By morning, the city was deeply shrouded in fog. Lauren arrived ten minutes late at the Medical Center, in a less than pleasant mood. As she entered the research lab her young assistants fell silent, but not before she had overheard Kirk's name. Gossiping. And why shouldn't they? It was all over the morning news. The court martial of Starfleet hero Admiral Kirk had reached a standstill as the military tribunal deliberated behind closed doors. A verdict was expected by evening—a verdict of guilty in accord with Kirk's own plea and those of his fellow conspirators.

Lauren set her mind on her work, but the Friday dragged maddeningly. By afternoon, the fog lifted. Sunshine streamed through the laboratory windows, drawing her thoughts further and further away. It had not been her privilege to serve very long aboard the Enterprise, but the intensity of her experience had left her feeling close to the crew. Often during these past weeks she had wanted to go to Kirk, to the others, and let them know of her continued support, but fear of encountering Spock always stopped her. Today, more than ever, they needed people on their side. Suddenly it seemed selfish to let her personal problems stand in the way of friendship.

Lauren called her assistants together and left them in charge of the afternoon's work. Now that her mind was made up, she was anxious to get going. She arrived at the Federation Council chamber just as the tribunal announced its intention to deliver a verdict. Spectators jammed the observation seats lining the great hall. She squeezed in among the other latecomers standing near the entrance. There was no chance of speaking to her shipmates now. All she could do was watch…and pray.

At the front of the hall, a door opened. The audience murmured as Admiral Kirk strode to the center of the chamber, his officers in a line behind him. They came to attention before the wide council bench. Lauren waited.

There was a communal stir of excitement, the sound of measured bootsteps crossing the hall. Lauren stood on tiptoe and craned her neck for a better view. She glimpsed a uniform and shoved her way forward. Grudgingly the other spectators let her through, and now she saw clearly.

My God, it was him! Spock!

There he stood in the flesh, so outwardly unchanged—yet there were differences she could sense, though she could not have named them.

Spock took his place at Kirk's side, and the audience fell silent. Lauren listened, breathless, as Spock voiced his intention to stand by his shipmates. Elation swept through her in dizzying waves. She only half-heard the tribunal's verdict. Kirk was demoted—to captain—captain of a starship? All other charges were dropped? In the confusion of cheering that followed, she lost sight of Spock. The press of the jubilant throng carried her outside, where she escaped into the broad parkway in front of the building. Had it really happened? Was Spock really there? She could not help but linger among the pines, an ambivalent spy, watching and waiting for him to exit the council chamber.

oooo

Spock broke with his shipmates as the audience erupted into cheers. Stunned by the ruling, he gravitated away from the noisy crowd converging on the floor. A few acquaintances sought him out, shook his hand. He responded politely. In the center of the chamber, well-wishers besieged Kirk for several minutes. Spock watched him catch McCoy in a hug. As the crowd thinned, Gillian Taylor approached Kirk and kissed him. Feeling uncomfortable, Spock moved farther into a secluded corner and waited for the last of the spectators to disperse. To his dismay, Sarek turned and came his way.

"Father," Spock said.

For the first time since Spock's return to Earth, Sarek looked him in the eye. "I will take passage to Vulcan within the hour. I wanted to take my leave of you."

Spock regarded his father warily. "It is kind of you to make this effort."

"It is not an effort," Sarek said. "You are my son. Besides, I wished to tell you that I am most impressed with your performance in this crisis."

Spock could not remember the last time Sarek had complimented him, or if he ever had. "Most kind, Father," he managed to say.

"I opposed your enlistment in Starfleet," Sarek said. "It is possible that my judgment was incorrect."

Spock raised an eyebrow in astonishment. He dared not speak for fear that some hint of emotion would find its way into his voice.

Sarek added, "Your associates are people of good character."

"They are my friends," Spock declared.

"Yes." Sarek nodded. "Yes, of course." If he noticed his son's discomposure, he gave no sign of it. "Spock, do you have any message for your mother?"

Spock considered. A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind, none of which he could relay through his father. Then he remembered a conversation with his mother on Vulcan. "Yes," he said. "Please tell her…I feel fine."

The remark silenced Sarek. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw Kirk looking at him. It was time to go. Collecting himself, he took leave of his father and crossed the council chamber to join his captain and shipmates.

Kirk asked, "Are you coming with us, Mister Spock?"

"Of course, Captain," Spock replied, smoothing the front of his uniform. "Did you believe otherwise?"

"I haven't been quite sure what to think, lately."

Nor I, Spock might have said in answer to the mild reproach. But the night had changed him. The long lonely hours facing up to the specter, measuring himself again a dead hero of Starfleet. With the dawn he had at last seen the uselessness of measuring himself against anyone. He had already wasted too much time gazing into the past. His energy should be focused on the future. And he knew that even as T'Beth's future would be on Earth, his own future beckoned to him from Space.

They moved into the foyer together. A mob of reporters pressed in, shouting out questions, their newscorders thrust forward.

"They're giving Kirk a starship," Spock heard. "How do you feel about that?"

"Weren't you captain of the Enterprise?"

"You gave your life for the ship. What are they giving you?"

"What did it feel like to be dead?"

Remaining silent, Spock glanced at Kirk. The captain was responding to his own share of intrusive queries…and he was actually smiling. Without a word, Spock pushed his way past the disappointed newsmen and emerged into the pale afternoon sunshine. Before he could take a breath, Gillian Taylor rushed up and touched his arm.

"Mister Spock!" she beamed. "Incredible, isn't it?"

Spock sighed. "Indeed."

oooo

From a distance, Lauren watched Gillian Taylor lean close to Spock, lay her fingers on his arm, and speak with animation. Go ahead, she seethed, touch him, share his company, his thoughts.

Bitterly she reminded herself that she had no claim on this Spock. This man in the captain's uniform was not the one she remembered. She could not expect him to acknowledge her. She could not hold him to the old, unspoken promises. It mattered not what clever golem the Vulcans had created with their fal-tor-pan. Her Spock, the Spock of yesterday, was gone.

Fighting back tears, Lauren turned and disappeared into the park.

oooo

Gillian Taylor drew away from Spock and still looking at him, started down the steps. Excitedly she said, "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye—and thanks. Gotta run! On my way to Mer!" At that, she bounded away.

He watched her go. He had personally arranged her passage to Mer aboard a Starfleet science vessel. No doubt she would find divers there willing to help in her work with the humpback whales. She was a most energetic, persuasive woman.

Spock turned and gazed out over the parkway, at the lush growth of grass and majestic conifers. The air smelled of damp vegetation and sea salt. Out on the bay, a ship's horn sounded. Its mournful cry seemed to penetrate to the very core of his being. Withdrawing further into himself, he headed across the lawn.

What was wrong with him? The trial had ended more positively than anyone had anticipated. Sarek had broken his silence to compliment him on his performance, to grudgingly approve his choice of career in Starfleet, and his choice of friends. He should be pleased—and in fact, he was. Then why this restlessness, why this gnawing sense of dissatisfaction? Its roots went far deeper than any reporter's foolish questions.

Walking did little to improve Spock's frame of mind, but at least he was alone. Once in the trees his pace slowed. A subtle breeze stirred the branches above his head. Lively birds fluttered within reach, chirping, cocking their bright heads at him. When he stretched out his hand, they exploded into flight. The park grew silent.

A turn in the trail opened onto a small clearing. In the dappled sunlight a uniformed woman sat on a bench, head in hands. Spock froze. He had clumsily intruded on another's solitude. Hoping to escape notice, he stepped back. His boot snapped a twig hidden amid the carpet of pine needles. The woman raised her head—startled blue eyes, soft golden hair arranged in a single thick braid.

Shocked, he stared at the woman. Even as his body reacted, his mind worked to deny the traitorous thrill of recognition. A cruel trick of an uncertain memory, nothing more. I see Lauren in any woman who resembles her. Take control of yourself.

Then the woman stood. The play of light on her delicate features left no further doubt as to her identity. Drawing back her shoulders, she said, "Captain."

Spock opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. In the past year there had been dreams like this—sudden awakenings in the night, his body feverish, his mind blindly reaching out. Now, in the midst of these cool woodland shadows, he realized what he had been aching for.

"Lieutenant Fielding," he said in as detached a manner as possible.

"It's…lieutenant commander now," she said, then added, "sir."

Belatedly Spock took in the emblems of her new rank. It embarrassed him that he had not noticed. "Of course," he said stiffly. "No doubt well deserved."

An awkward silence descended like a curtain between them. Lauren dropped her gaze to the ground. It seemed to signal an end to the encounter. Spock hesitated and then turned to leave.

"Captain— "Lauren's voice stopped him. "Captain, it's a fine thing you did."

Spock looked back at her, perplexed.

"Standing with the others."

"I could do no less," Spock said.

"I know." A trace of a tear glistened on her cheek. Step by slow step she came toward him, her questioning eyes large with hope, bright with fear. "That's one of the things I always…admired about you." And she whispered, quite near. "Do you remember?"

Did he remember? "Yes." The word caught in Spock's throat. "I remember."

Lauren's mouth trembled. Tears spilled from the blue pools of her eyes, spotting her uniform. "Spock," she said, reaching out to him.

Spock drew back. He could not help it. As much as he longed for Lauren's companionship, another part of him resisted. To join with her would mean opening himself. To join with her would mean sharing the bitter fruits of his ordeal among the Klingons—all his scars, all his shame, all his unresolved anger.

Stricken, Lauren looked at him, her hand still hanging.

"Please," Spock said, "do not be offended. It is only that—" He broke off, unsure of how to continue at this point, or even if he should.

Lauren let her arm drop and made a visible effort to compose herself. "No need to apologize," she said, swallowing hard. "It's been a long time. A lot has happened."

Spock nodded in silence. It might be that Lauren also had secrets hidden. Changes in attitude. New interests. New friends.

She gazed at him steadily. "You look well."

"I am," Spock said.

"Are you going to ship out with Kirk?"

"That is my intention." He hesitated, wondering if she also would apply for duty aboard Kirk's new command. But he could not bring himself to say it. Instead he asked, "Are you still conducting research on Vulcan plakir-fee?"

Lauren seemed to blush. She averted her eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then, "No. That's over."

"Oh?" Spock was surprised. She had been so dedicated to the work. "Did you…encounter an insurmountable difficulty?"

Blushing harder, she turned aside. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry, Captain, I have to leave."

"Of course," he said. "I did not mean to detain you—"

But she was already gone.

Spock drew a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Lauren's abrupt departure held all the sting of a rejection. Yet only moments earlier she had spoken his name tenderly, she had reached out to him. Churning with emotion, he stared at the empty park bench. If only he had not pulled away from her touch. If only he had not been so concerned with preserving his own dignity.

A scuffle of footsteps broke into Spock's awareness. Ordering his features, he turned. McCoy's voice carried through the trees, followed by Jim's staccato bursts of laughter. Arm in arm, drunk with victory, the two humans barged into the clearing. At the sight of Spock they stopped and sobered a little.

"There you are!" Kirk scolded. "What's the big idea leaving me to handle that flock of reporters all by myself?"

Spock's anger flared. "I was not the hell aware that you needed my assistance. It seemed as if you were enjoying the attention."

"Testy, testy," McCoy said under his breath.

Jim looked hurt. "Well, Spock, we vain devious humans are going to do some celebrating. Are you coming?"

Spock did not want to be around anyone in his present state. He needed solitude, a chance to collect himself through meditation. "I must decline," he said without explanation.

McCoy gave him a sharp, all-too-knowing look.

"Spock…" Kirk began. His voice trailed away in frustration.

McCoy spoke up. "Jim, don't push it. He's probably tired."

Spock did not correct the doctor. After all, it was sufficiently true. Excusing himself, he made his way out of the park alone.

oooo

At the door to his faculty quarters, Spock tore off the last of the security tape and disposed of it. Inside the apartment, he raised the heat and hesitated, looking at the phone-linked computer on his desk. Was she back at work now? In her base quarters? Or on her way to the beach house, speeding along in a skimmer, her mind occupied with thoughts and emotions he could not share? He could reach her anywhere. Unless she had changed her number, he knew it. But what could he possibly say to her? He was not skilled in matters of the heart.

Spock went into his bedroom, to the corner reserved for meditation. Closing the blinds, he lit the attunement flame. By its red glow he changed from his uniform into the wide-sleeved robe of a Seleya initiate. There was some comfort in the familiarity of the ritual.

Arranging his robe around him, he settled onto his meditation stool. His eyes focused on the flame. His mind turned inward. One by one he isolated the surging emotions, consciously applying the elementary Vulcan mind rules. A child's exercise. Acknowledge the feeling. Observe it with detachment. Gently let it go.

Simple—yes. Only the feelings inside him did not want to let go. Like the writhing of the flame, they leapt and danced, mocking his puny efforts to control them. Any child can do it. Have you not the strength of a child?

Closing his eyes, Spock concentrated harder.

oooo

At the beach house, Lauren sat staring at a blank screen, heart pounding like a mixed-up adolescent. Go ahead, call him. Tell him the truth. Balling her fists, she imagined what she might say. Uh…Captain, about my plakir-fee research. Well, after you died…and the Vulcans brought you back…there were terrible rumors. I was so full of grief, of anger…I wanted to punish the whole Vulcan race. So I'm afraid I…I went a little crazy. I trashed the whole project. Everything.

The truth would shock him. But he might make allowances for her human frailty. Lingering mood swings were symptomatic of the concussion she had suffered aboard the Enterprise. And clearly Spock still had strong feelings of his own. It was much, much too late for him to deny that. She had seen the look in his eyes when he first saw her.

He did remember their relationship! He did!

Then why had he pulled away from her? Not because of Gillian Taylor. Lauren knew that now. Even now, like a painful echo of her own loneliness, she sensed something of Spock's need for her—though she did not understand how, or why, she should have to endure it. Hadn't he hurt her enough already?

"Leave me alone," she said out loud. "Keep your emotions to yourself if you won't do anything about them." But quickly she thought, No, I don't mean it. It's only that I—oh God, I don't want to end up like Chris Chapel. Desperate for a love you can never fully return. Living on bitter dreams.

Sighing, Lauren went to a newly replaced window and watched sea birds dart up and down the beach, poking their beaks into the wet, glistening sand. Breakers churned as the crimson sun lowered in the sky. Fal-tor-pan could only do so much. He's changed, Laurie. Accept it.

But everyone changes. Haven't I changed, too? That's no reason to give him up.

She had to calm down. She had to be patient. Like the rhythm of the surf, like the turning of the day. It wasn't going to happen all at once. Time had thrown up too many barriers. For now it would have to be enough just knowing that he still wanted her—but that didn't mean she should sit idly by, waiting for a breakthrough that might never come. If Spock went into Space, she might not see him again for years.

Lauren made herself sit before the phone screen and organize her thoughts on paper. That done, she ordered Spock's Academy number. For several excruciating seconds there was no response. She had almost decided to abort the call when the screen flickered and Spock appeared in Vulcan garb. Though his face was carefully ordered, she knew he was uneasy.

"Doctor," he said in a neutral tone.

"Captain." She cleared her throat but her voice remained unsteady. "Captain, in the park I…I didn't mean to be rude. It's only that your question about the research…caught me off guard."

Spock gazed at her without comment.

"I want to explain," she continued. It was becoming harder to breathe. Somehow she gathered her courage and glancing down at her notes, voiced her carefully prepared confession. When it was over she sat back, drained, unable to meet the captain's eyes.

"Most unfortunate," he said at last.

Thoroughly ashamed, she looked up. Spock's pained expression held no sign of condemnation. In a gentle, hesitant voice he said, "My terminal here…still contains portions of the project. Together…we might reconstruct other parts of your research from memory. If you so wish…"

If I so wish! Until this moment Lauren had given little thought to resurrecting the project. It had seemed impossible. But now, if Spock thought his memory sure enough, anything seemed possible. A great weight lifted from her heart and she smiled at him. "How kind of you to offer. I really would appreciate your help."

His eyes warmed. And she thought, now. Now, Spock. Open to me…

But the moment passed and the call came to an end and once more she was left lonely and dissatisfied. The barriers were so steep, the nights so long. But sitting quietly she closed her eyes and somehow knew he was thinking about her. In her mind she spoke, Keep on thinking. Think of me all the way into tomorrow…and when you get tired of just thinking, remember that I'm here. I am still waiting.