The reds and golds of a Vulcan sunset were similar to those colors on Earth, yet they were profoundly different. On Earth, sunsets were soft, detail and hue muted by a water laden atmosphere. Vulcan seemed honed from a more substantial material, sharp edges that assaulted the retinas, garish in color. There was no gentle softness, no muted visage.
McCoy leaned on the rock ledge outside his room, the hard surface pressing into his arms. The air was still warm, but no longer blistering hot. With darkness the temperature would fall, moving from pleasant to chilly to cold in a short time.
The Vulcan night came quickly. He watched until the last light was gone from the sky and the stars blazed overhead. He straightened, rubbing his arms where the stone had left the imprint of craters in his skin. He could hear the sound of some night bird calling from far away, haunting in its loneliness. He listened until the singing stopped. The air had grown chill during his contemplation. He shivered, turning from his view of the dark plains and entered his room. A robe hung on a peg beside his bed. He shrugged into it, pulling it close around him, his eyes traveling over the austere surroundings.
During his first weeks at the Healer's compound, he had been housed in a hospital-like clinical setting. A set of several rooms surrounded a work station, all sharing a hall which opened to a shaded outdoor space. He had worked for years in such settings without giving it much thought. But as a patient, he felt confined by the sterile walls, stifled as if there was not enough air. The first weeks had been filled with deep melds, some under sedation, followed by extensive EEG monitoring and testing with a vast array of equipment, including several pieces unfamiliar to him. He lost track of time, days blended into nights then weeks. When he was offered a move to one of the sabbatical apartments he gladly made the switch. Although he still wore monitoring equipment, it seemed like freedom.
His new room was on the second level in a stone turret. There were two tall windows and a door opening onto a narrow balcony. The furnishings were meager, but adequate, a bed, wardrobe, small table and two chairs. A meditation stone lay between the windows. There was a food preparation area, stocked with a selection of Vulcan fruits and vegetables, some crusty bread, and oddly enough, peanut butter. There were no video or comm units aside from an intercom connecting to the clinic, but his therapist left him a reader, pre-loaded with instructional material he suspected was designed for Vulcan preschoolers who were beginning to learn meditation.
A courtyard bell rang, marking the hour. McCoy sighed. It was time to meditate. Or at least make an attempt. Meditation for him was largely unsuccessful. He never felt clear or calm during or following the effort. He supposed there was some merit in sitting still and quiet for a time. He wasn't sure what plane his mind should reach, or how he would even know if that happened. But three times every day he assumed his position and closed his eyes. Usually his foremost thought was being grateful the Vulcans did not make him kneel on a stone. He was allowed to sit in a chair.
His sessions were to be at least thairty minutes. Lacking a Vulcan's internal clock, he guessed. When he was in the clinic, he had a clock. In the 'castle', there were no time keeping devices. He dutifully sat for the estimated time. When he was done, he poured a glass of water and grabbed a handful of roasted legumes coated in redspice. They were bland by themselves, with a fibrous texture that required an inordinate amount of chewing. Roasting the beans with redspice changed them into wonderfully crisp nuggets with enough heat to be interesting, but stopping short of incineration. Vulcan cuisine seemed to fall into two categories, bland or atomic. His own diet was supplemented by high calorie plant protein drinks. They were a dull purple color, sweetened and fortified with Human vitamins. He had gained about five pounds since his admission, weight he had to acknowledge he needed.
He was stronger, his hands no longer trembled. In the beginning, he felt chronically short of breath, not gasping for air, but feeling like he couldn't inhale quite deeply enough. Walking to the end of the short hall in the clinic seemed like a hundred mile journey under Vulcan's heavier gravity. He had progressed to walking eight laps around the outer courtyard area, which was a little over a mile. Physically he was improving.
He had just finished his snack when the bell outside his door chimed. He parted the heavy curtain hanging in the doorway to reveal his therapist, ready for his evening session. He stepped back, with a slight formal bow.
"Please enter, and welcome."
She inclined her head in greeting. "I am honored by your hospitality. " She stepped through the door, drawing her hood away from her face.
T'Charda was somewhat past middle age, not as tall as many Vulcan women, still straight and slender. Her hair was dark with some lighter streaks throughout. Her voice was not harsh, but ripe with authority. McCoy learned she had been a teacher at the Science Academy before doing a fellowship in Human psychiatry. She was direct without being unkind, honest without being brutal. They got along tolerably well.
"It is time for a healing meld. Are you ready?
He took a deep breath. "Yes."
They each sat in a chair facing each other.
"May I have your permission to initiate the meld?"
McCoy swallowed and nodded, closing his eyes and leaning forward. He waited a moment but no contact came. He opened his eyes. T'Charda regarded him with her dark, grave gaze.
"I'm ready," he said again, uncertainly.
"Tell me, Leonard, have I or has anyone here violated your trust in any way? Particularly within a meld?"
He shook his head. "Of course not."
"Yet you flinch each time. Are you afraid I will do harm, either willingly or inadvertently?"
"No." He looked away, but T'Charda waited, expecting an answer.
"I have cooperated," he finally said. "I gave my permission. I've submitted to every request for a meld. Every test. I'm doing as much as I can."
T'Charda stood. He thought she would call their meeting closed, but her response was unexpected.
"I notice you have been exercising in the parvis. Would you care to walk with me?"
"Now? At night?"
Her head tilted as she looked at him with a glimpse of humor. "Are you afraid of the dark?"
In answer he stood, fastening his robe. They made their way down the narrow steps winding to the ground, crossing the flagstone paving to the far side. He expected they would turn back to walk laps, but T'Charda opened the gate to the outside. He followed her, a bit reluctantly. In a few steps they were out of reach from the courtyard lights. She produced a flashlight from her pocket and they walked several minutes into the unfettered desert. They had gone far enough that his breathing was beginning to labor when she stopped at a rocky outcrop, inspecting it carefully with her light before offering him a seat. She sat as well, and dialed down the light so its glow softly illuminated the ground a few feet around them.
"I find your reaction to our healing melds troubling. They are meant to be helpful, and not a source of distress to you. As you know, they do, in fact, appear to be working, particularly relating to the diffuse trauma caused by the Klingon device. I would like to understand your fear."
McCoy took some deep breaths before answering.
"It is not exactly fear, not in the conventional sense. Maybe at first. Now it's... different."
"Can you explain that difference?"
"First, tell me what you see in my brain."
T'Charda nodded almost imperceptibly. "That seems a fair exchange.
"Your mind is in many ways typical of that which I have seen in Humans. Somewhat unstructured and disorganized. However, yours is exceptionally resilient. Our first meld revealed several older intrusions, healed or partially healed, and a great number of freshly damaged neural pathways, undoubtedly a result of the mind-sifter.
"More concerning was the shift in your reticular activating system. It was as if a filter had been applied to selectively allow only negative input. Simply put, your brain was being flooded by unpleasant feelings and thoughts. Nothing positive was reaching your frontal cortex. Initially this resulted in the disconnect from your co-workers and friends, the feelings of despair, loneliness, and beginning psychosis. The series of sedated deep melds during your first two weeks have restored normal function to that area. With that achieved, your neural pathways are rebuilding themselves. There has been a remarkably elevated amount of electrical activity in your entire brain for almost four weeks. It has been decreasing for the last sixty point four hours, and is now within your previously established parameters." She came to a sudden pause, looking down. "Leonard," she continued smoothly. "Do not move. There is a garendanthol at your feet."
McCoy followed her gaze. The creature was sand colored, with a broad body and a whip-like tail. He could see multiple legs in the dim light. It inspected his boots with careful appendage movements, at one point crawling across his foot. It briefly paused at T'Charda's foot before scurrying away.
"They are venomous, but not deadly. Their tails are lined with sharp protrusions that deliver the toxin. A brush from the tail is quite painful. They are not aggressive to large animals."
McCoy nodded. "It decided I was too big to eat."
"Exactly." She looked at him closely. "Many Humans display a visceral automatic response to such creatures. But you are significantly more afraid of me, a perplexing attitude considering the progress you have made. Would you like to tell me why?"
"You know I didn't want to come here. I was afraid of having a bunch of Vulcans digging around in my psyche. Frightened that such intensive telepathic treatment could change who I am. Afraid of what you might find. What I might find.
"So I refused. I was going to resign my commission when the Enterprise got here. Buy passage on an old freighter and dissappear forever."
"Something happened to change your mind."
"Yes." He stared at his feet for a moment, gathering strength and the will to continue. His words were hesitant at first, but soon fell in a torrent as he told everything he could remember about the prelude leading up to his last communication with Little Birdy. T'Charda listened without interrupting.
"...as I regained consciousness, the feeling faded. But I decided if I could feel that way again, even a portion, even for a moment, I wanted to. And if it meant I had to let Healers poke around in my head, well...whatever it takes.
"I have been lonely for years, kept even my friends at some distance emotionally. I guess I felt I had no right to happiness." It was long pause before he could finish.
"During the mission, I met someone who saw through my facade, she wanted me, accepted me, but I couldn't give myself over to trust. I destroyed any chance with her. Deliberately. I hurt her and irreparably damaged our relationship. She will never forgive me. And I can't blame her." He trailed off, grief and regret welling up inside.
"Do I understand you believe that you were in telepathic communication with Little Birdy during this episode?"
McCoy sighed. "I did think we were, yes. After it happened I was sure of it. But then I realized how far apart we were..." He shrugged. "Maybe it was a dream. I know it seems incredible. But it felt so real."
"And the euphoria faded, but you are anxious to experience it again. Perhaps that represents your realization that people do care about you. And you can allow them to do so.
"As for the ruined relationship, you were experiencing a catastrophic malfunction in your brain's RAS. There were extenuating circumstances influencing your behavior. You do not know if she will forgive you unless you ask."
"I'm not sure I have the nerve," McCoy admitted with a shiver.
"You do," T'Charda said with certainty. "The evening has grown cold. It is time to return to your quarters."
She brightened her light and they made their way back to the compound without talking, only the sound of their footfalls breaking the desert silence. She bade him a good evening and watched him climb the steps into his room before continuing on her way.
McCoy was tired. Heavier gravity had taken its toll. He brushed his teeth, slipped off his boots, and opened a window. He climbed into bed without changing into sleep clothes, pulling the covers around him. Although his body was tired, his mind was churning, and he did not expect to sleep.
In the distance, the night bird resumed its plaintive call.
McCoy was restless for the early part of the night before falling asleep, but it was well after daylight when he woke. He took a sonic shower, the only kind typically available on Vulcan, and put on the provided patient clothes. They were similar to scrubs, but thicker, the color somewhere between taupe and purple. He ran a comb through his hair, which had reverted to its natural waviness and was beginning to look shaggy. His beard suppressor seemed to still be working. He wondered if a beard would be unruly like his hair, imagining a coiling mass of tendrils springing in all directions, deciding it was not a look he cared to cultivate.
He put together a quick breakfast, a slice of bread spread with peanut butter for the protein, and a fresh agele from a tree just outside his window. He drank water, but his craving for a cup of coffee was intense. Vulcan had a hot root beverage reported to be similar. He found it unpalatable.
Outside it was already uncomfortably warm, but the thick stone walls kept his room comparatively cool. He resisted the urge to pace aimlessly about, taking a seat to practice meditation. Instead he fell into a melancholy rumination. He had purposefully tried to avoid thinking about the Enterprise and her crew. He was ashamed of his performance on Aminta. He had made a mess of everything, alienated Chapel, frightened and worried everyone, and disappointed Jim Kirk.
Maybe there had been outside influences in his brain that altered his normal behavior. Maybe the Birds were affecting his decision making, not maliciously, he would never believe that, but as a result of merely communicating with him. T'Phol told him it might be so.
He wished he could use the mind-sifter to explain his treatment of T'Phol. He had never been deliberately cruel. But there it was.
He buried his face in his hands, wanting to cry or scream, but nothing came out. He sat for a while, then he heard voices approaching the turret. He hurried to the wash room and splashed his face and eyes with cool water, trying to compose himself. He dried his face just as the bell chimed.
T'Charda was there, along with a tall Vulcan male he vaguely remembered from the clinic. He invited them in, offering them the two chairs. He sat on the bed.
"This is Evekh. He has been present for your deep melds. You may not remember."
McCoy felt a moment of alarm. "Are you here for a deep meld?"
"No. We came to discuss the conclusion of your treatment here and establish an exit strategy."
"Exit strategy?" It was not what McCoy expected to hear. His brain fumbled a bit at the idea.
"Yes," Evekh said. "Your medical therpy here is coming to a close. The course of treatment has been largely successful."
"I would like a copy of all my records, test results, charts. Everything, if I may."
"We will forward your records to Starfleet Medical. You will receive a packet containing your medical information."
McCoy nodded. "But not the therapy treatment notes."
"You surmise correctly. Those scientists and Healers associated with your care ask your permission to publish a case study. Names and personal identifiers would be redacted. However, it is doubtful such action will obscure your identity."
"You're saying word gets around."
"Precisely. You are the only known Human survivor."
"Publish it."
Evekh presented a PADD and McCoy signed. The tall Vulcan stood, offering McCoy the Ta'al.
"May you have health, long life, and peace, Doctor McCoy."
McCoy returned the salute. "Thank you. Live long and prosper."
Evekh left and McCoy turned to T'Charda. "So what happens next? You just kick me out?"
"That is not the plan. Starfleet will be notified of your discharge. Vulcan will coordinate your return to the Enterprise with them, a bureaucratic process which may take some time. I suspect you will be with us at least a few more days." T'Charda paused. "You were obviously troubled when we arrived. Is there a particular situation that brings you distress?"
McCoy's bark of laughter was short and bitter. "A particular situation? " He shook his head. "There are probably a few."
"Please elucidate, if you will."
"All right. Maybe I'll be returning to the Enterprise. Or maybe I'll be sent to some Starbase to stand for court martial. There's the matter of not following orders, failing to make full reports, failure to disclose pertinent information, having a sexual relationship with a person under my command. Maybe more, I don't know."
"You are not facing disciplinary action. You will be returning to your ship. I have had communication with your Captain."
"You've talked to Jim?" McCoy took a deep breath. "I don't know how our reunion is gonna go. He was angry. We never really hashed it out."
"Does this worry you?"
He shrugged. "Not normally. We've had words before. This time might be difficult, because this is not just a disagreement or difference in opinion. He's disappointed in me. I think we can get past it."
"How do you feel about re-joining the Enterprise? You have indicated recently your anticipation of returning to work."
"That's right. I'm a doctor, not a patient. Although I will miss this place. I didn't think I would say that. You saved my life and my sanity. In some ways, I'll find it hard to leave here."
T'Charda inclined her head in a slight bow. "You have worked hard on your recovery. You have cooperated despite your misgivings and ongoing apprehension. Together we have healed most of your physical and psychic wounds. But you will need Human help to ease your emotional pain. Captain Kirk indicated you have been missed, and your friends and crew are eagerly awaiting your return. The Healer's Academy has been a place of safety and recovery for you. It is not surprising that you have a certain reluctance to depart. We feel you are ready. You are stronger than you realize.
"It has now been established you are not headed toward disciplinary action, you want to return to work, and your people will be pleased at your return. Does this ease your anxiety?"
"Sure."
The silence was loud.
"You are thinking about your romantic relationship and its perceived failure."
"Perceived? No. I fucked up."
"Your self-reproach is a contributing factor in your depression. As an expert psychologist, you realize that. It is also illogical. During that time, you were almost certainly being influenced by the birds or compromised by the mind-sifter."
"You do not understand. It wasn't just what I did. It was how I did it. I orchestrated the whole thing. Browbeat M'Benga into helping me execute it. I was deliberately cruel. I pushed and hurt until I succeeded in making her turn away. How could she forgive that? I can't forgive it myself."
"Are you familiar with Betian Meningitis?"
"I've never treated a case, but yes."
"One symptom is agitation, often paired with aggression. These patients are frequently vocal in criticizing every aspect of those people around them, often in an extremely rude manner, you might say cruel. By your logic, they should be held fully accountable."
"It's not the same. The closer analogy would be that person gets inebriated and behaves badly. When they sober up, they are responsible for whatever they did while they were drunk."
"You are incorrect. Leonard, are you proposing to debate comparative analysis with a Vulcan?"
"No."
T'Charda straightened her shoulders and her chin jutted in a firm line. "Hear me. You were not responsible for your actions. You were at the mercy of imbalanced hormones and faulty brain function that caused you to react in a completely atypical manner To continue to blame yourself flies in the face of logic as well as discarding our current medical understanding. You are a scientist. Stop clinging to such blatant falsehoods and misinformation as a form of self-protection and stop berating yourself. If you hope to salvage the situation, you should prepare to explain and ask for her understanding and forgiveness. Do you comprehend?"
"I'm afraid she won't even see me." McCoy's voice was very quiet. He stared at a spot on the floor without meeting her eyes.
"You cannot know until you reach out to her. It is a decision you must make, weigh the risk against the possible reward and follow what your- heart- tells you to do."
McCoy met her eyes with a ghost of a smile. "A Vulcan is advising to elevate emotions over logic? I am shocked."
"Yet the sky did not rend asunder, gravity still holds us to the planet, time continues forward. The fabric of the universe did not rip."
"Thank you," he said quietly, and meant it.
"You are, of course, very welcome." T'Charda stood. "Evekh and I will be contacting the appropriate authorities today. I shall inform you when we have finalized arrangements for your return to Enterprise. Otherwise, I will see you this evening." She started through the door.
"Hey," McCoy called after her. "If we did debate, you might be surprised. Chances are I could win."
"I have not computed the odds," she replied over her shoulder. "However, I concede it is possible. Though unlikely." She continued down the steps as McCoy laughed softly.
T'Charda was back much sooner than McCoy expected. She was carrying a package. A courier was outbound for Starbase twenty-eight that evening.
"The courier shuttle will depart at six o'clock. I realize that is only five point one hours from now. I have brought your personal effects and clothes from the clinic. We will have your travel documents and paperwork within the hour. I will see you then."
"Wait! I have a request. I would like to visit Ambassador Sarek and his wife. It's important."
If she was surprised, her face did not betray her.
"I will see if that can be arranged."
The Ambassador's home was typical of Vulcan architecture, made of stone and stucco with recessed windows and doors under sizeable overhangs. On the roof were chimney like structures called windcatchers that vented hot air during the day. There were several buildings connected by walkways, all surrounded by a low wall, with a parking area just front entrance passed through a garden area. He recognized the agele fruit trees, but there were several varieties of trees and shrubs, beds of succulents, and elaborate rock mosaics, with carved statues and benches scattered throughout. It was welcoming and visually appealing. McCoy wished he had time to linger and explore, but he had to meet his shuttle in less than two hours. His heart pounded as he rang the chime and waited at the door.
A woman in a grey uniform ushered him into a large entry with a soaring ceiling and halls connecting through columns leading to other rooms. The floor was polished stone, laid in patterns. There were substantial pieces of furniture, sofas, chairs, and tables scattered around the area. He was led toward a room to the right. Amanda met him at the columned entry.
"Doctor McCoy! This is an unexpected and pleasant surprise. Please, come join me in my study." Her eyes were sparkling as she extended her hands in welcome. He took her hands in his with a bow.
"I am glad to see you again, Missus Sarek."
"Amanda, please." She led him into the room, turning to the uniformed woman. "T'Meika, would you bring us some refreshments please? Doctor McCoy, sit here and we will talk."
Amanda's study was spacious. The furnishings were pastel blues and greens. A fountain bubbled cheerily in the m8ddle of the room, filling the space with the sound of falling water. They sat at two couches across from each other with a table between.
"I am pleased to see you again, Doctor McCoy. Sarek is out of town today. He will regret missing you."
"Call me Leonard. I'm sorry about the short notice. Thank you for seeing me."
"I must admit, it was a surprise when T'Charda called today. I had no idea the Enterprise was in the area."
"They're not."
T'Meika entered carrying a tray. She sat it on the table. McCoy inhaled deeply, smelling the aroma of coffee.
Amanda smiled. "I will serve, T"Meika. Thank you."
T'Meika left the room. Amanda poured two cups, offering one to McCoy.
"I remember you take yours black."
"That's right." He took a sip. It was the real thing, not replicated. "Delicious! Thank you."
"Being the wife of Earth's ambassador has advantages. Real coffee is one." She paused. "You say the Enterprise is not here? You are alone?"
"Yes. I am catching a flight shortly to rejoin the ship. I've been at the Healer's Academy since our return from the Aminta mission. As a patient."
Amanda looked alarmed. "Are you all right? You are recovering I trust?"
"Yes. Things are better." He drained his cup and leaned forward, placing it on the table. "I am here for a reason, and I don't have much time. I need to see T'Phol."
A shadow fell across Amanda's face. McCoy's pulse jumped wildly as he waited for her reply.
"I'm afraid that is not possible. T'Phol is not here."
McCoy felt a rise of panic. "Where is she? I must talk to her."
Amanda regarded him steadily for a moment before replying. "Apparently that mission took a toll on everyone. She has been disconsolate since her return from Aminta, but she refused to speak of it or confide in me. Three weeks ago, she left for Earth. I received a subspace message confirming her safe arrival. I have not heard from her since."
McCoy closed his eyes. His world was turning grey. He breathed a curse under his breath.
"I am sorry, Leonard." She laid a gentle hand on his. "You know something about this, don't you?" Amanda squeezed his hand. "I would like to help, if I can. Sarek and I have been concerned about Polly. She is our only grandchild."
McCoy swallowed, momentarily unable to speak.
"T'Phol leads a solitary life here on Vulcan. Sometimes she lives here with Sarek and me. More often she stays at the family's summer compound in the Tat'Shar province. She has a small home there; she retreats partly to escape her grandmother's efforts to find a suitable husband for her. T'Phol is a bit of a dreamer, a lover of fairy tales and fanciful things and magic. She hopes to find a bit of those things in everyday life. She is searching for a happily ever after, not an arranged Vulcan marriage. When she returned feeling so upset, I immediately suspected a shipboard romance, a passing fancy that ended with the mission, a puppy love with the heartache and angst that mellow with time and maturity. I can see I underestimated the seriousness of the situation. This is not a passing fancy, not if you are the person involved."
McCoy spoke, his voice rough with emotion.
"I am. I hoped to see her, if she would. But I can't go to Earth right now.
"Lady Amanda, I am so sorry for disturbing you with this and then running away. I don't know how to fix this mess I caused, or if it can be fixed. I don't know if she would even speak to me if I saw her. She has good reason to hate me."
He stood. Amanda let her hand fall from his arm.
"I have to be at Space Central in less than an hour. I am sorry for hurting T'Phol, sorry for causing you to worry. I wish our visit could have been under pleasant conditions. I hold you and the Ambassador in high esteem. I have disappointed a lot of people. I regret you are among them. I'll take my leave with the hope you can eventually forgive me."
"Just a minute." She crossed the room to a polished desk, taking a paper pad from a drawer. She wrote something, tearing off the sheet and folding it. She stood in front of him, taking his hand. She put the paper on his palm and closed his fingers around it.
"I do not know what happened between the two of you. I hope it can be put straight. But please be assured, if it is forgiveness you need, you have it. You are a quality person with a big heart and the soul of a healer. I am your friend, and I will do whatever I can to help you. Please take care of yourself, and Spock too. I don't have to worry as much for my son, knowing you and Captain Kirk are by his side. Thank you." She hugged him, an embrace he returned. "Come, I will see you out. Your ride is waiting."
She walked with him to the gate, waiting until he entered the flyer and the pilot took off. She watched until they were well out of sight before turning away to go inside.