At last this peculiar kind of captivity was over. After another twenty-four hours Dr Badami assured him that he was no longer infectious and Spock was allowed to sign himself out of the hospital's care. He gathered his few belongings together and harnessed Sacha, and left the room with his hand loosely touching a nurse's arm. It was odd navigating through this new type of visual impairment. It showed him so much more than he had seen since first becoming blind, but it was also deceptive and confusing.

'Would you like me to take you to main reception and order a cab?' the nurse asked him.

Spock shook his head. 'I would like you to take me to the labs,' he said. 'I intend to offer my help to those researching a treatment for this virus.'

'Oh, well I can't be sure they'll let you in, Commander,'the nurse said doubtfully. 'But I can take you down there. Those poor people need someone to work out a cure. We have a ninety-five year old who – '

Spock stiffened. 'A ninety-five year old?' he cut across her. His grandmother was ninety-five, and the probability that she was this patient seemed too high to discount. 'Is the patient called Mrs Grayson?'

The nurse hesitated then said, 'Yes, that's her name. Do you know her, Commander?'

Spock's lips thinned. 'She is my grandmother. I fail to understand why I was not told of this. What is her condition?'

'Well, no one knew...' the nurse faltered, pausing in her step in the middle of the corridor. 'Her husband's been visiting but perhaps he didn't want you to know while you were ill. I think he's here now, in fact, not that there's much to be gained from being there. She's unresponsive.'

Spock considered the urgency of going down to the labs and measured it against what he might gain from visiting his grandmother. Perhaps if he were strictly following a logical course of action he would accept that there was little use in his being at her bedside, but there was also the fact that there was already a competent team of people working at a solution, and there was a very real possibility that if he didn't go to his grandmother now he may be too late.

'Please take me to her room,' he said in a level tone.

'Of course, Commander,' the nurse said immediately. 'It's just a little way down the corridor.'

He sensed his grandfather first as they entered the room. He could see him too, an indistinct dark mass near the window, making the light flicker as he moved.

'Grandfather?' he asked.

'Oh – Spock,' the man said in a rather distracted and confused tone. 'Spock, come on in. Nurse, can you check – '

'I checked her just fifteen minutes ago, Mr Grayson,' the nurse said patiently, 'and she's connected to the central monitoring system. If there's any change at all the nursing desk will be notified immediately. Now, Commander Spock, if you're all right I need to be going about my duties.'

'I am quite fine,' Spock nodded.

The nurse left and Spock took a step forward, extending his cane with care and trying to move closer to his grandmother's bed.

'Grandmother is unconscious?' he asked.

His grandfather cleared his throat then said, 'Yes, yes, she's still asleep.'

'May I ask why you did not tell me that she was ill?' Spock asked curiously.

There was a long silence. Spock could hear his grandfather breathing. There was a slight hitch in his breath that spoke of pulmonary difficulty. Not far in front of him he was aware of the softer, slower breathing of his grandmother.

'Son, I've been here for thirty-six hours straight,' his grandfather said abruptly, moving away from the window and coming across the room. 'Sit down, Spock,' he said. 'There's – er, there's a seat just there by grannie's bed. Just in front of you.'

Spock stepped cautiously forward, aware that his grandfather felt a great reluctance to actually touch and guide him. But he found the seat without issue, and sat down. His grandfather scraped a chair across the floor and sat down too.

'I've been here thirty-six hours,' he said again, 'not knowing if she'd live or die. Age we are we're ready to die anyway, we thought – but not yet. I don't want her to go yet...'

The silence came and broadened and Spock murmured, 'Understandable.'

'Didn't know if you were going to make it either,' the man continued. 'They told me you were pretty bad. You couldn't have come to see her in that state, and she wouldn't know you were there. So I stayed with her, and I let you do what you needed to do.'

'And if she had died?' Spock asked softly.

'Well then,' he said, as if he did not want to say anything further. 'She hasn't, yet.'

'No,' Spock said.

He reached out a hand to the bed and felt soft blankets. His grandfather stood and, in an unprecedented move, took hold of Spock's hand and moved it to his grandmother's. Spock closed his fingers around her frail, still ones, still feeling the touch of his grandfather lingering on his skin. Through the contact he had felt the old man's helplessness and fear, buried beneath a leather-like skin in his mind. The man stood there next to him, very close but not touching, and Spock suddenly wished that he knew more about him, that he would speak more and share more and let him into his life.

His grandmother's fingers were unmoving in his but he could feel her pulse as blood moved about her body. She was warm for a human and there was a trace of sweat on her fingers. He could feel the confused and unfiltered emotions of a dream in her mind. Tentatively he reached out, wary of intrusion but wanting to give some measure of comfort. He did not reach far enough for her to be aware of his presence, but carefully he calmed the racing feelings in her mind and felt her breath and pulse slow.

'Maybe she knows you're here,' his grandfather said, breaking into his concentration. 'She's quieter now.'

Spock blinked and brought himself back to reality. 'Yes, maybe she does,' he said, choosing not to let his grandfather know that he had touched her mind. He did not believe he would appreciate it.

'Are you going to be visiting your partner, Spock?' his grandfather asked. 'You do know she's here too, don't you?'

'Yes, I do know that,' Spock said, allowing his thoughts to reach out for a moment to try to sense Christine. 'I have visited her since being allowed to leave my room. She is doing as well as can be expected.'

Silence fell again. Spock sat and listened to the soft sounds of the medical equipment in the room, to the noises of breathing and the very quiet sounds of digestion and beating hearts, sounds that would pass a human by. Outside the room there were many small noises of hospital life, and an occasional flurry of activity. He became aware that he was focusing on those noises, waiting for anything that might be a sign of trouble in Christine's room, which he believed was just across the corridor.

'Grandfather, I am sorry,' he said abruptly.

'Eh?' the man asked, starting as if he had been dropping off to sleep.

'I am sorry,' Spock repeated. 'It was I who introduced this virus to grandmother, and to Christine and the two others who are ill. It was developed in order to treat my blindness. I am sorry for what has happened.'

His grandfather was silent, and then Spock felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. 'It's not your fault, son. I've been talking to the doctors a lot about this. They told me how that scientist infected you without you knowing. It's not your fault.'

Spock nodded slowly. It was true that it was not his fault, but he still could not deny the feeling of deep responsibility for the fact that Christine and his grandmother were both lying ill in hospital with the very real possibility that they would die.

'The other two people who are ill – are they family members too?' he asked.

'One of them is your grandmother's care worker,' his grandfather told him. 'Nice young woman. She comes in every other day. The other one is your aunt Stephanie, and it's the first time in her life I've known her to stop talking.'

Spock quirked his eyebrow at that. His grandfather must have seen him do it because he said in a confidential tone, 'It's humour that keeps the fear away, son. You should try it. That's my wife and my daughter-in-law lying there.'

'Yes, of course,' Spock murmured. He stiffened his spine, then felt for Sacha's harness. 'Grandfather, I must go,' he said. 'I can be of use in the lab.'

'Well, you go then,' his grandfather said, patting a hand onto his shoulder. 'I've no doubt you'll be of use.'

''''''''''''

It did not take Spock long to return briefly to his and Christine's small apartment, gather together the equipment he needed for working alongside sighted people, and return to the hospital. He was taken to the lab by a nurse and shown in through the door and introduced to a lab technician called Laura Howarth.

'Laura, this is Commander Spock,' the nurse told him. 'He thinks he might be able to help.'

'Oh!' the woman replied, sounding surprised. 'Commander I didn't realise you were better. Looks like this virus is less virulent in Vulcans than in humans, then.'

'That would seem to be the case,' Spock nodded. 'Ms Howarth, may I speak to your lead researcher?'

'That would be Dr Rowlands,' she said. 'She's just in the next room. Let me take you through.'

'Thanks you,' Spock said, taking the offered arm. He followed the woman through into a rather smaller room that was so brightly lit that he found himself blinking.

'Janet,' the technician called, and someone turned from what looked like a lab bench.

'Oh, Commander Spock,' the woman said without waiting for introductions. 'Mr Spock I'm so glad to see you on your feet. I visited you when you were ill – you had no idea of course – but I needed some blood samples.'

'I was hoping that I could help,' Spock told her. 'I have brought my computer and other equipment and you will find me quite used to lab work.'

'Oh, well we'd love to have you,' the doctor told him warmly. 'Of course.'

'I warn you I am adjusting to a recent change in my vision,' Spock said. 'The virus had its designed effect and allowed an ophthalmologist to remove the opaque cells from my eyes, but I am still suffering lens damage.'

'Well, I can imagine that must be hard to adjust to,' the doctor nodded. 'Getting used to a flood of information, eh?'

'Essentially,' Spock nodded.

'Well, I'll tell you what. Why do you get your computer opened up and I'll transfer all of my data so far, and you can see what you make of it? I'm very glad to have a scientist of your eminence working on this, and I really hope you'll be able to see something I can't.'

'I shall certainly do my best,' Spock assured her.

He sat down at the chair she showed him to and opened up his computer. Once he was immersed in the data his awareness the room seemed to fade away and he was only conscious of the writing under his fingers and the verbal descriptions in his earpiece. There had to be something in the data that would suggest something to him that had not been noticed by the human scientists at work here.

Looking over the symptoms of the illness was especially difficult. They read as any medical textbook would, but he knew that the patients being described included Christine and his grandmother. They appeared to slip between sleep and unconsciousness, and the breakdown of cell membranes in their bodies was causing problems including internal bleeding and oedema caused by organ failure. It was obvious to him that his grandmother, at least, would not be able to stand the stress much longer.

He found a sentence regarding the patients' ability to fight the virus, and reread it. It seemed that most of the treatment being applied was a palliative only. It was suggested that the best remedy was for the patients' immune systems to fight the disease themselves.

'Dr Rowlands?' he asked, turning away from the computer and trying to see where she was in the room. This increase in sight was making him rely less on his other senses. He would have to correct that until he actually had viable vision.

'Yes, Commander?' she asked from across the room.

'Doctor, I would suggest taking a sample and full readings from my body,' he said. 'Since I am half human the defences that my body manifested against the virus may be useful in synthesising a treatment for human patients.'

'Yes, of course!' the woman said, hurrying across to him. 'I don't know why it didn't occur to me!'

'I am usually viewed as Vulcan, when I am in fact possessed of fifty percent human genetics,' Spock said. 'The Vulcan genome is dominant, but I am still affected by those human genetics. It won't be an easy process, but I do believe that this is the key.'