At dawn a lone man strode up the central walkway of Starfleet Medical Center, San Francisco. His haunted eyes stared strictly forward as he moved through the complex, oblivious to the green lawns and morning-fresh flowerbeds. Pulling his heavy black coat snug against the autumn chill, he climbed the hospital steps.

Spock felt cold. How could that be, he wondered, when deep inside he was on fire? He longed for the heat and serenity of Vulcan's desert sands, for a place under the crimson sky to embrace the ancient disciplines and find peace. He longed to quench, once and for all, the inner flames burning him to distraction—such an exquisite distraction that a part of him longed for the flames to burn on forever. He was torn apart with longings.

Inside the main entrance he presented himself at the security counter. Stepping up to the retina scanner, he awaited the discreet little hum that meant verification of his identity. Then he was free to move on. As usual, he took the turbolift to the second floor and headed for the east wing nurses' station. Behind the counter, a young woman glanced up. She recognized him and her expression grew wary. There was no need for her to ask what he wanted.

Predictably, Spock said, "Room 204, please."

"Sorry," came the firm response. "Nothing's changed since yesterday. You're still excluded from the visitor list."

Spock nodded, as usual. Only this time he did not leave. Instead he took a seat in the nearby waiting area. His position afforded a clear view of the hall security door. Though it was warmer here, a stray shiver crept up his spine as he considered the unyielding barrier of hostility separating him from the patient he had hoped to see.

"Adrianna," he breathed, his mind pressing toward her and the memories of their time together on Ildarani…

ooooo

Spock had attended the Governor's Ball only out of a sense of political obligation, but once there he found something of interest. As he mingled with the Ildaran colonists, his attention was drawn time and again to a slender young woman gliding over the dance floor. The flush of her cheeks was disturbingly familiar. How gracefully she moved. He watched her follow her partner's steps in perfect time with the music, her azure gown billowing. He watched her smile into the young man's eyes, saw his hand tighten possessively around her slim waist and draw her closer. Then the dance slowed and Spock turned from the scene, inexplicably warm in his civilian suit.

A waiter paused beside him holding a tray of effervescent beverages. "Champagne, sir?"

"No." Spock shook his head. "Thank you." He moved to the buffet table, but nothing in the lavish cornucopia stirred his appetite. He saw several of his fellow scientists socializing with the colonists, and considered joining them. But his eyes had already traveled back to the exquisite face with its smooth, honey-toned complexion; to the wavy cascade of golden hair swaying in the dance.

Could that be the same silken hair he had handled this afternoon? While working alone in the treeclan, sounds of distress led him to a grubby slip of a girl fighting to free her hair from a thorn-covered vine. Carefully he disentangled every strand. Some overly adventurous youth, he thought—until the thicket parted, revealing the womanly figure beneath those overalls.

"I feel like such a fool," she had said, climbing out with his assistance. Then she looked at him with eyes of liquid amber, a look of such intensity that he felt drawn into their depths. Shaken, he let his hands drop away from her.

"I was gathering fogberries." She held up a sack full of red fruit. "Here—won't you have these for your trouble?" Her eyes slowly passed over his features and settled on his pointed ears. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Spock had declined the berries and left the area.

Now who was staring? Spock realized that his interest in the young woman was every bit as unmannerly as her ogling of his Vulcan ears, yet he could not to stop himself. In the midst of a whirling movement her face came around, eyes lifted, and they seemed to look directly into his. Her lips parted in a smile, teeth flashing white.

Abruptly Spock turned away and looked down at the buffet table, but he scarcely saw the food. With his mind in disarray, he started for the exit. Midway to the door he lost his breath in an exotic drift of perfume. He seemed to tumble into rich yellow-brown eyes sparkling above a dress of blue. He stopped short.

"Spock," said the woman, smiling. "That's your name, isn't it? Spock—the handsome young rescuer of damsels in distress."

To his dismay, Spock could think of no way to answer but "Yes."

"You left so quickly this afternoon. I didn't have a chance to really thank you."

"There was no need."

"I think there was. Why didn't you at least take the berries?"

Spock caught his lower lip between his teeth and glanced down at the gleaming parquet floor. He did not entirely understand when had motivated his refusal of the native fruit. Fortunately she did not press him for a reply.

"Don't you know how rare those berries are? No, I suppose you don't, being an off-worlder. Someone told me you're involved in the Federation research project here in New Florida, that you're some sort of military man." Her fingertips brushed his sleeve, and a strange current seemed to flow up his arm. "No uniform. Let me guess—you're a spy. A Romulan herbalist sneaked in by the Star Empire."

The current reached Spock's brain. He came scandalously close to smiling. "That is a very fanciful notion, but I am actually a Vulcan astrophysicist on leave from Starfleet."

"A Space specialist? Studying plants?"

"I have many interests." It was true. It was enough said, yet Spock felt compelled to add unnecessarily, "As a Vulcan I have certain abilities that are useful in the telepathic experiments."

"Really!" Her face lit with excitement. "Spock, you mean you actually talk to the Treeple?"

"On a near-subliminal level," he explained. "Their intelligence is of a very different order from ours, but I have managed some interesting exchanges." Her look of admiration deepened. Almost without thinking he said, "I…do not know your name."

"Of course," she said lightly. "I should have introduced myself. I am Adrianna."

"Lovely. It…it somehow suits you." Spock inwardly cringed at the sound of his own words. How could he have said anything so inept, so banal, so…utterly human? Yet Adrianna seemed pleased with the foolish compliment. Flashing him an encouraging smile, she seemed about to speak again when her dark-haired dance partner came up beside her, furiously seized Spock and hurled him to the floor.

Spock experienced a jolt of outrage that sent him to his feet, prepared to fight. The human was more heavily muscled than Spock, but Spock had the distinct advantage of his Vulcan blood.

"Here now!" a man shouted. "Stop that!"

"Yes, please," begged Adrianna. "Please don't!"

Spock glanced her way and met the soulful pleading in her eyes. People were starting to gather around.

Her dance partner raked him with a look of raw hatred and uttered an expletive. Grabbing Adrianna's arm, he told her, "You're my date! Come on, we're leaving."

So this was not her husband. Spock watched the man's fingertips dig into her skin, saw her eyes narrow in response, and he did not like it. Very quietly he asked her, "Would you prefer to stay?"

Her face saddened and with a shake of her head she let herself be led away. Spock stared after them for a long while.

There was no sleep for him later at the scientists' encampment. Visions of Adrianna haunted the dark hours—hours as pressing as fingers on golden skin, leaving their possessive mark, hours as black as hate-filled eyes. In his lifetime Spock had observed many human displays of emotion, but the intensity of the man's jealousy was particularly disturbing—as was Spock's own reaction to it. He had been more than ready to fight. He had wanted to.

In the misty hour before sunrise, he pulled on his clothes and quietly slipped past the row of bunkrooms, out the back door. He paused in the cool, damp air to fasten his coat, then slung his tricorder over his shoulder and strode into the fog-shrouded forest. His dark civilian clothing rendered him almost invisible in the thick growth of Arbori patibilis—or Treeple, as the locals called them. Part fiber and part flesh, the towering treelike marvels were creatures of gentle intelligence and disposition. Just walking the forest, Spock felt his tension ease into a peaceful fascination with these unique beings. Concealed by the fog, he wrapped his arms around a thick trunk and pressed his cheek to the shaggy pseudo-bark. She felt warm. The female exuded tranquility like a consoling mother—like Amanda, with that affectionate smile that had caused Spock such chagrin in his boyhood. Chagrin, embarrassment—stinging proof of the emotions he denied. Once, in a fit of such embarrassment, he had actually lied outright to a young companion. "No—that is not my mother"….

The Tree shrugged against Spock, and he abruptly let go. After collecting his thoughts he made a brief, ironic note of the incident in his tricorder and envisioned explaining the entry to his colleagues. He almost wished he could delete the notation or bury it in a thick report, but it was too important a finding, and he was a scientist—a Vulcan scientist. Perhaps it was time he remembered that. Sitting with his back against the gentle tree-creature, he turned his mind inward and tried to enter a deep meditative state.

…Long minutes passed. He should not have sensed them. The morning dampness cut through his clothes. He should not have felt it. More and more distractions sidled into his mind… Trees. A great, solemn crowd of Trees. Fog, moist and swirling about the ankles of a graceful young woman. The mists of dawn enfold her like a soft, white gown, delicately parting as she reaches his side and kneels in the moss. Quietly she looks on, longing to touch him. With a slow, timid motion she reaches for his hand. As their fingertips brush, her amber eyes brighten with a mysterious intent that seems to flow outward …

Spock's eyes snapped open. Caught in the act, the flesh and blood Adrianna drew back her fingers as if burnt. She started to rise, but Spock found himself saying, "No—wait."

Hesitating, she glanced about miserably. "I…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

Spock was tempted to explain that he had not been sleeping, that in fact he had been thinking of her, apparently even sensing her approach. The warm pressure of her knee against him made it very difficult to think clearly. At last he said, "That was…no ordinary touch. Are you telepathic?"

A slow blush spread over her features. "I don't think so. But it sometimes happens like that—not with thoughts, but feelings." The blush deepened. "I'm sorry about last night. That sometimes happens, too."

Spock rose to his feet and Adrianna followed him up. He could not seem to distance himself from the young woman. Her hair, her skin, her eyes—everything about her was so golden and lovely that he found himself saying, "Well…you are very beautiful."

A sweet smile spread over her face. "And you are very kind."

In the next instant she caught him in a swift embrace. Then she turned and ran down the trail, leaving Spock's heart lurching wildly, his mind torn by conflicting impulses. Call her back! No—I should not, I must not… His eyes lowered to his trembling fingers and he stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. What was happening to him? What manner of woman was she?

Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped his hands around the biotricorder and aimed the sensitive instrument in Adrianna's direction. He switched it on. Readings flashed across the screen—totally unexpected data. Frowning, he punched the reprogramming tabs, but the readings popped back, unchanged. Surely not a malfunction. He took one step toward the thicket, and eyeing the information one last time, knew he would not be satisfied until Adrianna herself confirmed it. Precipitously opting for the most direct route, Spock by-passed the winding trail and plunged straight into the forest. Thorns caught at his clothing and vines ripped, scattering shade hens from their secret nests. As he broke onto a trail, just meters from Adrianna, a small branch snapped with a sickening spray of yellow bloodsap. There he froze, stunned by the deep undulating sound coming from the injured Tree, an agonized cry taken up by the entire treeclan.

Adrianna turned. With shock and displeasure she took in his bloodstained coat, the dirty smears and scratches on his face. Above the wailing she shouted, "What have you done!"

Some detached, scientific corner of Spock's mind urged him to switch on the tricorder and capture this eerie phenomenon, but his hands only wiped guiltily at the stickiness covering him.

"What have you done?" she repeated, her eyes flaming at him.

Even angry, she was compelling. Spock could not stop himself. Closing the distance between them, he caught hold of her sleeve. "Is it true?" he managed to say. "Are you only part human? A halfling?"

"Oh!" She spat the word. "So that's it! Am I only a lowbred mongrel? Go ahead, say what you really mean!" Some of the strength left Spock's grip; twisting away, Adrianna swung at him. Her hand lashed across his cheek. "Say it—my blood doesn't suit you! And I thought you were different! Well bigot, just take a good look at yourself—awash in the blood of the very creatures you came to study! Just listen to them now!" A sob shook her as she backed down the trail. Spock moved to follow her, but she raised a fist in warning. "No, don't come near me. I was wrong about you. Don't ever come near me again!"

ooooo

Day after day at the encampment, Spock forced himself to carry on as if nothing extraordinary had happened. His bruised, scratched face drew questions that he answered evasively. He pretended not to hear the whispers behind his back. No outer controversy could compare to the turmoil within him. Working in the treeclan kept him busy during the daylight hours. Nights were more difficult. While the research team slept, he lay on his bunk staring into the darkness, torn by memories of the strange, bitter confrontation in the woods.

He had not meant to hurt Adrianna. Certainly he had never intended to demean her in any way, but looking back, Spock felt ashamed of his unVulcan behavior that day. His tricorder had violated Adrianna's privacy. He had barged through the treeclan and questioned her as if she owed him an explanation—as if she were his. He had allowed his rioting emotions to overrule all reason and tact. He had acted no differently than her companion at the ball. Why?

Perhaps, Spock considered, he had become over-dependant on shipboard discipline to reinforce his Vulcan conditioning and keep others at a safe, comfortable distance. Alone on this alien world, without the familiar confines of military rank and rules, he suddenly felt adrift. He wished he were back aboard the Enterprise.

By the end of the week Spock was feeling the strain of constant restlessness, of skipped meals, of wakeful nights. He could not dismiss the angry halfling from his mind any more than he could wipe away the bruise from her hand. Adrianna had warned him to keep away. Yet in order to resolve the misunderstanding, he must speak with her. Through quiet inquiries he learned that Adrianna's surname was Lemoine. Both she and her French-born mother, Justrelle, were linguists who shared a home near the governor's palace.

That same night he walked the lamp-lit roads to the cottage on Burrow Street. Light streamed from its windows. Steeling himself, Spock climbed the stone steps to a porch enclosed by a vine-covered trellis. He knocked on the door. It eased open, revealing a middle-aged woman.

"What do you want?" came the glacial demand.

Judging by her accent, this was Adrianna's mother. She was tall and comely, with the brown eyes and hair typical of many French descendants. Spock's attention shifted past her to the softly lit room, where he glimpsed movement. Inserting his boot strategically in the door gap, he said, "I am Commander Spock of Starfleet. I would like to speak with Adrianna Lemoine."

The door jammed his toe as the woman hissed, "Stick to your own kind, you long-eared alien stupide! Get out of here before I call the police!"

Racial prejudice was hardly new to Spock, but he had not expected to find it here. Coolly meeting the fierce loathing in her eyes, he said, "Madam, why not permit Adrianna to speak for herself?"

There was an explosive intake of breath, and then the door burst wide open. Adrianna stood before him, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Go away! You heard Mother, leave us alone!"

Spock withdrew his foot and the door slammed shut.

The jarring crash of that door haunted him for days. Small wonder that Adrianna was over-sensitive and volatile, living in the shadow of such hatred. This only confirmed that people were better rid of all emotion. Those mind-fretting distractions robbed life of order and harmony—they had no positive value. They weakened. They destroyed. They were as haunting as tearful eyes, as alluring as smooth golden skin, and they loomed ever larger in Spock's mind, defying even the soothing ritual of Vulcan meditation. For the first time in his life that inner sanctuary eluded him. However often he invoked the ancient quieting, each attempt fell short. For now, he set aside the effort.

He spent hours wandering the treeclan beneath its living, leafy canopy. The limb he had broken bore ugly scarring on its stump. Though Spock touched it gently and attempted to communicate his regret, the shaggy epidermis quivered and went cold with rejection. It remembers, he realized, dutifully recording the scientific fact. The damaged Tree seemed to join Adrianna in accusing him. Thoughtless! Selfish! Cruel!

Spock slumped against the great trunk. His breath felt so heavy in his chest that his body ached from it. Self-absorbed, he scarcely noticed the quiet footsteps along the trail, but when the steps suddenly halted nearby, he roused himself enough to glance in that direction. His eyes locked onto pools of liquid amber. Icy shock surged through him, burned to fire, and sent his heart racing out of control. Very slowly he straightened to face Adrianna.

"You're following me!" she accused.

Spock made an effort to calm himself, and failed. "Following you? I have not moved from this spot."

"And you're not doing much work, by the look of it."

In a bitter tone he admitted, "These days I'm of little use to the research project—or even to myself.'

"What a shame," she said coldly. "Why don't you go home, then—where the bloodlines are purer?"

As she stalked down the trail Spock resisted the urge to catch, to hold her physically as he had before. But he could not let her go away thinking that he objected to her mixed blood. "Wait!" he called out. "Hear what I have to say!"

She whirled, her eyes blazing. "What can you possibly say to me? You, a purebred, pedigreed member of the Vulcan race. The son of an ambassador!"

Spock was not surprised that she had heard of Sarek. Though he never traded on his father's position, gossip had a way of following him even into the stars. "Some of your facts are in error. It is true that my father is an ambassador and a Vulcan. But I am neither 'purebred', as you put it, nor 'pedigreed'."

Adrianna stood rigidly silent as she dealt with the unexpected disclosure. She shook her head in disbelief. "How can that be true?"

Spock's mouth felt dry. Swallowing hard he said, "Because…my mother is human. Perhaps that is why I behaved so precipitously."

Adrianna studied his strong Vulcan features as if searching for some sign of the humanity he professed. Her delicate brows pulled together in a frown. "You mean…because of human emotion?"

The gold of her eyes was drawing him in again. Scarcely breathing, he ventured a step nearer. "No. Because…I had found someone much like myself."

Hesitantly Adrianna approached him and fingered the faded bruise on his face. In a thick whisper she said, "Oh no. What have I done?"

Leaves stirred in an evening breeze that seemed to sweep Spock's concerns away. All at once he felt free of conflict and completely sure of himself. He placed his hand over Adrianna's, so cool and intoxicating on his face. Softly he used her name for the first time. "Adrianna. It is alright. It was only a foolish misunderstanding."

Her lips parted as she gazed at him. "Can't we just start over…as if…as if…"

"As if we had just now met within the tangle of a thornvine?"

She nodded, her eyes large and welcoming.

ooooo

Nine days went by. Outside, a heavy storm soaked the treeclan, making fieldwork—and their daily tryst—impossible. When Adrianna appeared at Spock's bunkroom door, he could not turn her away. After an hour of conversation, the discussion veered toward personal matters. Carefully Spock answered a few questions, and then Adrianna began talking about herself. Seated in his only armchair, her body grew taut with the effort of self-revelation.

Spock rose from the foot of his bunk, where he had been sitting. "There is no need for this," he told her.

"No, Spock. I want to explain, not matter how difficult it is. You've already said something about your background. Your parents are married. They had you by choice because they wanted you." She shuddered. "My birth was the result of something quite different. Terror. Inhuman cruelty." Visibly bracing herself, she resolutely continued. "A couple of years before I was born, my mother moved with her husband to the planet Sydok. They were conducting research on the development of the modern global language."

Spock recalled that Sydok era from his Academy studies. It was not a pleasant story. A fleet of Donari marauders had dropped down on the peaceable Sydoks, brutally ending a twenty-one year truce between the sister-planets. Many Sy had been slaughtered, and many more captured and enslaved. There were accounts of breeding experiments resulting in many children of mixed blood. From his earlier tricording, Spock knew that Adrianna was part Sy, but he let her continue without interruption, in her own way.

"Spock, there was no warning. None. The defense net had been sabotaged; the invasion warning system was out, too. By the time the Donaris burst through the atmosphere, it was too late. They destroyed everything in sight. They cut down anyone who resisted. Others, they took prisoner and herded into landing craft. My mother…and my father were among those."

"Your father was…" prompted Spock.

"Sydok. But it wasn't his fault," she was quick to add. "Mother says he was a good and gentle man, but no one could resist the drugs they used. They were lucky to have survived at all. Her husband didn't. You see, he was considered too old for a breeder."

Spock briefly paced the narrow confines of the room and turned back to her. "That experience could certainly account for your mother's antagonism toward me. She may find the mere sight of an alien distressing."

Adrianna nodded. "It was over a year before the Federation forces rescued her. By then she was…quite pregnant."

"And what of your father?" Spock asked. "The Sydok."

"I don't know what became of him. Mother says his name was Jory." She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "She settled here on Ildarani a month before I was born. In spite of the memories, in spite of everything that happened—she's shown me nothing but love and acceptance." A sob caught in her throat.

Spock looked aside, granting her the privacy in which to regain her composure. He heard her rise. Her arms slipped around him and she nestled against his shoulder. The unexpected contact sent a powerful flood of her emotions surging past his mental barriers. As he held her it became more and more difficult to resist the urgent feelings they aroused. Then his tenuous control gave way. Drawing Adrianna hard against him, he kissed her hair, her face, her mouth.

By a supreme effort of will, he pulled away.

"Well," she said, smiling into his eyes.

ooooo

Spock did not invite Adrianna back into his room. He had slipped badly. Adrianna's beauty was captivating, her baffling moods a never-ending source of fascination. Just thinking about her could bring a secret smile to his lips—more expression than he had permitted himself in months, in years. Best of all were the times they spent together. Indulging her love of language, Spock taught her Vulcan as they explored remote areas of the treeclan. They dared not be seen in public, and he carefully kept the full extent of their relationship from the eyes of his colleagues. No gossip must reach Adrianna's volatile mother…and perhaps even spread beyond this planet. If Spock's family should find out—his stomach sickened at the idea. Each move he took closer to Adrianna only worsened the tangle he was creating. He could not seem to stop himself. Yet, somehow, he must.

After observing a Tree meld late one afternoon, Adrianna playfully drew his fingers to her temple and said, "My turn!"

Spock jerked his hand away, then immediately covered his discomposure by speaking notes into the tricorder. An awkward moment passed before Adrianna reached out and switched on the tricorder's input button.

"It works better like that," she said, watching him quietly.

Without acknowledging his error, Spock turned off the instrument and started down the shadowy trail. "We had best leave now," he said over his shoulder. "Bengatis abound in this region after dark."

With a few quick strides Adrianna overtook him, placing herself squarely in his path. "It's not the Tree snakes that are troubling you—is it? You've been acting a little strange all day."

Spock stared at his whitened fingertips gripping the tricorder. "The bengatis swallow their victims alive…and I find that a most troubling prospect."

"Don't worry," she teased. "I won't let them eat you." Slipping her hands behind his neck, she drew him into a slow, deep kiss. As always, the intensity of her desire pounded Spock's mental barriers and began to burn through. Grasping her wrists, he broke free of the tantalizing contact and stepped away from her.

Adrianna searched his face in confusion. "Something is wrong. You'll meld with a Tree, but you won't offer me even a simple mind touch." A look of hurt moistened her eyes. "Is it because I'm part Sy? Sy instead of Vulcan?"

"No," Spock quickly denied. He started reaching for her and thrust his hands into his pockets. "No," he repeated in a carefully controlled voice, "you are mistaken." How could he explain? Just being near her produced an intense yearning that strained his mental barriers. With every touch he risked losing control of himself again, perhaps completely. And that he dared not do. From the beginning, their relationship had been hopeless. Why had he allowed it to grow, to deepen?

It must end. He must end it—now.

Meeting the halfling's expectant gaze, Spock inwardly braced himself. Each word was a wrenching effort. "Please…don't misunderstand. I have found your companionship most pleasant. But any mental or physical contact between us is…not appropriate. In fact, it would be best if…if I did not see you again."

Her mouth dropped open. "But why!"

Bitterly Spock said, "Because I am not free," and escaped into the forest shadows.

The last glimmer of daylight was giving way to darkness when he turned from his dispirited wandering and entered the encampment trail. Stars shone faintly through the tangled canopy overhead. Leafy branches shivered with the sudden wakening of night creatures. Quickening his pace, Spock considered the twenty-seven healthy bengatis counted in the last biological survey—mature, territorial serpents that jealously guarded this New Florida treeclan. In the past Ildaran year, two hapless colonists had passed through bengati jaws to their deaths. An unarmed humanoid stood little chance against the steely-muscled giants.

Once again, logic had given way to emotion, and now he would face the consequences. Moving warily among the snakelike Tree roots, he could only hope that Adrianna had gone straight home. He reminded himself that all of New Florida was her home. This treeclan had served as her private playground since childhood. Even upset, she was not likely to expose herself to serious danger. She would never travel along a dark, isolated path such as this.

High in the branches above, Spock heard a suspicious scrape, then leaves swishing. He sensed rather saw the predatory form hurtling downward, and leapt aside. His boot wedged in a root nest. There was no way to stop his fall, no way to fend off the descending threat as his ankle wrenched and he slammed into the rough ground. For one breathless second the impact left him completely helpless. His body reacted instinctively when the touch came. All senses primed to defend his life, he turned. A shadowy face hovered over him.

"Adrianna!" he gasped.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder, releasing a sharp current of anger. "You fool!" she said. Then, a bit more calmly, "Are you alright?"

Spock's eyes darted over the dusky length of trail, the solemn black Tree trunks and gently swaying branches. "I believe so," he replied at last, leaning forward to inspect his fiercely throbbing ankle. "I don't think it is broken."

"You're lucky to be alive," she lectured. "Any downed creature is fair game to a mingbat. If I hadn't come along, you'd be dinner about now."

Spock had a higher opinion of his survival skills. But rather than debate the issue, he pitted his strength against the tangle of roots trapping him, and his boot came free. With help from Adrianna he managed to stand. The touch of her hands proved more distracting than the pain as he limped along experimentally. But clearly he would need her help.

"This way," she said with a tug in the opposite direction. "There's an old trail to my cottage around the corner."

Spock almost objected. Then it occurred to him that he should see her safely to her house. It was only proper. "As you wish," he said, surrendering to her firm guidance. As they turned onto a grassy, little used track he added, "I'd have thought you would be home already. I do not understand why you put yourself at risk wandering around after dark."

She laughed. "Look who's talking! Spock, I may be upset with you, but I wasn't about to leave the treeclan until I was sure you were safe."

So she had followed him! Spock's step faltered, but containing his chagrin, he moved lamely ahead. They broke out of the treeclan, onto the wide expanse of meadowland skirting the rural settlement. Lights glimmered from cottages clustered like fallen stars around the single illuminated spire of the governor's palace. Spock focused on the ornate spire, forcing Adrianna's nearness from his mind, forcing away every thought but one. I am Vulcan. The words steadied him. Vulcan…Vulcan…Vulcan…

Insistent fingers pulled him toward the settlement, but he resisted their enticing pressure. "Thank you," he said formally, "but my ankle is better now. Walking to the encampment should pose no problem."

Adrianna's grip tightened disturbingly. Her face looked pale and anxious in the starlight. "No Spock, come home with me. It's much closer. You can borrow my skimmer and fly back to the encampment."

The blood began to pound in Spock's ears. Somehow his arm moved. His fingers touched the velvet of Adrianna's cheek. But what was he doing? Abruptly he withdrew his hand. Glad of the darkness, he fought to bring himself back under control. "Your home?" he managed to say. "That would not be wise. Think of your mother."

"She isn't there, Spock. Mother's attending an out of town seminar."

The earth seemed to shift beneath him. Dangerous ground. If he did not move soon, his injured ankle—and perhaps all of him—might give way completely. He commanded himself to leave her, yet in the next instant he was saying, "Very well."

Soon they stood on the secluded porch of Adrianna's cottage. As her hand touched the door latch, she gazed up searchingly at Spock. "You say we can't meld. You say you aren't free. Yet…a moment ago you wanted to join with me. I felt it."

A sudden heat rolled up Spock's collar and he averted his face. All across the meadow she had sensed his desire for her. Even now she might be sensing it. There truly was no escaping her.

She opened the front door. "Come in and rest your foot for a while. I'll get you something to drink."

Spock met her pleading eyes and he knew he could not leave her…just yet. Adrianna helped him inside. The comfortable-looking room held no surprises. Delicately patterned walls, a plump sofa and chairs, thick mauve carpeting under foot. She reached for his coat, and it seemed a most natural thing for her to slip the garment from his shoulders.

"Here, sit down," she invited and helped him to the sofa. "Why don't you take off that boot? I have an ice wrap you can use."

"That is not necessary," Spock replied. "We Vulcans deal with injuries in our own way. I can detect some improvement already."

"Really." Adrianna gazed at him with intense interest. Then she hung her coat next to his on a row of wall hooks by the door. The sweater she wore underneath looked handmade. Patterned with subtle earth tones, it clung to her slim figure as she went from the room. She returned with a matching pair of tall glasses.

Spock accepted one. He sipped the tart red beverage and ventured to say, "A fogberry blend?"

"Bingo."

Puzzled, Spock raised an eyebrow.

Adrianna laughed and sank into the nearest chair. "Old English slang. It means you've hit the nail right on the head. And don't worry, it's not alcoholic. I wouldn't want to get you drunk."

The "nail" reference only added to Spock's confusion. He drank deeply of the juice. Such pleasing warmth spread through his body that he said, "Surely there is some alcoholic element to this beverage."

"Not alcoholic, Spock. Medicinal."

"Ah." He had heard humans call liquor "medicinal". He set the glass on a table beside him. It was time to go. He was about to test his ankle when Adrianna spoke again.

"You're married, aren't you?"

Spock's heart lurched. His eyes went to the halfling. She was not smiling now.

"You said you're not free."

Spock struggled with his notions of Vulcan privacy. Had Adrianna a right to such delicate information? Clearly his behavior gave her that right. He had gone too far. It was no longer a matter of propriety—it was a matter of personal embarrassment.

In the silence Adrianna rose and came up behind the sofa. Her hands found the rigid muscles along Spock's shoulders and began a slow, intoxicating massage. As the tension resisted her, she sighed. "What are you hiding? You've never said it, but I know you love me. I can feel it right through my fingertips."

Spock shrugged away from her seductive touch. Rising up, he scarcely noticed his tender ankle as he confronted her. "You presume a great deal."

Adrianna faced him, flushed and defiant. "Go ahead then, deny it. Say you don't love me."

Spock stood rigidly setting himself against her irresistible beauty. The effort made his voice sound harsh. "It is unfortunate that you have read so much into our relationship."

"Oh no, you're not going to get away with that!" Her amber eyes flamed as she thrust herself between Spock and the door. "Look at me. Have you forgotten how much we've already shared?" Spock looked at her. No, he had not forgotten. As his shoulders slumped in defeat, Adrianna touched his cheek gently and he did not pull away. "I don't understand that Vulcan reasoning of yours. How can it be logical to deny your own feelings?"

He shook his head wearily. "You do not understand. I cannot—we must not continue." Taking a deep, shaky breath he confessed, "There is another. On Vulcan. We were…betrothed as children, in the customary manner, and she waits there now for…for the time of marriage." Adrianna's fingers went still, frozen on the firm plane of his cheek. Spock could not meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. I really am not free."

Her hand left Spock's face to gesture impatiently. "So that's what you meant. I can't believe it—an arranged marriage! And what are your feelings in the matter?"

He looked up, honestly surprised at such a question. "Vulcan bonding is not left to the vagaries of animal passion. It is a family concern, decided ahead of time in a logical manner." Realizing the insinuation of his own words—that he had no passion for his betrothed—he glanced aside and added stiffly. "It is the way of things."

Adrianna studied him. "You feel nothing for her, nothing for her at all. You don't even say her name."

Spock's reply came painfully slow. "We are joined…even now. Parted…yet never apart, bound together until…our marriage is finalized."

"And when will that be? Why hasn't it happened?"

That question Spock would not answer. How could he speak of Vulcan pon farr and the plak tow bonding his betrothed demanded? It was her right. She would not settle for less, and so their marriage had been delayed far beyond the Vulcan norm—delayed, perhaps, indefinitely. Spock's halfling physiology was different from that of a full-blooded Vulcan.

As the silence stretched, Adrianna turned away. Now was the time to leave. Instead, Spock came up from behind and slid his arms around her waist.

"Well," she said, her voice soft and challenging. "Who's to say which 'way of things' is right…or wrong? I only know that I love you." She turned in Spock's embrace and faced him, so warm and desirable that the breath caught in his throat. In flawless Vulcan, she whispered, "M'ra tu beru."

The words set Spock's heart pounding out of control. Be thou with me. He had not taught her that phrase. Did she know its true intent? He might have summoned the strength for one final protest—No! This is not right, I will not!—but he so wanted, so needed what lay before him that he ignored the pleading of his conscience. Then her mouth was on his, silencing that inner voice with a strange, heady rush of emotion. Pulling Adrianna closer, he abandoned himself to the pleasure.