Spock had been awake for thirty-two hours. His spine felt like a stack of beads held rigidly on a wire. His forehead was tight with a headache that he was trying to deny. Had he been fully fit he would have barely felt the effects of such a long period awake, but even he had to admit that he was not fully fit at the moment. But he felt he had little choice. While the humans in the lab came and went around him, he alone had the stamina to stay at the desk, checking readings, researching, and continuing tests that needed twenty-four hour surveillance.

'Commander, that's enough,' someone said from behind him in a firm voice.

He jolted upright. He had not realised that he had relaxed his position so far. He was positive he had not fallen asleep, but he was not fully alert.

'Dr Rowlands?' he asked, momentarily uncertain of who it was standing behind him. The lab seemed empty apart from himself and this other person.

'Yes, it's Dr Rowlands,' she assured him. She put a hand on his shoulder and he straightened up further until she removed the touch. 'Commander Spock, I thought you'd been out of here to sleep, but I've been told that no one's seen you leave. You must have been here for a full day at the least.'

'I have been in the lab for twenty-five point seven three hours,' Spock informed her, 'and we still have not found a solution to the virus.'

'Well, it's enough,' she told him firmly. 'You can't have eaten, and I'm sure you haven't slept. Go take a break. I don't want to see you back in here for a good few hours.'

Spock breathed out slowly, preparing to remonstrate.

'I can have security escort you out,' the woman told him in a threatening voice, reminding him that his rank meant very little here. He was only in the lab due to the grace of the hospital staff.

'Very well,' he said. If obeying Dr Rowlands was the only means of continuing his research later, he would have to do so. 'I shall go and have a meal.'

'And a sleep,' the doctor insisted.

Spock raised an eyebrow but did not respond. If Dr Rowlands was going to insist on a sleep he was certain he could find somewhere to rest and meditate on the problem he was trying to solve instead of wasting time unconscious. She would be none the wiser.

He called the ever patient Sacha to his side and said, 'Could you tell me how to find the canteen?'

'I'll take you there,' she said firmly. 'The lab will survive for a few minutes alone. And I will get you a meal. That way I might be sure you'll actually eat it.'

When he stood his legs felt stiff and awkward, and he stayed still for a moment regaining his balance. He was not used to such frailties as this. Then he picked up his cane and his data padd and followed Dr Rowlands out of the room.

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

In the canteen Spock sat and steadily picked pieces of lettuce out of his salad with his fork and put them steadily into his mouth. He was chewing and swallowing but he could not say that he was particularly noticing what he was eating. Instead he was concentrating on continuing his review of the data gathered so far and eating the meal only because it was there and he had promised Dr Rowlands that he would do so.

He was certain that there was something in the structure of the antibodies in his own blood which would translate to a viable treatment for the human patients. While he had been working over the past day another five people had presented with symptoms of the virus, and similar reports had come in from London, where Dr Alunan had died, some of the victims being staff at his lab and some hospital workers who treated him. Without a treatment this disease had the potential to become an epidemic, even with its slow rate of spread.

He touched his finger to the screen, bringing up another page of data and running his fingertips over it to refresh the figures in his mind. There was something there. He was certain that if he could only find the vital piece of datum amongst all of the other readings that he would find the solution. He was so very close to finding it. If McCoy were to accuse him of using intuition he would steadily deny the claim, but he had to admit that he was looking for something that felt right. Everything else in this chain of numbers felt wrong. He was search for the right bit, and this bit under his fingertip felt as if it were right.

He extracted that phrase and copied it to a blank page and began to concentrate in depth on what was before him. If he could only –

'Oh, so there you are.'

Spock jerked his head up at the words.

'Billy?' he asked, aware of someone standing very close to the table.

'Don't Billy me,' the man replied in a hard voice. 'For god's sake, Spock, grandma's lying there almost in a coma, and the same goes for my wife and your girlfriend and half a dozen other people, and you're sitting in the canteen eating salad?'

Spock hesitated, trying to understand the motivation for the man's aggressive tone. 'Billy, I do not understand your – ' he began.

'I've been to your apartment, I've been everywhere looking for you. Where the hell have you been?' the man continued to berate him. 'You've not been visiting with them – I know that much. This virus is your fault. So what in hell – '

Spock put his fork down and carefully put his data padd in sleep mode.

'Why were you looking for me?' he asked in a level tone.

'For god's sake, you unfeeling, unemotional bastard,' Billy hissed. 'Haven't you got any idea why I might think you should be up there with your grandma, your girlfriend? Even I put more value on Chrissie than that and I haven't seen her since high school.'

Spock got to his feet, and was gratified to hear Sacha stand too.

'What purpose would be achieved from sitting at the bedside of an unconscious patient?' he asked flatly.

Without warning a fist struck Spock in the jaw, hard. He stumbled backward, putting up a hand in a reflex action and grabbing hold of Billy's wrist. If he had been a human he would have been sitting on the floor in a daze after the blow. As it was he suppressed the pain in his jaw and steadied himself.

There was a commotion in the room around him at what had happened, people moving in to the scene of the short-lived fight, grasping Billy and pulling him back. Other hands took hold of Spock's shoulders and there was a volley of concerned enquires as to his health.

'I am quite all right,' he said, stiffening away from the hands that held him. 'Thank you. I am quite all right.'

He could hear Billy struggling and grunting as if trying to free himself from the people who held him and he said, 'Please, release my cousin.'

Other murmurs, a woman saying in a surprised tone louder than the rest, 'His cousin?'

'Please,' Spock said again. 'Let him go. Billy, I would be grateful if you would sit down and speak with me.'

'I think the time for speaking's gone, isn't it?' Billy growled. 'Why don't you try getting up there and – '

A voice over the PA system stopped them both. 'Relatives of Mrs Grayson, please make their way to her room. Relatives of Mrs Grayson, please make their way to her room.'

Spock stiffened, a thousand possibilities moving through his mind, most being dismissed. The most likely eventuality was that her condition had worsened.

'Guide me,' he said to Billy.

His cousin took hold of his arm in a rough grip. He did not hesitate to help but Spock could feel his uncontrolled emotions spilling through the touch. He carefully rearranged so that he was holding the man's arm then followed him from the room, Sacha following behind.

Spock took the time as they walked to the elevator to say in a level tone, 'I have not being visiting with either Christine or grandmother because I have been fully occupied in the hospital laboratories trying to formulate a remedy for this illness.'

Billy was silent, but through the touch Spock felt his emotions lessen somewhat, changing from outright unreasoning anger to a grudging guilt.

'All right,' he said eventually. 'All right, Spock. Are – are you close?'

'We are doing our best,' Spock said. 'I believe that given a little more time we will be successful.'

'Well,' Billy said, seeming unable to think of more words to say than that.

The elevator doors slipped open and Spock followed his cousin out into the corridor. Together they walked swiftly to their grandmother's room, where a doctor was talking gravely with Mr Grayson.

'Spock, Billy,' Mr Grayson said as he saw them. 'Come over here, boys. Your grandma's taken a turn. I asked them to call you.'

Spock followed Billy's arm and then stood and listened without speaking as the doctor continued to explain that he had been forced to place Mrs Grayson on more invasive life support in order to help her failing organs.

'But the cell damage is throughout her system,' the doctor continued. 'There is only so much we can do through external means. The rest is up to her.'

'Up to her!' Billy began in an agitated tone, and Mr Grayson shushed him.

'Am I to understand that there is nothing more you can do medically but alleviate the symptoms?' Spock asked.

'That's about it,' the doctor nodded. Spock watched him, another part of his mind rather fascinated that he could see the form of the man before him, see when he was nodding or shaking his head, even if he could not make out enough to function as a sighted person. The room was a blurred impressionist painting of shapes and colours, all overlaid with the usual scents and sounds of a hospital room. Spock was very aware of the rough sound of his grandmother's laboured breathing. One part of his mind was still ruminating on the problem he was working on in the lab, but a much more conscious part was formulating and analysing possible ways to help his grandmother in the immediate.

'Doctor, a word, if you will,' he said.

'Yes, of course,' the man nodded.

Spock hesitated a moment. He would rather speak privately, away from his cousin and grandfather, but he knew that any suggestion of that would spark protests.

'Doctor, are you aware of Vulcan self-healing methods?' he asked.

'Aware of them, yes,' the doctor replied in an intrigued tone. 'I can't say that xenobiology is my speciality, though.'

'Are you also aware of the rudiments of the Vulcan mind meld?' Spock asked.

'Again, I know something of it,' the doctor told him. 'But really I'm just a good old human New England doctor. I'm not an expert on these things.'

Spock was momentarily reminded of McCoy, but he put that aside.

'There is a possibility that I could help my grandmother to fight harder against this illness through a mind meld,' he said in a level tone, aware of the prickling response of his human relatives.

'Now hang on,' Billy began, still with the residue of anger roughening his voice.

Mr Grayson cut across him, asking, 'Spock would that be safe?'

Spock pressed his lips together briefly. 'The meld can cause pressure changes in the blood vessels,' he said. 'There would be a risk that those pressure changes could be dangerous in an already failing system. But – '

'But without any help she might not make it through the next few hours,' the doctor cut over him in a sober tone. 'I know enough about these things to know that it's a viable idea, Mr Spock. But as her next of kin Mr Grayson would have to make the decision.'

Spock turned towards his grandfather, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

'Oh – Spock,' he murmured. He turned away and moved towards the window. Spock stood and waited and after a moment Mr Grayson said, 'We're not like you, Spock. We don't have that Vulcan – that – well, whatever it is that makes you so darn sharp, so fast. I can't make a decision like this with a snap of my fingers.'

Spock took a step forward. 'I understand that, grandpa,' he said in a low voice. 'You are aware that I am half human. But in this case there may be little choice.'

'Your grandson is right, Mr Grayson,' the doctor said soberly. 'We do have very little time.'

Spock could feel the rigidity in his grandfather even if he couldn't see it. His emotions emanated into the room in a cloud and seemed to wash over Spock's skin. It was almost overwhelming to feel such a pervasive miasma of fear and love and hope and indecision. He shut down his mental shields, knowing that his awareness of his surroundings would drop but also that he must do this if he wanted to be prepared for the meld. While he waited he devoted his higher processes to thinking through the problem of the virus remedy again, seeing the string of data in his mind and working it around until it began to make more and more sense.

'All right, Spock,' his grandfather said eventuality.

Spock snapped out of his cogitation, putting all his attention back to the humans in the room.

'All right,' his grandfather said again. 'If it's the only thing we can do. I can't say I know much about this – this meld process, but Amanda's told us it's a wonderful, loving thing.'

'It can be,' Spock nodded, his voice low. He did not want to ruminate on the melding experience that his parents had shared in the course of their lives. 'In this case I would attempt to focus on the task at hand, but it would necessitate the sharing of some thoughts.'

'All right, Spock,' his grandfather nodded again. 'Do the meld. God knows there isn't anything else that we can do.'