A/N - This was not supposed to be posted yet. I had planned for it to go up next year, at the earliest. It fits into parts of the "Tides of Vulcan" storyline that have not been posted yet either, but that is not important now. What is important is that we have all lost a great man, a good person, and an inspiration to us all.

83 years is still far too few. But, one never knows when the time is right.

You are safe now, Mr. Nimoy. Shabbat Shalom.

Farewell, old friend. May we meet again.

\V/

"It's hard for me to stop my heart,

Love never knows

When the time is right. . .

Hang on,

And I will wait for you."

- From "Time And Tide", by Basia

Time and Tide

He had never been one to "sugar coat" things. Neither had he ever looked at life "through rose colored glasses".

However. . .

It was good to be back.

Strange, of course, but still good.

Starfleet was rebuilding, the Federation would survive Nero's attack, but the first order of business had quite logically been to repair the flagship. It was a symbol, a useful tool, and a highly important part of nearly everyone's psyche at the moment.

And so, here they were, on a simple supply mission to New Vulcan. He had been invited along, of course, and given a free pass to anywhere on the ship. . .

It was not surprising that he ended up here.

The bridge of the Enterprise looked a good deal different than he remembered, but that did not stop the almost overwhelming rush of nostalgia.

It was reassuring to see Hikaru and Pavel sit in the same postures as they always had - one graceful and confident, the other boyish and excited, until something interesting happened, and then their poses and attitudes would reverse.

Jim sat behind them, the same old grin on his face, the same spark of mischief in his eye. It spurred memories most unbecoming to a dignified Vulcan Ambassador. Memories that, even now, had the power to make him wish to laugh.

Len and Montgomery were on the bridge, then off, then back on again, like curious puppies with incredible energy and boundless good humor, just like he remembered they used to do; walking unceremoniously in and out, sometimes for work, but most times for the sheer hell of being in space, and with their best friends, yet.

Nyota sat in the very back, as usual, executing her work perfectly, but also managing to look like she was overseeing the whole operation. And a very beautiful and benevolent goddess she was, as always. He had never told his Nyota that, but it was comforting to know that she was similar here.

And then, there was. . .

Himself.

Had he ever been that young? His youthful self glided around the bridge as if he were made of oiled springs. He had never looked into the mirror and seen such restrained power - where had this other self learned to be the prince he had never been? Jim might well be in charge here on the bridge, but this young Spock had an air of owning the universe.

A slight, subtle glance between him and Uhura, and the elder Spock ceased to be mystified. Even from his seat in the corner, he could see the contentment, the completion they brought each other.

It was illogical to be jealous of oneself.

"Ambassador?" called Jim.

"Yes?"

"There's an incoming message for you from New Shi'Kahr. You want it in the ready room?"

"Certainly." He rose and walked over to the all-too familiar door. "Thank you. Jim."

Kirk looked slightly uncomfortable at the familiarity. "Sure thing. . . Spock."

The young Spock looked at Jim, then over to him. He acknowledged the look with a nod, but said nothing, entering the ready room and locking the door behind him. He settled into the new chair that reminded him unbearably of the older one. He closed his eyes and centered himself, warding against the sudden rush of tears that twined around his throat.

"Computer, confirm subspace connection."

Another old familiar face appeared on the viewscreen.

"Greetings, father," he said, surprised at how steady his voice was.

"Greetings," said Sarek with a nod, "May I inquire in regards to your wellbeing?"

He nearly smiled. Sarek had been unutterably changed by what had happened to Vulcan - as anyone would be, of course - but it was so very strange to hear softer, kinder sentiments, like that which Amanda had always insisted upon using, coming from Sarek's mouth.

"I am sufficient. I believe mother would say 'I am doing alright, considering'."

"Indeed." Sarek paused. "May I also ask. . . how long will you be staying on New Vulcan?"

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I have many duties and obligations that require my presence off-planet. . ."

"I know," his father interrupted, "But I. . . I wish to speak with you."

"That can be arranged. Our projected time of arrival is three point four standard hours from now."

"Until then."

Sarek ended the call.

Strange. . .

Sarek had called him, not the younger Spock.

It was illogical to wonder why.

That did not stop him from doing so.

\V/

New Vulcan was not, in fact, particularly new. It had been a well-established Vulcan colony for three generations before the Great Destruction. The influx of thousands upon thousands of refugees was new, of course, but the pre-established communities had been a great blessing to the survivors of Vulcan. Dozens of new cities were in the process of being built, naturally, but having their own people here before them had allowed many of the refugees to begin to put their minds back together after the soul-rending disaster of Nero.

Sarek's house was in one of the original colonist's settlements, in easy reach of three new refugee developments.

As he approached it, he could see that while Sarek might be a changed man, his tastes were the same as ever. The house, while not exactly tiny, could by no stretch of the imagination be called "big". No flitter resided in the covered driveway, only a hoverbike. There were no living things in the front garden, but the arrangements of sand and rock that were present were quite strikingly beautiful. The house itself was plain, but the materials were good, durable, and expensive.

The door was answered by a young Vulcan aide. Scant minutes later, end-meal was served by a young lady - the same aide's wife.

Sarek had greeted him silently, and now ate silently.

He was thankful, for if Sarek had insisted upon speech, he might not have had enough control to keep emotion from his voice.

The meal was plentiful and comforting. Halfway thorough it, he saw both aides leave his father's house, and go to their own across the street.

When the meal was over, Sarek invited him to the living area, and offered him tea. He refused. Sarek sat down near him, and composed his mouth to speak.

"Spock. . . I am in a most. . . interesting position."

He raised an eyebrow. "As am I."

"Indeed, but. . . would you not say. . . that is. . ." He paused to center himself. "Six months ago, Captain Kirk came to me, needing to discuss the aftereffects of a meld he had performed with you."

"Is that so? I am sorry he did not contact me. I would have gladly answered any questions he had."

"He knew this, but there was something - something he learned from you - that he wished to discuss with me."

"Indeed?"

"Yes." Sarek paused again, continuing in a gentle tone Spock had only very rarely heard before. "Is it true that, in your native universe, you and Sarek never chose to meld?"

Spock inhaled. "Yes. It is true."

Sarek looked at him, steady and true. "I offer you what he could not."

Slowly, with the disbelieving motions of one about to attain a dream thought forever lost, Spock rose, then knelt before his father's chair.

There was a light touch upon his face, from fingers he had long since ceased to hope would ever reach towards him. . .

A great storm of dust and lightening swirled about them, roaring and growling with hungry sand, eager to strip the life from bones, and the green from the red earth. It keened and crashed, stabbing light into the heart of the land. In the midst of this there was an infant's cry. Down at his feet there was a child, swaddled about in a blanket of soft cotton lace. Emerging from the maelstrom, there came a man like Sarek, but wilder, younger, with an aspect like an ancient god. He stooped and raised the child up in his arms, looking with regal tenderness at it. The storm raged on, unabated, and the flash and tear of lightening became increasingly frequent.

"This will kill the child," said the specter, and handing the infant over to him, he tuned his back.

The storm at once dissipated, and the cool light of dawn shone on the child's face.

A hot geyser sprang to life beside him, all clouds and steam and life-giving water. A hundred yards out, the pools became cool enough to clothe the hard land with green, but from where he stood there was nothing. . . nothing alive. . .

Then he turned, and saw, to his astonishment, a peach tree, green and soft, rooted in the boiling water. The delicately pointed leaves absorbed the scalding splashes, growing more lush and beautiful with every moment. A silent wind shook its branches, dropping a fruit into his hand.

"Eat, my beautiful boy," said a sweet soft voice, holy like a chime of bells, "Never fear, I am content."

A cloud of mist obscured his vision, but when it cleared, he stood atop Mount Seleya, with all the souls of his ancestors sleeping around him. Whispers of the ancient past filled the air. Colors purer and cleaner than any to be seen in the Lowlands met his eyes.

A voice he did not know whispered in his ear.

"Those whom we accept, need never look for mortal validation."

And then he was gone from life, but not dead, enshrined in a perfect crystal of memory, existing for eternity, surrounded by only that which was beautiful, and worthy, and peaceful. Sarek was there, and Amanda, and T'Pau, and Nyota, and Kirk, and Leonard, and T'Pring, and Christine, and Jean-Luc, and Data, and all the others, including all the worthy Romulans he had known, and Klingons and Andorians too.

And then he knew. . .

He had never been an outsider.

No one was.

Then the meld turned, in whirl of diamond light, to the stars. Stars the way they had looked from Shi'Kahr in the spring. Glowing, and clear. So bright and fresh you could pick them out of the sky like gems from a jewel-case.

And he dove, at warp speed, into them.

Sarek broke the meld, gently.

He knelt for a long time on the floor, unable to move.

At last he rose, and sat in his own chair again.

"Father?"

"Yes, my son?"

There was only one question to ask. It was the question of a little child, but in this instance, it was also of the old man.

"Why?"

He did not know if Sarek would understand.

Why now? Why me? Why this?

A look came over Sarek that Spock had never seen on him before.

"If I may employ a Human aphorism?"

"Please do."

"Time and Tide wait for no man."

"Ah. Chaucer."

"Yes."

"Interesting. It is a true statement."

"I believe so."

"I. . ." Spock could not go on. For many minutes he fought tears, his father watching him, but for the first time he felt it was without judgement, without contempt.

"I understand," Sarek said, finally. "I take all the blame for our misunderstandings on myself. There is no guilt upon you."

"But, I was many times at fault. . ."

"No doubt - but I was the elder."

Spock nodded, and finally let two tears fall.

"And now?"

"Now, you are the elder. In any case, I was a fool to let it come to this."

"But, it was my failure," Spock said, thinking of Romulus.

Sarek shook his head. "No. It was the failure of your universe. It did not live up to your desired standards. Doubtless, many times you did not either, but there is no logical need to take more upon yourself than necessary." Sarek paused, then went on, quietly fierce. "I will not let this universe fail you. Over the past year, I have sent three peace envoys to Romulus, each warning of danger, and suggesting meetings to form an agreement that may, in time, lead to the dissolution of the Neutral Zone, and a stable peace. I have told them all we know of Nero, and subsequently, I have learned that at least two Romulan scoutships have made intelligence runs past the ruins of the Narada."

Spock blinked, too surprised to say anything.

"I have just received word that I have earned an audience with the Romulan Imperial Senate."

Sarek imparted this tremendous announcement with all the emotion of a statue.

It did not fool Spock. At last he could see what went on behind his father's eyes.

"I am allowed to bring an aide. I wish it to be you. Do you accept?"

Spock did not have to think for more than a millisecond.

"Yes."

Sarek nodded. "Good. We leave in three days." He stood, "It is ironic, is it not? That Nero should have destroyed Vulcan, but in the process have given us the greatest argument for reunification that we have ever had."

Spock let a small smile show on his lips. "It is ironic, but it is also inevitable."

"No doubt."

Sarek left.

Spock sat motionless for a full quarter of an hour before the walls of the small house seemed to close in on him.

He went outdoors.

A large Sitting Stone reposed in one corner of his father's back garden, still as warm from the sun as the air was cool from the night.

He looked out into the stars. Different stars, certainly, but familiar nonetheless.

And the future looked brighter than it ever had before. . .

A peace rose in him, gentle, and strong, and beautiful. A peace the like of which he had never felt before, in any dimension.

It was as though he owned the universe, at last.

\V/

Time and tide.

Nothing and no one,

Can stop us now.

For better, for worse,

This time I'm sure,

It's gonna last.