Despite my warning that Sarek might not survive surgery, that he should say something to his father, Spock's still balking. I crowd him roughly toward his father.
"Sarek…"
The older Vulcan stares wordlessly at the ceiling.
Spock steels himself and places his fingertips over his father's hand, an offer in the Vulcan way. I've seen that familial finger touch between other Vulcans. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling vindicated.
Then Sarek pulls his hand away; turns his face away.
Spock turns to me, his expression cool, his eyes accusing: I knew this was ill advised.