Chapter Text
“Why must I go, Grandmother?” Spock asked. The last rays of the setting sun spilled through his window, illuminating the figure perched on the edge of his bed.
“It is thy mother’s wish for thou to accompany her on her journey.” T’Pau’s voice was stern and unyielding. To anyone else, she might have been intimidating. Spock, however, could feel the current of affection running through their bond. He frowned.
“Will you not also accompany us?” T’Pau shook her head. Amanda, Spock’s mother, had announced two weeks and four days prior that they would be making the trip to the distant Terran colony of Tarsus IV to visit her family, but T’Pau had declined the offer to go with them. Instead, Spock, his parents, and his siblings would be departing the following morning.
“Thou will be with thy sister and thy brother,” T’Pau said by way of explanation. Spock wrinkled his nose. He got along with his siblings well enough, but they were difficult to talk to at times. Sybok was older than him, almost a teenager, and he had deemed Spock’s five-year-old queries unworthy of his attention. Michael was better; she, too, was older, but she seemed to like conversing with Spock, at the very least. “And wherever thou goest, I will always be with thee in thy thoughts,” T’Pau continued.
Spock hesitated, then said in a small voice, “Even if I choose to leave Vulcan?”
He held his breath as he waited for a reaction. Prior to tonight, Spock had never dared to share this particular thought, knowing the derision it would be received with. He was illogically nervous for his grandmother's response.
T’Pau arched an elegant eyebrow in question. Her gaze held no surprise.
“What does thou mean?”
Spock exhaled sharply. “I am, of course, keeping all options open,” he hurried to reassure her. “However…” He paused once more, then took a deep breath. “I am considering not joining the Vulcan Science Academy when I have finished my schooling at the Vulcan Learning Center.” His voice was stiff, laced with barely detectable tension. Quietly, he added, “It is possible that I will even leave Vulcan entirely.”
T’Pau smiled, then, the smallest curving of her lips. Such a display of emotion was rare from her, but the gesture reassured Spock monumentally. “I will support thy decision, whatever it may be,” she said. “But Spock, be certain thou are going somewhere, and not simply running away.”
Spock furrowed his brow in confusion. “I am afraid I do not comprehend the difference you are attempting to identify.”
“If thou goes somewhere, and it is not the right place, thou can always go somewhere else,” T’Pau explained. “But Spock, I see the way thy peers treat thee. If thou are running away, nowhere will ever be the right place.”
Spock considered her words. It was true that his Vulcan classmates often mocked him for his Human heritage, attempting to provoke an emotional response from him. Shameful as it was, he would be lying if he said he did not occasionally indulge in illogical fantasies about leaving for a place free of their ridicule. Unfortunately, T’Pau had a point. If he ran away, their comments would always follow him, forever plaguing him with doubts and hypotheticals. He might be free in body, but he would never be free in mind. He nodded.
“I understand, Grandmother.”
“Very good. Now, I have a gift for thee, to remember me by while thou are away.” Spock looked at her critically.
“That is illogical, as I have perfect recall and am in no danger of forgetting you over the course of my voyage.”
T’Pau raised an eyebrow. “If thou does not desire it…” She trailed off, a gleam in her eye.
“No! I mean…” Spock coughed lightly, trying to cover up his exclamation. “I would like to see what it is.” T’Pau gave him a knowing look and pulled a small circular object from the folds of her robes. Gently, she handed it to Spock.
“It is a music box,” she said. “Open it.” He did. A few notes drifted from the box, forming a familiar tune.
“This is our song,” he murmured reverentially. Memories flashed through his mind of long evenings spent practicing the Vulcan lyre, mastering the melody while T’Pau sang along. She nodded her head.
“Indeed. Thou will always think of me fondly when thou listens to it.” Spock closed the lid gently and placed the music box on his bedside table.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” he said earnestly. T’Pau gave him another of her rare smiles. Before she could respond, there came a knock from the door.
In the doorway stood Spock’s parents. Amanda smiled and let her hand fall from the door frame as Sarek strode into the room.
“Spock, have you said your goodbyes?” he asked brusquely. “As you know, we will be departing in the morning.”
“Yes, Father.” Spock dipped his head in deference as Sarek’s gaze swept over him and landed on the music box.
“What is this?” he asked sharply. T’Pau lifted her chin.
“A music box, so the child will remember me,” she replied. Sarek’s lip curled.
“Sentimentality is illogical,” he sniffed. He looked as though he wished to say more, but Amanda placed her hand on his arm before he could.
“I think it’s lovely,” she said softly, “don’t you, husband?” Though her tone was quiet, there was something strong underneath it, enforcing the warning in her eyes. Sarek nodded stiffly.
“Come, ko-mekh,” he said to T’Pau, “it is time for Spock to sleep.” T’Pau rose gracefully and shifted to face Spock, who looked up at her.
“Rom-halan, Spock.” Farewell. “I shall see thee in three weeks.”
“Rom-halan, Grandmother.” With that, she turned and glided out of the room, robes swishing in her wake.
Sarek looked at the music box again and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Amanda squeezed his arm and shook her head. His eyes narrowed, but he conceded with a small hmph. He nodded again, then bid Spock goodnight and followed his mother out the door. Amanda’s gaze followed him until he was gone, and she shook her head to herself. She settled into the spot T’Pau had previously occupied and stroked a hand over Spock’s hair.
“Your music box is beautiful, darling,” she said. “Don’t pay your father any mind.” Spock leaned into her hand unconsciously, but his gaze stayed on the box. Doubts circled in his mind. Sarek was correct; the gift was a product of sentimentality, which was seen as a weakness in the teachings of Surak. Vulcans were creatures of logic and rationality. He should have no use for a silly music box. Still…
As if she could hear his thoughts, Amanda scooped up the music box and opened it. As the melody filled the room, she stood up and held out her arm. Spock looked at her questioningly.
“Lady Amanda Grayson would request a dance of the fine gentleman before her,” she said formally, her head held high. Spock could see the twinkle in her eye and the smile that threatened to break through the facade. He stood as well.
“I am S’chn T’gai Spock, of the clan of Surak, and I accept your request.” He laid his arm above hers, on top but not quite touching. He was significantly shorter than Amanda, enough so that she had to lean over to one side as they walked to the center of the room.
They raised their arms so their palms were facing each other, arms bent at a ninety degree angle at the elbow. Again, they were close but not touching. That was the essence of this and many other traditional Vulcan dances: the weaving of bodies around each other, brushing sleeves and robes but never coming into contact. Spock straightened his back, and they began to dance.
Amanda was a wonderful dancer, for a Human. Over the years, she had mastered the intricacies of Vulcan dancing, making it appear as if she was holding her partner’s body when, in fact, they were mere millimeters apart. Spock loved watching his mother dance. She followed his father’s lead almost perfectly, reading his body language in lieu of taking her cues from physical gestures as was the custom on Earth. They seemed perfectly attuned to each other; it was truly a sight to see.
Spock also loved dancing with Amanda. Though he was still learning, she managed to smooth over his missteps artfully enough that they looked completely intentional. She turned and twirled around Spock’s tiny frame, like a faerie around a tree, and patiently corrected his form if he ever made a mistake. In those instances, she would smile at him, and he found himself thinking that maybe being half-Human wasn’t so bad if it meant being like her.
When they were done dancing, Spock settled into his bed, thoroughly content. As Amanda pulled the covers up to his chin and kissed his forehead lightly, he let himself bask in the feeling. He heard Amanda quietly wish him goodnight and slip out the door, and Spock fell asleep that night with the ghost of a smile still gracing his face.
Tarsus IV was beautiful. Its rolling yellow fields stretched on for miles, a contrast to the endless red sands of Vulcan. Spock was entranced; he spent the majority of his first day there staring out from the porch.
Amanda had three family members on Tarsus: her parents and her sister. Jonathan and Maria Grayson had moved to Tarsus IV when it first became a colony, Emma only joining them a few years ago when old age started getting the better of the elderly couple. The three of them lived together on a farm, which Amanda tried to visit every few years or so.
Emma Grayson was not at all what Spock had expected. He would have thought her to be soft spoken and gentle, like her sister; instead, she was bright and exuberant. The moment Amanda had stepped off the shuttle, Emma swept her into a hug and twirled her around as if they were little girls, rather than middle-aged women. She then proceeded to gush about the events that had transpired during their separation, while Amanda merely nodded and interjected occasionally.
Maria Grayson was, to use a Human turn of phrase, a bit of a mother hen. When Spock and his siblings filed through the door of the house, she immediately began cooing over them, much to their collective dismay. Even Michael, in spite of her Human heritage, had spent far too much time on Vulcan to be entirely comfortable with the pats on the head and the overly familiar questions. Spock himself would not by any means say he enjoyed being fussed over, but he did derive great satisfaction from Sybok’s face after Maria (“Please, call me Granny!”) had quite literally pinched his cheeks.
In contrast, Jonathan Grayson was a rather restrained man. He greeted Sarek with a bow and a mostly accurate ta’al , introduced himself to the children, and kissed his daughter on the cheek. He took care not to touch any of the three Vulcans, and he did not seem to mind their clinical way of speaking or their stiff dispositions. Spock appreciated it; although Maria and Emma had good intentions, he found himself somewhat overwhelmed and alarmed whenever they patted his face or brushed against his arm. Jonathan’s respectful distance was quite refreshing.
Spock also met the Graysons’ next door neighbors. Harold and Clara Lannover owned the farm adjacent to the Graysons’. They were close friends with Maria and Jonathan, and the two families had dinner together every week, alternating houses. The Lannovers had a daughter named Cori, who was a few years older than Spock, and all three came over for dinner two days into their stay.
Michael and Cori were fast friends. They were around the same age, and Michael’s Human background gave her a distinct advantage in the realm of making friends, in Spock’s opinion. Cori was fascinated by Michael’s tales of living on Vulcan, just as Michael was enraptured by Cori’s accounts of life on Tarsus. They quickly ensconced themselves in Michael and Spock’s shared guest room after dinner, presumably to continue interrogating each other.
Spock assumed they would not appreciate his company, as they were three or four years his senior and would not want to interact with a mere child, even one with Spock’s intellect, so he graciously avoided the bedroom in favor of reading in the sitting room. He was pleasantly surprised, then, when the girls welcomed him into their discussion with open arms when he finally decided to intrude. Cori turned her questions on him as soon as he sat down, but he found he did not mind them quite as much as he could have.
Cori was a curious individual, in all senses of the word. She asked questions unapologetically, but quickly rescinded them if she saw she was making Spock or Michael uncomfortable. She seemed to have no concept of the relative weight of some topics versus others; there was a gap in her smile where a tooth used to reside, and she told the story of losing it in the same breath she talked about her mother’s recent brush with death falling from a ladder. She jumped from topic to topic with all the agility of a le-matya pouncing on its prey, and Spock had to work to keep up with her racing thoughts.
Still, they formed a sort of trio over the next few weeks, Spock and Michael and Cori. They invited Sybok to join them, but he seemed determined to lock himself in his room and interact with everyone as little as physically possible, so the three of them spent most of their time with each other. Every morning, like clockwork, they met at the fork where their driveways converged and planned, as Cori put it, their “shenanigans”. The trouble they caused was the sort that only two Human children approaching eleven Terran years old and a Vulcan child just shy of seven could possibly get up to. Though he would never admit it out loud, those weeks were some of the best of Spock’s life.
As all things must, though, their trip eventually came to an end. Three weeks later had their bags packed and a congregation gathered at the spaceport. Both the Graysons and the Lannovers had come to see them off, and the adults were now exchanging polite goodbyes. Spock and Michael bid farewell to Cori, promising to visit again, and with that, they were off.
The blissful sojourn on Tarsus IV had almost made Spock forget about the reality awaiting him on Vulcan. Next to the easy camaraderie he experienced there, the jeering taunts and insults hurled at Spock by his peers stung just that much more.
“How was your trip, half-breed? Did you enjoy spending time with your Human family?” The young Vulcan boy currently blocking Spock’s path of egress sneered at the mention of his maternal lineage, spitting out the word with disgust. He said it in the same way one would utter any number of unseemly words and phrases Amanda would be shocked to learn Spock knew.
Spock stayed silent. He understood quite well that this boy and his cronies were attempting to elicit a reaction from him, and he refused to give them the satisfaction of doing so. He remained stoic and attempted to move past the three person blockade in front of him. They did not relent.
“I presume you engaged in all manner of disgusting Human customs,” the boy on the left chimed in. “Tell us, they touch you? Did you meld with any of them?” It was clear from his voice that the mere thought of these things was abhorrent to him. The third boy gasped mockingly.
“Did you…” he trailed off into a scandalised whisper, “—hold hands with one of them?”
Spock had had enough of this. “If you do not mind, I must be returning home,” he recited in an emotionless tone. The boys continued sneering as he shouldered past them, but Spock tuned them out. Despite his icy facade, he could feel the fiery anger boiling up inside of him, threatening to explode.
By the time he reached his house, Spock had angry tears welling in his eyes. He stormed past the living room where Sarek and Amanda were sitting and headed straight to his room, only barely restraining himself from slamming the door. He sat heavily on his bed and looked down, tears tracing paths down his cheeks. He wiped his nose with one sleeve. A moment later, he heard the door creak open. He didn’t look up.
“A troubling day at school?” Amanda asked. Spock nodded mutely as she sat down next to him. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”
Spock shook his head, and they sat in silence for a while. Finally, Spock sniffed. “Their taunts are designed to elicit an emotional response from me,” he said. “They believe that because I am partly Human, I cannot control my emotions in the same way true Vulcans can.” Amanda was silent for a moment.
“I believe they’re right.” Spock looked at his mother, shocked. She continued before he could protest. “They are correct in saying that you do not control your emotions the same way Vulcans do. However, they are wrong in thinking of it as a disability. Your Human genetics give you an advantage.” Spock frowned and swiped at the tears under his eyes.
“I do not understand, Mother.”
“It is simple,” she said gently. “Vulcans feel things incredibly deeply. Their emotions are so intense that it is possible to be completely overcome by them.” Spock idly noted the way her choice of language excluded him. “Logic offers a reprieve. By training their minds rigorously, Vulcans are able to keep a tight rein on their emotions, but this means that none can fall through. They cannot let themselves feel anything, or they risk losing control.
“But you, Spock, you are partly Human. I believe you could learn to regulate your emotions, instead of cutting them off entirely.” She stared solemnly into his eyes. Her hands rested on his shoulders. “Do you understand?” she asked. “You are the first of your kind. You experience emotion in an entirely different way than anyone else before you, Vulcan or Human.” She placed a tender hand on his cheek, wiping away the last of his tears with her thumb. “Everyone on Vulcan sees your Human blood as a flaw, but I think it makes you incredible.”
Spock marvelled at her assertion. He had never thought of himself in that way, as an entirely unique creature, but he supposed she was correct. He was neither Human nor Vulcan; he was both at once, and something new besides. In a culture that valued conformity, though, was it truly as much of a blessing as Amanda said it was? Embracing his emotions would only further ostracize himself from his peers. He voiced as much to his mother.
“Must I choose to feel?” he asked her. “Even if I were capable of regulating my feelings, I would still be regarded as inferior if I displayed such emotions. I will only be accepted here if I fully embody the Vulcan way. Therefore, the only logical course of action is to continue following the teachings of Surak, regardless of my…differences.” His voice was determined, but internally, Spock could not quell the seed of insecurity that grew every time he thought of the judgemental looks that followed him despite his best efforts.
Amanda sighed. “If that is what you choose,” she said, “I cannot stop you.” Her eyes were soft and serious. “I only wish you to know that there are many paths you can follow. You are so much more than what they say you are.” With that said, she gently tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Spock. I love you.”
Spock hesitated, then replied, “And I, you, Mother.”
The sun was hot on Spock’s back as he wandered through the market. Next to him, Michael wore a light blue headscarf to protect herself from the heat. The scarf had been a gift from Amanda, who owned a matching green one, to celebrate her eighteenth birthday.
Spock, who was now fourteen in Terran years, had originally objected to the illogicality of celebrating the day of one’s birth. Vulcans did not traditionally measure their development in years, using instead one’s mental aptitude as a standard. Furthermore, a Vulcan year was approximately twenty five percent longer than a Terran year, meaning Michael’s birthday did not establish consistent pattern to which she could anchor herself. It was, therefore, a completely illogical practice rooted only in sentimentality.
In the end, Spock had submitted to Amanda’s wishes and helped pick out the headscarf. Michael was delighted and had taken to wearing it on all of her outings. Spock firmly ignored the flicker of warmth he felt whenever he saw the flash of blue atop her head.
Their trip today had no official purpose. It was only Spock and Michael, exploring the markets of ShiKhar together. Michael had submitted her application to the Vulcan Science Academy yesterday, and her results would be announced tonight. Neither of them mentioned it, but unofficially, their venture was a distraction, as well as an attempt to make the most of their time left together. If Michael was accepted, Spock would likely not see her for a significant amount of time, so they were both trying to savor these last moments.
They ate lunch at Michael’s favorite restaurant. It was a fusion restaurant, known for its unique blending of Andorian and Vulcan cuisine, and Michael had tried just about every item on the menu. Spock himself was partial to the hari-plomeek soup, as it always brought with it a sense of nostalgia. During their meal, they discussed the logistics of the newest Vulcan starship.
After lunch, Michael said, “There is somewhere I wish to show you.” She looped her hand around Spock’s wrist and led him through the midday crowd. Through their contact, Spock could feel a variety of emotions within her; she was mostly content, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety, tinged with a bit of regret. Spock tried to project reassurance over their bond.
They finally darted from the crowd into a small, unused alleyway. Michael slackened her grip but let her fingers stay where they were as she walked down the alley. Spock reveled in the brush of her thoughts against his, in the familiarity of their bond. Though Humans were psy-null, Michael’s mind was still a comfort to him, even if she could not reach back. How Spock would miss this if she left for the VSA. Who else would allow him to simply exist near their headspace?
The alleyway emerged into an abandoned square that looked like it had not been used in years. In the center of the square was a fountain, dry as the desert and intricately carved. The cobblestones surrounding it were dusty with sand. The entire area felt dormant, like it was waiting for something. It was beautiful.
“I used to come here to think,” Michael said. She released Spock’s arm and settled on the edge of the fountain, patting the space next to her. Spock sat as well and let his gaze roam. “If my classmates were being cruel, or if I got into an argument with Father, this is where I would come.”
“It seems a suitable place to be alone,” Spock agreed. Michael smiled.
“This is the only place I let myself really feel,” she admitted. “I let myself be Human here.”
It was an easy fact to forget, that Michael had not always lived on Vulcan. There was a time in her life when she was encouraged to express her emotions freely, to smile and cry without fear of judgement or scorn. The shift to the distant and impassive environment of Vulcan must have been difficult for her, but she worked hard to earn the respect of those around her. Often, Michael embodied Vulcan ideals so adeptly it was difficult for Spock to picture her in any other way.
Spock had always admired Michael for her dedication to Surak’s teachings, but he had never considered the toll it would take on her. For Michael to bottle up her emotions constantly, with no outlet to express herself through, was surely a great hardship. Humans were, by nature, emotional creatures, and it was only logical for Michael to seek out a refuge where she could indulge in this nature. Spock found he was grateful she had found a place where she could be herself, if only for a short while.
They sat in silence for many moments. Spock felt himself relax incrementally, leaning closer to Michael until their sides were pressed together and he could feel her breathing next to him. This was a place where Michael could be Human, she had said. Perhaps here, Spock could try to be Human as well. He organized his thoughts, trying to figure out what to say, and finally settled on a question he had harbored for a long time.
“What does love feel like?”
Michael arched an eyebrow, looking at once critical and understanding in that way only siblings could. “Though you pretend to be,” she said, “I know you are not emotionless, little brother. You experience love just as much as I do.” She gave him a significant look. “Perhaps even more.” Spock pursed his lips, barely refraining from rolling his eyes.
“I understand that. However, I wish to know what love feels like to you. To a Human.”
“Ah,” she said in understanding. Her gaze softened. “I see. Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you.” Michael extended her arm to him, pulling up her sleeve to expose her skin. An invitation. Spock gently laid his fingers on the underside of her wrist, just above her pulse. Immediately, he felt their bond flicker to life.
“Love is soft,” Michael started thoughtfully. “Warm.” Spock felt that warmth creep up his arm and around his mind, enveloping him. In her memories, he saw Sarek having a discussion with Michael last week, and he felt her warmth—her love—for him that he had taken time out of his day for her. He felt Amanda kiss her goodnight, even though she was practically an adult, and he saw Michael and Sybok in an intense game of kal-toh years ago. He saw Michael curling up with Spock while Amanda read them a story, and he felt her love for all of them, a steady presence in her mind.
Through their bond, Spock could sense the feelings Michael was conveying change, transform. Where before there were gentle embers, now there were suddenly flames. “Love is also scary,” she continued. “It is all-encompassing. You know that you would do anything for the ones you love, and that thought is terrifying.” Spock understood exactly what she meant, could feel the absolute certainty love inspired in her to protect her family.
“Love can also be desperate,” she said, and Spock felt it clawing at her mind. He felt Michael’s frustration and helplessness as she watched a group of Vulcan children taunt Spock, unable to do anything. He saw a young Michael curled up in a ball, listening to her parents' final moments and wanting, more than anything, to be able to help them.
“Love is like having a fire living inside of you,” she said, “just waiting to consume you. And the worst part is that sometimes you want it to.” Her emotions were now a flood, mixing and mingling with his own, and it was all Spock could do to separate their thoughts and try to keep calm. Finally, the torrent of emotions receded a bit, and Spock pried his fingers from Michael’s wrist. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, not quite sure when he had closed them. A look at Michael showed that her eyes were damp, and Spock was surprised to find a matching wetness on his own cheeks. Quickly, he wiped it away.
“I am sorry,” Michael said shakily. “I did not mean to inflict that upon you. Having you in my mind seems to interfere with my control.” Spock went to touch her in reassurance, then thought better of it and placed his hand comfortingly on her knee. She gave him a slightly watery smile. “Do you understand now, though? What love feels like to a Human?” Spock considered her question.
“I think,” he said, “that the way Humans love and the way Vulcans love is quite similar.” Michael chuckled.
“You are right. Of all our emotions, love might be the one that is most similar between us.” With that, she placed an arm around Spock and leaned up against his side. Spock exhaled and let his head fall onto her shoulder.
Spock could not sleep. This was not inherently unusual, as Vulcans required relatively little rest; however, he had been attempting to meditate for the past 1.67 hours with minimal success. Precisely four hours and thirty-six minutes before the sun was set to rise, Spock resigned himself to his tumultuous thoughts and retrieved his lyre from its shelf.
Music was something Spock had always found relaxing. Though he did not play as often as he used to, he still found himself picking up his instrument every so often when he was having trouble calming his mind. As Spock padded to Amanda’s garden outside, he already felt himself relaxing simply from the comforting weight of the lyre in his hands.
Spock settled onto a stone bench at the edge of the garden, his fingers pulling a few wavering notes from the strings. He took a deep breath and attempted to stop thinking, letting his muscle memory take over. His attention narrowed until he was only aware of the music. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist, including the thoughts racing through his head. He was halfway through an old Vulcan ballad he had learned close to two years ago when he was shaken from his reverie.
Someone else had entered the garden. Spock did not pause in his playing, and presently, a voice started to softly sing along. He recognized the voice after a moment and relaxed as T’Pau made her way over to him. She sat primly on the other end of his bench and looked out at the garden, singing all the while. Her voice was soothing, emanating from deep within her chest, and Spock found himself humming along with her.
As the song wound to a close, Spock looked at T’Pau. She seemed content with letting the silence settle between them, so he remained quiet. Instead, he started playing a familiar tune, one that brought memories of his childhood to mind.
Spock had not played this song in a very long time. He had first learned it at four years of age, back when he was still mastering the Vulcan lyre. It was the first song he had ever managed to memorize and play all the way through, and he remembered running up to T’Pau to show it off to her. She had praised him and sang the words to it, and ever since then it had become something of a tradition for them to play it together, enough so that she had immortalized the tune in a music box for him. Though much time had passed, Spock’s fingers still remembered the notes.
T’Pau smiled when she heard the first chords. After the introductory bars, she joined his strumming in a voice tinged with nostalgia. The song was beautiful, telling a story of great misfortune and grand adventure and forbidden love. It was rather emotional, in Spock’s opinion, but music seemed to be the one area in which Vulcans let their emotions bleed through.
Once their song ended, Spock let silence fall around them again. This time, he made no move to start playing again. T’Pau gazed out serenely, seeming for all the world as if it were completely normal to be singing in a garden in the early hours of the morning. She exuded a certain air of waiting. Finally, Spock broke the silence.
“It is uncertain how long we will be gone,” he stated quietly. T’Pau continued to stare at the desert in front of her, but she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement.
“Indeed. I wish thine aunt a rapid recovery, both for her sake and for mine.” Spock made an inquisitive noise. T’Pau smiled sadly. “I have already lost two grandchildren to the ways of the world,” she said. “Thou are sixteen years of age, Spock, and will soon leave me as well. Do not blame an old woman for wanting to savor her time with thee.”
What she said was true. Michael was at the Vulcan Science Academy, completing her studies in quantum physics. Sybok was gone, exiled. Spock was the only one left.
“Have you seen Michael yet?” he asked. She had convinced the VSA to grant her an indefinite leave of absence, on the condition that she continue to complete her coursework online, and she had taken the first shuttle home. Amanda had objected to her putting her life on hold, but Michael was very firm on her stance that family came first. Spock refused to be ashamed of the fact that he had hugged her very tightly when they met her transport at the station.
“I have spoken with her,” T’Pau affirmed. “It is good that she is joining thee.” Spock nodded. This trip to Tarsus IV was to be a true family affair, just like the last one. For the first time in four years, they would all be together again. Spock hesitated.
“We will also be meeting Sybok off-planet,” he said tentatively. He was still unsure quite how to discuss Sybok after his banishment, or if he should at all. Sarek had ceased all contact with him and refused to even hear his name in conversation. Amanda, on the other hand, called him often, despite the fact that they were not even related by blood. Spock was unsure what T’Pau’s views of Sybok were. “Father was very displeased, but Mother insisted he be allowed to accompany us if he so desired.”
“I am glad she did,” T’Pau said, surprising Spock. “Sarek and Sybok must use this opportunity to reconcile.” Her voice held no trace of uncertainty; in the firmness of her words there seemed to form almost a command. They would not try, they would. They must. T’Pau noticed his surprise and gave him a thin, wry smile. “I was a revolutionary, too, once. Long ago.” This only served to shock him further.
“You were?”
“Indeed.” T’Pau’s eyes grew distant, remembering events long since past. “There were many who believed that Surak’s teachings had been misinterpreted. Almost a century ago, a Vulcan named Syrran came forward, preaching what he said were the true teachings of Surak. He amassed a large group of followers, including myself, who agreed that the Vulcan philosophy was corrupt and needed to change.
“Syrran had many new ideas, but perhaps one of his most radical was the concept that we, as Vulcans, should embrace our emotions.”
“That is very similar to Sybok’s mentality,” Spock observed hesitantly.
“Where does thou believe he got those ideas from?”
Spock startled at the implication. T’Pau was the matriarch of the clan of Surak, one of the most respected Vulcans on the planet and in the galaxy. To think that she had incited Sybok’s divergence from the Vulcan way was, to put it mildly, absurd. “But if we let our emotions overcome us, we are nothing more than barbarians, as we were centuries ago,” he argued. T’Pau actually chuckled at that.
“That is what thou have always been taught, yes.” Her eyes held a gleam of mirth as she watched Spock’s dismay increase. “But Syrran did not want our emotions to rule us. He simply objected to the practice of cutting them off entirely. He believed that Vulcans could find a balance between feelings and logic.”
Spock took a moment to process this. The idea that he could harbor both logic and emotion at once was not foreign to him, but that such a concept could apply to all Vulcans was nominal. He had always thought his relationship with his emotions was an inherently Human trait, one often perceived as a flaw by other Vulcans. To think that perhaps they who scorned him could be capable of the same thing was both astounding and preposterous. No modern Vulcan would ever accept such a theory, and any that did would be subjecting themselves to public ridicule. All at once, Spock understood Sybok’s banishment a great deal more.
A thought occurred to him at that moment. “Why did you change your mind?”
T’Pau looked affronted. “I did no such thing,” she said haughtily, before mellowing out. Her eyes became unbearably sad. “Thou must understand, we were a peaceful group. We protested the government, but never with violence. That did not stop us from being targeted.” She sighed heavily before continuing. “One day, I and my fellow rebels were massacred. I was one of the few who survived.”
Spock did not know what to say. Quietly, he murmured, “Tushah nash-veh k’odu.” I grieve with thee. T’Pau nodded once.
“I thank thee.”
Silence reigned for a few minutes as Spock mulled over their conversation. This was certainly not how he had expected his night to go, but surprisingly, his mind felt calmer than it had when he had left his bedroom. There was only one thing still bothering him.
“If you still believe in Syrran’s philosophies,” Spock started, “then you will not think it illogical of me to say that I will miss you greatly.” He phrased it as a statement, but there was still doubt layered underneath his words. T’Pau placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I do not think it illogical, no,” she said gently. Spock relaxed at her words, and T’Pau gained a satisfied air. She rose slowly. “I believe we have stayed here long enough. Does thy mind feel peaceful enough to attempt sleep?” Spock nodded and stood as well.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” he said, bowing. He did not specify what for, but he knew T’Pau understood. Everything. Thank you for everything.
Spock picked up his lyre, and the two of them walked back to the house. T’Pau escorted him all the way to his room, where he set the instrument in its proper place and settled under the covers. Spock could see T’Pau hovering at the door, and just before sleep claimed his consciousness, he heard her whisper, “I will miss thee as well, Spock.”