"K-Captain. We're being hailed. There seems to be a ship stranded in this quadrant – Vulcan."

"Put it on the viewscreen, Lieutenant. And summon Spock from his quarters, or the lab, or wherever he is."

"Aye, sir."

"Greetings." The Vulcan held up his hand in the usual way his people did, and Jim found it somewhat odd that he could look so unfazed. He did know that it shouldn't be surprising, but he naturally expected a more human reaction to having one's ship stuck in the middle of nowhere. "I am Vorik, captain of the Arie'mnu."

"Captain James T. Kirk, U.S.S. Enterprise. How can we be of assistance?"

"Captain Kirk, our ship was damaged in the attack on Vulcan. However, this damage was only detected after the warp drive was engaged. As a consequence, our engines are inoperable. We would be most grateful if you would be able to provide us with replacement parts, and also technical assistance, should we require it for repairs."

"Uh, yeah, see…there's a problem, Captain Vorik…"

"Problem?"

"The Enterprise is currently undergoing repairs of its own…we just got out of a major altercation, and we can't spare any spare parts or any of our Engineering staff. We can, however, give you a lift to Earth. And if that isn't where you're headed, I'm sure the Federation will arrange transport from there."

"It is fortunate that Earth is also our destination."

"Great! How many d'you have aboard? Oh, and I'm afraid you'll have to share quarters – we've got a few Vulcans onboard as well as our…mostly full crew."

"That will be no problem, Captain Kirk," assured Vorik. Though 'assured' wasn't the first verb that came to mind. 'Stated clinically' seemed more fitting. Really, he'd never ever complain about Spock being an emotionless space-Elf. Oh, fine, he would anyway.

A blue-tunic-ed figure came up beside Jim, and he grinned at Spock before returning his gaze to the viewscreen. "Captain Vorik, this is my First Officer, Commander Spock."

The Vulcan inclined his head. "I am familiar with Spock. There are thirty-six of us aboard, Captain – including eleven children."

"Okay. I'm assuming you'll want to keep the ship?"

"If possible, yes."

Jim turned to Spock, who was standing at attention. It made Jim feel kind of bad for lounging in the Captain's chair. Kind of. "Can we use the tractor beam?"

"Negative, Captain. If you will recall, among the damages incurred, the Enterprise's tractor beam is now inoperable. This was detailed in the report I sent to you."

It was almost…chastising. Especially when compared to the way Vorik spoke. Jim would've liked to have more time to mull over this, maybe throw in an amazed smile, a few comments that would probably go sailing over Spock's head – but it was time to at least act professional.

"Right." Kirk smiled his best charming smile. "Captain Vorik, do you or your crew have anything against being beamed aboard?"

"No."

"Then we'll beam you aboard, and then tether your ship back into the shuttle bay. Sound okay?"

"Affirmative." He bowed his head, and the transmission ended.

"That went well."

Spock looked down at him and quirked an eyebrow. "By what definition?"

"Mine." Jim wasn't bothered to try to figure out whether Spock was being funny or genuinely curious. His fingers danced across the interactive arm of the Captain's chair almost instinctively – further proof that this was what he was meant to do. "Scotty?"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"We've got some stranded Vulcans – about 25 of them, plus 11 kiddies. I want you to lock onto their signals and beam them aboard once they're ready."

"Cap'n," Scotty warned. "This isn't gonnae help our water shortage any. An' there's still th' issue o' our nonexistent warp cores!"

"We'll deal with it when we come to it, Scotty," Jim said sharply. He sighed, then softened it with, "'Sides, they shouldn't put too much of a dent in the water thing. They're desert people. Kinda like cactuses. Except more prickly." He glanced up at Spock as he said it, grin faltering only the slightest bit at the lack of reaction. (Though he did see Sulu smack his forehead in the background. And he was sure Uhura was glaring holes into the back of his head.)

"But –"

"No." Firmly. "Just do it. Kirk out." Another couple of flicks and he'd ended the comm. He stood. "Uhura."

"Yes, sir?"

"Inform the shuttle bay to send out the Galileo." Yes, he'd brought up and memorised the names of all four of the Enterprise's shuttlecrafts (Halley (1), Herschel (3), Copernicus (5), and Galileo (7)). And their specs. And their intended specialised functions. And the same for every active starship in the 'fleet. It was an effort to keep his mind off…everything else. So what? "You know the orders."

"Wouldn't you rather give them those yourself?" The snide undertone wasn't apparent in her otherwise professional attitude, but it was there.

Jim stopped with his foot on the first step leading to the highest level of the bridge, on his way to the starboard turbolift. He looked at Uhura. "I gave you a direct order, Lieutenant."

She didn't quite manage to mask the venom in her face. She wasn't Vulcan, after all. "Sir."

He shot her a smile – one very much unlike every single smile he'd ever given her in the past. The eyes of everyone in the room were on him, like they usually were, as he blithely continued on his way, adding a "Sulu, you have the conn." He entered the turbolift and turned on his heel, meeting Spock's eyes. What he said next was quite brave after the stunt he'd just pulled – even if Uhura wasn't his First Officer's girlfriend, she was quite clearly important to him.

"Coming?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Spock couldn't help the flare of anger that swept through him when he saw his people materialise on the transporter. It was not directed at them, no – even as a child and when he was ostracised for being different, he had not felt resentment towards his peers, only loneliness that was quickly ignored. Rather, he was angry at Nero, angry that he had caused such suffering to all the Vulcans, forced their race into running for their lives. Never mind that Nero was dead – that Spock had made sure he was dead. Killing the mad Romulan would not and had not brought back their consumed planet, or their murdered people, or their lives.

That didn't stop the dark feeling of satisfaction that the person responsible was indeed quite firmly deceased.

"Spock!"

Perhaps the exclamation mark is inaccurately used, as the young Vulcan did not shout as a human child would. She said it louder than Vulcan norms, deliberately pitched so it would catch the attention of everyone in the room, not just its intended target. All eyes were on her as she not-so-gracefully stepped off the transporter and trotted over to the Enterprise's First Officer.

"T'Laria," stated Spock, surprise fizzling away into genuine pleasure that his cousin had survived. He obligingly leaned down to pick her up and settle her on his hip, and caught her wrist gently as she raised her hand towards his face. Had she been human, or any younger, then she would have pouted.

"I wish to meld with you."

"It would not be recommended," came a new voice.

Spock turned, lowering T'Laria's wrist as he did so. He met the eyes of a dark-skinned Vulcan female, who wore the structured robes that indicated she was a healer.

"I am Maire. T'Laria has been in my care since she was separated from her mother and father. She has refused all efforts to assess the state of her mind. She is a child, and you are not a trained healer. I do not advocate a meld."

(Let it be said that despite this conversation – and, Spock imagined, despite the burning curiosity from his Captain – the other passengers from the Arie'mnu had been beamed aboard. In fact, Captain Vorik was speaking to Captain Kirk, and while Spock was listening, his attention was primarily on Maire.)

"We are blood relations." On his father's side, obviously.

"Have you melded previously?"

T'Laria answered before he could. "Yes," she said authoritatively, the tone showing her age.

"Successfully?"

"Yes." This time there was impatience, which was picked up on by both Spock and the healer. It was worrying, because it showed that T'Laria had indeed been affected by the destruction of Vulcan and the loss of her parents. (It was statistically more likely that they had perished and were not simply separated from her.) And if this was the only way to gauge the extent of that damage…

"A short meld." Maire raised her hand before T'Laria could. "But not now. Mind melds are private among our people – and your reaction to the meld is as of yet an unknown, T'Laria."

"This is acceptable," Spock said quickly. "I am currently unoccupied."

"Very well."

As Maire left them, the Science Officer looked down at his young cousin, who had managed to school her expression into neutrality.

"Have you injured either of your legs?"

"No. However, I sustained damage to my side when we were attempting to escape the collapsing atmosphere. The Arie'mnu did not have intact medical facilities. I tire easily."

That gave him more than enough reason to keep carrying her, then. He walked towards the Captain, who had managed to oversee the assignment of quarters of their new passengers without insulting anyone. He'd even recruited a few of the Vulcans to aid in the Enterprise's repair efforts. "I will take you to the Medical Bay shortly."

She let her (presumably uninjured) side rest against his chest, though her posture was otherwise perfect. He wondered at the state of her mind – he could empathise with her, but where he had lost one parent, she had likely lost both.

"Spock! You know, the whole reason I asked you to come here was to help me out and make sure I didn't accidentally do something mortally offensive to a Vulcan." Kirk glared, which was in direct contrast to the smile on his lips.

"You seem to have managed, sir."

"Hmm." He didn't look particularly convinced, but in the style of most humans, lost interest as soon as something else caught his attention. His smile managed to crinkle the skin at the corners of his blue eyes. "And who's this?"

"I am T'Laria." Imperiously. Spock placed a steadying hand on her back.

"She is my cousin."

The crinkles were more apparent now, and Kirk had brought up a hand to cover his mouth. "Jeez, if I was a woman my ovaries would've exploded."

"Captain?" Spock asked, a little scandalized.

He flapped a hand dismissively. "Never mind, never mind. Who's she staying with?"

"It would be best if she shared quarters with my father."

"Sarek is onboard?"

"Yes," Spock answered, and he almost dreaded the question that would inevitably follow.

Except Kirk jumped in first. "You're off duty, right, Spock? You're free to go back to whatever you were doing."

"Captain." Spock inclined his head. Even though he'd been brought up to think it illogical and unnecessary, he felt grateful. But as Kirk smiled sadly at him as the two Vulcans left the transporter room, Spock found it difficult not to say 'thank you'. He had no real qualms about explaining to T'Laria that his mother was not aboard the Enterprise, that she was dead – no real qualms, of course, if he could do the explaining somewhere other than the place he had lost her.

And sure enough –

"What of Amanda?"

"Mother did not survive."

T'Laria said nothing, even as they walked (well, Spock walked, and she was carried) down corridors and took a turbolift to the appropriate deck. Only when they entered the Medical Bay with its sterile, well, everything, and its pristine blue-and-red surfaces, did she speak.

"I grieve with thee."

Even though the place was currently empty, Spock was uncomfortable with showing outward displays of affection. So instead of touching T'Laria's temple like he wanted to, he instead nuzzled her forehead gently.

There was a squeak.

"Nurse Chapel. Are you unwell?"

She was bright red and had her hands clapped over her mouth. She shook her head, no. "I – I – I'm fine, Mr. Spock."

"Your face is flushed, which indicates that your facial blood vessels have dilated. Perhaps your core temperature is higher than is normal."

"I'm, I – it's nothing, M – Mr. Spock. I'll just, I'll get Dr. McCoy –" The tall blonde woman practically fled towards the examination room.

"What's all this racket?" A cantankerous McCoy strode out of his office (which, while also through a door leading off the area Spock and T'Laria were in, was not the same one Christine Chapel had disappeared through) and glared at the two Vulcans. "Why've you upset my Head Nurse, Spock?"

"I have done nothing." Although…the Captain had said… "Perhaps her ovaries have exploded."

McCoy's expression was…well, it was hard to explain in just one word. His jaw was slack, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, his stare flat. He held the position for exactly three minutes before crossing his arms across his chest. "Really."

"It is merely a suggestion." Frankly, Spock was surprised that the doctor wasn't taking him seriously, and that the man was in no way alarmed that one of his own nurses could be critically internally injured.

"And what's the basis for this suggestion?"

"Earlier, when the Captain asked to be introduced to my cousin, he said, and I quote: 'if I was a woman my ovaries would have exploded'."

This time McCoy stared for thirty-seven seconds. Before bursting into laughter. Loud laughter.

T'Laria looked up at Spock. "Are all humans like him?"

Rather than chastise her for her rudeness, Spock merely said, "I have found, T'Laria, that no two humans are alike…and that their actions are rarely expected."

When McCoy had calmed himself – though he still grinned widely, which was quite disturbing – he approached Spock and T'Laria with a medical tricorder in hand. "So why're you clogging up my Sickbay, then?"

Spock let T'Laria answer, as she was perfectly old enough to do so herself. It did not take long for McCoy to do the necessary – the man was a professional when it came to his job, even if he was unprofessional in all else. He stood aside, only offering his assistance when T'Laria re-donned her tunic (it wouldn't be commonsensical to protest disrobing in front of a qualified doctor, or in front of one's family member. And the privacy curtain had been drawn beforehand).

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Nn." A short reply, and one that was not in Spock's repertoire of languages – which was quite substantial. Likely nonsense, then. McCoy's bedside manner was quite, well, not present. He opened the curtain somewhat abruptly, and paused when he saw that there were other Vulcans – the passengers of the Arie'mnu – standing outside. He cursed, and Spock was sure he did not realise that his exhalation of "Damn hobgoblins," was actually audible.

T'Laria was the pressing concern. Spock picked her up again, heedless of the fact that she was technically no longer injured. Perhaps he would comment to the Captain that his CMO was a xenophobe. Hopefully Kirk would at least accept the information and utilise it, instead of blindly refusing to believe that his friend could be such a thing.

"Where are your quarters?"

"Deck E. We will be there shortly." And they would have been, had their way not been barred by a young Vulcan. Spock did not recognise him.

"You are Spock."

Though it was a statement of a fact – Spock was not exactly an unknown, the only half-human, the only Vulcan in Starfleet – he had been around humans for so long that he had to at least acknowledge it. "Yes."

The Vulcan gave him a short bow of the head, and Spock noted that he had his left arm in a makeshift sling. That would explain his presence in the Medical Bay. "I am Stonn. I carry a message."

Spock waited. There was no need to reply.

"T'Pring did not survive."

"That is unfortunate news."

"It is."

"How did you come by this information?" Spock asked, curious. He had not had much opportunity – or inclination – to keep in touch with T'Pring after he had left Vulcan, and therefore had no idea about her – past – life and her contacts.

"We were in my residence during the attack. The ceiling beams did not withstand the seismic activity. I managed to escape. She did not." He offered no reason as to why T'Pring had been in his house, but he had no obligation to.

Even then, Spock had no doubt why she'd been there.

"If that is all, I bid my leave." Stonn inclined his head, and approached one of the medical personnel to get his broken arm taken care of.

Spock meanwhile, with a silent T'Laria still in his arms, turned and exited the Medical Bay. His eyes took in his surroundings, the gleaming silver surfaces of the Enterprise, his feet put themselves one in front of the other and took him on a route that was becoming familiar, to the turbolift, and then to his quarters. His mind was on none of these menial tasks.

T'Pring was dead.

That is unfortunate news. An understatement. The loss of a life was bad enough, but this was his wife and betrothed. Yes, they had not been close following his spurning of the Vulcan Science Academy and his moving to Earth, but there had been a bond there. There had to be – Vulcan children would need some degree of mental compatibility for their minds to be linked.

Parted from me and never parted.

They would never meet at the appointed time, or at the appointed place.

Although it was as of yet unconfirmed that Spock would undergo Pon Farr, he had still undergone the bonding ceremony as his peers had done. Even if he wasn't taken over by the fires of an ancient mating drive, the union of their two houses was logical. Prior to the bonding ceremony their parents had encouraged their socialising (well, his mother had not, not really), and Spock had found her to be intellectually stimulating company. Coming from someone who was a genius among Vulcans, this was high praise indeed.

Never and always touching and touched.

They would never discuss their mutual dislike of Vulcan poetry again.

But.

He put those feelings away as the doors to his quarters slid noiselessly shut behind him. It would not be wise to let his emotions bleed into T'Laria's psyche during the mind meld.

"Are you prepared?" Spock asked, setting T'Laria down on his bed.

She looked up at him, even as he sat down beside her. Her slate-grey eyes were solemn as she nodded silently.

Spock raised his fingers to her face.

The first time he'd melded with his young cousin was to put across a mathematical concept she'd had trouble with. This was totally different from that.

T'Laria's mind was not in disarray as he had feared, but he could see that she was finding difficulty in dealing with the grief of her parents' loss. She could comprehend the 86.1% probability that they were deceased. The problem was in her not expecting the degree of sorrow she felt at acknowledging it.

-It is not something you may anticipate-

He didn't say it out aloud – you couldn't really talk in a mindmeld. It was more, conveying.

A ribbon of green danced in front of his 'vision', accompanied by the taste of spoiled forati sauce. Alarm.

-I do not, I don't relish losing-

Well, that was unsurprising. T'Laria had never lost control. It was slipping now, yes, but still largely in place.

He projected warm red and orange, to soothe her. The green receded, if only a little. A favourite music piece, which he'd played on the lyre, helped calm her more, enough to make her mind amenable to what he was going to try to get across.

-Let me show you how I-

His mind had been in disorder after his mother's death. So much so that he'd accepted comforting contact from Nyota – even worse considering the implications he now knew. So much so that he'd marooned Kirk for doing what he was supposed to do – granted, it was an extreme, and First Officers were supposed to defer to the Captain's final decision, but 'Get him off this ship' was hardly one of his best moments.

Another one of his 'not-best' moments was also associated with Kirk.

Spock lowered his fingers from her face.

There was a sudden inrush of sound as the world filtered back to them; the flow of air from the filters, the footsteps from out in the hallway, the ever-present (and almost unnoticeable) thrum of the impulse engines.

"I do not understand."

"I cannot instruct you on how you should deal with your grief," he said, placing his fingers on the back of her wrists – they were so small that he only needed three. "Moreover that I am half human."

"You are Vulcan," T'Laria stated plainly.

Spock felt a fleeting urge to hug her. "Yes and no." He paused, choosing his words. (As a result, the pause only lasted about half a second.) "Your mind is your own. Unique. And so your solution must be achieved by your own means." A breath. "However, I will tell you this – there is nothing wrong with mourning."

The young Vulcan looked down at her hands, digesting this information.

He didn't hold back from stroking the hair on the top of her head. "Come. Let us meditate."

OoOoOoOoOo