth realized that he truly had become a stranger. With the loss of Lauren and Teresa, the father she knew had died, and with him all the love he had once held toward her. It was a crushing thought, but within herself T'Beth found the core of strength that her father seemed to have misplaced. She did not weep or lash out at him, and the words that came from her mouth surprised her.

"Have you been to the cemetery? Have you seen what's written on their headstone? 'We have not died, but only gone before'." And she asked, "Has your Yanashite faith given you no comfort?"

He winced as if she had reached out and struck him. Turning, he strode out of the house, taking the darkness of hell with him.

Aaron sprang to his feet and followed.

"No, don't!" T'Beth called after him. She had glimpsed the rare look of anger on her husband's face, but he was already out the door.

Aaron caught up to Spock as he was about to get in his skimmer. His father-in-law turned and confronted him with an expression so icy and menacing that Aaron realized they might actually come to blows. Aaron was younger and more solidly built, but Spock was two inches taller and had all the strength of a Vulcan. It would not be much of a fight.

Drawing a deep breath, Aaron braced himself. "Sir, you behaved like an ass. Do you have any idea how badly you've upset your daughter?"

"I only spoke the truth," Spock replied in a brittle tone. "T'Beth is responsible for her own reactions to it."

Aaron's anger deepened. "Don't speak to me of responsibility! You have two sons who are still minors. Two sons you ignore as if they don't even exist. You are their father. Aren't you responsible for them?"

The logic of his words seemed to have some small cooling effect on the Vulcan temper. Stiffly Spock said, "Simon has his music. James has Kirk."

"If only that was enough," Aaron told him, and went back into the house.

oooo

Spock awoke from a strange dream in which Lauren was frying bacon. It was something she had never done, for she knew how the odor disgusted him, even after he had become a Yanashite and could consume meat if he so desired. He had chosen not to.

Lying in bed, he shunted the dream memory to the depths of his mind, with the other wounds festering like poison. Brilliant sunlight streamed through the windows, promising another day well over 100 degrees, another day locked behind the walls of his own making.

A sound drew his attention—a clatter from the kitchen—and with a start he came fully awake and realized that the smell of food was something more than a fading dream. Logic told him that it was not Lauren, yet his heart clung insanely to hope.

Lunging out of bed, he rushed into the kitchen.

A woman stood at the stove. She turned, and seeing his disheveled state, her eyes warmed with sad affection. She was Vulcan in appearance, delicately built, with flaming red hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. Spock froze at the sight of T'Naisa Brandt, the wall inside him snapping firmly back into place.

"You!" he spat.

The sad look in her eyes deepened. Studying him, she left the stove and moved closer.

"Qual se tu?" she said in passable Vulcan, then reverted to her native tongue. "I hadn't wanted to believe them. Spock, what has become of you?"

It was all he could do to keep from thrusting her out the door. "This is my home. You had no right to enter without my permission."

"Oh?" Her slanted eyebrow arched. "You mean, like the way you respected my mother's property rights on Vulcan when you broke and entered and carried me off in the night? Those property rights?"

That point, he could not argue. So he simply said, "Get out."

She did not move. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Spock. I'm here as a favor to Sorel. Word of your tragedy reached us on Vulcan, but we've been unable to contact you. Even here, you didn't answer your phone, you didn't open your door. So…"

"So you broke in."

She went back to the stove. Taking up a spatula, she divided bacon and eggs between two plates and set them on the kitchen table. Fork in hand, she dropped into a chair.

"Come on," she said, "eat."

"I do not ingest pig flesh," Spock replied icily.

Reaching out, she grabbed the bacon off his plate and transferred it to her own. "Good," she remarked, licking her greasy fingers. "I'm famished. I can get cranky if I miss a meal, and you look cranky enough for the both of us." She wolfed down a mouthful and glanced up at him. "Aren't you going to have breakfast? The eggs are good; they ought to be, they're from your own chickens. Oh, here…" She pushed a small brown sack across the table. "I bought some Bing cherries. Do you like them?"

The first intensity of Spock's anger had faded to mere annoyance. It almost seemed as if he were back in the commandant's office at Starfleet Academy and Cadet Brandt was trying to talk her way out of yet another disciplinary action. He found himself wondering if this was how she had always acquired such lenient sentences, while he was made to languish at Luna Correctional Facility for a crime he did not commit—a crime for which Brandt had, out of spite, framed him. But he had observed that alluring young women often received a lighter punishment than men. It would seem that "blind" justice was sometimes swayed by a pleasing feminine form.

It rather surprised Spock to find these old issues coursing through his mind. He thought that he had forgiven her once and for all. The true reason for these vengeful considerations did not occur to him— that in fact he had begun the process of discrediting T'Naisa because of her association with the Yanashite Community. She had become a well-known lecturer on the Shiav's Way. Now had she, of all people, been chosen by the Yanashite leadership to reprimand him? Coming from T'Naisa Brandt, such a scolding would be particularly offensive.

Spock stood watching her shove eggs and bacon into her mouth, his revulsion growing by the moment. Holding onto his temper, he said, "I would have expected Sorel to send my uncle instead of you."

"Sparn is busy overseeing our expansion at Baruk—that nice property you donated." She waved the last slice of bacon in his direction. "I bet you you've never actually tasted it, have you? How do you know you don't like it, if you haven't even tried it?"

Spock could bear no more of her and said, "I expect you out of here when I return."

He left for a long hot shower, and put on fresh clothes. Any hope that T'Naisa might have heeded his words withered when he entered the living room. The halfling sat comfortably in Lauren's favorite chair, devouring cherries from the bag in her lap. The table beside her held a collection of moist pits.

Glancing up at him, she said, "You look better…but you really should have shaved, too."

He glowered at her. "Do you ever stop eating?"

"Do you ever eat?" she countered, and offered him the crumpled bag of fruit. "Here, have some."

Spock took three swift steps and knocked the bag from her hand. The cherries spilled over the floor. Stunned, T'Naisa stared up at him for a moment, but never lost her composure.

"That wasn't nice," she said in a mild tone. "Not very sanitary, either. This floor has seen better days." She got down on her hands and knees and started picking up the fruit. "You've developed some very bad manners, my friend."

"I am not…your…friend," Spock said with slow, icy emphasis.

She put the last cherry into the bag. Rising to her feet, she stood too close for Spock's comfort, her brown eyes calm but very sad. Softly she said, "May the Shiav help you."

"So it begins," Spock said heatedly, and turning away, he went over to a window and stared out, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His gaze fell on some bare, brown canes protruding from the soil, and in his mind he saw Lauren bent over them, her hands dirty and her cheeks as pink as the roses she was planting. He shut his eyes tightly.

"Spock." T'Naisa's voice was gentle behind him. "Spock, tell me what you are feeling."

Clearing the grief from his face, he turned to her and asked with sarcasm, "Should I kneel? Perhaps you would like to view my sins?"

"That remark is beneath you," she said levelly. "I am no priest and never claimed to be. I'm here only to offer condolences for your terrible loss."

"Please!" he said with impatience. "As if you care anything at all about my family. As I recall, you once claimed to have murdered them. You told me so…quite convincingly…as you held me at gunpoint in my academy office."

"But I didn't kill them," she was quick to respond, "and I don't think I could have killed you, either."

"But you could damn well send me off to prison."

He had the satisfaction of seeing tears form in her eyes.

When at last she replied, her voice was hushed. "This is something more than grief. You've lost your faith—haven't you?"

"I have come to my senses." The words were said; it was out in the open. Spock headed off any talk of a loving Shiav. "I will tell you plainly what I think of Yanash. Clearly the man meant well, but more than one premise of his teachings was flawed. For instance—"

"Man?" T'Naisa interrupted. "Yanash is far more than a man."

"It is true," Spock said, "that Yanash displayed extraordinary powers for a Vulcan. In him, we may have seen the next step of our evolutionary development." The assertion stirred an uneasy pang inside him. Ignoring it, he went on. "Unfortunately, he erred by departing from the traditional interpretation of Surak's teachings."

"You've given this a lot of thought," T'Naisa observed. "Spock, how very wise you are. So it was an evolutionary mutant who brought your son James back from the dead. A mutant who recovered the fragments of His ruined body from the desert feeders and resurrected it entirely whole."

Spock ignored her and continued his own line of reasoning. "Yanash was wrong to encourage emotions, and I will cite a specific case as my proof. It is the story of a Vulcan youth. This young Vulcan began to trust in Yanash and gave freer rein to his emotions. For that reason, his mother and his betrothed rejected him. The day came when the youth found himself all alone in an alien world, and a fellow Yanashite accepted him into his family. But the young man had drifted from Yanashite ways and was left with many bitter emotions that he no longer knew how to control. One day, he took a knife into his hands…" Breaking off, he became aware that he was trembling. But he was not quite finished. "Yanash was wrong to encourage emotion in a Vulcan. Surak knew it; Vulcans are savages. For us, emotion is a torment. Emotions are dangerous. Emotion is the enemy."

A deep silence settled over the room.

T'Naisa looked into his eyes and said, "Your logic is flawed."

The dark churning of Spock's own emotions seemed to confirm his position. T'Naisa's cool self-assurance was aggravating. "You…an academy dropout…presume to correct me?"

"Perhaps," she said, "I am the only person who can. A halfling, like you—part human, part Vulcan. I know what it's like to feel torn in two. It's true that I don't have your education, but this isn't Starfleet Academy. You're not Commandant anymore, and you're not my teacher. Spock, now you're the one who needs to listen. It's your logic that is flawed. By isolating yourself from God…and from all those who love you, you are in error. By withdrawing your love, you cause pain to everyone around you. By denying the value of emotion, you betray the love that your wife and daughter held for you. You betray them."

Spock exploded. "It is Yanash who betrayed them! He betrayed all of Vulcan!"

T'Naisa stood her ground, as placid as ever. "No, Spock. It is you who betrayed the Shiav—on Vulcan, and now again. You are angry with Yanash. In the way you hold a grudge, you are so like your father."

Infuriated, Spock seized her by the throat. With his fingers clamped on the Tal-Shaya pressure points, he said through his teeth, "Get out of here right now or I will break your neck!"

Her face blanched against her flaming hair. "Oh my God," she choked.

"You may take Him with you, as well," Spock said tersely, and shoving her from him, he strode away.

From his bedroom he heard the front door open and close. Then once more he was alone, and the house seemed very quiet.

oooo

James was on the phone and he was crying. As T'Beth talked with him, she reminded herself that tears were a good thing. He had always tended to hold things in when he was troubled, but seeing him so distraught tore at her, just the same. He was almost the image of his father at ten, just as Teresa had looked very much like her mother.

"Jamie," she said gently, "would you rather come live with us? I've decided to enroll Bethany in a Catholic school here. You could go together."

James sat with his elbow on Jim Kirk's table, looking down, forehead cradled in one hand. "But what about my father?" The words wrenched from him. "Doesn't he want me anymore? He won't even talk on the phone."

T'Beth felt a thickness gathering in her own throat. Poor little brother. She was sick of lying to him, sick of covering for a father who no longer seemed to care about any of them. But lie she did. "Of course Spock wants you. He loves you, Jamie, I know he does. Just give him a little time and things will get better."

Jamie sobbed, "He wishes I'd stayed home, doesn't he? Instead of Teresa. He wishes she was the one still alive."

"No!" T'Beth said in horror. "That's not true!" Yet somewhere deep inside, she actually wondered.

Hadn't Simon voiced the same thought yesterday? At seventeen, Simon did not give in so easily to tears, but he was hurting. As a Yanashite, he had looked to Spock both as a father and as a spiritual example.

Suddenly an idea came to T'Beth and she said, "I heard from your brother. Simon's coming to Phoenix on a concert tour. Why don't we see if Jim can bring you? We can all have a nice visit and you can decide then where you want to live." And just maybe Jim could take the opportunity to talk some sense into their father.

Jamie thought about it and solemnly nodded.

After the call, T'Beth joined Aaron in the living room, where he was engrossed in some technical challenge that he had brought home from Research and Development. Now more than ever she was thankful for their careers in Starfleet. Her own work in Diplomatic Affairs gave her some much needed relief from personal problems.

She told Aaron about her plans for the upcoming concert and wondered aloud if she should try to invite Spock.

"I wouldn't," Aaron advised. "Those boys are having a hard enough time, as it is. Let Kirk do the talking—not that Spock will even open the door, but you never know."

T'Beth sighed and picked up the Bible she bought at Lourdes during their honeymoon. As she paged through the New Testament, she could not help thinking of that day and how different her father had been then.

Aloud she said, "Father smiled. The day I showed him this Bible, he smiled. A real smile, with teeth showing."

Aaron looked as if he did not quite believe it.

"I was upset about your lack of faith, and he warned me against being 'temperamental'. It's almost funny, isn't it? Look at him now."

She wondered if that wise, caring father still existed somewhere deep inside Spock. If only she could reach him, but she did not know how. He refused her calls, and after the painful things he had said over dinner, she was not eager to go "banging" on his door again.

Aaron was watching her. "That Bible really gives you comfort, doesn't it?"

She looked down at an epistle of John. "It's strange, but in these pages I really am finding a sense of peace…just like Father said I would. And now he's so empty, so dark, so tormented." She read a now-familiar passage. "It says here that 'God is love'. If God is love, then by rejecting love, isn't Father also rejecting God? No wonder he's miserable." Again she quoted, "'Everyone who loves…knows God'."

Her eyes rose and met those of her husband. The day Aaron proposed marriage, he had promised to shower her with love, and now his abundant love was helping ease the wounds of loss and emotional abandonment.

"Aaron, darling," she said, "I think I know why you can't see God. It's because He's inside you."

He understood that she meant love, and smiled warmly.

oooo

T'Naisa's departure left an odd, unexpected vacuum that Spock found difficult to fill. Where before he had craved isolation, the hour of social interaction—however abrasive—had somehow left him dissatisfied with his own company. Yet there was no one he wished to see and nothing at all he could say to them without creating shock or inviting criticism of his present state.

In a restive mood he wandered about the house, opening cabinets and drawers, searching aimlessly for something to catch his interest. High on a closet shelf, he came across an oblong container and froze at the sight of Lauren's flute case. Sick at heart, he stood staring at it for untold minutes.

Then, though he normally avoided the room, he was somehow in the kitchen. An unopened bottle was in his hand. Sauvignon Blanc. Cooking wine from Lauren's pantry.

Taking it into the living room, he cued up her favorite Tchaikovsky and downed the liquor in one sitting, straight from the bottle, while Swan Lake played. And for a time he slept, without dreams, utterly oblivious.

After three hours or so he awakened drunk. The phone was chiming and he had no memory of turning it on. As he sat up, the room swayed. It seemed very important to reach the phone. Rising to his feet in stages, he took a single step, staggered slightly, and made it over to the phone chair.

The chiming had ended, but he did not care. A warm, pleasant haze swirled between him and his grief, relaxing the ever-present tension that was part of his hybrid nature. Doctor McCoy was right. Liquor did sometimes help. No wonder Jim Kirk had indulged in it so freely when he was confined to a wheelchair.

There was another form of release that Spock knew far better, the memory of which never completely left him. Thinking of that forbidden pleasure now, the memory grew strong and forceful, like a hunger long unsatisfied. Last summer he had viewed an expose´ about a new oral derivative of mainline Saurian Strardus. Called "Blue", the illegal drug was fast becoming a scourge. Envisioning the deep azure capsules, he scrolled through his neglected phones messages, 417 in all, steadfastly deleting those for which he had no interest. Many of the names showed repeatedly. James Kirk, T'Naisa Brandt, Harper Publishing, James S'chn T'gai, Starfleet Command, Cristabeth Pascal, Elizabeth Fielding, Leonard McCoy, Aaron Pascal, Lawrence Fielding, S'chn T'gai Sparn, Montgomery Scott, Simon S'chn T'gai, Nyota Uhura, Vatican City, Antonia Kirk, Hikaru Sulu, T'lk D'ro Kero, and Leopold Kessler.

Kessler. Each time, the name caught Spock's eye and he hesitated, blinking away the wine-induced fog. Each time he deleted the message, unviewed.

And there it was, yet again. Leopold Kessler. Only now, with that name, two thoughts became as one.

Spock put Kessler's message on the screen.

"Hullo…Spock!" The blond bear of a man leaned toward the screen, as if trying to impel Spock to answer. "Dammit, aren't you ever home? Call me back, I'm in Flagstaff now. I bet you love it here in Arizona, it's hot as blazes. In case you didn't get my other messages, I heard the news about your wife and kid. Tough break. Let me know what I can do. Call me, you stubborn Vulcan son-of-a-bitch."

Deep inside Spock, the hunger sharpened.

Among his acquaintances, Leo Kessler was unique. Roughened by incarceration, but loyal and emotionally undemanding. Together they had survived the brutality and injustices of the corrupt Luna prison, and later served time at another. "Behind bars", Leo had been Spock's only friend. Would he be willing to help him now?

Spock was beginning the process of placing a call when he stopped to analyze his sobriety, but his judgment was too badly impaired to reach a meaningful conclusion. Hoping that he would not slur his words too noticeably or embarrass himself in other ways, he made the connection.

oooo

Two days later, Leo Kessler arrived. Spock had shaved for the occasion, and the toxic effects of his excessive alcohol consumption had faded considerably. Any momentary awkwardness fled as Leo grinned, held him at arm's length, then clapped him on the back. Leo made no mention of Spock's inebriated state during the phone call; as always, he demanded very little response. It felt to Spock as if the intervening years had melted away and they were back at Luna, only this time the prison door was inside him, as cold and hard as durasteel.

Uninvited, Leo toured the house and property while Spock followed him around. Leo did not speak of the deaths and Spock had not expected that he would, for Kessler himself had been convicted of murder. As a commander aboard Starfleet's U.S.S. Ranger, he had sent the crewman who stole his wife on a suicide mission.

Back inside, they sat in the living room and Leo told the story of his evacuation from Long Beach, where he had worked at a desalinization plant after his release from Romar Penal Colony. "I came to Flagstaff with my sister's family, but there weren't enough jobs to go around, so for now I'm drawing a relocation check. I'm in line for a position at a factory that's opening next month." He paused. "So…what do you do? Are you working?"

It was the first question Leo had asked, and it made Spock uncomfortable. After a moment of thought he simply said, "I have my Starfleet retirement." There were also royalties from his book "Betrayal and Redemption", but that would have led to a distasteful religious discussion.

"Retirement," Leo mused. Leaning back in his armchair, he put his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs. "Must be nice. But what do you do—I mean, here by yourself, all day long."

"Very little, aside from some computer chess," Spock found himself admitting, and his tone was bitter. "Leo, about that matter I mentioned on the phone…"

Leo studied him and said, "Yes, my friend, I haven't forgotten."

Spock was anxiously awaiting Leo's next words when the doorbell rang. On any other day he would have ignored it, but Leo was watching him expectantly. Feeling pressured by the situation, Spock went over to the door and opened it.

James Kirk stood on the porch and he was not smiling.

"Well, at least you came to the door," Jim said tartly. "Now are you going to invite me in?"

Reluctantly Spock stepped aside.

Jim came into the living room, spied Leo and exclaimed, "Kessler! What's he doing here?"

"He," Spock replied coldly, "is my friend."

Jim looked back and forth between the two of them. "Spock, the man's a killer. The man killed his—" Jim saw Leo stiffen, and fell silent.

It seemed to Spock that there was a fight brewing and he felt dangerously close to striking the first blow.

Jim focused on Spock. "Oh, I see," he said heatedly. "While you ignore your family, this fellow gets free run of the place. Did you even know that Jamie's in town? Did you know Simon's coming for a concert tomorrow? Of course not. You're too busy hanging out with your prison pal to answer the phone."

Leo lunged to his feet. Even from across the room, he clearly towered over Jim.

"Leave the man alone," Leo advised. "Kirk, you're nothing but a busted admiral, and retired, at that."

Jim ignored him and kept his eyes on Spock. "You think Jamie wants me for his father. Well, you're wrong. He wants you, and I'm sick of trying to make up excuses for the way you treat him. You're tearing that boy apart."

The words struck Spock hard and his anger faded to a dull sense of shame. Quietly he admitted, "I no longer have anything to give him…or Simon."

"Yourself," Jim urged. "Just give them yourself. That's all they want."

"I cannot."

For a moment Jim stood there, his face flinty with anger. Then he grabbed Spock by the front of his shirt, shoved him into a chair, and snapped, "Go ahead! Sit there and rot while your sons go to hell!"

Leo started after Jim, but standing his ground, Jim faced him with all the authority of a starship captain. Leo stopped short, his hands balled into fists.

Once again Jim turned to Spock, only now he seemed more disappointed than angry. "Think man," he pleaded. "Don't you give a damn about anyone?"

When Spock gave no answer, he left without a backward glance.