As it turned out, another branch of human social politics was waiting to come into play when they returned to New England.

'Oh, it's a message from mother!' Christine said as she checked the comm on their return to the house. 'She's probably asking why I haven't called her yet. I'll have to explain everything that we've been doing.'

'My experience of human mothers is largely limited to my own, although I have met the captain's mother,' Spock reflected. 'Did your mother expect you to contact her immediately upon your arrival?'

Christine laughed. 'Most mothers do, and I think yours would be included in that. I meant to. I really did. But I was so busy sorting out the clothing and shopping for food and all those other things that I just didn't get to it. She's probably offended now.'

'You did come here because you wished to see your parents?' Spock asked her curiously.

'Yes, I did,' she nodded. 'But mother and I have – well – I suppose it's a difficult relationship. Of course we love one another and I want to see her. It's just – I don't know. I never felt like I became what she wanted me to be. She wanted another doctor in the family, and I was just a nurse.'

'You chose a nursing post in order to facilitate a search for your fiancé,' Spock reminded her. 'You have always had the intention of completing your MD, have you not?'

'Well, yes, I have, but I've let things drift by,' she murmured. 'I've been concentrating on that bio-research PhD and – well, you know how it is.'

Spock remained silent. He was not entirely sure how it was since usually when he had a goal he made sure to complete it.

'Your mother is aware that your career is not her own?' he asked.

Christine laughed and tossed a crust of the bread she was eating to Sacha. The dog snapped it up and then slumped onto the floor with a satisfied groan.

'I'm not entirely sure she is,' Christine said. 'Well, maybe I'll just write her a quick message. I'm tired and it's late. I can speak to her tomorrow.'

Spock leant back on the settee and listened to the slight noises as Christine accessed the comm terminal and began typing her message. He had his datapadd on his lap and was carefully reviewing all of the research that Alunan had finally allowed him to take away after their meeting. It was obvious that the man was withholding some elements of his discoveries, but there was a great deal of data to sift through and he could extrapolate some of the missing portions. It was a fairly simple idea, it seemed. The breakthrough had been in finding a virus which would target the mutated cells without targeting other body cells. Dr Alunan was not forthcoming on how he had managed this. Spock wondered if he had engineered the virus himself or whether the root had come from an organic disease. It if had it could be from anywhere in the known galaxy.

It would be a fascinating project to attempt to track down the root of the virus, and something that he was sure Christine would be very interested in. He had to admit that it was highly pleasant seeing her so enthralled and engrossed in such work. He was certain that most human men would cite the shape of eyes, the colour of hair, the curves of the body among a woman's most attractive features. To him the sharpness of the mind and the ability to lose oneself in pure data were at least as attractive, although he had no desire to spurn the physical attributes that Christine brought to their relationship.

He wondered what Christine would say if he complimented her on her excellently scientific mind. He opened his mouth to say something of the sort when she abruptly exclaimed, 'Oh, really!'

'You have a response from your mother?' he asked as she turned from the comm.

'And I thought you were a stranger to human intuition?' Christine asked him.

'It is not intuition, Christine, but a reasonable extrapolation from the circumstances and your tone of voice,' Spock corrected her. 'It is a response from your mother?'

'Yes, it is,' she sighed, coming across the room and sitting down beside him. 'We're going to see her tomorrow. Dad will be working, but she wants us to come over anyway so she can see us as soon as possible.'

Spock paused a moment, attempting to assess the feelings that he could sense from her mind.

'You are not happy about this?' he asked.

'It's more that she's left me no choice,' Christine sighed. 'Just once, you know, just once I'd like to take control in that relationship. Just once.'

'You could tell her no,' Spock suggested.

'I couldn't,' Christine said.

'You have often been most assertive in the past,' Spock reminded her. 'I have been on the receiving end of some of your assertiveness in sick bay, if you recall.'

'Well, if you remember how you listen to my assertiveness in sick bay then you'll know how mother would respond to my assertiveness now,' she said tartly. 'Not going is not an option. Besides, it's stupid. I want to see her. She wants to see me. There's no logical reason not to go tomorrow.'

'Then we shall go, and it will be your decision to go,' Spock assured her.

Christine sighed. 'All right. Well, she's expecting us around one tomorrow. She's going to give us lunch. Just be prepared to be on show.'

'On show?' Spock echoed.

'As the new guy, the new boyfriend. Mother does like to vet my romantic interests. You'll be a doozy for her.'

'A – doozy?' Spock asked, beginning to feel as if he were embarking on learning a different language.

'You know. Something special. Something out of the ordinary. I mean really out of the ordinary.'

'You refer to my genetic heritage?'

'I suppose I do,' she smiled, leaning in against his shoulder and sighing. 'I think your genetic heritage is exquisite. But mother – well, she has nothing against non-humans, but she does like to find fault with things.'

'Do you place stock in her opinion?'

'She's my mother, Spock. I don't have to agree with her but I suppose I'll always have a latent desire to please her.'

Spock went to bed later with Christine's words running through his mind. He did not harbour insecurities about their relationship. After all, Christine had held a romantic interest in him for a long time, and Vulcans did not change their minds easily either. But the meeting with her mother tomorrow would be an interesting occasion. He wondered if she looked at all like her daughter, then remembered that Christine's hair was naturally brown, so perhaps her mother would be of a similar complexion. It also sounded, although he was sure that Christine would strenuously deny it, that they were also of a similar personality; strong and with dearly held opinions.

''''''''''

The weather was quite bitter the next day and Spock felt chilled even in the small apartment, which was well insulated but made to be heated to human standards, not Vulcan. He was grateful for the thick sweaters that Christine had bought for him a few days ago and was already wearing three layers of clothing even before they had left the apartment.

'Is it snowing?' he asked of Christine as he stood near the window. There was no way to tell without opening it and putting his hand out into the air, and that was not something he was eager to do.

There was a moment's pause and then she came across the room to stand beside him.

'Snowing like there's no tomorrow,' she said, with a brightness in her voice that seemed to make the snow a welcome thing, even if to Spock it mostly meant added difficulty and more cold. 'Settling beautifully, too.'

'Hmm,' Spock said.

'Well, Sacha enjoys it anyway,' Christine said brightly, and the dog leapt up at her name. 'No, not now, later,' Christine told the dog firmly. 'We'll go out later.'

'It is almost half past twelve,' Spock reminded her.

'Yes,' Christine said, with a guilty tone to her voice.

'Christine?' he asked her.

'It's just – mother thinks she's allergic to dogs,' she said.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

'She thinks that she is allergic to dogs?' he repeated.

'Well, the medical scanners don't agree with her and you'd think she could just take a shot, but – well – she still says she's allergic to them,' Christine said awkwardly. 'So do you think it would be all right if – well – '

'Sacha can remain here,' Spock nodded. It was odd to see Christine, who was usually so confident, so put off her stride. He felt a certain amount of sympathy for her, remembering numerous occasions when he had been obliged to alter his plans because of Sarek's peculiarities.

'Shall we get out into the snow, then?' Christine asked once Spock had taken Sacha to the kitchen and shut her in. She added more softly, 'I appreciate it, about Sacha.'

As they stepped out into the freezing air a whirl of snowflakes flurried into Spock's face, and he blinked, holding onto Christine's arm firmly as they walked down the path.

'There is a certain benefit in holding on to a person's arm in such icy conditions,' Spock admitted. 'The dog cannot help me if I slip.'

'Well, there is that,' she said. 'Are you sure you don't want to just call a cab?' she checked as another fluster of snow was driven against their faces.

'I am sure,' Spock assured her. 'There is no reason not to walk.'

Actually he could add up a few reasons in his mind, the temperature and the icy state of the sidewalks quite prominent among them, but having spent the greater proportion of the past decade or more largely confined to the sterile atmosphere of a starship it felt good to take advantage of every opportunity to make contact with the outdoors. Besides, he was aware that the time taken to walk to Christine's parents' house would afford her a chance to relax somewhat and be in a more receptive frame of mind when she met her mother.

When they arrived outside the house he could still feel the tension from Christine, but she did seem somewhat more relaxed. They stepped up onto the porch and the falling snow suddenly ceased. Christine rang the bell, and a moment later the door opened.

There were the subtle noises and the effusion of emotions that usually surrounded some type of embracing, and he heard Christine say in a rather muffed voice, 'Mom, it's so good to see you.'

The indeterminate noises continued for a few moments longer, and then Christine stepped back and touched her hand to Spock's arm, saying, 'Mom, this is Spock.'

The pause was so small as to be almost unnoticeable, but it was definitely there. And then a voice very like Christine's, but rather older in tone, said, 'Spock, it's lovely to finally meet you.'

Spock inclined his head politely. The woman's hesitation was not entirely surprising. Many people found meeting a Vulcan a daunting prospect, and the effect could only be enhanced when that Vulcan was involved in a relationship with one's daughter.

'Likewise, Dr Chapel,' he said. 'I have heard a great deal about you from Christine.'

There was that hesitation again, and then Dr Chapel said in a rather rushed voice, 'Well, come on in out of the cold. I've got coffee brewing, and I just got in a batch of cookies from the baker. I – suppose you do eat cookies, Spock? Christine always loved her cookies.'

Spock assented, choosing to follow the dictates of human social intercourse rather than logic, despite the fact that he was not hungry. Christine murmured very low in his ear, 'Mother never cooked, but she buys well.'

Spock turned his head toward her in interest. There had been a hint of amusement in her tone, but he wondered whether he could detect under that a trace of regret – a feeling, perhaps, of wishing for a mother who had baked sometimes rather than cultivated her career.

'The door opens on your right,' Christine said, still in that almost inaudible voice.

Spock could feel Dr Chapel's eyes on him as he moved towards the door. Scrutiny was something else that he was used to – especially when the one scrutinising him did not realise that he could sense the attention.

'Come on in and sit down,' Dr Chapel said, shutting the door behind them with a sharp noise. Christine took Spock into a well warmed room and they took a seat together on a firm settee.

'Chrissie, why don't you come and help me fix the coffee?' her mother asked.

Christine seemed to demur for a moment, and then stood up, pressing her hand over Spock's as she did.

'I'll be right back,' she said.

Spock nodded, and listened as they left the room. Once the door had closed he stood up, extending his cane and feeling lightly about his immediate area with it. The floor seemed to be wood with a rug just at the edge of the cane's reach. He could tell by the blurred light in his field of vision that there were probably windows with the blinds or curtains open, and a central ceiling light. The room smelt of cleaning products and a light scent that he was certain was sandalwood, or some inorganic facsimile of sandalwood. He was not about to go wandering around the room. There was little reason to. He sat back down on the settee and rested his head back, and realised that while he was still and silent he could hear Christine and her mother talking in the kitchen.

'You're got your man now, Christine,' her mother said. 'Why don't you let your hair grow natural? Brown suits you so.'

'I'm quite happy with it as it is,' Christine protested. 'Besides, Spock likes it blonde.'

'Christine, the man's stone blind!' her mother exclaimed. 'You could have it sky-blue-pink with yellow polka dots for all he'd know.'

'Mother!' Christine hissed. Her chair scraped on the floor with her words, and Spock heard her moving towards the kitchen door, and then changing her mind and reseating herself.

'You do too much for men,' her mother continued. 'You've always given yourself up too far for men. That's what started this ridiculous blonde thing, wasn't it? Why you gave up the chance to be a doctor, why you joined that warship.'

'The Enterprise is not a warship,' Christine protested, 'and I've never done anything I didn't want to do. I'm perfectly happy on the ship. No. I'm more than happy.'

'Christine, you're involved with an emotionally unavailable alien!' her mother said in a low hiss which she must have imagined would be far beyond the reach of Spock's ear. Spock raised an eyebrow, fascinated but not upset.

'Oh, he's far from emotionally unavailable, believe me,' Christine said vehemently, making no such effort to lower her voice. 'Vulcans control their emotions, but they still have them – they just deal with them – much better than we do.'

'And he's blind, too,' her mother said, ignoring her barbed comment. 'Christine, he's just like the projects you used to bring back from the woods – the injured squirrels, the chicks fallen from their nests. They all died, you know.'

'Is this in any way relevant?' Christine asked impatiently.

'Christine, he's a project – '

'I'll let you finish making the coffee, mother,' Christine said abruptly.

Christine entered the room and sat heavily and abruptly on the settee beside Spock. He turned his head toward her, trying to gauge her emotions. She seemed worked up, but not as upset as he had imagined she was from her tone of voice.

'Humans have thin walls,' he commented dryly.

'Spock, that's my mother worrying about me,' she reassured him gently. 'It's her way of caring, nothing more. It doesn't mean she disapproves of you any more than she disapproves of my hair colour.'

'You mother does seem to disapprove of your hair colour,' Spock told her.

Christine laughed. 'She bought me my first bottle of dye, Spock,' she told him. 'Go catch a man with it, she said. No man's ever liked brown.'

'I have never seen your hair brown,' Spock commented, reaching a hand up to catch his fingers in the fine strands. 'I imagine it would suit you.'

'Well, when you can see, I'll let it grow brown,' she promised him. 'But I'm not changing it for now. I like it blonde.'

Spock was silent for a moment, contemplating, then he said abruptly, 'What would I do without you, Christine?'

'Just what you did before we got together,' she said practically. 'You'd carry on perfectly.'

Spock shook his head. 'I am too used to your presence. I would flounder without you.'

'I hope not!' she said seriously. 'Spock, I don't do too much for you, do I?'

'No, Christine,' he promised her. 'You assist me when I need it. That is all. If you were not here to help me, I would almost certainly be forced to rely on a stranger for assistance.'

'Well, all right,' she said, stroking her hand over his thigh. She removed it as if she had been burnt as the door opened again and her mother entered, carrying with her the scent of coffee and cookies.