i-i

Lying in a hospital bed, about to give birth to my son, Armand was holding my hand. I felt his hand brush my hair aside; his lips on my forehead.

"You look good sweaty," he said, trying to make me laugh by pissing me off. I weakly lifted my hand to flip him off. Over the course of my twelve month pregnancy, Armand and I had reverted to our previous friendship. He told me he no longer loved me, at least not as anything more than a friend. I was glad, if only for the fact that I had my best friend back. Since he'd come back to Earth the previous month, I had heard him whisper a woman's name in his sleep a few times. It made me happy.

"I'm talking to you, bitch," he said in mock anger. "Don't think you can ignore me because you're sick."

"Shut up," I said feebly. "Go fuck a nurse and leave me be." Lately, all he can talk about is how great sex feels now that he's got a penis.

"Oh hell no, I'm not passing up a chance to see your love cave." He stubbornly shook his head at me, trying not to smile.

I rolled my eyes. He still teased me, even though I knew he didn't want me like that anymore. "It's a C-section, Armand. Through the tummy."

He stopped smiling and almost looked genuinely disappointed. "Are you serious? No beaver show?" I shook my head. "Well fuck that! I'm going to screw a nurse. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

I smiled sweetly and wiggled my fingers at him. "You said 'three' wrong." His glare was priceless.

Just then, the room was flooded with nurses and the doctor, ready to slice me up. I felt the soft stab of a shot and the room was instantly foggy. I barely heard Armand's deep husky voice next to my ear. Somewhere a baby was crying. I blinked and blinked, and suddenly, Armand was gone and a blurry Spock was standing beside me. Tears fell from my eyes, and my lips managed to say his name. I couldn't believe he was here! For an entire year, I had heard nothing from him or my parents. Of course he wouldn't miss the birth of his child!

"Spock," I said again, my voice weak and barely there. "I knew you'd come. I love you so much." That's what I tried to say. It came out more like, "Nuh yuhd cmm. Lah yuh."

He stroked my hair. "I'm not Spock, hun."

I couldn't make sense of his words, but I didn't care. "Love you, Spock," I said, this time more clear. I heard Spock angrily mutter something about statues and magnifying glasses, then I passed out.

When I came to, I was lying in a clean bed. My belly looked no worse for wear, since the medicinal technology nowadays can heal cuts as soon as they were made. Armand was sitting in a hospital chair studying the ceiling.

"Where's my son," I asked him, making him jump at the sound of my voice.

He fussed over my blankets. "In the nursery. He'll be brought over soon. He looks like a Vulcan." I caught the bitterness in his voice, but I smiled at the thought.

"I was hoping he would." I tried peeking out of the room through the frosted glass window. Did Spock leave already? Did he see our son?

"He wasn't here, damn it," Armand said suddenly. "I know you're looking for him. He wasn't here."

I could feel my hope cracking. "But…I saw him. I…I saw him when our son was being born."

"It was a meds high. He didn't come."

My chin started to shake. Of course he hadn't come. I allowed myself the hope that he would, and it had proved fatal. I grabbed my chest. White hot pain filled my chest, the result of letting the tears take over. "It hurts," I sobbed. Armand grabbed me to his chest and rocked me back and forth. The pain I had tried to push away for an entire year was threatening to consume me. I couldn't let it have me. I wouldn't let it destroy the rest of my soul.

i-i

Two years later

i-i

"Tark, slow down! We'll get to the transporter room when we get there!" I shift my bag and race after my son. Because his brain is highly developed, he doesn't act like a toddler unless I'm walking too slow for him. I curse the Vulcan race under my breath and navigate my way to the transporter room, since my son has disappeared.

For the past three years, no one besides Armand has contacted me. Not my parents, not my grandparents, and not surprisingly, Spock. All my attempts at communication with my family came to nothing. The loneliness on Earth was too much to handle, so Tark and I moved to Deep Space Six, which is close by to Armand's home planet. Armand and his wife happily welcome us, even if we visit more often than we should.

I finally catch up with Tark as he is de-materializing on a transporter pad. I sigh and roll my eyes. He is SO his father's son. We're having a long discussion after we get to Uncle Armand's house. I walk over to the transporter chief and open my mouth to tell him I'm next, when he suddenly starts pressing every button on the screen.

"Captain, there's a malfunction in transporter room five," he says loudly, still flying over the panel.

"What's happening?" I almost want to shove him away and do it myself, but I'm definitely not a transporter engineer.

He ignores me, and continues working on the buttons. "I'm bringing him back, ma'am," he says to me. "Something malfunctioned on his way there. He's alright though." I sigh in relief, then the officer's face wrinkles again. "Seems like there's more mass on the way back. Maybe a cat or something ran onto the pad."

I hear the transportation noise and turn to start lecturing my toddler, but am shocked to find a ten year old boy on the pad. "Who are you?" I say in confusion, looking at the other pads for Tark.

"It's me, mother," the boy says in Tark's irritated tone.

My mouth pops open in shock. "Ex…excuse me?"

"I'm Tark. Use your logic, mother." His eyebrows furrow, just like Spock's do when he's irritated.

I angrily turn to the transporter engineer. "Fix him right now! De-materialize him and fix his signal back to the way it was!"

"Your order is illogical, mother. To turn me back to a toddler would be unimaginable. My brain has developed along with my body, and I do not wish to go back to the underdeveloped brain of a two year old." He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a look I'm used to with him. He's always been stoic like Vulcans are. He never laughs, he never does baby things. He didn't babble when he was a baby. He went straight to clearly spoken words. At his first birthday, he said his first sentence. Sometimes his development is too fast for me to catch up with. But this…allowing him to age eight years?

"Tark…I'm not sure if this is the right thing to do."

He immediately reacts with annoyance. "This is the logical outcome, mother. Just because your brain is simple and thinks I should go back to being a baby, it is not logical."

I poke a finger out at him. "Don't you try to belittle me, mister. I may not be a Vulcan, but I'm not stupid." I sigh and grunt to myself. "Fine, we'll do it logically. Even if your mother wants you to go back to being a toddler, which is your real age, and the age you should continue aging at, if you think it's the wrong decision, then you can stay this way until you ask to go back. Deal?" He nods, and looks self-satisfied while I join him on the transporter pad.

"Energize," he says in a bossy tone. My eyes fill with light patterns and then I see Armand's home in front of us. Tark immediately walks away with his hands behind his back, surveying the world as his father used to. Armand comes outside and sees me alone.

"Where's the munchkin?" He gives me a quick hug and I point to Tark, and I point to Tark, who is across the yard from us. Armand quirks his head at the ten year old boy. "I don't recall drinking before I came out here…didn't you have a two year old five minutes ago?"

"There was a transporter malfunction and it aged him. He wants to stay this way." I rub my forehead and sigh. "Armand, you've known him since birth. He's never loved me. Normal babies cry when their mothers leave the room. With him, it's like I don't exist. And now I have to let him stay the wrong age or I'm being 'illogical.'"

Armand shrugs, his eyes still watching Tark. "Maybe it's a Vulcan thing, dear."

"If only his father was…" I stop myself and have to hold back the pain. My life for the past three years hasn't been real living. I take care of my son, and distract myself with anything and everything to keep the pain away. Spock is in my dreams every night, and every morning I have to push back my emotions so I don't break down. I clear my throat. "So, how's the wife? Still humping like rabbits?"

Armand smiles at me and doesn't touch the Spock subject. "You wouldn't believe how many times a day we fuck. We're discovering which pieces of furniture are the sturdiest. It's a hobby."

I roll my eyes and smile. "Leave it to me to reject the man who can go all day."

He gives me a flirty grin and pretends to shove me away. "You sexy beast, I have a wife now. Don't try begging for scraps." I stick my tongue out at Armand and call my ten-year-old toddler inside.