Despite the chaos and clamor of the last few days, it cannot be denied that ship's midnight aboard the Federation starship Enterprise is surprisingly peaceful, or at least seems to be so here, tucked away in a quiet corner of the Medical wing.

Part of this, no doubt, is due to the fact that it does not give the crew of this particular starship any real pause to be ferrying several dozen contentious civilians, nor did the action-packed events of the last few days seem to be at all out of the ordinary for what is, she suspects, a highly extra-ordinary crew. Clearly, they are accustomed to such things, and are well-equipped to deal with them. Perhaps Sarek's disparaging feelings about Starfleet shows of force are not as ill-founded as she has in past thought, if such dramatic events are commonplace here.

But the remaining part of said peaceful atmosphere is likely due to the fact that, despite his whirlwind-like and quite irascible bedside manner, Doctor McCoy certainly seems to have full control over his Sickbay and all components (and residents) thereof. That much was clear from their first encounter, and has only been more obvious as the week continued to degenerate.

Now, shortly after 0300 hours in this sleepy ship's night, all is calm and relatively peaceful in the Enterprise Medical bay. Having received no further patients during the last 48 hours and his current patients safely out of immediate danger, Doctor McCoy has long since gone off-duty, and the lights of the bay are dimmed to a pleasant, warming glow via hitherto unnoticed wall-sconces. The distant thrum of the ship's powerful warp engines creates a blanket of soothing low-level white noise, broken only by the occasional chirp and hum of a monitoring sensor. There is a nurse on duty, working in one of the attached offices, but besides that, computerized automations seem sufficient to monitor the sleeping residents.

Sarek's sleep has not been interrupted since late this afternoon, which is not a negative thing; he requires full rest and intense meditation if he is to recuperate sufficiently by the time they reach their destination. But his unexpectedly restful retreat does leave Amanda somewhat at loose ends. After being so abruptly made aware of the frailty of life this week, even strong Vulcan life, she is loathe to retreat to their assigned chambers aboard ship rather than the nearly-as-comfortable bed Doctor McCoy had procured for her, the third night in which she insisted upon staying with her husband.

The fact that Sarek had concealed a potentially fatal heart condition from her for what seems to be weeks, will certainly be dealt with; but not now, guests aboard this ship and in preparation for a very tense diplomatic mission.

But she prefers to be active rather than passive, when possible; and so it is that she finds herself restless, this darkest hour before the dawn. And in lieu of leaving the ward entirely, ends up at the bedside of her son, despite his not-unkind reassurances earlier this evening that he does not require additional attention.

Spock had not 'bounced back,' as Doctor McCoy had put it, as quickly as anticipated from the experimental risky procedure which had saved Sarek's life two days prior. The use of an untested drug regimen had been even more dangerous than she had been led to believe, a fact which she is both grateful and frustrated that she did not know prior to the operation. It might not have changed her actions (not all of which is she proud of), but it would at least have affected how insistent she had been about proceeding. One does not on the instant recover from massive blood loss or its equally massive reproduction, and Spock's unknown physiology had not reacted well to the experimental drug or the follow-up regimen McCoy had initially prescribed.

This would not have been quite the ordeal it quickly became, she gathers, had Captain Kirk been at anything nearing full capacity during this time period; but unfortunately, the man's admirably stubborn performance on the Bridge three days before had finally taken its toll.

Spock's adherence to duty was admirable, but also foolish, when the worst of the immediate danger had clearly passed and the crew of the Enterprise were competent to maintain relations between the civilians. She still remains in admiration of the deft way in which McCoy had ruthlessly cut through every logical Vulcan argument and bullied her son back into his bed and a light healing trance within a ten-minute period. (The skill points to having clear experience in the matter, which is room for concern.)

But despite his initial protests, Spock too rests peacefully this quiet night. She allows herself a few solitary moments to assure herself of that fact, committing even these short scenes to memory, as it does not seem likely that she will have the opportunity for such familial intimacy after they depart the Enterprise. While Sarek and Spock appear to be on civil terms now (an improvement, certainly), she is under no illusions that they have any intention of repairing their relationship to a familial extent. She will be content if they part ways amicably, and if she can convince Spock to communicate with them by more than written communiqués now that Sarek will likely not express active disapproval of their receipt or Spock's chosen career, so much the better.

From somewhere nearby, a sudden shrill chirp shatters the silence, only to be abruptly cut off after just a moment. It does not appear to be a particularly alarming alarm, and the nurse on duty must believe the same, for there is no accompanying rush from the office or any further sounds of concern. She sits back in the uncomfortable chair and returns her attention to her son, who has not so much as twitched, clearly well into the Vulcan healing process.

A sound from behind startles her half to death, and she turns with a quiet exclamation, hand clutching her scarf.

Captain James T. Kirk sways – it is most definitely not standing – in the doorway to the cubicle, clearly holding onto the wall for steadiness and just as startled as she. "My apologies," he says, even as his knuckles turn white. "I wasn't – I didn't realize you were here, ma'am."

While it seems that the man is quite confident in his own ability to single-handedly defy every medical stricture put upon him by the long-suffering Chief Medical Officer, even his remarkable stubbornness had finally flagged under exhaustion and what turned into an unpleasant infection on the second day following the apprehension of their Orion spy. His heroics on the Bridge, allowing her son time for the risky medical procedure, had cost him dearly in the end.

And so, ever since his second admittance to Sickbay, he has been quite miserable, too feverish to rest properly even with the prescribed anti-biotic treatment, and too exhausted to be released and trusted to recover in his cabin, according to Doctor McCoy. Spock mentioned in passing that Kirk never seems to sleep well in Sickbay, as he is an exceedingly light sleeper as a rule and every sound or change in ship's mechanics serves to keep him awake, at least when not under the influence of sedation.

Now, it is equally clear that this is as accurate as all Vulcan estimations, and it is equally clear that the man most definitely should not be out of bed in the first place. He looks about ten seconds from following her son into actual unconsciousness, with or without a bed beneath him at the time.

"Captain, what on earth do you think you are doing?"

She realizes too late, that her tone is that of an exasperated mother, and is highly inappropriate given the man's authority on this ship and over her son. However, Kirk simply blinks wide-eyed at her for a second in what appears to be complete befuddlement, before his lips twitch suspiciously; as if he is too tired to laugh, but very definitely wishes to.

"I don't suppose you'd believe…McCoy is releasing me early?"

"Do not insult my intelligence, Captain. The entirety of Deck Six heard Doctor McCoy's last instructions to you this evening, myself included." This gets her an unexpected and highly undignified snort, and she considers it a victory, however small. "Please, sit down."

"I –"

"You will sit," she interrupts, with the delicate firmness that has served her well as the wife of a Vulcan. Humans are child's play, next to them.

Kirk stares at her for a second, and then clearly decides to choose his battles, moving very slowly into the room with a most impertinent side-eye in her direction.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And none of that, if you please, Captain. You may call me Amanda."

She receives a genuinely grateful look this time, as Kirk finally reaches the chair she had been seated in, close to Spock's bed. He cannot quite muffle the grunt of pain as he sits, however, and exhales audibly, one arm clenched close to his side as if for support. He is clearly as stubborn as a Vulcan when it comes to his own health. It must positively drive Spock to distraction, she would be willing to wager.

But it is not her place to comment such, and so she merely departs for a moment to activate the hover mechanisms in a chair from the neighboring recovery cubicle, before bringing it with her back to her son's.

She halts in the doorway, momentarily taken aback, because in her absence the reason for Kirk's unexpected appearance is quite obvious. He is seated on the edge of the chair, half-leaning forward to examine the monitors over the bio-bed. One hand rests on Spock's wrist – over the sleeve, she notes with absent approval – and the other is fidgets with the edge of the thermal blanket, a strangely nervous gesture.

It does not require telepathy, touch or otherwise, to finally deduce at least part of what had been slightly mystifying her, ever since Spock's regular but impersonal communiqués had unexpectedly started mentioning a human, more and more frequently as time passed.

She purposefully makes a noise just outside the door, and when she looks back up from moving the chair within, Kirk has retreated to his previous position, and offers her a guarded smile.

"He tends to over-estimate his tolerance for anti-nausea remedies, and it can pull him out of a healing trance if left unchecked," he says, apropos of nothing, although she is aware that he is watching her reaction carefully.

This unusually specific piece of information is news to her, and also indicates that Kirk was well aware of what she saw, and how it could be interpreted to anyone acquainted with Vulcan cultural norms.

But she settles into her chair without further comment on the matter. "Indeed, he has always been quite difficult, from a medical standpoint."

A split-second glance of hostility before it is hastily hidden under the bland veneer of diplomacy, and she easily hides the urge to smile. "It was not a criticism, Captain; rather a statement of fact. Spock is a medical anomaly, which engenders a sort of trial-and-error by necessity, both medically and otherwise."

Kirk exhales painfully, tilts his head in rueful acknowledgment. "My apologies. I apparently have a short fuse in this particular area, as I am sure you've realized by now."

"A mother's perception is not required to see this, yes," she replies archly, eyes twinkling. "Though one would think you'd have learnt some Vulcan patience by such close association, Captain."

A slightly breathless laugh, and the man relaxes slightly in his chair. His smile, and its accompanying words, are full of fondness. "You are not the first being to say so. I believe the exact phrase used in reference to my inability to master the most basic of Vulcan meditation techniques was that I am what a Vulcan calls a lost cause."

Interesting. Considering meditation is a highly personal act for a Vulcan, the fact that Kirk has been included in Spock's meditative endeavors (however unsuccessfully) speaks volumes. Certainly, Sarek has never been willing to share such things with her.

But this, too, is not her business. "I believe you give yourself too little credit, Captain. You are an excellent ambassador for your Starfleet, and clearly have a considerable diplomatic talent. I highly doubt this voyage would be proceeding with such little trouble as it is, were you not."

"I must question your standard of measure if this week is considered to be little trouble," is the wry reply. "I had not anticipated it all going wrong quite so quickly or in the particular way it did, I will admit." Kirk scrubs a hand wearily over his face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't ask yet – how is Sarek? I've been rather out of the loop the last two days."

"Much improved, and continually growing more so," she replies, quite pleased. "You are aware of the mechanics of a Vulcan healing trance, I presume."

"Somewhat," is the cautious response. "Granted, I would prefer that I hadn't had to learn about it for the first time with absolutely no warning in the middle of an away mission a year ago." She is only barely successful at not laughing at the pointed eyeroll toward the bed's completely oblivious occupant. "But I am glad to hear your husband is recovering as expected. And what about yourself, Amanda?"

"Captain?"

"How are you? Is there anything we can do for you?"

"You are very kind, Captain, but your crew has been exemplary in their care for our needs – all of the delegates' needs. You will hear no complaints from me on the matter."

"Bones says you've been here the entire time since Sarek was admitted, though. Are you sure we can't make you more comfortable somewhere on the ship?"

"In my position, would you wish to leave, Captain?" she asks quietly, and nods toward the bed.

The man clears his throat, somewhat ruefully. "Point taken."

"It is really I who should be asking you these questions, at any rate. Why, precisely, are you braving the righteous indignation of your Chief Medical Officer by escaping your sickbed at this hour of the night?"

She raises an eyebrow for emphasis, and Kirk's tense expression suddenly vanishes into a mischievous grin.

"Captain?"

"I thought that was a Vulcan mannerism," he says, eyes dancing. "I am revising my entire understanding of the universe."

"And deflecting an answer to the question, hm?"

He sighs, and not very subtly half-turns away from her, facing the bed again. Silence slowly fills the void with its soothing calm, and she waits, content to let it. Then, Kirk finally continues, turning his head slightly back toward her.

"Do Vulcans dream, Amanda?"

The question takes her somewhat by surprise, but after a moment that, too, seems to give clarity on the situation. "As a rule, they do not, Captain."

She does not mention that Spock did indeed dream, quite vividly, for at least his early childhood; before such mental techniques as were taught to older adolescents helped to control his chaotic half-human mind. She does not know if the phenomenon ever vanished under said techniques. But she has embarrassed her son enough for one week telling these humans stories of his childhood; and though Spock seems to regard her actions with nothing more than fond indifference, she will go no further when he is not able to respond.

"Lucky them," Kirk murmurs, almost inaudible.

"Perhaps." She demurs for a moment, not wishing to overstep into more personal territory. "I presume you would have preferred that state of affairs tonight, yourself."

"That's a diplomatic way of putting it, yes." Kirk exhales, a little raggedly, into his hands, and she can see his face losing some of the color of earlier. "You know, the events of this whole…fiasco, are actually pretty tame, compared to some of the things we have encountered?"

She had not known this, and now wishes she did not.

"Spock is perfectly fine, as you can see, Captain," she says quietly, indicating the stable sensor readings over the bed.

Kirk shakes his head ruefully. "Unfortunately, my subconscious mind does not retain this information. And why this, out of all things? We've certainly seen far worse."

"The argument could be made that unpleasant dreams which are based in the everyday, or the mundane, make it that much more difficult to determine what is reality, upon awakening."

Kirk's eyes flick to her in a rapid-fire indication of surprise; clearly her supposition is correct, and the man was not expecting her to pinpoint the reason for his presence quite so quickly.

"And you are not at peak health yourself at the moment, Captain. Your need for physical reassurance in the current state of affairs is, in a word…logical."

A very undiplomatic snort, which turns into a genuine laugh, affectionate and warm as Vulcan sand at mid-day. "Well, far be it from me to argue with the clear expert in the matter."

"It would indeed be a foolish endeavor," she replies serenely, and receives another amused look over the captain's shoulder before his attention wanders yet again to the sensor readings, which have remained completely constant despite his scrutiny.

But his energy is clearly flagging, and she suspects he is quite stubborn enough to remain in a painful position rather than show weakness before a civilian.

She should have returned to Sarek long since, at any rate. "I will bid you good-night, Captain. I believe you require rest as much as he does."

"I'll be heading back myself shortly, if McCoy doesn't find me first. Have a good night, Amanda."

"And Captain," she says, as she stands to leave. Kirk glances back at her, tilting his head in question. "I have not thanked you for your recklessness in ensuring Spock was able to complete this medical procedure. It was quite foolhardy, but I am grateful you saw fit to do this. For both of them."

His lips turn up slightly. "There's very little I wouldn't do for your son, Amanda. Foolhardy or otherwise."

And that is all the confirmation she really requires. She steps out of the cubicle into the warmly-lit corridor, and nearly walks straight into a figure outside, leaning patiently against the wall in half-shadow.

Ah. So the alarm of earlier had sounded long enough to summon assistance, after all; just not from the nurse on duty.

"I dunno why I thought it would work to put them in different rooms," Doctor McCoy says dryly, although there's a tell-tale edge of fondness in the tone. "Looks like he was in good hands."

She steps backward to glance back into the room, and quickly covers a smile. In the safety of solitude, it would seem that Kirk's stubborn will-power had indeed fled the instant it could do so unseen. He is fast asleep, one arm curled under his head on the edge of the bio-bed, the other hand having sneaked back to its former position on Spock's wrist. Steady, even breathing is the only accompaniment to the muted chirp of the sensors.

"Indeed, Doctor. I believe they both are."