Summary: The Romulan Commander is almost a reflection of Spock's own father, Spock thinks, and he marvels over the resemblance right up until the Romulan ship explodes and the paternal bond he shares with Sarek is abruptly, sharply snuffed out.

I'm considering this a prologue right now, but it might be left as a oneshot. Haven't decided, I'll see if I get more inspiration for it. Plenty of potential paths this could go, but god, I don't feel like turning it into an epic... we'll see.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or Heroes, nor any of the material/characters/ideas found therein.

Balance of Loyalties

Statistically speaking, individuals with precisely identical features must inevitably occur somewhere, some when in the galaxy. But such a phenomena is extremely rare, and it is even more unlikely that a single individual should meet two unrelated, identical individuals, much less ones in the exact same stage of life.

Spock has always defied the odds.

The Enterprise is, of course, in a crisis situation; he can spare no thought to the bewilderingly familiar captain of the Romulan ship they are pursuing. His first duty is and shall always be to the ship.

So he ignores the unease roiling in the gut, a sensation that deepens oddly with Lieutenant Stile's condemnation of his Vulcan heritage. It is not the first time Spock has been a subject of bigotry; it will not, he is sure, be the last. But something about the situation – how do we know he isn't helping them – makes his breath catch. He feels the weight of Kirk's gaze even as the captain reprimands Stiles.

Something is very wrong here.

Spock leaves to attend to the ship's weapons, and only learns what happens on the bridge later, by perusing the ship's tapes.

"In a different reality, I could have called you friend," the Romulan captain tells Kirk.

He never once even mentions Spock. But in the moment the self-destruct goes off, Spock knows.

Because in the ringing silence that follows, the bridge crew watches the starlight sparkle of the exploding ship, mute and graceful and quietly tragic, but in the lower decks Spock is focused on an inner break instead. The exploding ship is background to the silent snap of something small and long-ignored in his mind, a link present since the moment of his birth. A familial bond. The bond to his father.

Oh.

The Romulan hadn't been similar after all -

"Are you alright, Mr. Spock?" Kirk wants to know, joining Tomlinson and he in Sickbay afterward.

"Yes, very well." An automatic response; his mind is blurred and hazy from the low throb of the severed bond. "Thank you, Captain."

"And you, Stiles?"

"I'm alive, Sir! But I wouldn't be. Mister Spock pulled me out the phaser room. He saved my life. He risked his life and I - "

I saved his life, Spock thinks, and I killed – he cuts off the thought before it forms.

He destroyed himself (because I caused his defeat - )

Spock distantly recognizes Stiles' guilt, the man's self-recrimination. It does not please him, but instead only fuels the low burn of resentment in his stomach. Stiles' change of heart is merely a selfish justification, a means of paying a debt he feels he owes to Spock. It is almost less professional than his earlier prejudice.

"I saved a trained navigator," Spock interrupts, "so he could return to his duty." And then, with some deliberate condescension, "I am capable of no other feelings on the matter."

Because that is true, true, true, whilst normally it would be a hideous lie. His act was pure professionalism, obligation. And of course Spock cannot feel, because if he could his silent realization would leave him horror-stricken and filled with crippling grief, pain, loss -

But he can't feel. So none of that matters.

Kirk leaves to attend to the unfortunate almost-widow of Tomlinson. Spock feels Stiles' gaze on him, mutely entreating, and it feels like a challenge. He turns and exits Sickbay.

After all, none of it matters.

"What did you want to talk about, Spock?"

Spock represses the uncharacteristic urge to get up and pace. But it's difficult to sit still, to submit to the situation. Adrenaline is pounding through his veins, but there is no action to take, nothing whatsoever that can be done to salvage the situation.

"It concerns the Romulan Captain, Sir," he begins, and is unsure how to continue. They're both sitting at the small table in Spock's quarters, staring at one another over its top, and Spock follows Kirk's gaze to his own hands. His fingers are tapping and he stops them abruptly, drawing his traitorous digits under the table.

Kirk eyes him. "Alright. But – Spock, you're not still thinking about what Stiles said, are you?"

"His comments have no bearing on the matter." And they don't. Even if Stiles was much, much more accurate than he could have ever guessed.

Perhaps something of the thought shows in his face. Kirk must be skeptical, because he says "No one's really foolish enough to think Vulcans are helping the Romulans," and Spock is so helplessly struck by the awful ridiculousness of the situation that it renders him speechless.

There is a pregnant silence.

He can't say it, doesn't know how; he imagines Kirk's disbelief, denials, demands for clarification – the whole situation is unbelievable, after all. So instead of answering directly Spock turns to his console and pulls up pictures while Kirk waits. The human is patient, curious, and largely unconcerned.

The captain leans forward as a picture of Sarek and Amanda appears on the screen.

"Is that the Romulan captain? On Vulcan?" The captain asks, astonished.

"When the Romulan Captain died," Spock tells him, "the telepathic bond to my father – disappeared." A pause. "I was not aware..."

Of his deception? The lie? The enemies' blood coursing through his veins? Spock falls silent. He does not look at Kirk, but the man's stillness and shock is almost tangible in the air.

"Good God."

There is a longer silence. Not tense, necessarily, but nigh impossible to breach. Kirk twitches and opens his mouth several times before thinking better of it.

At length he settles on, "...What are you going to do?"

A pause. Spock exhales. "My father was a prominent ambassador. It will be necessary to contact Starfleet and the Federation Council. There is no way to ascertain how many talks have been sabotaged, overtly or covertly, and it is entirely possible that - "

"Spock," Kirk interrupts gently. "That can come later." Spock disagrees; what else could come first? "I mean – how are you going to deal with this?"

"I am not certain what you mean," Spock says, and it is the truth.

Kirk sighs. "That's just the problem, isn't it?"

He wonders, trying to meditate that night, if Sarek's vehemence in having a half-breed son who could act more Vulcan than Vulcan was not due to pride or misplaced protectiveness but merely a desire for secrecy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and suddenly the Vulcan Way – his 'father's' way – is not very appealing.

We are creatures of duty, Captain.

Half-Romulan. An officer of Starfleet.

I have lived my life by it...

Commander Spock leans back, sighs, and douses his meditation candle.

Perhaps, he realizes as the room grows dark, it is time to make a few changes to my own life.

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