"Music I Heard..."

Part 3 of 3

Shevek squirmed, wound up, and let out an outraged howl.

Air bubble, Sarah thought in despair. Not now, Shev. For God's sake... No use. If Shevek were to become telepathic, he was not telepathic now. He commenced to holler as no Vulcan baby would ever holler. She knew without looking that the little face in her shoulder was screwed up and deep pink. Like all Vulcan infants, T'Ara had cried tears, her face pale and suffering. Shevek cried noise.

As Sarah patted the baby's back, his grandfather moved around to look at his face. Shevek howled on, working himself up to a fine fury as his mother found herself torn between laughter and tears. Sarek's eyes met hers, a smile in their depths, and she thought how much he looked like Spock at that moment. Then Shevek burped, sighed, found his thumb, and sucked it enthusiastically.

Sarek's mouth curved upwards at the corners. He sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Sarah.

"It shall be as you wish, then," he said quietly. "But do not make assumptions about Spock's abilities and perceptions, Sarah. He is not himself, and will not be for some time. It will not help him if you believe otherwise because you wish it to be so." His gaze lingered on hers. "Be vigilant. Do not leave him alone while he is awake." His eyes shifted to Amanda. "My wife, attend." And he left the room, heading home across the courtyard.

Pressing Sarah's arm briefly, Amanda followed him.

Watching them go, Sarah felt a great weight lifted from her. Sarek's warning drifted around her, barely heard.

Her second child had been raised a Vulcan. But this one...."I don't think you're going to make it, little one," she whispered, holding the baby close. "I think we just got the word."

Shevek continued to suck his thumb, vastly unimpressed.

Sarah spent the early part of the afternoon watching Spock and his son together. The experience was both moving and disturbing.

Wearing only his falling-off diaper, Shevek rocked and grinned, delighted at having a fascinated audience with such a long attention span. Spock, clad in a lightweight tunic and loose trousers identical to the ones that Sarah and the rest of the household wore at leisure, lay stretched out on the floor next to the baby for the better part of an hour, simply watching Shevek rock.

It was all right, Sarah told herself. He had never seen T'Ara at this age, and he was tired. She leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes.

T'Ara's stories had had limited effect, and the child had finally given up and gone off to rest after lunch, looking pale and disappointed. And he still had not asked even one question. No mental stimulation. As a cognitive therapist, she was one terrific obstetrician.

Her mind wandered to the hospital. Two or three more days, and she would have to go back to work.

She dozed, and woke to find Shevek asleep on his blanket on the floor. His father still lay stretched out beside him, eyes closed, cheek resting on his hand, his other hand holding the child's. The two dark heads were close together on the floor.

This can't go on, she thought. It's no good. But he was resting. They all needed rest.

She woke again, with a start this time, to find Spock looking down at her, a child's urgency in his dark eyes.

"Sarah--"

She smiled encouragingly. Ask me a question, she thought. What time is it? When do we eat? Anything.

"Where is Jim?"

"He's here," she said, flooded with relief. "On Vulcan. Your father says he wants to come and see you tonight--"

"Is he on leave?"

She opened her mouth to answer, and it stayed slightly open. Same childlike tone, but-- On leave. It was the first time he said anything even remotely related to Starfleet.

"No," she said joyfully--and then realized, too late, what she had done. The change in his expression was so sudden and so profound that it literally took her breath away. Suddenly it was no longer a very tall child who stood looking down at her, but a worried, startled adult, eyebrows on the rise.

"Not on leave?"

She stood up and took his hands in hers. "No," she repeated, her mind scurrying among alternatives. There must be no lies. That much she knew. But tell him the truth? Now? "He--they're working on--on a project near Mount Seleya." She wondered if he could feel her palms sweating. What would he ask next? What project? Who are "they"?

"How did he bring me here?"

"He'll tell you that himself, when you see him. Soon, Spock." No promises either. For all she knew, Jim could be in the brig on Starbase Vulcan. Sarek had invited him and his crew to stay with him and Amanda, but Jim had declined. He and his crew had committed a court martial offense when they stole the Enterprise. Spock's family must not be involved.

She squeezed Spock's hands tightly and then withdrew hers, taking his arm. "Please--you've been up since morning, and I have to bathe Shevek." She glanced at the baby, who was awake and bouncing again. "Lie down for a little while. Please? T'Ara will be up soon, and then we'll have supper." Won't that be nice? The words almost slipped out, and she shuddered inwardly.

After a moment he answered, "Perhaps you're right." His words were compliant, even submissive, yet the expression in his eyes had not changed.

"I'll go with you--"

"No." He touched her face, the first time he had done so all day. "I can find my way." He stroked her hair back from her forehead, and now there was another expression in his eyes, one that she found obscurely disturbing. A sadness. No. Something else.... "You bathe Shevek." And he turned and left the room, walking with more assurance than she had seen in him since he returned.

She bathed Shevek, pondering while the baby splashed. Only when she was wrapping him in a towel did she realize what that last expression in Spock's eyes had been.

Apology.

She froze, then spread the towel on the floor, left the naked baby rocking and bouncing, and ran.

Be vigilant. Do not leave him alone.

Spock was not in bed.

He was not in the bedroom.

He was nowhere in the house.

"The Bounty, sir?"

Jim Kirk wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his Vulcan tunic and smiled grimly at his chief engineer. His only engineer, he reminded himself. And this, his only ship.

"Tell McCoy," he said, and wiped his face again, wondering if they could ever get the smell out of his only engine room. Unwashed Klingons didn't smell any worse than unwashed humans. But Kruge had apparently not been big on showers for the crew. "What do you make of all this stuff?"

"T'would be nice," said the Scot, "if I could read Klingon."

"Come, come, Scotty--I thought you were the miracle-worker in this motley crew." The Scot snorted, but grinned a little. Good, Kirk thought. Have to start somewhere. "What do you think? Can we work here in the daytime?"

"I dinna think so, sir." Scotty was trying to look stalwart, but not succeeding. He looked as though he were about to pass out. "The air is a mite thin, and if it's this hot every day--"

"The air is the air." Kirk spoke T'Pau's words before he could stop himself. He grimaced, obviously puzzling the engineer, who cocked his head and frowned. "Sorry, Scotty. Private joke. Very unfunny. I just meant that we'll all need some tri-ox to accomplish this particular mission." He frowned at the profusion of incomprehensible dials and readouts. "And they tell me it's winter here. Looks like we'll have to work at night, then. You game to start tonight?"

"Aye," Scotty answered without missing a beat. "But I thought ye were goin' t'see Mr. Spock tonight," he added wistfully.

Kirk gazed at him in silence for a moment, and then he said gently, "We'll all go as soon as the sun goes down. Then we work."

"Sir, I wouldna wish to butt in--"

"Scotty--" Kirk raised his arm, and then let it fall to his side. "Shut up." He smiled, and Scott smiled back. Then he heard a sound behind him, near the entrance to the ship, and turned.

Spock was leaning against the door frame, exhausted. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his skin glistened. His eyes roved around the engine room as he struggled to comprehend. As Kirk moved toward him, still hardly believing what he was seeing, Spock's eyes focused on him with recognition, comprehension, and horror.

"How did you get this?" he whispered, and slid down a little against the bulkhead.

Kirk grasped his shoulders. "The spoils of war. Spock, let's get you out--"

"Did you have Starfleet's permission to bring me here?"

Kirk froze, and their gazes locked. "No," he answered, wondering if he'd lost his mind. Yesterday morning, Spock had been the next thing to a child. But now.... "I had to reprogram that scenario too."

The dark eyes filled with tears, and Kirk remembered: I weep for V'ger as I would for a brother.

He pulled Spock close, shutting his eyes against his own quick tears, and felt Spock's arms go around him. Living. Breathing. Whole. At what cost? At any cost.

Then Spock's knees gave way and he slipped down, still hanging on. Living, yes. But now Kirk remembered Saavik's report of the physical torment that Spock had undergone while he grew up in hours on Genesis, screaming in agony each time the planet convulsed in its death throes, then collapsing exhausted when the pain left him temporarily. Extreme physical trauma, Bones had said. Anticipate acute exhaustion. Possible complications. Maybe the nightmare wasn't over yet.

"Scotty," he said, "get McCoy."

Beside him now, Scott whispered, "Let me--"

"Get him!"

And Scott was gone.

He wanted to say Hang on. I'm here. Don't let go. But the engine room was a furnace. Spock's breathing was labored, and they were both pouring sweat. Acute physical exhaustion; possible complications. He pulled away and eased his blessed burden sideways, lifting Spock's arm around his shoulders. No good. Spock collapsed against him. He would have to carry him out. But outside the sun was shining. Hotter than this out there? Spock had grown up on Vulcan, but in his present condition--

Then Sarah was beside them, looking scared out of her mind, pulling Spock's other arm across her own shoulders.

"Outside," she said.

"The sun?"

"Almost down. Please. Outside."

They laid him on the ground away from the heat of the Bounty's hull, beneath one of the trees that surrounded the landing field. Above them, Seleya rose gold and red in the sunset. But purple shadows grew under the trees, and a breeze had come up as Sarah landed the aircar near the Klingon battle cruiser.

Spock was conscious, and cooperated as they laid him on the ground. But he then he raised his hand to touch her face. "You think too much about making mistakes," he whispered.

She shook her head. "Oh, Spock--if I'd understood, I could have brought you." In her panic, she had forgotten her medical kit. "I forgot my kit," she said to Kirk, wondering what she expected him to do about it.

"McCoy'll be here soon." Kirk squatted down on Spock's other side and reached out to lay his hand on Spock's shoulder. But before he could, Spock reached up and took his hand. His eyes on Kirk's face, he whispered, "What have you done to yourself?" But it was more than obvious that he already knew.

"What you would have done." Kirk laid his other hand over Spock's. Their gaze held, and Sarah saw Kirk tense, anticipating Spock's next question.

"Where is the Enterprise?"

Sarah suppressed a sharp intake of breath. An hour ago, he had been lying on the floor with a sleeping baby.

There was a pause, and then Kirk said quietly, "I destroyed her. The Klingons were boarding, and all the systems were out."

Spock simply nodded. All the signs were pointing in one direction; he had only to look there. His hand tightened on Kirk's, and they were both silent for a moment. "And the crew?"

"All safe." Then, incredibly, Kirk's grin shadowed across his face, even touching his eyes. "All five of us."

There was another pause, and then Spock sat straight up, his eyebrows flying. "Five?"

"Easy. Easy." Frowning now, Kirk forced him to lie back. Then Spock's gaze shifted from Kirk's face, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

McCoy. A scarecrow with a medikit.

"Heat exhaustion, Vulcan style," she told him, her mind swirling with questions about his mental state. Yet she and Kirk both moved aside as McCoy knelt beside Spock and scanned him.

"How far did he walk?" McCoy asked.

"About three kilometers."

"Lovely," McCoy grumbled, preparing a hypo. "Up to his old tricks. Wasn't anybody watching him?"

"Somebody thought she was."

He glanced at Sarah, smiling a little. "Join the club, Doctor," he said, and then turned his eyes to Spock's. "What game did you run on her, Spock? 'Perhaps you're right'?"

Spock simply stared at him. Finally he whispered, "Did I see the ship fall?"

Another long moment of silence, and then McCoy nodded. Drawing his gaze away with apparent difficulty, he moved to administer the hypo.

"Please don't."

McCoy looked up, startled at Spock's tone. It was the voice of a frightened child, pleading. Again the doctor forced himself to look away, and administered the hypo. Spock's eyes closed immediately. His body relaxed, and Sarah sighed with relief.

"Why didn't you give him a stim?" Kirk demanded.

"That's the last thing he needs right now." McCoy busied himself putting the hypo away, his voice rough. "If I got the dosage right, he'll sleep deeply for about ten or fifteen minutes." He glanced over at the aircar, just a few meters away. "Then he'll be able to make it home." He looked at Sarah then, and she nodded.

"Sleep here?" Kirk persisted.

"Why not? He's comfortable, and this is cool for a Vulcan." Another hypo appeared, and again McCoy glanced at Sarah. Not for permission, she noted with approval. Just keeping a colleague informed. "He's dehydrated," McCoy said. She nodded again, and again a hypo hissed.

"What's wrong with him, Bones?" Kirk asked.

"There's nothing physically wrong with him except acute exhaustion. I told you to look for it."

"Why did he collapse?"

"Jim--" McCoy sighed, and his expression softened. "He passed out, that's all. After what he's been though, he's just too damn weak to be walking around. Beats me how he got this far." Again his eyes turned to Sarah, this time with a question.

As the sun set, she filled them in on what had happened since the evening before. When she finished, the three of them were silent, all looking at Spock, now enjoying the brief rest that his doctor had prescribed.

His doctor.

Of course.

"Doctor McCoy," Sarah said, "I wonder if you'd be willing to take this case. If the patient agrees, that is."

"That'll be the day," said the patient's physician.

"I don't agree. He--"

"Sarah, you're dreaming." McCoy was not speaking colleague to colleague now. It was the patient's wife he was talking to. "Never once has he willingly obeyed a medical order from me. He's always made it a contest of wills."

"He has?" Kirk asked, smiling a little.

"All right. All right. We both have. Habits form easy and break hard. I just don't think...." He looked down at Spock.

Sarah too looked down, and it came to her that Spock was awake, even though his eyes were still closed.

They had often been en rapport on Tara even before they were bonded, and with an eerie sense of deja vu, she realized that they were again linked without the bond. There was no doubt in her mind that he was awake.

"There's nothing physically wrong with him now," McCoy went on, frowning now, still looking at Spock. "But if he keeps going off on his own, anything can happen. He has to have an attending physician he'll cooperate with. His life could depend on it. If Vulcan voodoo will keep him where he's safe from himself, I'm all for it." A harsh, twisted smile. He looked half dead himself. Shock, Sarah thought. What did they do to him on that mountain? "As a physician, I can't take responsibility for a patient who won't permit me to take responsibility." He sighed, and his voice softened. "Much as I might want to." Sarah sensed in him the same combination of deep affection and bewildered impatience that she was also sensing in Spock.

"Bones, I'm not sure--" Kirk began.

"Look, Jim. He gave his father the slip to go find Sarah, and then he gave her the slip to go find you. Do you actually believe he'd deign to tell me what he has in mind?" Now, at last, a familiar tone.

The admiral was silent, scowling.

"Would you gentlemen excuse us for a few minutes?" Sarah asked. They both stared at her. "I want to talk to him alone when he wakes up."

"Lotsa luck, Doctor," McCoy said, but he rose to his feet anyway.

Kirk's eyes met hers for a moment, and they both smiled a little. "Lotsa luck, Doctor," he murmured, and moved off to join McCoy, who was drifting toward the ship.

As soon as they were gone, Spock opened his eyes. "Why didn't you tell them I was awake?"

"I wanted you to hear what he was saying."

"Fascinating," he said murmured. "His argument was totally logical."

"But hardly unemotional."

The expression in his eyes changed then--still intent and childlike, but so much more. "My Sarah," he said softly, "if memory serves, it was you and Jim who taught me that logic and emotion are not always mutually exclusive."

In less than an hour, she thought, blinking back tears. This much of a change in less than an hour? "He wants to make you tea and tell you stories," she whispered.

For an instant, he was Spock again. "That is debatable." But then his gaze strayed from hers, taking in the landing field, the aircar, the figures of Kirk and McCoy now standing with Scotty near the Klingon ship, and then, finally, the mountain above them. Seleya, silent sentinel of his childhood, silent symbol of all that was Vulcan. Again she saw the struggle with confusion, almost fear.

"I must speak with McCoy," he said, frowning, and pressed his lips together. "Will you wait?"

Yes. But the word was never spoken.

Of course. He belonged here. And yet.... I can't do this, she thought. Haven't I given enough? Must I give him up again so soon? But the alternative.... Again the eyes of her mind saw him lying on the floor with his son.

"No," she said.

If she were seeking to revive true memories, it was clear that she had succeeded. All the pain that she had always sought to spare him was suddenly in his eyes.

"Spock, don't." Taking his face between her hands, she spoke with all the intensity she possessed, certain that he would remember the day long ago when she had refused to stand in his way when he chose to return to Starfleet rather than remain with her on Vulcan. "This isn't about who. It's about where. You remember. You do remember." He nodded, his eyes searching hers. "You know where to find me." Withdrawing her hands, she extended the first two fingers of her right hand, and was overjoyed when he immediately met them with his. "You know I'll always be there." He nodded again. "How long does it take to walk it? Tell me."

"Fourteen point...." He paused, and his dark eyes smiled. "...one four one six plus minutes," he whispered, pulling her close and hiding his face in her hair.

She held him tight, thinking He's not going away yet. He'll be right here. He is NOT going away yet. He'll be right here.

"Yes," he said huskily, and pulled away a little to look at her directly. "I must speak to the doctor now."

She nodded. "Please tell Jim I'd like to talk to him while you're doing that."

As Kirk walked toward the aircar where Sarah stood, he kept glancing back over his shoulder at Spock and McCoy, who now stood together in the shadow of the Klingon ship.

Giant shadow, gliding across the window.

Shadow of life.

Feeling the tears come, she went to meet him and clung to him silently, unable to find the words she so wanted to say to him.

He hugged her for a moment and then drew away. "Don't, Sarah. It's too much like...the last time." He took her by the shoulders and shook her a little. "Come on. He'll be fine." His smile wavered then, and he turned her slightly so that he could look over her shoulder at Spock and McCoy.

"Does Jill know he's--here?" she asked.

"I sent her a subspace message yesterday morning."

"How was she when you told her...when you saw her on Earth?"

"Bad." For a moment, his eyes were haunted. But then he forced himself to smile again. "But she'll be fine now." Again his gaze drifted toward Spock and McCoy. "He sort of...fades in and out, doesn't he."

She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together and pressed them against her mouth, unable to answer.

"Sarah--"

She shook her head, clasped hands still pressed to her mouth. What if he's never the same again? What will we do if he never--

"Open your eyes." He shook her once again, hard this time, and she opened her eyes to see him looking directly at her, Spock and McCoy momentarily forgotten. "He's there. You can see him."

She nodded, hands still clasped against her mouth.

"Do you have any idea how far he's come while he's been with you?"

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she said softly, incredulously, "That's what I was going to say to you."

There was a sound from the aircar, and Kirk whirled. "Is there somebody in the 'car?" If he'd had a phaser, it would have been in his hand.

She unclasped her hands and laid one of them on his arm. "Yes. Come on. I want you to meet him."

Leonard McCoy leaned against the ship he had re-christened the Bounty, feeling trapped and scared. Damn Jim. Just walking away like that and leaving him alone with--

"I wish to communicate with you, Doctor," said the terrifying void before him. "And yet--" The frown. Lips pressed together. Don't do that! McCoy thought, and pushed the thought away. This was a patient. Just another patient. "And yet," Spock continued, "I do not."

"It figures," McCoy said drily.

"Figures?" He was a child--a confused, uneasy child in the presence of a wisecracking adult.

Slowly, McCoy straightened up. "I'm sorry, Spock. Try to tell me what you want to say. Maybe I can help."

"I should like," said the enigma before him, "to agree to your terms."

"What terms?"

"The terms under which you would agree to be my attending physician during my recovery," Spock said earnestly, patiently, as though it were McCoy who was a child.

For a moment, McCoy simply stared. Then he murmured, "Well, I'll be damned. Uh--sorry." He scratched his head, his eyes still on Spock. "And what terms are those?"

"I must not give you the slip," Spock answered immediately, proud of himself, reciting his lesson.

"Do you know why, Spock?"

"You cannot be responsible for my care unless I deign to tell you what I have in mind."

Foxy, aren't you. And we all thought you were still asleep. Still can't get the damn dosage right. "I...see. No, dammit--I don't see. Why do you think I should be your physician?"

"It is logical."

"You gotta be kidding. Why is it--"

"Because," Spock explained earnestly, patiently, as though to a child, "it is what we both want to happen."

McCoy closed his eyes and massaged the lids until he was sure he could keep his voice steady. Then he opened them, straightened his shoulders, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I would be honored, sir," he said.

Sarah noted with relief that her son's diaper was still firmly in place for his first meeting with the admiral. She had been in a panic when she put it on, but the silverweb had apparently kept it where it ought to be. Binding him securely even though he could not feel it, the web was designed to keep a small child in an aircar in the event of turbulence or an accident. Now the gossamer stuff floated around him on the padded area behind the two front seats, shimmering faintly in the slanting rays of the setting sun.

Kirk said nothing, but simply stared at the child, a peculiarly ambivalent expression on his face. Somebody else's son, Sarah thought belatedly. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

As though on cue, Shevek over-rocked and fell on his chin, his baby eyebrows shooting high.

Kirk chuckled, and Shevek looked up and smiled, deftly gathered himself up and commenced rocking and grinning while the admiral quietly cracked up. As McCoy and Spock approached across the landing field, Kirk turned slightly toward them. "Bones," he managed, "you gotta see this. You have got--" He was off again--a man who had not had a good laugh in much too long.

Spock paused a short way from the aircar, hands behind his back, head tilted slightly to one side, taking in the view. McCoy approached the 'car, looked in, and asked incredulously, "How old is this child?"

"Ninety-six days Vulcan," Sarah informed him, sliding into the front seat. "About three and a half months Terran."

Hearing a new voice, Shevek favored McCoy with an especially enthusiastic version of The Smile.

"My God," said the doctor, grin spreading. He pointed at Shevek, then turned wordlessly -still pointing, but now at Spock. Then he quarter-turned to point back at the baby while still grinning ear to ear at Spock, who tilted his head to the other side. The smile deep in his eyes was not a child's smile.

Sarah, who had crooked her elbow on the edge of the open 'car window, briefly hid her face in it. The admiral was inarticulate.

Finally getting his breath, Kirk moved toward Spock, coughing a little. "Spock--" He laid his hand on Spock's arm. Even from the back, Sarah could see that he was infinitely more relaxed than he had been a few moments before. "Go home and get some sleep. That's an order."

Hands still behind his back, the smile that was not a child's smile still lingering in his eyes, Spock answered quietly, "I am home, Jim."

McCoy's grin died, but his eyes shone in the gathering darkness. Kirk stood absolutely still, his hand still on Spock's arm, his gaze holding Spock's. Then he turned, walked to the aircar, and laid his hand on the edge of the window opening, his gaze searching Sarah's.

"He knows where he belongs," she said, her eyes meeting his.

"And you?"

"I'm not that far away." She laid her hand on his sleeve. The words she could not find a few minutes before were now quite clear. "And besides...." She tapped his sleeve lightly with her finger. "...I owe you one." Their gaze held a moment longer. Then she exchanged a long look with Spock, and touched the control panel. As the 'car rose silently, she looked down at the three of them for a moment, and then turned toward home.

Jim Kirk stood watching the aircar for a few moments, then turned, walked back to Spock, and stood facing him, his hands also clasped behind his back. And Spock faded in, one eyebrow rising.

"Five, Admiral?"

McCoy thought that he had not seen Kirk grin like this since before Khan.

"That's what you get," the doctor said lightly, joyfully, "for missing staff meetings, Captain."