Blest As To Have Met…In Time

A/N: This story takes place in the years between Kirk's "death" on Enterprise-B and "Encounter At Farpoint". It was inspired by a statement made by Picard in the opening sequence of the Episode "Sarek" – "I met him once…very briefly at his son's wedding". With the help of "Memory Prime", which calculated a time frame for that wedding, I constructed the following.

Also, while there is no reference in canon to Lady Amanda's death, I have chosen to go with the version from the book Crucible: Spock 'The Fire and the Rose', which places her death in 2311 in a shuttle accident.

In addition, while I know that canon is firm about Starfleet Headquarters being in San Francisco, there has not been real canon set for UFP Headquarters, other than it is on Earth – at least, not that I could find. So I took some poetic license and set it in Zurich…just kind of made sense that the Ambassadorial Headquarters would be in the country with a history for peace and neutrality.

As always, there is no copyright or trademark infringement intended. None of the Star Trek ideas or characters belong to me, I simply have had a long standing love affair with the series' and their characters.

2310

"Your grandfather is here."

Angel Carmona's head popped up from the PADD she'd been reading. "Here? What in the world for?"

Her Orion roommate shrugged one shoulder. "He didn't say, but I'm guessing it wasn't just to say 'hi' to me and to check if you were, actually, here. He could have done that over comms."

Angel sighed. "The universe is just filled with smartasses, isn't it?"

Saketh'a smiled. "Yep. And you and I are living proof. Go, greet your grandfather."

Angel stood. "I'm going, I'm going." She left her private quarters to go to the common area with some trepidation.

Grandpa was one of the most respected medical doctors in the entire Federation, having held a private practice for a time, then distinguishing himself many times over during a long Starfleet career, then teaching at Starfleet medical and finally serving as the Chief of Medical Operations before retiring a few years ago. According to Grandmother, he'd always been a technophobe, but in his retirement, he'd become worse.

So the fact that he was here, on the private island retreat of the Diplomatic Corps, accessible only by transporter, shuttlecraft, or boat, told Angel that is was not a social call.

He stood tall, reed thin, with more salt in his salt and pepper hair, looking through the transparent aluminum wall on the west side of the room at the panorama of the ocean dotted with small islands and the Floridian mainland tracing a dark line in the distance.

"Grandpa?"

He turned, then, and smiled. "Angel-girl," he pronounced in his scratchy Southern drawl. "Come and give your grand-dad a hug."

Suddenly, she was ten again and he was her favorite person in the whole universe. She put aside all questions and moved in easily for a hug. There was as much strength in that hug as there had been fifteen years ago, though, at 83, he seemed to have aged considerably in that time.

Angel pulled back to her full height of just over one and a half meters and looked up at him. "How are you, Grandpa?"

"Going in for another hip replacement in a month, but other than that, I'm fit as a fiddle."

"And what brings you to the island?"

"Does a man have to have an excuse to visit his favorite granddaughter?"

Angel smiled. "I'm your only granddaughter, sir. And when someone hates to travel as much as you do, there has to be a reason."

His blue eyes met hers in challenge and she didn't back down.

"You look like your mother when you get that look on your face."

Angel smiled. "Funny, she's spent my life telling me that I look just like you when I look at her with the same face."

Grandpa scoffed. "What's this I hear you're going to be working for the Vulcan Embassy?"

She frowned. "Where did you hear that?"

"Never mind that, I've come to tell you to change your mind."

Angel's eyebrows rose to greet her auburn bangs. "To tell me?"

He gentled. "Ask. Angel-girl, you are so full of fire and passion for life, a year on Vulcan would be torture for you."

"Poppa," she reverted to her childhood name for him. "Haven't you always told me I could do anything I set my mind to?"

"Yes, but you forget: I spent most of my Starfleet career working with a Vulcan and they're very difficult, if not impossible, to understand sometimes, what with their emotions being all bottled up all the time. And don't you go falling in love with one of 'em. Human females get all wrapped up in the 'mystery' of the emotionally distant Vulcan male and soon their pinin' away for years, holdin' on to some hope that one day the object of their affection will show a crack in their armor," he scoffed.

Angel smiled again. "Well, rest easy, Poppa. I won't be stationed on Vulcan. I may travel there from time to time, as needed, but my base of operations will be here on Earth, at the Federation Headquarters in Zurich."

"Then you're not going to be working for the Vulcans?"

"As a member of the Federation's Diplomatic Corps, I work for all Federation citizens," she recited the standard answer.

"Don't get smart, young woman!" He growled, his bright blue eyes flashing.

Still smiling, she raised her hands. "Grandpa, I will be the administrative assistant to the Federation Ambassador-At-Large. It is a very prestigious position. It gives me great opportunities to travel and be a part of the peace process. You should be happy for me."

The old man sighed. "Of all the traits you could have inherited from your grandmother, why'd it have to be her stubborn determination?"

Angel laughed. "She used to say I get that from you!"

He grinned. "I'll tell you what you got from me, Angel-girl," he wrapped an arm around her. "My eyes, my sense of humor and my desire to help people."

"And most importantly, your ethanol tolerance," she laughed.

He chuckled. "Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to have anything hidden away around here? Man needs something to steady his nerves after having his atoms scrambled half-way 'round the planet."

Angel smiled. "I might be able to rustle something up." Then she frowned. "You didn't come from Georgia?"

"Yeah, but might as well have been from Australia. Same difference as far as getting your parts scrambled like a ingredients in a blender." He shook his head. "By the way, who is the Federation's Ambassador-At-Large, these days? Used to be Sarek of Vulcan, as I remember, but that was years ago. Afraid I don't keep up on these things."

Recalling his words from just a few moments ago, Angel smiled a closed mouth smile, knowing the mischief she felt showed in her eyes. "He's an old friend of yours. Probably the reason your source told you I was going to Vulcan – "

"Spock?"

Angel smiled, wider. "Yes, sir."

Her grandfather paused. "Well, you know what? That green-blooded, pointy-eared sonovagun is in for a handful. Almost feel sorry for him."

"Hey!" she attempted a look of righteous indignation, but her smile belied the emotion.

Leonard McCoy chuckled. "Let's find that bottle and drink to makin' life hell for all those who know us."

She laughed out loud. "You can drink to that. I'll drink to you, your health and our long lives."

McCoy tried to frown but his laughing eyes gave him away. "Party pooper." Then he lowered his voice. "And I'll give you some pointers for dealing with one particular Vulcan."

"Deal," she said, taking his hand and leading him down the hall to her personal quarters.