Spock left the two of them in the hallway not looking at each other for several difficult minutes until Sarek broke the silence. "Not here. Too many people." He started down the hall, and Kirk joined him, sensing growing uneasiness from what should have been a hard-shielded mind.

Should have been. Was it? Sarek had been exposed, as they all had, to levels of Trellium-D that if left untreated had killed many Vulcans in the past. Neither his control nor Spock's was likely to recover completely. Given an ordinary, calm life on T'Khasi, it might not have been distressing, but an empath who had a catalog of misery behind him even before va'Pak needed all the shields he could get. Kirk had witnessed Sarek knock a Tal Shiar admiral into helpless madness in less than five minutes with a few of his selected memories.

The thought came to his mind from some back room. He's afraid I'm going to see what he went through in that prison, and he's ashamed even if he'll never admit it. He doesn't realize I already saw it when he was fighting with Hakeev. If he knew what happened to me, maybe it'll help him.

Or maybe he'll be horrified the way that Starfleet therapist was, and never talk to you again-

No. I'm going to show him.

The old mine entry now led to the center and its offices on one side and what was labeled as the Black Chapel of St. Nicholas on the other, with several smaller meditation rooms beyond. The chapel, one of the mine's early rooms, held an altar with candles burning in boxes of sand. Beyond it, they found an empty meditation room and sat awkwardly contemplating one another. Sarek cleared his throat and said "If you are prepared."

Nervous? Him? No. All but paralyzed with fear. Kirk nodded. "Go ahead. It's all right."

Sarek raised a hand carefully, fingers splayed, but hesitated. Did he know Kirk could see him debate the damage he might do, the ruin he had caused to Hakeev? Ah; the thoughts hung in the air, clear as bells. He hadn't melded with anyone outside the family since then. Even his main instructors in healing were his uncle and grandfather, who linked to him long ago and were big, tough, fully Vulcan and highly skilled. "If any part of this is too intense, and you need me to stop, tell me immediately."

"Of course." Say it, or not? Say it. Sarek needed to hear it aloud. "Sa'mi, I trust you implicitly. You're not going to hurt me. You wouldn't. I'm safe with you."

A human that frightened would have beensweating buckets. Sarek kept the outward signs to a tiny hand tremor that could have been explained away by the toxin's aftereffects. "It doesn't always work that way. You saw what can happen if I lose control."

"What had to happen when you gave up control in order to save us. This is not that and now is not then. Spock and I have done this a number of times in the line of duty because it's so efficient. Let me show you the memory I hide."

He couldn't initiate the meld himself, but once Sarek did he could steer. Now let me show you why I understand. The Vulcan's sharp intake of breath preceded astonishment, vast guilt, shame, sudden thunderstruck relief. Only the form was new to Kirk; he understood the urge to hide when it was useless, the wish to run when there was nowhere to get away. The violence of buried Vulcan emotions was no longer so strange and did not shock him. He turned their minds to all of that. I understand. It's all right. You can see anything in there if you want to. It may help.

Fail to escape a Tal Shiar prison on broken feet? No better than failing to escape a house as a small child with a broken ankle. "He must have fallen off the swings," his stepfather said to some social worker in a long line of them. "You know how kids are."

Bedroom door locked from the outside and windows nailed shut for a week of hot weather? Chained to the wall of the cell for days at a time.

Waiting for the interrogator to come up the stairs, never sure what today's misery would be? Waiting for Frank to come upstairs, never sure how drunk he was. Pain was coming, either way; what would it be on that day, on that long night?

Waiting for morning on Tarsus 4. Would there be food today? Who would get the extra half a cracker and what would he have to do for it? Who would die? Waiting for footsteps on the stairs. Which room first, his or the one next door? Would there be screams or whimpers down the hall? Would they be cut off in mid-howl with the dragging noises after?

Freedom? Ever? There were the commandos bursting in. There was the day the Corvette went into the quarry, causing enough trouble to make people clue in to what they should have known.

How fast? He saw a Harley speedometer pegged on a straight flat desert highway. Death Valley. I prefer the ride on summer nights.

Top down, flying,at least a hundred and fifty klicks an hour, probably more. I didn't look, I only felt. If we go fast enough, what bothers us is left behind us.

So? A well-tuned flitter knifed between rock formations and carved sand over the Forge, leaving every nerve alive and bright against the dark behind it.

Yes. That. Where's your music?

A mental playlist began. The elders disapproved of most of it.

They don't know what they were missing.

They missed so very much. Our sacrifices were largely unnecessary and often harmful. Peace and contentment were the goals. We had stagnation. Surak said to cast out fear. We deified it. Spock designed the Kobayashi Maru believing humans were unafraid because they were unaware. He didn't know his own human half was talking if he had listened to it.

He does now. Better, at least. He showed the brief version of the day help came to Tarsus 4. Afterward, everyone acted as if I were an unexploded bomb. It led me to act like one.

Sarek shared a quick image of Lhairre smashing off the chains, bending over the limp sack of fever and broken bones that was left of him and scooping him up with terrible tenderness, stepping over the jailers' bodies as he ran out of the building with Lia as a rear guard. Privacy was a given, but nothing travels faster than Vulcan gossip. There is a general understanding of what happens when the Tal Shiar abuse a prisoner. An unbonded male is unlikely to have a choice of mates afterward.

But you were so young. When the next Time came, you'd have died. He had a fuzzy image of a young man staggering out into the desert and collapsing.

Sarek confirmed the image. I was expected to do so quietly, without complaint, and preferably on a different planet where only my parents would be required to know of my disposal.

Sa'mi, that is utterly disgusting. You did nothing wrong.

You did nothing wrong either.

Yes, but people said they were trying to help. Maybe that's worse than just writing me off.

Some of it he thought in words, some only in quick images. The Earth embassy had been our family's post. When they took Rea to Gol, I went to Earth as Father's aide. The prison injuries had barely healed when I was shot. Another image of a heartbroken Skon and Solkar at his bedside arguing gently with other healers who shook their heads: no, too dangerous, that bullet must remain, the heart is damaged, his life will be cut short either way. I became that sickly child again. It went on for years, especially after Grandfather's last assassination when no one else seemed able to help me as he had. Mother tried two more mates for me, but I could not bond with them. After the second, the healers gave up and told my parents to cherish what time we had.

My brother brought his friend to visit in case fresh topics of conversation would help, but I was too ill to get off the sofa and greet her properly. There was Amanda, young and vivacious, sweeping into the room like a cloud of joy as he tried to struggle upright. She always said Silek did everything but throw us into a room and nail the door shut.

He wasn't interested?

In having her as family, yes. In having her in his life to read romantic poetry with, yes. As a wife, no. He's not ordinarily sexually attracted to anyone and was afraid he'd deprive her of what she was very fond of, but she was very dear to him and he to her. Best friends, I believe you would say? There was the great dark ragged crater where Amanda belonged, and his brother sobbing aloud on a dark night in the embassy meditation room.

I know. God knows, she loved you.

She once told me that getting to know me was like taming an abused horse, frightened and dangerous because of it. She didn't understand how violent being an ambassador is. Solkar came back from his latest assassination attempt three years before Spock was born. By that time, she had been through two of my first three and had to join me in the questionable shuttle crash while she was halfway through pregnancy. He almost lived.

Kirk knew about baby James, who had survived without intervention only to be lost when his mother nearly died of internal injuries. You gave him a Terran name?

We hadn't thought of a Vulcan one yet. They are traditionally suggested by the parents through the bond unless the child has a strong opinion. Spock's was an idea I had on the way home the day he was born. The latest ancestor to use it was, like him, a very distinguished scientist.

It was only a glimpse, but he knew. He has a Terran name.

From conception. Ask him if you dare. It was very nearly a playful thought. For that matter, I do.

Terra Prime, Keep Earth Human...Another image. The marriage license filed in San Francisco had to look like two humans. That wasn't right either. The quiet between them brought a sense of mending on both sides, relief so profound it dampened Kirk's eyes. And you doubt your skill as a healer, osu?

The transferred relief was even stronger. And you doubt yours?

All I ever try to do is fix the broken parts that come my way.

Which is why so many broken people do. The pause was not angry, only meditative, each surveying the other's damage without pity. Instead they found recognition, admiration for their resilience, acceptance, the well-hidden mutual fondness for Spock and his own iron soul. Oh, yes, and the job they were supposed to be taking on. We have forgotten the matter at hand, have we not? Sarek found the relevant areas of his ability and linked them so Kirk would have access to the knowledge. On the way past the Black Chapel, Sarek held up a hand for a second and went in. He knelt, lit a thin candle, set it in the sand and retreated. They walked back to Nick's house without another word, but not without peace between them.

The next day's class wasn't as daunting. Much of the morning was escape and evasion, taught by Aunt Lia. Since she had practiced successfully for over sixty years among the Romulans, her insights made him pay attention. He had learned to distinguish one nation from another during the evacuation and his time on New Vulcan; now he learned how to discern rank when often only admirals and generals wore insignia, simply by watching interactions. "No harm will be done if you call a low-ranking aide osu, and it's proper for service members to show that level of respect for any civilian," Lia said, "but not being effusive enough to generals you meet may get you executed because they're jerks."

"Important safety tip," Kirk gulped.

"I doubt they're worse than some of the admirals we've dealt with," Spock said blandly, loud enough for his aunt to hear.

"You are correct," Lia agreed, straight-faced but with an undercurrent of merry menace. Kirk thought back to the image of the long-ago commando raid to retrieve Sarek, and didn't want to think about how the dead jailers got that way. "Practice today and on the way: bow slightly with your hands folded for one of equal rank, more for an elder or a superior, and seriously if an angry general is near."

Kirk thought, louder than he meant to, The madder they are, the fancier you salute. He forgot she could hear him. "Captain, you have extensive education in Federation military customs, while many of our volunteers have no military experience and little contact with soldiers. Are you open to answering questions? I realize not everything will transfer, but there are many similarities."

He got to his feet and bowed ostentatiously. "As you wish, most esteemed fleet admiral." Being grilled felt more natural than sweating over memorization. He answered questions for ten minutes before it dawned on him that Aunt Lia had bailed him out by giving him a task in which he had supreme confidence. He shot a sidewise glance at her, and she winked.

In the afternoon, they trained in their teams. It went without saying that John and Nick would be together as Team One, taking along the admiral's husband Lhairre. Kirk, Spock and Sarek became Team Nine. The admiral demonstrated the last of their uniforms and equipment and showed another hologram from the Guardians of Forever so they would see the way the gear moved in actual use, mercifully during an ancient training exercise and a parade.

"Triads have always been the standard in most military operations, with the occasional addition of a fourth to carry, pilot, drive or stand reserve where there is high probability of loss. Sniper, spotter, medic. Lead intel, sub and guard. Psi warrior, backup and sentry. In this case, it's medic, aide and burden bearer. When you're suited up, we'll have the historian check that nothing has gone amiss." The admiral observed everyone's technique and pointed out the extras for those in certain situations. She even covered how to open field rations without making noise, once again enlisting Kirk to show some of what he had learned. "You will find people in dire need, especially on the second and third nights,so be careful in offering food. Jim understands. If there are a large number of hungry, they may rush the team. Even dried fruit packets can save a life because of the quick energy. While you cannot risk being identified as modern, the presence of helpful strangers is on the record. Questions?"

And with that, training was over. He wasn't sure what to think except that no one could possibly have taught him enough. "It could take longer," Sarek said, "but knowledge is one thing, the ability to act upon it another. Diplomacy is the same way."

"I should review tonight."

"No, you should sleep," Spock said. "And I should meditate. But first, Jim, you should eat, because you are once again forgetting, and so are you, Father."

"And that spaghetti sauce in the cooker at home won't take care of itself. Come on," Nick growled. "We'll be living off whatever soon enough."