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"Ms. Forrest, the V'tosh ka'tur are dangerous."

I glared at him, as was my habit nowadays, and seethed as I gathered my wits and prepared a counterattack against him. My plan to crack him wasn't going nearly as well as I'd hoped, as I was finding it really hard to be nice to him when he got like this. He made his points as if dismissing a child, though I did note, with a rush of pleasure, that a hint of worry sparked in his eyes as I stared unwaveringly at him. He blinked, and his expression faltered.

"Genevieve?" he said gently. That almost broke me out of my anger, but it wasn't enough.

"So by your logic, I'm dangerous, because I express my emotions like these V'tosh ka'tur do."

"You are not dangerous," he said calmly. "You do not have my strength or agility or fighting prowess. But a Vulcan who cannot control his emotions, who is endangering others for his own selfish purposes-"

"In what way are his emotions dangerous?" I probed, leaning back away from him.

"Genevieve," he said, his voice lowering an octave. I narrowed my eyes further. "You do not understand...Vulcan emotions are erratic and unpredictable. Would you let a madman out into the streets just so he can express his emotions?"

I huffed in irritation. "What evidence do you have, definitive evidence, that these people are like unto madmen? Have you observed them over an extended period of time? Is your medical community in agreement with your assertions? Or are you simply giving me trite rhetoric based on nothing more than your fear of losing control of your own population?"

He blinked, staring at me in what looked like confusion. "Vulcans do not feel fear."

"Oh yes you do. You fear giving up control. You know...for a planet that shoves the idea of tolerance down everyone else's throat, you do seem to have a very tight reign on your own society. It's really easy to preach tolerance when everyone on your world is exactly the same, but the minute someone rejects your precious teachings and decides to try something new, you proclaim them mad, illogical, a menace to society. Do you feel the same way about humans? Are we madmen too? Because it sure as hell sounds like that."

I was panting by the end of that rant, and Soval raised an eyebrow and flared his nostrils. "Humans are not mad, Genevieve...you humans have the uncanny ability to...reign in your more violent urges. V'tosh ka'tur have rejected the very means that keeps us from killing each other. To let go of one's control is to invite in dark thoughts, violent thoughts. That is not safe for society."

"But what about better emotions? Joy, love, compassion? Don't these V'tosh ka'tur have the ability to feel those too?"

"No," he said quietly. "Vulcans, by some unfortunate turn of events, are not nearly as compassionate as you humans. Most of us lack the ability to spontaneous selflessness that inspires humans to care for one another without expecting something in return...we are capable of love, tightly controlled and suppressed, but compassion seems beyond the reach of most."

"How do you know there aren't compassionate Vulcans trying the V'tosh ka'tur's way?"

"Those few who have such a gift for caring for others would not be wasting their time on such a dangerous endeavor."

I frowned at him. "You're painting these guys like they're some dangerous cult or something."

He nodded. "An apt analogy. That is precisely what they are."

"How do you know? Do you have any evidence to suggest they are cultist in their behavior? Have they harmed anyone? Sacrificed any babies or raped prepubescent girls or kept people prisoner?"

Soval's eyes widened at my descriptions, but I kept my expression stony. "Well?" I pressed.

"Yes, they have been known to harm others, and they do not limit themselves to prepubescent girls."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh," was all I could think to say. "And you have evidence to support this?"

He nodded solemnly. "Most Vulcans who try to experiment with emotions come back to the proper mode of behavior, usually within six months to a year."

"You say most," I pressed. "Barring the V'tosh ka'tur."

"Yes."

"Who you say are rapists."

"Yes, some of their number are known to be quite...violent."

"Wait, some of their number," I countered. "Not all V'tosh ka'tur are rapists."

He shifted in his seat and sighed. "No."

"Yeah, I was waiting for you to see that little flaw in logic. So what you're saying is that Vulcan society lumps all of the V'tosh ka'tur, rapist or otherwise, into one group, based solely on the actions of a few, correct?"

"Being around violent Vulcans can greatly influence the behavior of even the most peaceful of our people."

"Now I think you're not giving yourselves enough credit. You pride yourselves on being incorruptible, that your philosophy trumps all others."

"Yes, our proper philosophy. Not this bastardization of Surak's teachings."

"But not all of the V'tosh ka'tur are known to be violent," I pressed, bringing the argument back to my side.

"By abandoning what was put in place through logical thought, they are opening themselves up to violent thoughts and behaviors. Murder, rape, terrorism...the V'tosh ka'tur are, by their own design, statistically more likely to engage in such behaviors."

I sighed. "Ok...I can see where you're coming from on that point, and I certainly wouldn't want a Vulcan rapist on my planet...God, it sounds so wrong to put those two words together..."

Soval winced, perhaps in silent agreement.

"But I still think this is a philosophical choice that they have made, and as long as they take steps to avoid hurting people, and their motives are more along the lines of self-exploration and self-expression than "I like to hurt people", then do they not fall under the blanket of "infinite diversity in infinite combination"? And I know how much you Vulcans love to pull that one on us when we're being difficult..."

"The coalescence of all those factors in one Vulcan is incredibly slim, so slim that it most likely does not exist."

"Are you so certain of that, though?" I rallied my thoughts, pushing away the headache that throbbed behind my temples, a byproduct of sparring with him. "If you met a Vulcan who wanted to explore the V'tosh ka'tur philosophy because, I don't know, he wanted to feel love and compassion for the first time or something...could you truly judge him? If it was this Vulcan's personal philosophy that feeling love and compassion would make him a better...veterinarian, and he wants to save kittens for a living...could you really tell him that his philosophy is wrong and what he's doing is dangerous?"

"I doubt such a Vulcan exists. It is not logical to put others at risk simply to indulge in self-exploration."

"The "Vulcans without logic" don't prescribe to utilitarianism? How shocking! What else is new?"

He flared his nostrils and drew himself up to his full height in his chair, but I simply raised an eyebrow and pressed my case. "They sound really human."

The ambassador blinked. "They are not human. You are..."

"Inclined to violence? Incredibly emotional? Non-utilitarian in their application of logic? Sounds like yours truly to me."

Soval furrowed his brows, silently staring at me, and he sighed.

"But I guess, in the long run, you win this one," I conceded, putting my hands up and slumping in my chair. "And you can tell my father to tell these V'tosh ka'tur to get lost or whatever...by the way, when did he say he would be here?"

"In approximately twenty minutes." He rose and checked on the casserole in the oven (the very same that he baked my first week here), and since he didn't pull it, I assumed it needed to cook for a few minutes longer.

I sniffed the air appreciatively. "Pulling out the big guns, huh?"

I had already explained this idiom to him two weeks ago, so he nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I remember you were rather fond of this casserole. I hope your father is as fond of it as you are."

"I'm sure he'll love it. You're a good cook, you know that?"

His gaze softened for a moment, and I smiled, making a conscious effort to drop the subject of the V'tosh ka'tur, and if my father brought them up, I had nothing to say on the matter. Soval had won fair and square, and even I could admit that my arguments were, in retrospect, kind of flimsy. Something about those Vulcans made him very uncomfortable, and I wasn't about to ask why.

"So how are things going, you two?" my dad said cheerfully as he dug into the vegetarian casserole half an hour later. I smiled graciously and sunk my fork into the gooey, steaming slice in front of me.

"Oh, things are great," I said before Soval could say anything, but the ambassador nodded along with me. "Free room and board, so I can't complain with that...and you can taste for yourself what kind of food I'm getting here."

My father had just shoveled a large bite into his mouth, and he put down his fork and closed his eyes. "Soval...dear Lord, this is delicious!"

"Told you," I said with a smirk. I took another bite and smiled appreciatively at my host, who was staring at the both of us with dark eyes. I also noted the tips of his delicately pointed ears had turned emerald green, and the flush was spreading down to his cheeks. But he looked pleased with our statements and quietly ate his meal, a satisfied smirk playing over his lips.

"Look, dad, we made him blush," I murmured, knowing full well Soval could hear me. Max smirked and shook his head, taking another appreciative bite.

"So tell me more about these...uh...V'tok...um, what do you call them?"

"V'tosh ka'tur," I said quickly, and Soval set his dark stare on me. I glanced once at him, then back to my father. "You shouldn't let them visit, dad. Soval says they're dangerous."

The ambassador turned his head towards me so fast I thought he must have experienced whiplash, and the look in his eyes made a soft, understanding smile erupt over my lips. His dark eyes glittered with an unreadable expression, but somehow I knew taking his side and taking his advice was the kindest thing I could do for him in this moment. The flush over his ears and cheeks intensified, until he set his eyes on my father, quietly affirming my statement.

"Dangerous?" he said incredulously, and Soval raised an eyebrow. "Your people are strong, but I don't know that they're dangerous, per say."

"These aren't your average Vulcans," I said. "They don't follow logic like normal Vulcans. Though I hesitate to lump all of them together as one unit," I spared a glance to Soval, who narrowed his eyes, perhaps in warning, "V'tosh ka'tur indulge in their emotions, which are often violent and taciturn. I suggest a good deal of tact when turning them away."

Soval fixed his dark stare on me, and I frowned in confusion. "What?"

He raised an eyebrow, and I realized what he was silently asking. "Well, you wouldn't want to anger them. Some measure of stern politeness would be wise, don't you think?"

The ambassador nodded, conceding to my point, and I smiled. "Maxwell, your daughter does make a good point. Have a care when speaking to them...their vessel is a civilian ship, and is not a threat to your world, but still...a desperate Vulcan is a dangerous Vulcan."

"Why would they be desperate?" my dad asked with a frown. I looked to Soval, just as curious as my father as to the answer to his question.

Instead of answering his question, Soval stared resolutely at his dinner, fiddling around with his food, and I was instantly reminded of that dinner with Tos a few weeks ago, how the stress of M'Rel's absence had made him fidgety and quiet. He was quite unlike the Vulcans my father knew, but Soval's behavior didn't surprise me. I had finally wheedled out of Timok that M'Rel had been sent back to Vulcan, but for what reason and in what state, he wouldn't say.

"He's not going to answer that, dad," I explained calmly, cutting myself another bite of my casserole. "It's probably classified information that Soval didn't mean to let slip."

I was teasing him as much as I was explaining his behavior (in some sense, defending him), and thankfully my father was a man who knew his limits. He didn't pry, no matter how much both of us wanted him to, and our talk turned to a much more cheerful subject: my dad's birthday, which was next week.

"I hope you both can pull your heads out of your work and come," he teased, grinning at Soval and nudging me under the table. I nudged him back and poured him some more water.

"You're getting old, daddy dearest," I said with a playful grin. "I wouldn't miss this chance to roast you for the world."

My father laughed, but Soval looked rather appalled. I quickly scanned what I had just said, however, I couldn't come up with a reason for the look of disgust on the ambassador's face. Then it hit me.

"We're not going to physically roast my father over a fire pit. That's...kind of disturbing. Roasting, in the colloquial sense, means to tease, to make good-natured jabs at him, for the most part about his age."

Maxwell laughed harder, perhaps conjuring up mental images of a giant firepit and Soval's horror, and I felt inordinately pleased with myself. It seemed I was getting better at reading Soval's confusion and bridging the lexical gap between him and us native speakers. It made me happy to think I was actually being of use to him, and I made a mental note to tell Timok about this latest development the next time I saw him.

"In any case," Soval said, bringing me out of my reverie, "I find it likely that you would not be adverse to a gift. What do you want for your birthday, Maxwell?"

"Telling you would take all the fun out of the surprise!" he protested, finishing up the last bites of his casserole. He reached for another slice, which Soval dished out for him, that pleased gleam returning, or so I thought. "I know you, ambassador. You'd get me exactly what I want, and there wouldn't be any surprise left in it...but if you really want to know..."

Soval shook his head. "If you wish a surprise, then I will consult with your daughter and find you something."

"Yeah, like a nice book," I suggested, smirking devilishly at my father. Soval raised an eyebrow, and I turned my smirk towards him. "I've gotten Dad a book for the last three years now."

"And it's time for something different," he said firmly, nudging me again under the table.

Soval looked pensive, sipping his tea as he stared at the woodwork of his table. "I will think of something, Max. Though your daughter's idea of giving you a book is a good one. I myself find gratification in reading."

"As do I," I said, raising an eyebrow at my father. "You need to get with the program!"

He shook his head and sighed.

…

Another hour, and my father was gone, reminding us to come to his party (and asking for the third time if there wasn't something he could do to help clean up; Soval practically shoved him out the door), and I even promised him that I would try to arrive early on that Saturday to help Mom set things up. He thanked Soval for dinner, kissed me on the cheek, and closed the door smartly behind him.

I turned to the table and stacked our dishes as Soval rolled up his sleeves and prepared to wash everything, like he did every night. He reached around me and took the stack of dishes off my hands, then reached passed me for the empty water glasses.

His chest brushed my shoulder as he reached for the cups, and I could hear his breathing in my ear. I stayed still, pondering the sensation of his robes rubbing along my arm. The fabric was smooth and it rustled as it ran along my long-sleeved cotton blouse; for the briefest moment, I thought I felt his hand graze my hip as he steadied himself on my chair.

I breathed in slowly, blinking in surprise as I unintentionally caught a waft of a pleasant, woodsy aroma. I wondered briefly if it was the way Vulcan clothes smelled, if it was simply the detergent they used, and I sniffed again in appreciation. Soval glanced at me (I guess he heard my sniffing), his dark pupils blooming, swallowing his hazel irises.

"Forgive me," he murmured, perhaps realizing that he was close enough for me to smell his clothes. He pulled away in any case and hurried to the sink, and I fetched a rag and the cleaning spray to wipe down the table and chairs, as had become my habit. He didn't complain about it now, and I was grateful he was letting me do this one task to help him. We were silent for the rest of the evening, but not in the awkward, rude sort of way as in previous weeks. It was a comfortable sort of quiet, the both of us absorbed in our work, me on my thesis, him on whatever paperwork or reports he had to fill out as his job required. I actually dared to ask him a few questions regarding sentence structure, and once 2300 rolled around, I found a stopping place and bid him good night.

"Sleep well, Ms. Forrest," he rumbled, nodding briefly to me. I nodded and slipped into my room, closing the door quietly behind me.

I made a beeline for the pile of clothes fresh from the laundry room, neatly folded on the chair in the corner of my room. I unfolded the blouse on top and inhaled the scent of the fabric, but I could smell nothing but a mild astringent smell, like hand sanitizer.

I frowned. Perhaps I had imagined that pleasant scent on the ambassador, and it wasn't as if I could simply ask to smell his robes. I shook my head, re-folded my shirt and changed into my pajamas, putting that little mystery away for now.

…

"Well, that was a no-go," I said with a sigh, setting my keys in the clay bowl on the counter (I had put it there when I moved in, with my roommate's permission, so I didn't clutter up the table). Soval and Timok were sipping tea and having a lighthearted conversation in Vulcan, but they turned at my announcement, both of them frowning.

"I didn't find anything," I explained, recognizing their reactions as confusion. I had spent the last hour searching for a gift for my dad, but I had come home empty-handed.

Their eyes lit with comprehension and I smirked, sitting down next to Timok. "Are you two discussing Vulcan secrets, or is this a conversation I can join?"

"Soval was discussing possible gift ideas for your father."

"Well, I didn't find anything. Everything I wanted to give to him, someone else is giving. Uncle Christopher is giving him a new wrench set, Mom's getting him the astronomy catalog, Max Jr is going with his traditional gift of booze...I'm fresh out of ideas, gentlemen."

Soval leaned forward. "Your father requested not to be given a book...but have you considered giving him something Vulcan?"

I blinked. "No...what did you have in mind?"

"Does your father enjoy the game of chess?"

"Yes...he's already got a nice chess set–"

The ambassador held up his hand. "There are Vulcan puzzles and games that utilize logic. Perhaps your father would appreciate a kal-toh board?"

"What's kal-toh?"

He leaned back and steepled his fingers, and Timok took another sip of tea. "The purpose of the game is not to strive for balance, but to find the seeds of order amidst profound chaos," Soval replied. "The game begins as a jumble of rods, but each player moves a rod to a different place within the jumble, sowing the seeds of order as they go. The end result should be a geometric sphere."

"That sounds challenging," I said with a smirk. Then I smiled. "I think my dad would like that."

"Then I will call for a game to be sent up this evening."

My smile widened as I thanked him for helping me with my little dilemma, and as Soval offered to make me some tea (I accepted with another smile), I could feel Timok's eyes on me.