Chapter 11

Mount Seleya rises up from the barren sands of Vulcan's Forge like a long, wizened hand reaching for the distant sky. The harsh yellow light of the desert sun inscribes every ancient crevice, every precipice, every shale-bathed foothill, in stark, shadow-relief against the red rock face, painting her with a raw, visceral beauty that is not entirely safe – like a bird of prey, or a predator poised to strike. She whispers softly to Kirk's wanderer's soul in a language against which he has no defence, a vicious magnetic pull that has always urged him inexorably upwards, onwards, away from the familiar and the known.

That might be a particularly vivid metaphor for the mission to date. It's certainly uncomfortably close to allegorizing his thoughts about the next couple of days.

He stares at the image on his terminal and the short scrawl of words that follow. Like everything the Federation libraries have on Vulcan, its laws, its customs, its traditions, and its people, the entry for Seleya is reprehensibly vague. The Captain isn't completely certain, in fact, that he didn't commit a major cultural faux pas by asking to visit the temple in the first place. Kirk is reasonably confident that his First wouldn't have agreed to anything scandalous, but he'd be happier if the databanks were able to give him a better idea of how not to offend everyone he meets while he's planetside. The VSA is one thing, but this is supposed to be a vacation.

Mount Seleya: sacred mountain located in the southern province of Xial, says the screen. Home to the Hall of Ancient Thought [no entry exists]. A place of enormous cultural significance [reference required] within Vulcan history and society. 7,000m above sea level [citation required] at its highest point, Seleya is the tallest peak in a range of hills that run to the north and west across the province.

That's it. Kirk counts precisely four actual facts embedded into the airy, insubstantial text, and three of them he can get from a surface scan of the planet. The Captain has visited more worlds than he can count, made contact with hundreds of civilizations from every corner of the charted galaxy and beyond, and he has never felt more like an alien than he does right now. That's… not likely to improve in the near future.

He's half-heartedly scanning the library banks for a refresher course in Golic Vulcan when the merciful workings of a benevolent universe cause his door to buzz. "Come in," he calls, and the door slides open on the impressively innocent face of his CMO.

"Chief Medical Officer requesting permission to disembark," says McCoy cheerfully, crossing the room to Kirk's desk, where he tosses a vial of pills in his hand before plunking them down in front of the Captain.

"Permission granted," says Kirk, leaning back in his chair and stretching out the knotted muscles in his neck. He nods at the bottle. "What are those?"

"Present from Jabilo," says the Doctor. "You have any idea how many micro-organisms live in Vulcan mountain water, Jim? Or the pathogen load in a va'khen bite? And all that raw food they serve in the sanctuary's fine if you grew up on Vulcan, but the human digestive system's not designed…"

"All right, Bones. Thank you," says Kirk. He grins.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to send you down with a hypo-kit, but our friend Dr. M'Benga thought you might not feel like sticking yourself in the neck every four hours. You can thank him for those. Make sure you take them."

"I will, Bones." He palms the vial. "Quit clucking."

"Don't see why you can't just hole up in some hotel on the coast somewhere for two days and stop puttin' gray hairs on my head," mutters Bones darkly.

Kirk crushes a smile between his lips. "Oh, I think you're giving me a little too much credit there," he says. "You seem to manage that perfectly well without my help…"

Fortunately, the door buzzes as McCoy opens his mouth to reply and his planned invective is lost to posterity. Kirk turns his grin towards the sound and calls a cheerful, "Come in," and so Spock is treated to the full force of a James Kirk hundred-watt smile as the door slides open.

"Ah, Spock," says McCoy, "Just in time. I was just telling Jim here 'bout all the thousand and one ways he can become an expert in Mount Seleya's bathroom facilities."

Spock quirks an eyebrow. "Dr. McCoy, Mount Seleya is a place of spiritual retreat," he says slowly. "There are no bathrooms."

The Doctor throws a meaningful glare at Kirk. "That's kind of my point," he says.

Spock turns his interrogative eyebrow on the Captain, and Kirk decides to steer them firmly away from scatological allusions to sites of Vulcan worship. "Dr. McCoy was on his way to the transporter room," he says, getting to his feet and rounding the desk to perch on the edge. "What can I do for you, Spock?"

The First Officer folds his hands behind his back and fixes his gaze on the far wall. He says, stiffly, "I had hoped to find the Doctor here, Captain. This concerns him also."

Bones purses his lips and lowers himself into a chair. "Sounds ominous."

Kirk shoots him a sharp look and turns his attention back to his First. "Go ahead, Spock."

The hands clasped at the base of his spine visibly tighten and Spock drops his eyes. He says, "Late last night, I received a communication from my mother."

The Doctor's eyebrows shoot up and Kirk finds himself leaning forward, as though proximity might be some kind of defense. A tiny, freezing jet of guilt blasts through his gut. "Is everything all right?" he asks.

"My father's assistant has informed her of our extended stay in orbit around Vulcan," says Spock, and the bit where he says my father's assistant sends such a tidal wave of relief crashing over Kirk's panicking brain that it takes him a moment to realize that this isn't actually an answer to his question.

"Ha!" says McCoy with his customary tact. "You can't keep secrets from your mother, Spock. Heaven only knows how they find out, but they always do."

"Indeed," says Spock, with a glare so glacial that it actually causes the Doctor to stop talking. "In any event, she has…" A pause, while his eyes scour the floor. "She has requested that the Captain, Dr. McCoy and myself enjoy the hospitality of the house of Sarek." Another pause, so uncomfortable it's practically scraping its metaphorical fingernails down a metaphorical blackboard. "Captain. Doctor. You are invited to visit my mother's home."

Silence settles like a thick and dusty blanket across the room. As the difficult seconds shuffle past, Kirk tries desperately to determine what's the right thing to say. He's never visited a world where hospitality hasn't been a big deal, and, though he's sure that the Federation databanks will say something trite and utterly useless like, diplomatically important, under Invitations Into a Vulcan Home, he's equally clear that Spock is not exactly thrilled at the prospect.

Carefully, he says, "That's very kind of her, Spock. What's the customary response?"

Still, the eyes do not drift from their singular fascination with the deck. "I have informed her of Dr. McCoy's prior commitment to the healers at Shi'has t'K'Lan-ne," he says. "She sends her regards, Doctor. However, she was…" He takes a deep breath. "My mother can be quite insistent, Captain. It is not a Vulcan trait."

Laughter sputters out of McCoy, and even the terrible Arctic bite of an affronted Vulcan glare can't silence it. "So that's where you get it from, Spock," he says. "Jim, looks like she's got you cornered."

Kirk shoots him a scowl. To Spock, he says, "Tell Amanda I'd be delighted to accept."

Spock hesitates, and then slowly nods at the floor. Comprehension dawns.

"Ah," says the Captain. "I believe I've just been presented with a fait accompli."

"She is," says Spock miserably, "most insistent, Captain."

A grin tugs its way free of Kirk's lips. This is almost certainly karma. He says, "Very well, Mr. Spock. Perhaps you'd care to tell me the arrangements."

"We are invited to join my parents tonight for the evening meal. Accommodation will be provided for an overnight stay, and in the morning we can proceed to Mount Seleya as initially arranged, Captain." He hesitates. "I apologize for the disruption to our plans."

Kirk shrugs and shakes his head. "They weren't precisely your plans anyway, Spock," he says. "No need to apologize. Please tell your mother I look forward to seeing her again."

Spock nods, a little more convincingly this time. "Thank you, Captain," he says. Finally, belatedly, he lifts his eyes and seeks out McCoy's. "Enjoy your stay in K'Lan-ne, Doctor," he says. "I understand that the healers there are particularly gifted in their instructions in the tow-kath. However, any advancement in your skills will be an improvement over your habitual bones and rattles."

Kirk buries a laugh in a coughing fit and turns his head into the safety of his terminal screen as Spock leaves, and risks glancing up at Bones only when the door has safely whooshed shut. But the Doctor's eyes are sparkling.

He says, "Sounds like your shore leave just got a whole lot more interesting, Jim."

"I had that coming," says Kirk, and shakes his head at McCoy's quirked eyebrow. "Never mind. Another story for another day. You'd better get going; M'Benga will be waiting."

"Yup," says Bones easily, lifting himself out of the chair with a sigh. "Damn. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in Spock's house tonight."

"Polite conversation with the ex-Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to Earth?" says Kirk. "Sounds more like your idea of Purgatory to me, Doctor."

"Huh," says Bones. "Maybe." He crosses to the door, but turns back with his hand hovering over the release button. "Seems to me like our hobgoblin's always full of surprises, Captain." A nod and an enigmatic smile. "See you in a few days."

The door slides shut behind him and Kirk finds himself staring into empty space. Thoughts, half-formed, swirl in his head but dart out of sight when he tries to bring them into sharper focus. He shakes his head, turns back to his sleeping quarters, and begins to re-pack.

-o-o-o-

The first thing Spock registers is the heavy perfume of roses at sundown, suspended on the still, heated air. The second is a primal thrill of recognition that buzzes in some ancient circuits of his brain: a beat that is two parts possession and one part memory. He wasn't lying when he told the Captain that he experiences no particular emotional attachment to Vulcan, but, standing on the first soil he ever knew, he feels a primitive pull of ownership, as though the land has a claim on him that he can never completely shake.

Spock is aware of Kirk's gaze and glances to his left, where the Captain, stiff and pressed and looking distinctly uncomfortable in his dress uniform, throws him a companionable smile and raises his eyebrows in the direction of the looming boundary wall that separates the streets of ShiKahr from Spock's childhood home. A latticework gate is set into the dark, polished stone, through which the uncountable scents of Amanda's garden spill onto the street, and, beyond it, a narrow pathway leads through the lawns and up to the house. Spock feels his throat tighten and is suddenly immeasurably grateful for his friend's presence. He would not have chosen to return, but there's a little comfort in the fact that he's not alone.

"No time like the present," says Kirk evenly, but his eyes don't leave Spock's. Reluctantly, Spock releases his gaze and steps forward to press his hand to the scanning pad to the right of the entryway. The gates snap open.

The Watcher – known as T'Khut this late in the year – is high in the sky and approaching her fullest phase. As the sun settles into the horizon, the vast bulk of Vulcan's sister-world is darkening into shadows, haunting the Cimmerian sky like a ghost. Spock sees the Captain's head craning upwards, fixing her in his vision as he moves, and cocks his head towards him, which interrogative gesture Kirk acknowledges with a wry smile.

"The cloud cover was too heavy last time we were here," he says. "I couldn't see her from the surface." A beat, full of the breathless wonder of the explorer. "Your world is beautiful, Spock."

Spock follows his friend's upward gaze, where stars are just beginning to pierce the hazy crimson mists. Beautiful is not a word that he has ever connected with his homeworld. It is not only that his years on Earth have embedded in him a deep and abiding affection for the kaleidoscope greenery of a water-rich planet, and it is not only that his years on Vulcan have, for the most part, been difficult; it is simply that it has never occurred to him to see the aesthetics of the ragged, arid landscape as anything other than the by-product of a strong sun and a tidally-locked co-orbit. Arresting, perhaps, even magnificent in places, but utilitarian, unlovely. Only now, staring into the evening sky through the eyes of a man primed to find magic in every dark corner of a thousand uncharted worlds, does the thought present itself that perhaps anywhere is beautiful if James Kirk is there to see it.

The Captain lowers his gaze and his eyes find Spock's. A slow smile spreads warmly across his face and, unexpectedly, his hand comes up to clap Spock's shoulder. It stays there just a moment too long, warm and familiar through the starched fabric of his uniform, and Spock thinks he feels the fingers contract, as though they would extend their hold on his flesh. But at that moment the main door opens on a slight figure, silhouetted against the light from the house, and Kirk's hand falls quickly away. The moment is gone; the man is gone, and in his place is the Captain, with his Captain's smile and his Captain's manners, turning the full force of his charm on the Ambassador's wife.

"Captain Kirk!" says Amanda warmly. "Welcome – welcome to our home."

"Mother," says Spock, and she turns to him.

Moments like these, when she is unobserved by his father's people, are when she lowers her barriers completely and allows every beat of her heart to show on her face. Love shines from her eyes as she says, "Na'shaya, tal-kam. Nuh'mau-wak."

He raises his hand in the ta'al, and, unhesitating, she presses a mirror gesture against his in the el'ru'esta. She says, "It's good to have you home, Spock."

He cannot truthfully offer the standard response, so instead he says, "Thank you, Mother."

There is a pause, and he thinks for a moment that she will press the issue, but instead she clasps her hands resolutely in front of her stomach, smiles brightly, and says, "Won't you come inside? Leave your bags by the door; Veshek will take care of them for you. Spock, I don't think you know Veshek? It would have been Selaas when you were last here."

She is moving as she speaks, that curious combination of motion and meaningless words that Humans use to segue from one situation to another, and he watches her carefully as she walks. Her spine is stiff, her footsteps slightly asynchronous, her gait too rigorously contained. From nowhere comes the illogical thought that she has never looked so small.

In the lobby, she turns to face them again and even this small pivot is disjointed. But there is no sign of discomfort or distress behind her easy smile as she says, "I hope you'll forgive my husband's absence, Captain. He'll join us for dinner, but he must rest for now."

"Of course," says Kirk smoothly. He hesitates. "I hope the Ambassador is not ill, Ma'am?"

"Amanda," she corrects amiably. "He's been indisposed, I'm afraid, but it's nothing to worry about. Would you care for a drink, Captain? Or would you prefer to freshen up? I know how intolerably warm the city can seem when one is not used to it."

The Captain shoots a lightening glance at Spock. He says, "Perhaps I'll take a moment or two before I join you, yes."

"Of course," she says. "And won't you feel free to change into something a little more comfortable? I can assure you we won't take offense, Captain. You must be stifled in your uniform."

Kirk laughs and glances at Spock again. He says, "Your son protested the dress uniform too, Ma'am. I have some desert wear with me for tomorrow's expedition – I believe I'll take your advice."

"I'm glad," she says. "Spock, perhaps you'd show Captain Kirk to the guest quarters? Veshek has made up your old room for you."

She is tired. Fatigue darkens her eyes and hangs heavily on her small frame, but her smile is bright and as stubborn as ever. She notes his small hesitation and raises an eyebrow in a gesture that is both a question and a command, and that part of him that is eternally a son acquiesces without further reference to logic. But the same part cannot refrain from asking, quietly, "Are you well, Mother?"

The other eyebrow joins its twin. "Quite well, thank you," she says. Pointedly, she adds, "etek-Stariben nash fa'k'shatrisu, Spock?"

"vesh'Khart-lan na'koon-ut-kal-if-fee t'nash-veh," says Spock. "Eh'isha… V'tosh ish-veh kup-stariben."

She inclines her head towards Kirk with a sheepish smile and he meets it with a visible effort towards equanimity.

"Of course," she says. "I should have realized, Captain. Forgive me."

Prickles of color on his throat mark a rising flush, and Spock realizes, with a thrill of icy horror, that he has understood not only the words but their implication. But he simply nods and says, "Not at all, Ma'am. And I speak Vulcan far less well than your son would have you believe."

"Amanda," she says. "And I doubt that very much, Captain. Vulcans have no place for either hyperbole or modesty, as I'm sure you're aware by now."

A sharp bark of laughter escapes Kirk and he flashes a golden smile at his First. "I believe I've had occasion to notice, yes," he says. The eyes hold Spock's for a moment, then turn back to his mother. "We're holding you back, Ma'am. Mr. Spock – lead the way."

"Amanda, Captain," she calls after his retreating back, and he turns his head to acknowledge the words with a nod before falling into step alongside his friend.

ShiKahr is limited by the encircling city walls, relic of a more dangerous time, and the suburban homes that brush up against them are necessarily less sprawling than they might otherwise be. The house of Sarek and Amanda is neither small nor particularly large, but is designed to give the illusion of depth. Spock leads his Captain up a short flight of stairs that circle off the lobby and connect with a gallery above, from which corridors lead to the right and the left. In the west wing, his parents' quarters comprise a suite of rooms that encompass the Ambassador's offices, Amanda's study, and the marital bedroom where his father currently sleeps. Spock turns to the east, down a darkening corridor whose glass ceiling opens onto the sky and T'Khut, and it's a measure both of Kirk's curiosity and his reticence that he mentions the Watcher not at all, but waits until they are outside the doors to the guest room to ask the question that has hummed between them since they left Amanda.

Spock keys in the access code and the door slides open onto a spacious apartment, windowed on three sides and possessed of no furniture but a meditation mat, an asenoi, and a large bed set squarely in the middle. "These will be your quarters, Captain," he says, but Kirk barely spares them a glance.

He says, "That insight you had about Professor Sorelan, Spock…"

Spock takes a deep breath. "Yes, Captain," he says.

Kirk stares at him levelly for a moment, then nods into the bedroom. "Perhaps you'd better come inside for a moment."

Spock hesitates, then steps through the door.

It slides softly shut behind him, and he turns to see the Captain standing on the threshold. His expression is unreadable. He says, "What is it, Spock? What's wrong?"

"I believe," says Spock, "That you have surmised the truth, Captain."

"Jim," says Kirk. "Jim, Spock. I'm asking as your friend. Is there something…?" He hesitates, then drops his eyes and paces to the center of the room. "There's something," he says. "It's not… Tell me it's not my business if you like, Spock. You're right, of course. But I'm asking as your friend."

"Jim," says Spock, and, despite his injunction less than a minute earlier, the use of his given name causes the Captain to look up sharply. "It is… It is not for me to discuss."

Kirk's eyes have locked onto Spock's and the brows arch gently as he speaks, reading him, as always, too easily. He takes a step forward. "I understand," he says. "Just – please, tell me: is your mother all right, Spock?"

Spock hesitates. "She has said so."

Another step forward, and he's almost within the circle of Spock's immediate space. Softly: "Then why don't you believe her?"

He is standing too close; so close that Spock can smell the salt-sweet perfume of his skin, sweat drying in the chill of the bedroom. His scent flavors the air between them and Spock can taste it in the hollows of his own mouth. His eyes, dark with confusion and concern, are turned slightly upwards, pupils blown wide beneath his furrowed brows in the dusky evening light. He's searching Spock's face for an answer to a question he doesn't understand; a question he doesn't know he's asked.

Spock is not certain he can keep his voice steady when he replies, but the silence will become its own response in a moment, and he knows that, if Kirk should see the tiny tremors in Spock's shoulders or the erratic threads of his tattered breathing; if he should see the longing he engenders by simply standing so close and asking this question, then all the careful, measured arguments, all the sanity and the care and the necessity, will be crumbled in the time it takes to cross one footstep of floor and succumb.

Hoarsely, he says, "I must believe what she tells me, Jim."

The eyes hold him for a moment longer, then dip, and two soft hands rise in their place to grip Spock around his upper arms. "All right, Spock," says Kirk gently. His fingers squeeze and he looks up again. "I won't intrude on family business."

If that were all it were… But he can't say this. So instead he says, "Understand, Jim – if it were mine to speak of…"

"I understand," says Kirk. His face creases into a smile. "Your business is your business, Spock." His right hand drops to his side, but the left stays in place, and Spock can feel every imprint of every finger as though it pressed directly into his flesh. It's all he can do not to shut his eyes and simply drift into the sensation, to push back into the grip and feel it tighten, to close the empty air that separates him from his Captain and feel the heat that thrums in the space between them, pressed along the length of his body.

He feels his breath hitch in his throat, and the sudden tension in Kirk's arm tells him the Captain feels it too. The smile disintegrates; the eyes widen.

There is a long moment of silence so pure and so charged that it seems to wrap them like a cocoon and seal them outside of themselves. "Spock…" says Kirk, and it is barely a whisper. That one, breathless word pierces his belly and swirls a violent wave of desire that crashes into his defenses and, though he knows it's an answer in itself, he drops his gaze out of the reach of the warm, hazel eyes before he can see his thoughts reflected in them.

One abrupt movement of his arm frees it from his Captain's grasp, and he steps backwards – less controlled than he would have preferred, but he does not stagger, he does not stumble. He keeps his eyes low and says, "I must go, Captain."

He thinks he hears a rapid intake of breath from his friend but he cannot risk an upward glance to confirm it. If he sees distress – worse, if he sees his own longing written into Kirk's face – he will be undone. So he feels rather than sees Kirk's sudden turn; feels the disturbance in the air as his body twists away from him. The Captain's voice, when it comes, is steady. He says, "I'll meet you downstairs, Spock. I think I can find my way from here."

The words are not cold, not precisely, but they are stripped bare. The tone is all command-distance; it places a wall through the narrow space between them. It is a dismissal.

Spock says, "Yes, Captain," and turns and leaves before he can slip any further from himself.

-o-o-o-

Translations:

"Na'shaya, tal-kam. Nuh'mau-wak." - "Welcome, dear. It's been too long."

"etek-Stariben nash fa'k'shatrisu, Spock?" - "Do we speak of these things in front of Outworlders, Spock?"

"vesh'Khart-lan na'koon-ut-kal-if-fee t'nash-veh. Eh'isha… V'tosh ish-veh kup-stariben." - "The Captain was at my koon-ut-kal-if-fee. And besides... he speaks Vulcan."