He holds a hologram of his mother loosely in his hands, staring down at it.
"Long day?" I ask gently.
As his teaching assistant, I'd observed the brief weekly calls timed to coincide with her evenings on Vulcan, the small gifts freighted to Vulcan in observation of her birthday, Mother's Day, holidays. He'd even started asking me for gift ideas, and I was glad to offer them for the pleasure of the woman who had raised such a son.
"Yes." He doesn't bother to question my implication.
His head bows. "Difficult…"
"I know." I stand by his shoulder, fighting tears.