He was not in the habit of entering the homes of strangers, particularly those he encountered in dark side streets, but the circumstances were unusual. The threat of physical violence to both Miss Grayson and himself warranted taking such a risk.
He tried to be gentle as he steered her toward the threshold, recalling how frail humans were and how easily they were injured. His companion seemed to be so overwhelmed by some primal emotion that she had been rendered functionally incapacitated, and her condition added another complication.
He could see the woman beckoning them more clearly now: she was elderly and smaller even than Miss Grayson. He turned to face the street as they moved to ensure no one was following them so as to unnecessarily endanger their rescuer, and with another few steps the pair was on her stoop. She opened the door widely enough for them to enter and then quickly shut it and snapped a few locks into position.
He released Miss Grayson's arm and looked at her. Her eyes were wide and questioning and she was trembling and breathing hard. She mumbled, "Why did you ask me to leave you?"
"It was logical," he whispered. "They were seeking me, and I do not blend into a crowd on Earth so well as you."
"We should get away from the doors and the windows," the small woman advised in a peculiar accent.
The three of them stood in close proximity in a tiny entryway that led into a kitchen reminiscent of a galley on a tiny space shuttle.
"Come," the woman murmured, leading them into a larger living space.
"Thank you for allowing us into your home," Sarek said, wishing to convey his sincere gratitude. "I am Sarek."
"I am Fredricka," she replied, before turning to his Miss Grayson and asking. "Are you alright, dear?"
"Yes. Oh, and I'm Amanda. Thank you so much for letting us in," she stammered.
Sarek sensed she was more frightened than she let on but she was no longer shaking.
"Well, you can make yourselves at home. I have some-"
Her words were cut short by the sound of someone rattling and banging on her rear door. The three stood soundlessly; the door rattled a second time, and then it was quiet again.
"I have some tea," she said more quietly. "Will you take tea?"
"Of course," Amanda replied in the same hushed tone.
"No, thank you," Sarek answered, removing his PADD from the inside pocket of his cloak.
"Suit yourself," Fredricka said. "If you change your mind, just let me know."
The two women moved into the kitchen and Sarek examined her blinds and heavy curtains from where he stood. They looked tightly closed and by all appearances, the apartment likely seemed empty from the outside. He muted the audio and dimmed the screen on his PADD before sending messages to both Mr. Marcus and Voris about the current situation and asking for a status report in return.
The people in the streets had been shouting slogans for the Earth First Party and if the man at the deli had been correct, this was related to the local elections. He had spent a total of 32.4 years on Earth and in all that time had never witnessed or even heard reports of riots. Most humans he knew would probably proclaim that their race was beyond such things now, but no race truly was beyond collective illogic, not even Vulcans.
His people had watched Earth for decades before their first contact, watched them nearly destroy themselves in global nuclear war, and watched as they struggled to take their first baby steps into space. Since Vulcans making first contact with this planet 163 years earlier, they had witnessed humanity make vast strides in eliminating poverty, developing technology, and finding a place in the galaxy, but violence over the results of a free and popular election served as proof that an aggressive and capricious nature still lurked beneath the surface. The sentient species of Earth were paradox made flesh.
His PADD vibrated in his hands and he received a message from Mr. Marcus, followed a few seconds later by a message from Voris.
His secretary's message informed him that he was willing to arrange for a site-to-site transport from his location back to the consulate. He glanced at Miss Grayson in the kitchen with the old woman, smiling and holding a mug of tea close to her face with both hands. He could not leave without her, but transporting back to the consulate would require explaining how they came to be sheltered in a tiny apartment in the heart of San Francisco together. Judging by Mr. Marcus' surprise in learning of their shared visit to the gardens, he imagined his secretary perceived some deeper personal attachment existed where there was none. He trusted his secretary, but found dealing with human gossip tiresome and would prefer to avoid it.
Yet he would not ultimately compromise their safety for appearances, so he continued to Voris' message. It explained there were reports of sporadic violence throughout the city and a handful of other metropolitan areas on Earth following the results of the elections, but the local authorities expected to have it under control within the hour and Starfleet security was standing by to assist if necessary. The current directive was to shelter in place until advised otherwise.
He clicked his PADD off, returned it to the hidden pocket within his cloak, and inspected his surroundings. The accommodations were simple, but the décor was certainly not. The small space was decorated with heavy wooden furniture bearing ornate carvings, a large rug with impeccable embroidery, and unusual lamps with off-white shades surrounding central roundish bulbs bearing delicate internal filaments. He had seen such antique illumination devices at the historical exhibit at the California governor's mansion years ago. The photographs were the most interesting, black and white images printed upon paper and housed in bulky metal and wooden frames.
In terms of relative technological timescales, it was one of the few fields where humans had advanced more rapidly than Vulcans. Vulcans didn't have photography or the ability to conveniently record accurate images until they possessed computers sophisticated enough to process optical images into digital information, yet more than 100 years before humans had comparable computers, they had developed a chemical process for transferring images directly to paper.
He remained stationary in the center of the room and mused about scientific history while he examined the content of the photographs from his position. They all contained human subjects, mostly female, mostly smiling, some in color and some monochromatic gray. He estimated some of the images must be at least 200 years of age.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to neglect one of my guests."
His elderly host approached and gently patted his arm. Human touch was often unnerving, but hers was clearly intended to be welcoming and kind. He also didn't wish to offend her after she had taken a risk by allowing them into her home, so he repelled his natural instinct to pull away and endured it.
"That was when I was just a girl in Bavaria," she said, moving to pick up the picture he had just been looking at of a younger version of herself and another female with similar features that was probably a close relative. "That was my sister, Marguerite."
"You are both so beautiful here," Amanda remarked from behind her, moving forward to admire the image from over her shoulder.
"We were, weren't we?" Fredricka laughed.
"When did you move to San Francisco?"
"Oh, years and years ago. I was a little older than you, I think, 25 or 26. I quit the university and packed up my life and boarded a shuttle and never looked back."
"You sound like you moved on a whim," Amanda chuckled. "Why did you choose San Francisco?"
"I didn't; San Francisco chose me," she explained, setting the picture down and moving over to a narrow hallway table with more photographs. "Why does anyone quit their lives and move thousands of miles away from everything they've ever known?"
"I have a guess but it will probably sound cliché," Amanda said with a demure smile.
"You're onto something," she said, wagging her finger at Amanda. "His name was Joe, he was in Starfleet. We were married three weeks after this one was taken…"
Sarek observed the pair as their host recounted her life story to Amanda. It was a peculiar fact about humans that they so easily divulged the most intimate details of their lives to complete strangers. He could not help but notice how easily Amanda developed a rapport with her own kind and how readily she smiled for others. He watched their conversation rather than listened to it, observing their body language and facial expressions. His eyes rested on her hands and followed her index finger as she traced it across one of the glass frames holding a photograph.
He perceived an unease in himself that he could not explain and attempted to withdraw into his mind and suppress it when he became acutely aware Miss Grayson was looking back at him. Their eyes met and the smile on her face evaporated. She bit her lip and quickly looked away, and even in the dimly lit apartment he could see a pink flush on her cheeks.
Though being in the company of humans was often mentally exhausting, it offered a distinct advantage of often being able to rapidly identify their thoughts from the outward expressions of their faces. It did little to predict how they would eventually act, but it hadn't taken much practice to learn to read and react to human facial cues. In his career as an ambassador, he had quickly discovered how to adapt his conversation and arguments to the outward displays of annoyance, anger, confusion, delight, and anguish of his human counterparts. Yet interpreting Miss Grayson's so-called "body language" was strangely difficult.
She frequently smiled though it was clear she did her best to mute it in his presence, which he inferred was either due her hiding something or an attempt to be polite. Additionally, she often looked lost within herself, which meant she was either engaging in the curious human habit of daydreaming, simple-minded, or something else entirely. She was extremely intelligent, which caused him to rule out the second possibility, and while she did possess a moderate degree of naiveté, he attributed that to her youth.
He wasn't certain of how old she really was, though Fredricka had inadvertently helped him to approximate it to about 24 Terran years of age. She had claimed she moved to San Francisco when she was 25 and a 'little older' than Amanda, and as she had not been corrected on her assumption and he knew Amanda recently obtained a graduate degree which would have taken a certain number of years to complete, she was either 23 or 24, with the latter having a slightly higher probability. She was young, but she wasn't a child.
"I haven't heard any noise from outside in some time," Amanda said from across the room, breaking his sequence of thoughts.
"I am waiting for a confirmation from my security attaché. Thirty-three minutes ago, he informed me the local authorities were working to subdue the violence," he answered, before looking at Fredricka and adding, "I wish to thank you again for permitting us to shelter in your home. I hope we will not impose upon you for much longer."
"It's no trouble," the elderly woman insisted. "It's been an exciting night and I don't have guests as much as I would like. Of course, I hope those hooligans didn't kill anyone, but helping a stranded young couple in need has been a sweet bit of serendipity."
"Oh, we're not- it isn't- you see- he and I… Sarek, we're just… friends?" Amanda said, her voice adopting a peculiar pitch that Sarek interpreted as discomfort.
Fredricka looked at her curiously, then looked at Sarek, and then back to Amanda. "Ok."
Sarek could not understand Amanda's obvious distress at the woman's mistake. Humans made faulty assumptions with an alarmingly regular frequency. No doubt she had perceived two people alone together in a back alley in close physical proximity to one another as the only prerequisites to romantic attachment. He would have corrected her himself had Amanda not beaten him to it.
"I enjoyed hearing your stories, and of course, your wonderful tea," Amanda said, her voice still shaking.
"You are most welcome. You can come back any time you want. But now, I hope you can forgive me, but I am old, and I have my bridge club in the morning, assuming they haven't burned the senior center down. You should stay as long as you need to. If you need to sleep here, I can get you some blankets from the hall-"
"We will likely be gone within the hour," Sarek said as mildly as he could manage. "But thank you for your hospitality."
"Ok then. If you go out the back, please just lock the bolt before you step out. Goodnight," she said with a smile, looking back and forth between himself and Amanda several times before turning to retire to her bedroom.
A brief moment of silence passed between them when Amanda quickly said, "I don't know why she thought that. I…"
"She merely made an illogical conclusion based on fragmentary evidence," he finished firmly.
"Well, anyway," Amanda said, moving around him to sit on an upholstered piece of furniture bearing a floral pattern.
He moved to adjacent single chair and sat also, formed his hands into a steeple, and turned his head to face her. A long period of silence passed between them before she looked at him in return, her eyes cast slightly down, and said, "I'm really sorry all of this happened."
"Explain," he insisted, detecting she was likely on the brink of one of her many illogical apologies.
"You offered to get me a shuttle car home, but I was stubborn and wanted to walk instead," she whispered. "If you hadn't had to walk me home, you wouldn't be here right now."
"I was not required to walk you home; it was a decision I made," he explained. "The riots would have detained you regardless of your mode of transport."
"But you said you hadn't intended to eat at the deli and if you hadn't been polite and sat with me, you would have been somewhere else at the time and wouldn't have gotten caught up in all of this."
"It would seem that you have advanced from apologizing for things out of your control to apologizing specifically for my choices," he said, trying to get her to meet his gaze, which she reluctantly did.
"I didn't mean to make it come out that way I guess," she said, her voice trailing off into a whisper. "I just feel sorry that we ended up in a position where you felt like you had to put yourself in danger to ensure my safety."
"It was logical," he clarified. "As I was not going to be safe either way, I preferred instead to give you a better chance alone instead of requiring you to share my fate out of some absurd definition of loyalty."
"I think you should review your own definition of loyalty," she said with a curious smirk he had never seen on her face before. "Even if you say you were only being logical, I really appreciate what you were willing to do for me, and I'm still sorry that I had a hand in putting you in that situation."
"Miss Grayson, I have encountered many of your race who had difficulty recognizing that they should apologize when necessary, but you may be the first person for which the inverse is true, that you prefer instead to apologize when no apology is due."
"No one is perfect, I suppose," she muttered, staring at the photographs mounted on the wall directly in front of her. "Humans certainly do have a lot of flaws. Honestly, I wonder what you must think of us. You're so perfectly logical all the time and you have to constantly struggle to interact with people who will elect unfit individuals to positions of power one minute, then throw tantrums and tear apart cities the next because they didn't get their way. I almost want to apologize to you for having to witness the worst of humanity, but I know perfectly well that what you saw tonight doesn't even scratch the surface of what the 'worst' is."
"Does it not occur to you that we also witnessed many of the better aspects of humanity this evening?"
Her eyes darted in his direction with curiosity.
"Earlier this evening the deli owner did not charge us for our meals, displaying generosity even when we were among only a handful of patrons. Then Fredricka risked her own safety for two individuals she did not know. She certainly was not required to do so."
"You almost sound like an optimist," she said, smiling broadly but quickly twisting her expression back into a more neutral one.
"May I ask a personal query?"
"Sure," she said. "Anything."
"Why do you so often attempt to restrain your external emotional responses from me?"
"You mean like smiling?"
"Yes."
"I was under the impression that it made Vulcans uncomfortable," she said. "I guess I figured it was more… respectful, though I'm starting to suppose I'm not very good at it."
"I have spent much of my life in the close company of humans and other species which do not care about emotional restraint. I have coped with a wide spectrum of emotional displays. I should make a very poor diplomat indeed if I could not tolerate a few of your smiles."
She scoffed and smiled, made an attempt to regain her composure, and then allowed the smile to materialize. His PADD vibrated against his chest and he stood to remove it from his cloak. Voris had sent him a message indicating the local authorities had made the necessary arrests and central city traffic was open again. They requested his presence back at the consulate, and he tapped out a quick message informing his staff that he would be there in approximately 45 minutes.
"The riots have ceased; we should go," he explained as his finished his message and sent it.
They wordlessly exited Fredricka's apartment, securely locked it as promised, and Sarek took note of the number above the door to send her a note of thanks the next day. They exited the alleyway into the street and proceeded to walk briskly the nine additional blocks to Amanda's apartment. They encountered twelve uniformed police officers directing traffic on their short route, and Sarek noted the damage to property appeared unexpectedly minimal in this area.
They walked without talking and Sarek spent the time composing the formal report he would write about this incident and the transmissions he would send to the Vulcan High Council. He had left the consulate uncharacteristically early on this evening to rest and meditate, but knew both pursuits would be out of the question for the rest of the evening. It would be past 2300 hours by the time he returned to his office and he knew the likelihood was high that he would work through the night into the next morning.
Soon they arrived at Amanda's door and he prepared to bid her a hasty goodbye.
"Ambassador Sarek?" she said so quickly that the words nearly slurred together.
"Yes?"
"I want to thank you again for everything."
"Thank you for your company," he replied.
They stood close and she opened her mouth to say something but shut it and offered instead a closed smile.
"Good night, Miss Grayson," he said, turning to leave her small stoop and return to the consulate.
"Ambassador?" she said with a bit more urgency. "I know this is really forward of me…"
He turned back to her to provide her with his full attention.
"Actually, never mind. I know you're really busy and-"
"Speak your mind, Miss Grayson," he said.
"Would you… be interested in going to dinner with me sometime next week?"
"I shall be returning to Vulcan on Monday," he explained.
"Oh…" she said with an odd look of confusion and what he perceived to be disappointment.
"It will be a short visit; I shall resume my post on Earth the following week," he added.
"I see, well, I understand, and have a good night," she blurted, turning to unlock her door.
"Are you retracting your offer altogether, or are you willing to alter the date for the following week?" he asked, seeking clarification.
"Hmmm?" she said, turning back around.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled in a way he had not yet seen. She looked down at the ground in a way that suggested it held some answer she was seeking, and then looked back at him curiously. He couldn't interpret her expression at all.
"May I contact you when I return to Earth?"
"Yes, of course. If you want," she said quickly, dropping the long lanyard that held a small assortment of access cards.
They stooped to retrieve the item from the ground at nearly the same time, but he was swifter than her and stood up, holding out her collection of key cards. She took a step forward to reach for it and their fingers brushed briefly. The intimacy of her touch caught him by surprise, but he was even more startled by the briefest sensation of a strange, almost warm wave flood over his consciousness, though he managed to maintain his outward calm. She was looking at him inquisitively and inspecting her own hand in confusion, clearly innocent of the Vulcan practice of finger touching, or ozh'esta.
"I'm sorry; must have been static or something," she said, almost as if trying to convince herself.
"Yes," he said aloud, though internally he wasn't sure if he agreed with her assessment.
His heart was palpitating at a slightly accelerated rate for reasons he could not identify. He had touched the hands of many humans before, yet it had never been quite like this. He sensed he was rapidly losing control of his composure and deliberately slowed his breathing and consciously shifted his mental state to attempt to focus on a singular point in his mind. It was an easy and familiar thing to do, but not something he had been compelled to do in years.
"Ambassador Sarek?" she asked, her voice full of concern.
"Yes?"
"Are you alright?"
"I am," he replied. "I shall contact you when I return to Earth."
"Ok," she muttered. "Good night, then."
"Good night, Miss Grayson," he responded before turning to retreat from her stoop.
He knew she watched him walk back up the street and could not easily infer what she might be thinking. For the first time since he was very young, he couldn't make inferences about his own thoughts. He moved hurriedly and performed breathing techniques to piece his mind back together, regretting that his duties would keep him from being unable to perform a deeper meditation that night.