The snow stretched down the coast to Baltimore and further south still. Had they been relying on surface transport to travel to the Beth Meyer Eye Hospital Spock would have been concerned that their plans might have been disrupted. On the morning that Spock was due to attend for the operation Christine opened the curtains in the bedroom to tell him, 'Well, it's a proper blizzard out there, Spock, and the met reports say it'scovering a lot of the coast. Thank god for transporters.'

'I would thank the numerous people who have worked tirelessly on inventing and improving transportation technology over the years, rather than a mythical deity, Christine,' Spock said in a rather terse voice, sitting up in bed and swinging his legs to the floor.

There was a moment of silence, then she came back across the room to him and took both his hands in hers. She said softly, 'It's all right, Spock. I'm nervous too.'

'I do not understand – ' Spock began. But he did. He did understand. She was right. The idea of the operation filled him with numerous emotions and he was not quite sure how to identify them, let alone process and understand them. Nervousness, as Christine had guessed, was one of the strongest.

'I'll go make myself some toast and put some coffee on for both of us,' she told him. 'You can drink up to eight a.m., can't you?'

'That is correct,' Spock nodded.

Many things had progressed in the field of surgery, but it was still not advisable for patients to eat immediately before an operation, and Spock had been without food since the night before. The lack did not bother him. He was quite capable of going for a number of days without food if necessary. He would have been content to go without the coffee too, but he recognised that Christine needed to share this meal with him.

When they stepped out of the door to go to the waiting the taxi the snow and wind hit Spock like an icy cloth being whipped against him. Even Sacha whimpered a little at the intensity of the weather. Spock took firmer hold of Christine's arm and followed her to the shuttle, where quiet and calm was restored as the door closed.

'To the transporter station?' the driver asked over his shoulder.

'Correct,' Spock nodded.

Sacha lay down at his feet, and he folded his cane and put it into his pocket. It would be indescribably odd to not rely on Sacha and his cane...

'Pleasant out, isn't it?' the driver asked as he pulled away from the kerb.

'I would not characterise a blizzard and temperatures of approximately minus ten Celsius as pleasant,' Spock replied.

'Sarcasm, Spock,' Christine said to him under her breath.

Spock nodded. He felt too distracted to keep up with the illogical permutations of human conversation today. In fact, he was quite grateful that he had Christine at his side to guide him from the taxi into the transporter station and attend to the small necessary details of their transport to the hospital in Baltimore. It did not take long to be processed for their journey and beamed directly to the hospital.

'Well, it looks as horrible outside here as it was back home,' she told him in a murmur, in the hospital's transporter room. Spock was aware of what seemed like a window to his right, which was filled with a dim white mass that must be the whirling snow. 'I'm just glad we could beam right to the hospital.'

'It was convenient,' Spock murmured. He turned his head sharply as he gained the sense of a familiar presence. 'Is that the Captain?'

'It is indeed, Spock,' Jim said, coming forward to meet him. 'Bones is off talking to Ms Alchurch about the surgery. He wants to be able to observe. She said that the cornea and lens cloning process went beautifully. Everything's ready.'

Spock nodded. 'I would have expected to be contacted had the cloning been unsuccessful.'

'Well, we'd better get up to the ward,' Christine said brightly. Spock distinctly heard her add in a very low undertone to Kirk, 'He's nervous,' as they began to walk. He resisted comment. He knew that his control was slipping today, and that any retort to her would simply act as evidence of that.

Kirk fell into step on the other side of Spock, so that he was flanked by the two humans. He distinctly got the feeling that he was being protected, but he was not sure from was grateful for their presence, though.

'And here's the man himself,' he heard McCoy say warmly as they entered the ward on the second floor of the hospital. 'Spock, I've been talking through the operation with Ms Alchurch. It's a very simple procedure.'

'I am aware of that, Doctor,' Spock said.

'He's right,' Ms Alchurch said, and Spock turned towards her blurred form. 'It's detailed work, but not too complicated. I can't hang around for long, Mr Spock. I need to get down and prepare for the surgery. I want to get you in as soon as possible, since we seem to be going through a lull right at this moment. I just wanted to check that you're happy with going ahead with the operation, and you don't have any questions?'

Spock shook his head. 'None at all, doctor. I am happy to undergo the surgery.'

'And you understand that although your eyes won't be bandaged when you wake up, don't expect your sight to be immediately perfect. It will take a couple of days for the transplants to settle.'

'Yes, I understand,' Spock nodded.

'Then I'll leave you in the hands of Nurse Moreno. She'll take you through everything that needs to be done.'

Spock's attention focussed down as the nurse came over and took him through the consent forms and showed him to his bed in the ward. There were obviously other patients here but he did not allow himself to notice anything but what the nurse was telling him. He heard Christine put down his small overnight bag, which he had brought just in case. Then the nurse gave him a gown to change into, and Jim and McCoy left him with Christine to change behind closed curtains.

'You'll be all right,' Christine said softly to him as he sat down, barefooted and gowned, on the edge of his bed.

'I am perfectly aware of that, Christine,' he replied.

She kissed the top of his head, and he felt her emotions of love, concern, and apprehension.

'I believe you are more nervous than I,' he said, reaching out to her hand and feeling the smallness of her fingers, the strength of her palm. His hands enveloped hers.

'Well, maybe I am,' she smiled.

There was a rustle at the curtain and the nurse looked round, asking, 'Are you all ready, Mr Spock? I have instructions to give you your pre-med. It's just a couple of pills to reduce the nausea and alleviate a couple of other symptoms you might get from the anaesthetic.'

'Thank you, Nurse,' Spock said, reaching out his hand. She gave him two smooth, small pills and a cup of water, and he took them swiftly.

'They'll work pretty quickly with your physiology,' she told him. 'You might find yourself becoming a bit drowsy, so I'd suggest lying down in bed. You're scheduled to go down in half an hour.'

Spock nodded, but he was grateful when the nurse left him alone. He would have rather been entirely alone and given the chance to meditate, but Jim and McCoy came in and sat down by the bed. Humans, it seemed, could not conceive of leaving a person alone at a time like this. They insisted on talking, and he lay in bed replying to their occasional questions, but his mind was largely focussed on what was about to happen. He was not nervous about the surgery itself. He had undergone a number of operations in his life and felt no fear. It was what happened when he woke up that caused him a tremulous mixture of apprehension and anticipation.

Time drifted closer to the appointed moment. When he was transferred to a gurney to be taken down to the operation theatre he found that the nurse had been right. The pre-med pills had left him drowsy and a little disoriented. He lay on the gurney watching the lights move overhead as he was pushed down the corridors, the footsteps of his friends and Christine sounding like a small troop movement on the hard floor. And then he was in the anteroom to the operating theatre and only Christine was there while an intravenous transfusion device was hooked to his arm and the anaesthetic was slowly introduced to his system.

'Can you count backwards from a hundred for me, Mr Spock?' Ms Alchurch asked.

The idea seemed rather ridiculous. McCoy had never asked him to count. But in deference to human custom he did, and by the time he was reaching ninety he found himself becoming confused and slurred, and then everything drifted away.

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

The world reformed slowly. He was distantly aware of footsteps on hard floors, of murmured voices, of the occasional clatter of hard objects. There was the soft beeping of medical monitors. The bed was soft under his shoulder blades, back, pelvis. His feet were tented beneath softness.

He blinked, and his eyes felt as if they were filled with grit. He blinked again.

He looked.

He stared, caught into silence by the amazement of it. He felt a grin trying to come to his face and he caught it, silenced it, pushed it away. But inside he felt as if he were on fire, as if a supernova were happening inside his chest. That was sight. That was the ceiling up above him, a continuous panel of white with a light situated directly above his bed, a light with detail, edges, clear facets that he could see with his eyes.

Christine was there, looking down at him. For a moment he did not recognise her. He saw a woman, blue eyes, hair a darker shade of blonde than he had thought it was, a different style than he had expected, clothes that were not quite what he had assumed. He stared at the sight in front of him, trying so hard to keep control of the emotions that were surging and trying to reach the surface.

He swallowed, and could not speak due to the dryness of his throat.

'Are you thirsty?' Christine asked, and her voice was reassuringly familiar, coming from the face that he did not quite recognise.

He nodded, turning his head sideways, following the movement of her arm as she reached for a glass. He lifted his arm and it felt like lead. When he tried to take the glass from her his hand missed. He had misjudged the distance.

'Spock, you can see,' Christine said softly. He wasn't sure if it were a question or a statement.

He took the glass at the second try and swallowed a mouthful of water before giving the glass back to her. He cleared his throat, and said, 'Yes, Christine. I can see.'

She gave a sound that was something like a sob, and flung her arms about him. She sat like that for a while, crying almost silently, and he stroked her hair, marvelling at the sight of the individual strands.

'Why are you crying?' he asked her softly.

'I'm so happy,' she said in a torn voice, releasing him finally.

He tried to sit up and dizziness assailed him, but he pushed it away, struggling up against the pillows. This was all incredible. It was too much for his mind to take in. There were the curtains around the bed, a vivid orange with a small pattern that he could not quite make out. There was the blanket on the bed. There were his hands. His hands. He raised them to his face, staring. Fingernails, fingers, lines on his palms.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Christine began to say, 'No, Spock. No, lie down,' but he ignored her and stood up unsteadily and moved to the curtain. He felt as if he were walking under the influence of drugs. He could not judge distance. He could not reconcile the sights before him with the physical space that he moved in. But he reached the curtain. As he pushed it aside he heard a gasp of joy, and then saw – saw – Jim standing up, hurrying across the room with McCoy at his side. He was enveloped in a small maelstrom of arms as both men attempted to hug him.

'Spock, you can see!' Kirk was saying as McCoy said, 'It worked, Spock! It worked!'

He drew back from them carefully, clearing his dry throat again and saying, 'Yes, gentlemen. It worked. Was there ever any doubt?'

'Well, that's a Vulcan reaction if ever I saw one,' McCoy said in a disgruntled voice.

'You misunderstand me, Doctor,' Spock said simply. He felt alight with joy. He could not understand why that was not obvious.

'Yes, I guess I did,' McCoy said in a warmed tone. 'But I don't now.'

'Spock, what's it like?' Kirk pressed. 'How do you feel?'

Spock hesitated. He looked around at the large room. There was a row of beds on either side. He could count them. He could see the people in them, in those beds that had patients in them. Some of the beds were empty, some had their curtains drawn round. He could not see these things perfectly. He was aware that his vision was not yet 20/20. But he could see them.

'I do not know how I feel,' he said honestly.

There was too much to take in. This meant so much more than the simple fact that he could see beds in a row, see faces, see floor and ceiling. It meant so much to his entire life.

He walked slowly and unsteadily across the room, Kirk, McCoy, and Christine crowding about him, hovering, not quite touching. There was a window at the end and he reached it and looked out. He could see snowflakes falling, individual and beautiful, from thick white clouds. There were roofs and trees lightly blanketed in snow. The world had incredible depth. He could see footprints on the sidewalks, people walking, skimmers moving along in the streets. When night fell, if the sky cleared, he would be able to see the stars.