Chapter Text
She's ocean wide, canyon deep
From open eyes to twilight sleep
She's in the sky, beneath my feet
I said to her, "Don't wait for me
I watched you grow, you set me free
Go spread your wings, tell me what you see, you see"
A small utterance alerted Spock to the fact that he was not alone. “Mother?” He questioned from his desk. His ears twitched at the sound of soft footsteps, much too light to be either of his parents. Spock felt his brow furrow, and made the conscious effort to smooth his face into an emotionless mask. A small thump caused the young Vulcan boy to stand. “Hello?” Little tanned fingers became visible as they grasped his open doorway, and Spock froze, slightly alarmed.
“Hello?” A child’s voice answered. The young Vulcan took a step forward, curious, but apprehensive.
“Show yourself,” his voice was steady and calm, though he could feel his heartbeat increase in pace when an equally tanned foot peeked out from the doorway. The figured emerged; a child, a female child. For a moment, an irrational part of his mind rushed to thinking it was Michael, but logic won over. The figure was too slight, the voice too young. Spock swallowed down a bitter mixture of emotions he was unfamiliar with.
Spock’s confusion elevated, had his parents invited guests over? As the little girl stepped into the light, she looked to be his own age, her skin was golden, and her curly, sun-bleached hair stuck out in wild tufts and spirals. She was eyeing him warily, her face filled with an emotion he could not name, and an emotion that should not be there.
“Oh, you are a human.” He stated uselessly, as it was obvious. Her dark brows were evenly arched, and he could just make out the small, rounded ears under the ringlets framing her face. The girl did not reply to his observation as her eyes wandered across his bedroom. “Are your parents here to meet with my mother?” perhaps she could be the daughter of a diplomat, though his parents made no mention of a human family being hosted by them.
No, she is not a diplomat’s daughter, he thought as his eyes inspected her further. Scrawny legs were covered in bruises, and the floral tunic that hung loosely from her was dusty and worn. She had no shoes, no jewelry, no indication that she came from a political family with wealth. Though, Spock reasoned, it was possible that some human cultures allowed their children to walk around looking filthy and starved. He would ask his mother in the morning.
“I’m Mikelle,” their eyes locked, and Spock felt himself blink at the intensity of her stare. He stopped himself from shuddering uncomfortably; this girl and Michael were quite similar in their unwavering gazes. “Where am I?” She questioned as she walked in further, steps practically soundless on the stone floor. Spock watched, fascinated, as she ran her boney fingers over the wall.
“My bedroom,” he stated the obvious, but noticed her flash him a look and a small smile.
“Are we on Earth?” She asked, peering out of his window, and Spock felt a brow raise to his hairline. How could she not know what planet they was on?
“We are on Vulcan,” she stopped then, her head tilting to the side as she regarded him, a curiously Vulcan gesture, and he felt compelled to explain further, “My home planet.”
“I’m dreaming,” she huffed, face twisting again into an entirely different emotion the boy did not recognize.
“I assure you, we are very much awake,” Spoke would know if he were dreaming.
“Well, when I went to sleep, I was in my grandma’s house, and she’s on Earth,” she looked away from him to stare out of the large window once more.
“You do not know how you came to be here?” Spock’s mind raced with every possible reason as to why she would be there, and how she had arrived without alerting his parents. He looked at her clothing and bruised arms and legs, and thought perhaps she was being trafficked. Something that was outlawed, but it was possible, though that did not explain her presence in his home. “Where from Earth are you from?”
“Why,” she asked sharply, eyes snapping back to his; Spock fought the urge to swallow at the sudden shift.
“My mother is from Earth, maybe she can help you get back,” a part of Spock braced for the reaction to his parentage, but none came.
“What if I don’t want to go back?” She questioned, evading his attempt to learn of her origins. Spock’s eye twitched at her obvious avoidance.
“Why would you not want to return to your home?” His voice was still calm, but he could hear the incredulous tone creeping in. She blinked, and he filed away how much darker her thick lashes were than her hair and brows.
“Not everyone has a house as nice as yours,” her tone was dry as she said it, as if it were the most logical reason in the galaxy. And perhaps it was. If her parents kept her looking as ragged as she look at that moment, then they were not fit to care for her.
“How did you get here?”
She huffed again, and appeared to become agitated, “I’m dreaming.”
“As I’ve already said, you can not be dreaming, as I know that I am awake,” he could feel his neck heat up in frustration; this was getting nowhere. He started when the girl suddenly got closer to reach for his hand. “Don’t,” he said, voice raising slightly in alarm. She paused, hand still reaching.
“I just want to see if you’re real,” she mumbled, but let her hand fall. Spock searched her face, and sighed deeply.
“Fine, but do not touch my hands,” she looked up at him through her lashes.
“Why?”
“I am Vulcan.”
“I thought you said your mom is from Earth?”
”Yes, and my father is Vulcan.”
“So?”
He blinked at the question, though it was possible she did not realize the differences in their species. “I am a touch telepath,” she looked at him blankly, and he allowed himself a very human sigh. “We do not touch hands, it is inappropriate.” He added, his child logic skipping over the intimacy of the act all together. Her eyes widened and snapped down the the hand resting at his sides.
“Oh,” she said dumbly, before her gaze flickered to his ears, “you’re an alien.” Her eyes lit up with the realization. Spock allowed himself to roll his eyes, something he had seen his mother do whenever Sarek was being especially obtuse.
“You are on my home planet, technically, you are the alien.” She searched his face.
“I was wondering about your eyebrows and ears, but I thought it’d be rude to ask,”
Spock’s head tilted, “There is no offence where none is taken.”
“Can I touch your ears?” She asked, her eyes brightening with excitement.
“No.”
“Why, is it like with your hands?”
“No, I just do not want you to touch my ears.”
“I’ll let you touch my ears,”
“I do not want to touch your ears.”
She huffed again, but the corners of her lips twitched into a small smile.
“You find this amusing,” he realized, cocking a brow.
“It is kinda funny,” she tilted her head again and grinned; she was missing her upper left cuspid, and Spock felt his cheeks heat. “What’s your name?” She asked.
“I am Spock,” he replied blandly, though resisted the urge to say his full name and title.
“It’s nice to meet you, Spock.” And before he realized it, she leaned into his space and placed a small kiss on his cheek. Her lips where cool and dry, reminding him of his mother, and whispers of her emotions-curiosity, amusement, nervousness- shivered through his mind at the contact. She pulled back and smirked slightly as he watched her with wide eyes.
“What-“, Spock stopped, feeling his mother’s approach. “My mother is coming,” Mikelle’s eyes widened, and she rushed to hide behind a corner in his room; Spock did not stop her.
“Darling, your father needs to speak with you,” Amanda peeked into his door, halting when she saw Spock standing prone in the middle of the room. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” His mother searched his face, and Spock did his best not to hold his breath.
“I am well, Mother, I was just thinking,” She looked unconvinced.
“Well, don’t take too much time, you’re father is waiting.” She turned and made her way back. Spock listened as her steps receded.
“You can come out now,” he said quietly, but the girl did not answer him. Spock felt himself frown as he turned; she wasn’t there. A quick inspection of his room turned up no answers, the only proof that she had been there being her dusty footprints on the stone.
7 Earth Days later
She appeared again while he was having a nightmare. He struggled and thrashed against an unseen entity, but calmed when cool palms cupped his cheeks. His eyes blinked open to her worried face in the dark. “What-“
“You’re having a bad dream,” she whispered in the dark, so close he could hear her heart beating and feel her breath on his face. He could feel the worry radiating through her palms, along with a steadying sense of calm, but she released him and took a step back when he sat up to look at her.
“You’re back,” he noted blandly, not bothering to change the subject gracefully; she shrugged. He noticed that her hair was dripping, felt the dampness on the fabric of his pillow, and she smelt pungent. His nose scrunched. “Why are you wet?”
“I was swimming.”
“Your clothes are not wet.”
“I changed out of my bathing suit.”
“Well, you stink.” Spock felt himself flinch at his insult, even though it was accurate. But the girl tilted her head and smiled. “What is that smell,” he asked, leaning forward slightly to take an obvious, disapproving sniff.
“I don’t know, I was at the beach.”
“You were swimming in the ocean?” He felt somewhat horrified by that. Spock had seen the Earth’s oceans before, from high up above in a shuttle craft, but the idea of voluntarily putting his body into any of them made him feel ill.
“Yeah,” she shrugged again, either not noticing or ignoring his tone. Spock took a deep breath of the briny air, and calmed himself. His emotions were slipping from the nightmare, and he did not want to alert his parents through their bond. He felt his face smooth into a neutral mask, and the girl blinked. “Why do you do that?”
Spock raised a brow, “Do what?”
“You know,” and she ran a thin hand in front of her face, and as she reached her chin her expression turned frighteningly blank. “Like that,” she said, emotion returning to her features.
Spock shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the knowledge that his shift was so obvious, especially to a human child. They were silent for a few moments, the only noise from the dripping of her curly hair. “Let me get you something to dry your hair.” And he stood. Still unsteady from his nightmare, Spock stumbled, and then slipped on the water on the floor. An undignified squeak escaped his throat as his arms wheeled for balance, and Mikelle lunged forward to steady him; she grabbed his hands.
Shock, outrage, and dismay rushed through him, and then a sense of awe. She was staring at him, wide eyed and mouth agape, and Spock was sure he wore a similar expression. Warmth swamped his mind, warmth and curiosity so blatant it was almost painful. It felt... right, it felt familiar. She threw his hands down suddenly. “I’m sorry!” She whispered urgently, “I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to touch your hands.” Spock’s mind was reeling from the emotions he felt in her, and the sudden disconnect. He shook his head.
“It’s alright, you did not do it on purpose.” He stepped around her, and padded silently to a hidden cabinet in his wall; Spock was grateful that she did not ask about the sensations. He could feel her eyes on his back, and forced himself not to turn. He pulled a soft, old sleep shirt from one of the cubbies, and closed the door slowly. His thoughts were loud, too loud, and he took a steadying breath.
He turned and immediately jumped as she was right behind him. “Sorry,” she whispered as she took the fabric from his hands to dab at her face. Spock cocked his head in acknowledgment as he made his was back to his bed, careful to sidestep the water. Mikelle followed him like a shadow as she rubbed at her hair, and Spock felt unnerved by how light on her feet she was. As he sat on his bed, she dropped the shirt onto the floor, and mopped up the puddle with her foot. “There, now you wont fall again.”
Spock got comfortable under his blanket, but kept his eye on her. She did not break eye contact, and the dim light glittered in her dark gaze. “How did you get here,” he whispered, gaze seemingly trapped. Her head tilted again as she regarded him.
“I don’t know.” Was her quiet answer; he believed her. She seemed to start shivering despite the controlled warmth of his bedroom, and impulsively, Spock scooted back. Her face turned wary at his silent invitation.
“I am tired, and you would not be able to wander my home without explanation as to why you are here.” She yawned, and Spock felt the urge to yawn with her. “And you are also tired. Though, apparently you were swimming in the ocean while exhausted.”
She shrugged and fought another yawn, “It’s nighttime where I’m from.” Spock shuddered.
“You were swimming in the ocean at night?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” her eyes were dozing, but her little face twisted into an annoyed scowl. “Staying with my mom right now, and she lives on the beach. She was drinking and being too loud, so I went swimming.” Her hands began to rub at her eyes through her explanation, missing Spock’s disapproving frown. Before he could reply, she clambered under the blanket, and Spock felt the temperature drop from how cold she was. “Your bed is nice.” she mumbled sleepily.
“Hm,” he replied. They lied there facing each other, trying to fight sleep, but soon, her eyes fluttered shut, lashes fanning across her cheeks like dark crescent moons. Spock’s mind began memorizing the beauty marks and light scars on her face, and fell asleep soon after.
The next morning
Spock’s eyes were heavy as he woke. For the first time in a very long time, he felt well rested and relaxed. The phantom feeling of a hand lingered in his own, and as he inhaled deeply, he was met with the scent of brine and damp. The boy sat up, eyes on the small indent in the bed next to him. On the pillow and sheet, gritty sand and flaked salt were all that remained. Despite knowing that she would not be there, his eyes still scanned the room.
He collected the sand and salt to analyze later.
6 Earth months later
She was sitting on the floor the next time he saw her, once again in his bedroom. Her face was pressed into her knees, and she did not stir when he entered. Quietly, he closed and locked his door, and swept his gaze across the room, before letting them settle back onto the thin girl against the wall.
She was wearing another worn, tattered floral shirt, Spock recognizing the breed as an Earth Hibiscus he curiously searched after her last visit, and this time, she wore scuffed, thonged sandals. Her hair was done in multiple small braids, each end held six colorful beads; her bruising was worse.
“Mikelle?” He questioned softly, and felt startled when her body began to tremble. “Are you injured?” Sniffling sounds and choked sobs caused Spock to jump into action, and he was on his knees at her side. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do I keep coming here? It’s not fair,” her voice was hoarse, but muffled by her knees. Spock was confused.
“Why is that not fair?” Was this causing her distress, her random arrivals to his world? Spock ignored the disappointment in his chest. He almost gasped when she turned her face to look at him. Her left eye was swollen and bruised, her bottom lip was split. She had a bruise on her right cheek and a small gash on her forehead.
“Because I have to go back,” Spock searched her face in horror, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming him as her bottom lip trembled.
“I’ll go get a med kit,” he was already on his feet, and her hand shot out to grab at his sleeve.
“No, please don’t go.”
“I need to heal your wounds.”
“If she sees that they’re gone, she’s gonna want to know why, and then she’ll just beat me harder.” Her eyes were wide and imploring, desperately searching his face. Spock felt ill.
“‘Her’? You’re... mother?” The hand on his arm faltered before dropping from his sleeve, her face closing off as she pressed her eyes back into her uncovered knees. The nod was so small Spock almost missed it. A spark of anger threatened to kindle into rage before Spock forced himself to calm down. “I would like to call my mother here, my father as well. They may be able to help.”
“No,” she said quietly.
“They may be able to help-“ he tried to repeat.
“They won’t!” She almost shouted, her face snapping up to him with a feral show of teeth. Spock stepped back in surprise. “How will they help me? Adults never help. I’m not even a Vulcan like you. Why would they help me?” Her face returned to her knees.
Spock swallowed the words ‘My sister is not Vulcan, and they helped her,’ before they could escape, he was not ready to reveal that to this virtual stranger, and did not think it would be helpful.
He sat back down in front of her to rest his cheek on his own knee. “Would you like to talk?” Spock murmured, doing his best to remember his mother’s kind words whenever he would come home upset from school.
She sniffed wetly, and turned her gaze to him. The wetness of her tears made her already bright eyes shine even brighter, and once again, Spock felt trapped.
“She wanted to braid my hair, but it hurts when she does it.” She shrugged. “I kept moving, and she didn’t like it.” Her eyes fell shut.
“That’s all?” Frustration burned at the back of Spock’s throat; Mikelle’s face is beaten and bloodied because she could not sit still? She bumped the back of her hand against his ankle, and looked at him shyly.
“Can you hug me?” She whispered. The invitation for physical affection made his throat tighten, and he choked down the knee jerk response of “I can, but I won’t.”. He was only ever hugged by his mother. Spock felt himself nod before his mind made a decision. She smiled then, and he saw that her cuspid had grown in place. She adjusted herself to sit on her knees, and waited for him to do the same. Spock braced himself as he changed position, afraid and excited all at once.
She leaned forward slowly, placing her arms around his neck and gingerly resting her bruised cheek onto his slight shoulder; Spock was thankful that she did not grab him quickly. His arms felt heavy as they went around her thin frame, and as his hands rested against her back, he could feel her ribs and spine prominently through the threadbare fabric of the shirt.
She inhaled and exhaled deeply as his arms tightened more firmly around her, and felt the tension leave her body. Echos of her relief tingled through him through the contact. She was silent, not even her breathing making noise, with only the gentle clacking of her hair beads filling the air, and so Spock was allowed to think freely.
His mind analyzed the differences in their temperature, heartbeats, and the feel of her bones. She was underweight, and most likely malnourished, and he wondered if he would be able to sneak food into his bedroom before she vanished. Her skin and shirt smelled like the beach, but her braided hair smelled perfumed. All while his mind categorized, analyzed, and compared the current experience to his side research after her last visit, some deeper part of him worried.
Why was this girl here? How could he help her without worsening her situation? How could he keep her safe? He wanted to alert his parents through their bond; he had felt his father’s mild inquiry feather against his mind when Spock had first seen her face. However, she did not trust them, and he supposed if he were in her position, he would not trust adults either, alien or otherwise. Spock himself felt great reluctance when it came to confiding in or seeking help from his parents. Perhaps Michael- he shook that thought away before it could take root.
A loud grumbling interrupted his thoughts, and Mikelle pulled away with a sheepish expression, flinching slightly when her frown tugged onto her injuries. “What was that?” He questioned quietly.
“I think I’m hungry,” she whispers back. His brow raised.
“You are not sure?” But did not push as she scowled. “Very well, I will retrieve food for you.” He stood, and she grabbed him again with speed that surprised him. Her hand wrapped around his sleeved covered wrist, and her eyes were again wide and afraid. “You will come with me,” he said solemnly, understanding that she was too afraid to be alone, while also not wanting her to disappear while he was gone. She stood shakily, but did not release her hold on him.
The two children moved quietly through his home, though Spock thought perhaps his father was in his office meditating, and he knew that his mother was preoccupied in her greenhouse. Michael was less predictable, but Spock knew she preferred to study at this hour. Spock listened for the rustling footsteps of house staff, feeling a cool drip of unease when he realized how silent it was, but ignored the illogical urge to run back into his room. They slipped into the kitchen, her close to his back, and Spock indicated for her to remain silent. A moment later, he heard footsteps and felt his mother approach.
“Oh! Spock, sweetheart, you startled me.” His mother had swept into the kitchen wearing a comely Earth style dress and dirt stained apron. Her bright blue eyes widened in shock at the sight of the little girl pressed into his back, warily eying his mother over his shoulder. Amanda’s face shifted expertly into something kind but neutral. “And who is our guest?” Her voice was light, but pointed, a tone she used often when faced with an uncertain political situation. Spock felt Mikelle press closer into his back, her face now tightly against his shoulder to avoid eye contact. Her forehead made contact with the skin of his neck, and he restrained the shudder threatening to escape him when her emotions swept through him; she was terrified.
“My friend,” he intoned neutrally in a way he had always wished to master. He almost jumped when Mikelle’s hand slipped from his wrist into his own, but gave her fingers a squeeze despite the sudden and almost overwhelming tangle of emotions coming from her. “She is hungry.” His tone was so serious that he thought his mother might chuckle, a habit of hers she tried to break, but her smile simply twitched as her eyes tightened with carefully masked concern.
“Well,” she said after a moment of tense silence, “let us get you something suitable to eat, shall we?” Spock moved out of the way so his mother could grab whatever she needed, Mikelle followed his every move and did not leave her place at his back. Amanda shot quick glances in their direction, but did not directly address them until she finally turned with a plate of replicated Earth fruit. “I wish I had the real thing for you, but replicated fruits tend to taste just fine regardless.” His mother held out the plate expectedly, but Spock did not think he would be able to hold the plate securely with his non-dominant hand. Amanda seemed to sense his hesitation. “I’ll help you back to your bedroom.” She offered, patient and kind. “Your father has left for the evening, and Michael is studying.” we will not be disturbed, was the underlying message to her words, and Spock felt his shoulders ease.
“Come,” he said, more to Mikelle than to his mother, and the trip back to his bedroom was much faster than the trip to the kitchen. Once in his room, his mother closed and locked his door, and gently placed the plate onto his desk. “Eat.” He all but commanded, and he could hear his mother let out a disapproving tut, but Mikelle finally let her grip of him go to walk over to the plate.
Amanda inhaled sharply at the state of the little girl, now seeing her face fully, but said nothing. Mikelle kept her eyes on the food, not bothering to look up at either of them, so Amanda signaled to Spock with her eyes. Knowing that she most likely wanted to step out of the room to talk privately, Spock shook his head, and turned his gaze back to the girl. Most of the replicated fruit was gone in the next several moments, so he gathered that she had been rather hungry.
“How long has it been since you have eaten,” he asked. Amanda inhaled audibly once more when Mikelle simply shrugged a thin shoulder. “Do you require more?” And once again, she did not verbalize but shook her head. She finished the last slice of apple before turning back to Spock. Her large eyes would dart back to Amanda, though never above the waist, and she remained silent.
“What is your name, dear?” His mother asked, gentle in her tone. The girl finally did look into his mothers eyes then.
“Mikelle,” she murmured, and Amanda smiled.
“That is a lovely name,” but Mikelle just shrugged again. She inched closer and closer to Spock, but looked unsure of whether or not he’d welcome the contact: he took long steps to where she was standing, and placed himself between her and his mother. Amanda’s eyes darted between the two children, obviously surprised at Spock’s show of protectiveness, but did not comment. “Will you be staying with us, Mikelle?” And Spock felt her freeze against him.
“She cannot stay,” he answered with a tilt of his head. His mother’s eyes tightened and her smile faltered.
“I’m sure we can figure something out?” But Spock shook his head.
“It is not that she is unwilling, but unable.” Confusion bloomed across her face.
“Her guardians, perhaps?” She questioned lightly, not wanted to press too much and upset the little human.
“No,” Spock hesitated before continuing, “Her presence here is not permanent.” Amanda’s face went from careful expressions to open bewilderment. Spock understood his mother’s confusion, as he had no actual understanding of what was happening himself. Spock had theories, some reasonable, most fantastical, but he would not voice them at that moment.
“I’m tired,” Mikelle said quietly, and Amanda’s expression cleared once again to take in the girls face.
“Of course, sweetheart, I can show you to the guest bedroom.” Spock hesitated, but declined for Mikelle.
“You may rest on my bed,” and she nodded before turning to walk in that direction. His mothers gaze was questioning, her mind brushing curiously against their bond in a way she only did when he was distressed, but Spock ignored it to turn towards Mikelle. His mother beat him, however, elegantly gliding to his bedside to tuck the thin child in. She looked up at Amanda with tired, skeptical eyes, but did not argue or flinch when his mothers small hand tucked a thin braid behind her curved ear. He was about to intervene when he saw her lower lip begun to tremble and her eyes shine with tears, but paused when she pressed her cheek into his mothers palm.
Amanda let out a small coo of comfort, but it turned into a distressed gasp. She was gone. Vanished before their eyes. Spock blinked, not having seen her leave the first two times, and somehow finding himself extremely underwhelmed, but also upset. There was no light, no build up, no indication that she was about to disappear. She simply blinked out of existence. His mother’s hand flattened against his pillow, lifting to show him one of Mikelle’s hair beads left behind.
“Where did she go,” her voice sounded hollow with an emotion he had never seen in her before, it caused him to walk forward to her side. His mother smiled weakly at him, obviously shaken by what occurred.
“I do not know, she has not told me where she is from, other than that she is from Earth.” Amanda looked surprised.
“Earth? Wait, has this happened before?” She looked at him fully, and ushered him to sit. Spock felt shame color his cheeks for keeping the information of Mikelle’s visits from his family, but he did not see a choice at the time.
“Yes, twice before six months ago, with one week passing between the first and second visit.” Amanda nodded absentmindedly at the information.
“Was she in this state the first time.” Her voice sounded very tired all of a sudden.
“No, though I did note that she was rather thin. Her clothing was also threadbare each time, and-“ he paused, not sure whether or not it was his place to tell his mother the truth of who had hurt Mikelle. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, bringing his eyes back to hers. He felt alarmed to see the misting of tears in her eyes.
“Do you know who hurt her?” She asked quietly, voice sad and low. Spock nodded, but felt relief when she did not press for the identity of Mikelle’s mother. She sighed shakily, and pulled Spock into a sudden hug. “That poor child, there must be something we can do.” But Spock knew that there was likely nothing they could do at that moment, not with what little information they currently had. His mother released him, and gave him a small smile. “Ah, you’re father seems to be coming home early.” And Spock titled his head, did his mother’s distress alert Sarek?
“Will you tell him?” And she sighed.
“I do not have much of a choice, darling.” She brought her hand up to gently smooth his hair, before using her other to place the bead into his palm. “If I do not tell him now, he will simply find out later.” And Spock nodded in acquiesce.
“And Michael?” Amanda frowned at his hesitancy.
“You do not wish to tell her?” She questioned lightly.
“No.” And she sighed again, but nodded.
“I do not agree with not mentioning this to her, but in a way, this is something personal to you, and Mikelle does have a right to her privacy. I’m not even sure telling your father would be the best idea, but like I said, we don’t have much of a choice.” Throughout her speaking, Amanda’s hand continued to smooth his hair, and Spock allowed her even though he knew his hair was neat.
“What will you tell father?” He asked.
“We will tell him what we know,” and Spock felt unease settle in his gut. He did not want to talk to his father about this. Did not want to have to face the skeptical air that would surround them as they spun their tale. His mother would most like show him, while in private of course, but Sarek’s treatment of his wife was different than his attitude toward his son.
“He will not be pleased.” Spock almost whispered, a frisson of annoyance lancing through him at the tremble in his small voice. He rolled the bead along his palm with his thumb. Amanda tutted lightly, dragging her hands up and down his arms as if she were attempting to warm him.
“And I will be there to make sure his grumpiness doesn’t flood the house,” she said playfully, and Spock felt himself relax slightly. “You care about this girl.”
“Yes,” Spock spoke without thinking, momentarily surprising himself. Before she could respond, a young, feminine voice rang out.
“Hello? Why is the door locked?” Spock felt himself tense up at his sisters voice, and Amanda looked over at him with concern.
“Computer, unlock the door.” Amanda stood, giving Spock a single look before gliding to the entrance of his room. Michael stood there, holding a glass of water, her eyes brimming with curiosity and emotion she could not hide, no matter how neutral her facial expressions were. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Amanda said sweetly as she smoothly lead her daughter away from the room.
Spock sighed deeply when they were out of ears reach, and looked down at the bead. He raised it to eyelevel, and peered through the center of it.
