Days passed before Lauren overcame her confusion and gave Spock a phone call. The fact that he had not answered her question outside the museum made it clear that he still cared for her, yet he held himself so aloof. He had said that their marriage was over and he wanted their bond dissolved, but when she touched his hand she could sense how deeply it affected him.
Her changeable feelings were another matter. Now, over the phone, she suggested that rather than keep apart, they should attempt to improve their relationship before the baby comes. Spock reluctantly agreed. Over the weeks that followed, they met at regular intervals. There was no more touching, but neither were there any serious arguments. Christmas came and went, and the new life within Lauren quickened and grew until she found the heaviness of her body becoming a burden.
She no longer told her mother when she was going to see Spock. She had heard all the tired objections. She would rather listen to the sounds of her own heart, and the way it warmed and beat faster each time she found him waiting under the Chagall. She had come to the conclusion that she still loved him. But what good was love without trust?
oooo
Spock sat before his computer screen, staring intently at the image of a young female ensign. Not that he would ever forget any detail of Reesa Weller's appearance, or the personal data in her Starfleet file, marked deceased.
A chill wind buffeted a half-open window across the room, carrying with it the scent of approaching rain. T'Beth had left the window open again. She was always leaving things open, or turned on, or carelessly strewing her belongings around his apartment. It was, he suspected, yet another form of youthful rebellion on her part—like the discordant, unsettling beat of the music coming from her room where she was supposed to be doing a school assignment. If this was any indication of her weekday study habits, no wonder her achievement was going downhill.
Shutting down the computer, Spock went to T'Beth's door and knocked. Of course she could not hear him. Overriding the privacy lock, he stepped inside and switched off her music.
Atop her bed, T'Beth tossed aside her datapadd and eyed him venomously. "I had that door locked!"
"Yes—and if your music was turned lower, you might have heard me knocking."
She sighed loudly. "What do you want? You told me to study—so I'm studying."
Spock looked at her for a long moment, reluctant to further upset the tenuous balance of their relationship. "T'Beth," he began carefully, "there are about to be some changes of which you should be aware."
T'Beth sat up and tucked her sock-covered feet under her.
"Lauren is coming back to California." Spock steeled himself. "However, she will not be living here."
T'Beth's eyes widened. "What?"
"She will be staying at her beach house down the coast."
"Not here with you?" she asked with all the bluntness of youth. "Why? What's going on?"
Spock revealed, "We…have found it necessary to separate."
T'Beth stared at him. "It's another woman, isn't it? The dark-haired one. I caught you looking at her picture one day. You blanked the computer screen in a hurry."
Ensign Weller. Spock went to a window and looked out. The cloud cover had thickened. A fine mist of rain gusted against the glass. "No, T'Beth. That woman died…some time ago. This present matter is strictly between Lauren and myself." He turned toward her and found the girl waiting expectantly. "There is something I must tell you. Lauren is carrying a child. He will be your half-brother."
T'Beth's mouth fell open. Slowly the look of astonishment gave way to an unattractive smirk. "Oh, so that's what it's all about. You got her pregnant, then walked out on her and the baby—just like you did with me."
Anger welled in Spock so suddenly that it almost escaped him in a violent way. Abruptly he retreated to the privacy of his bedroom and sat in a chair, fighting for control. He knew there was only one reason why T'Beth's words could affect him so profoundly—because they contained a bitter core of truth. It was a fact—he had deliberately walked out on her before she was born.
There was a tapping on his door. When he ignored it, T'Beth came in and stood stubbornly in the entrance. He did not dare look at her in his present state.
"Father," she said in a strange, thick voice.
He finally turned and found her eyes full of tears.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Slowly Spock stood, his anger dissipating. He, too, was sorry—with an aching burden of sorrow that spanned the entirety of his daughter's young life. He said, "I cannot excuse what I did to you. We have both lived with the consequences of my decision, have we not? But there is not a day that I don't regret it, however illogical regret may be."
T'Beth's gaze left his and slid to the floor. "I found out from McCoy why you left me to my grandmother—all the terrible things she told you. But I wish you hadn't gone. Things would have been so different."
Her eyes rose and Spock gave a silent nod of agreement.
She said, "You didn't leave Lauren because of the baby."
"No," Spock said, "and for the record, Lauren left me—and with good reason. I am telling you this because I do not want you to think ill of her."
T'Beth wiped at her tears and gave him a questioning look. "I don't get it. Lauren was crazy about you. What could have possibly happened?"
Spock said nothing.
"She hasn't been aboard the Enterprise for months," T'Beth surmised correctly. "She's been in New York with her mother. That's why you've been going there—that's why you didn't want me along. You're trying to win her back."
Spock denied it. "Full reconciliation is neither possible…nor advisable. But for the child's sake, we are attempting to be…amicable."
Predictably, T'Beth show no regret over the failed marriage, but her eyes took on a rare, dreamy look as she softly said, "I'm going to have a brother."
oooo
Lauren sat resting on the freshly swept porch of her beach house. It was pleasantly warm. The azure sky hung as brilliant as a jewel above the restless expanse of the Pacific Ocean. She was quite content just to drink in the familiar sights and sounds and scents while Spock and his daughter fetched the last of her boxed belongings from the beam-down area in the yard and carried them inside.
Helping had been Spock's idea and she had agreed to it, never expecting that he would bring T'Beth along. The girl had changed since Lauren last saw her, having filled out considerably, but what surprised Lauren most was the pleasant, eager way she was pitching in. T'Beth actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Perhaps last summer's volunteer work at Starfleet Medical Center had done her some good. Or was it the effect of having Spock at home? He was trying hard to be a good parent.
A sudden stirring drew Lauren's attention elsewhere. Smiling wistfully, she laid a hand on her growing belly. The baby was large, healthy, and kicked with the stubborn strength of a Missouri mule. With only six weeks more to go, she found her arms aching to hold him. How could something conceived out of pain, tug so warmly at her heart?
Spock came out on the porch, and sinking into a chair beside her, gave Lauren an appraising look. "I believe you have made a wise decision in coming here," he said low.
"So do I," she admitted. One more negative comment from her mother and Lauren might have slayed the woman. "Thank you for helping me move."
He merely nodded.
Turning from his dark eyes, she looked out over the ocean, losing herself in the sensual memories this place evoked. Here is where they had shared their first deep meld. Here is where they had come for a week of bonding after the wedding ceremony. And when she dreamed of their child, this is where he ran, laughing as he chased the surf.
T'Beth opened the screen door, and finding the two of them together, hesitated.
Spock stood. "Lauren, we are leaving now, but with your permission we will come back and visit. I find it rather worrisome that you are staying here alone. If there is any problem, at any time—please call me."
"I'll be fine," she assured him. With the passing of time, she dwelled less and less on the incident that drove them apart. There were moments—such as now—when she actually forgot. Out of old habit she almost reached for his hand and barely stopped herself. Would he have answered her touch? Wondering, she watched Spock and T'Beth get into their skimmer. She saw the girl smile and say something to her father, then saw his eyebrow lift. It looked to Lauren as if they were sharing a good joke at her expense. And it hurt. All at once, her good will vanished like the ocean mist.
oooo
One Thursday night in the following month, Spock awoke suddenly. He had been dreaming, and though he could not recall any specific details, the experience had been both painful and alarming. As the sleep faded from his mind, he realized it had been something more than a nightmare. Not bothering to turn on a light, he went to the phone.
There was no answer at the beach house. Pulling on his clothes, he put in a second call, this time to Starfleet Medical Center. Lieutenant Commander Fielding had been admitted. She was in active labor.
Spock's heart began to race. Since moving back to California, Lauren had grown ever more distant. Now she had not even informed him of the impending birth. Should he go to her? He hesitated beside the phone before making his decision. Walking would have taken too long. He flew his skimmer to the hospital, all the while reminding himself that birthing was a natural process, that both Lauren and the baby seemed healthy. There was no cause for alarm, but despite the application of logic, a part of him wound tight at the thought of what was about to transpire.
Arriving, he went directly to the maternity unit and checked in at the main desk. Two nurses conferred in whispers before banishing him to a nearby waiting room. Spock sat near a nervous-looking human male and his thoughts drifted to the scene of his own birth as he had witnessed it last year in the eidetic images projected by Sybok aboard the Enterprise. Spock had not cared for the way Sarek remained aloof from his wife's travail, waiting impassively for the newborn to be handed to him by a female attendant. And now here he was, in a very similar situation...
"Captain Spock?"
He looked over and found a nurse crooking her finger at him. Wordlessly he followed her down the corridor to a private room where Lauren lay propped on a birthing bed. She appeared tired and tense, as if she would rather not be there, no matter how pleasant and homey the room had been made to appear.
"You did not call me," he observed.
"I never said that I would." Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. Biting her lip, she struggled for control. "Spock, I'm scared. Really scared."
That, he had not expected. His protective instinct aroused, he stepped closer and said, "I am here."
"Isn't this ridiculous?" She sniffled and wiped at her tears. "I'm a doctor, for heaven's sake."
"You are a woman," Spock said, "who is about to give birth for the first time. According to my research, some apprehension is natural."
She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if his words had somehow annoyed her. Then she looked at him and said, "I was thinking about something before you came. T'Beth's mother died when she was pregnant—right here—in this very hospital."
"Yes." There was no escaping the unpleasant memory. "But unlike Adrianna, you are in good health."
Abruptly her face contorted with pain. As the contraction took hold, he watched her focus on her breathing and try to relax. It did not look as if she was having very much success. The contraction passed and she lay back, catching her breath, her face damp with perspiration.
"You could ask for pain relief," Spock suggested.
"No," she said with admirable determination. "I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way."
Spock told her, "A Vulcan healer can ease the pain of birth through a mind touch."
Taking a damp cloth from a side table, she pressed it to her forehead and said, "Are you suggesting a meld?"
"A husband might attempt such a joining…but considering our circumstances, that would be inadvisable." Distancing himself from her physically and emotionally, he sat in a chair. And waited.
Before long she uttered a little moan of discomfort, and then the contraction began in earnest. White-faced, she closed her eyes and struggled against the pain. Spock stood. It was difficult watching her suffer. He pictured himself reaching out, touching his fingertips to her face and initiating the process of mental contact. He could almost feel her pain slashing through him, and how he would welcome it and gently interpose a calming sense of peace.
Gradually she relaxed and when it was over, her eyes settled on him. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.
Taken aback he said, "Perhaps…I should wait elsewhere."
"Big help you are," she muttered, reaching for ice water. "Get on out, if you can't take it."
Spock did not know whether to leave or stay. "What," he asked, "would you have me do?"
"You're asking me? Don't you always do exactly what you want?"
Spock gave serious thought to the accusation. "I believe you know that is not true. You are overwrought."
She glowered at him and he sat down and for a time nothing more was said.
A doctor arrived to examine her. Spock left the room and wandered down a corridor, to the infant nursery. Several newborns lay swaddled in bassinets. Some slept quietly while others cried out in loud, distressing voices. It was difficult for Spock to visualize the swelling in Lauren's belly as a fully formed child such as these. Lauren's loose maternity clothing had always hidden any sign of the baby's movement, and she had never invited him to feel the usual kicks and stirrings. As he gazed through the nursery window, he wondered if she would let him touch their son once he was born.
Spock heard footsteps in the corridor and turned to find the graying, middle-aged woman who had examined Lauren.
"Captain Spock?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Commander Janet Carlson, your wife's obstetrician."
"Yes, Doctor."
"I just wanted to tell you that Lauren's labor is progressing just fine, no problems in sight." She paused. "According to the records, you're half human—correct?"
"That is right," Spock said.
"Interesting," mused the doctor. "A month or so back I ran a genetic scan on the boy, but you probably know that already. His brain shows some Vulcan characteristics, and he has your dark hair."
Lauren had not told Spock of the scan or its results. He said, "My wife had been hoping for blond hair and blue eyes."
Carlson smiled. "Well, at least she got the eyes right."
oooo
The contractions were coming closer together now, and seemed more intense. Doctor Carlson had said she almost fully dilated. Lauren lay back, trying to rest and calm herself in the brief intervals between sieges. The bulk of the baby made it difficult to breathe. She felt on the verge of hyperventilating.
Where was Spock? Why hadn't come back?
Fighting tears, she rang for the nurse and asked her to page him. Spock appeared a few minutes later, looking so placid that her temper flared once again. "Where have you been," she cried.
For some reason her question seemed to throw him off guard. After a pause he said, "I took the liberty of calling your mother."
"You what?" But then a contraction caught her and she used her anger to help ride it out. At last she was able to gasp, "Why couldn't you have asked me first? Oh my God—I can just imagine what she must have said to you!"
"We had a pleasant conversation," Spock said levelly.
"Pleasant?" Lauren said in disbelief.
"She said she would be here shortly."
"Here?" Lauren lay back and moaned. "Why, oh why did you go and do that? Why, why, why?"
Spock was silent for a long moment. Looking downright forlorn he said, "I thought you would find your mother's presence…reassuring."
Lauren sighed and closed her eyes. "You don't understand. All I wanted to do was have my baby in peace." Then she felt her uterine muscles tightening again. Reaching out to Spock, she said, "Come here."
Though he hesitated, his hand finally closed over hers. It seemed that she was crushing his fingers, but he did not appear to mind. She tried not to think about the personal feelings her touch might reveal to him—just now all that mattered was having him near. When it was over she said, "Well, we'll just deal with Mother when she gets here, but don't expect her to be gracious. What about your parents? Have you told them the baby's coming?"
Spock withdrew his hand and said, "I have not."
Lauren got an odd feeling. "They do know I'm pregnant—don't they?"
He gave no answer.
"They do know we separated?"
Spock moved to the foot of the bed. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "My messages to them have not touched on personal issues. I likewise suggested to T'Beth that she not discuss certain details, even to Aunt Doris…as a matter of Vulcan privacy."
Lauren stared at him, realizing for the first time just how profoundly embarrassing he must be finding the whole situation. "Let me get this right. Amanda and Sarek are about to have a grandchild they don't even know about?"
Spock's reply was slow in coming. "It was never my intention to…deceive them."
The start of another contraction sent pain lancing into Lauren's back. Suddenly an alarm sounded on the infant monitor above the bed. Spock glanced at the monitor before meeting her eyes, and for an instant time seemed to stop. Then the baby kicked hard against the confining muscles and everything went back into motion.
Nurses burst in and took over the room, clearing away everything they considered nonessential, including Spock. There followed a brisk, professional exam by her obstetrician. Then, the dreaded words.
"We have a problem."
oooo
Spock refused to pace about the waiting room like a jittery human. Standing motionless, he gazed out at the first light of dawn and handled his inner tension with methods he had learned as a child and later relearned on Mount Seleya. The medical procedure would not take long. Modern caesareans were routinely done, with excellent outcomes; mother and child should suffer no ill effects. Still, it was unfortunate that Lauren was unable to deliver the child naturally, as she had wanted.
A set of brisk, light footsteps entered the waiting area.
"There you are, Spock."
Turning, he stiffened at the sight of Lauren's mother. No longer sure what to expect from her, he said, "Mrs. Fielding. I trust your trip was uneventful."
"No so uneventful here, I see. What's this? They're doing a caesarean?"
"Yes," Spock confirmed. "The umbilical cord became dangerously compressed. A vaginal delivery would have been unsafe."
"What a shame," she said, her blue eyes moist with sympathy. She sank into a chair. "But she'll be fine, I know it. Come here, Spock, sit beside me. We have a lot of catching up to do."
It felt awkward taking a seat beside the mother of his estranged wife. At the wedding reception he had promised Elizabeth Fielding that he would never do anything to harm her daughter. Only a few months later he had broken that promise—brutally. "Mrs. Fielding," he began, "I do not know how much Lauren has said…"
She interrupted. "Call me Elizabeth, please. As for Lauren, her mouth is closed tight as a clam. But don't worry, it will all work out. That girl is still crazy about you—all winter long I saw the signs of it. Even so, it took some working to get her back here in California where she belongs."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "She told me she was tired of New York."
She laughed—a pleasant, joyful sound. "I'm the one who tired her! And none too soon. I was beginning to run out of bad things to say about you."
Spock's eyebrow edged higher. "Reverse psychology?"
Her eyes glittered wickedly. "You won't let her know, will you? I'm supposed to be hating you—at least for a little while longer."
Now Spock understood Lauren's distress at the thought of her mother coming, and the situation took on a whole new significance. Surely Lauren would not want to deal with any discord today, but was there another element to her concern? A desire to shield him from her mother's wrath? The thought made him distinctly uneasy. He had occasionally sensed a growing tenderness in Lauren, but had never encouraged it. In time they would consult the healer T'Mira and have their bond dissolved. Lauren would be free of him and go on to marry someone more suitable.
Spock studied Lauren's mother. Chronologically, they were very close to the same age, but while she was beginning to grow old, Spock had just entered into the long middle age of Vulcans. He looked young enough to be her son. "Elizabeth," he said, "I want you to know that your daughter has good reason to be angry with me. I told you I would never hurt her, but I did. And it is not a hurt that can be glossed over by gifts and fine words. Our marriage is over."
Her face saddened. "But we all make mistakes. She must realize that."
Remembering, Spock turned his face to the dawn. He was silent a moment before he said, "Some mistakes are best left unforgiven."
oooo
Lauren awoke from the anesthesia field gradually, rising layer by layer to a drowsy state of consciousness. Blinking against the light, she found a stranger smiling down at her.
"That's it—wake up," the nurse said kindly. "Don't you want to hold your little son?"
Dreamlike images swam through Lauren's head. A surgical room, the sound of a newborn's cry, a brief glance at something bluish and greasy...
She struggled to sit upright and winced in pain.
"Wait," the nurse warned, helping her get comfortable against the pillows. "The incision closed very nicely, but you're going to be a little sore for a couple of days. Just take it slow."
Lauren's mind came into focus. She was in an ordinary hospital room, only beside her bed there was a baby sleeping in a transparent bassinet. The nurse gently picked up the bundled infant and placed it in her arms.
Lauren looked down on her son's perfect little features and her heart melted with tenderness. His ears were round enough to be considered human, the delicate scattering of brows only slightly arched. But in the set of his eyes she saw Spock. Glad of it, she kissed his dark, fuzzy hair lightly, and he squirmed and made a face.
The door opened. Spock and Lauren's mother entered together, neither of them bleeding openly. As the nurse left, Spock hung back while Mother rushed forward and made a fuss over her and the baby.
"Oh, isn't he adorable? I saw him in the nursery. Just look at that precious little face. Thank God, he takes after the human side!"
"Mother!" Lauren hissed.
"Now settle down," Elizabeth crooned, "or you'll upset the little darling."
But the little darling was already well on his way to being upset. Grimacing, he waved his tiny fists and let out a squall that soon escalated into a full-fledged tantrum.
Elizabeth reached for him. "Here, Laurie, why don't you let me—"
"No." Lauren held him firmly. "Please, Mother, I want to be alone with Spock—just for a while. Okay?"
Elizabeth raked Spock with her eyes. "Alright. Why not? I'll just go stand out in the hallway. Never mind that I came 3000 miles to see my first and only grandchild…"
The door closed behind her, and Lauren found herself trying to calm nine pounds of red-faced indignation. Spock approached the bed. It seemed to Lauren that he was repressing some sort of amusement, and since she was feeling rather inadequate just then, she took it as an affront to her maternal competence. "Well, if you think you're such an expert," she said tartly, "you try and calm him down."
Spock's eyes settled on his son and abruptly went serious.
"Well?" Lauren prompted.
She held out the thrashing infant, expecting Spock to make some excuse and back away, as she once saw him do with another baby. Instead, he slowly reached out and gathered his son awkwardly into his arms. Lauren resisted an urge to rearrange the baby, and given a moment, Spock managed to right things on his own. Gazing into his son's face, he jiggled his arms a little, and the baby's cries began to subside.
Very gently, Spock spoke to him. "You are angry, aren't you? It is not easy being born."
The baby's fist found its way into a pink, toothless mouth and he sucked at it noisily. The room grew still. Spock had actually calmed him, and Lauren's heart warmed at the sight. She watched, breathless, as Spock tilted his head and studied the tiny inscription on their son's identity bracelet. His eyes widened.
Clearly stunned, he looked at Lauren. "S'chn T'gai? But—"
"You're his father," she said. The baby lost his fist and began to fuss loudly. "Bring him here—I think I know what he wants."
Spock sat beside her on the bed and carefully handed over their son. Lauren opened the front of her gown and put the newborn to her breast. Instantly he ceased his fussing and latched on with painful vigor. Still feeling a bit groggy, Lauren closed her eyes. After a time she dozed off, and later woke to find Spock gone and the baby sleeping soundly in the bassinet.
oooo
Flowers filled the hospital room. Spock felt their pollen working on his nose the moment he cracked open the door. Seeing that Lauren had awakened, he entered, carrying at his side the huge, flat, rectangular gift left behind by her mother—obviously a piece of art.
Lauren looked lovely against the pillows as she gave him a sweet, drowsy smile. Her golden hair had been freshly brushed, and as always several short, unruly strands curled about her face. Nestled beside her, the baby breathed so softly in his slumber that Spock could barely detect the sound.
Leaving Elizabeth's gift near the door, he walked over to the bed. Quietly he said, "I went to the academy to arrange matters for the day. It took longer than I had anticipated."
Lauren gestured at the bank of floral arrangements taking over the room. "I can see the word's out. Some are from your colleagues at the academy, some from people I've worked with here in the research department. And there's one from your Aunt Doris, too."
"Yes, I called her," Spock said. "T'Beth will be here after school."
"You made her go to school?" Lauren sounded shocked.
"She is doing poorly in a couple of her classes," Spock explained. "I do not see what difference a few hours will make."
"Spock," she said with some impatience, "this is her brother here. It will make a difference, believe me. This was not the time to be enforcing discipline."
Spock tried to consider the matter from a strictly human point of view. He remembered how quiet T'Beth had been, as if she were holding back tears. Perhaps he had been too inflexible. Then and there he decided. "I will go pick her up in a while."
"Good," Lauren said. "What's that big package you brought in?"
"Something from your mother. She had to go back to New York for the day, but she wanted you to have it before you went home from the hospital."
The parcel was awkward to carry. Spock balanced it on the edge of the bed while Lauren detached the card. She frowned. "That's odd. It's made out to both of us." And she read aloud, " 'They weren't exactly innocent, either—but they went out and built a world together'." Her frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Perhaps," Spock said, "the meaning will come clear once I open it."
Lauren cast a nervous glance at the sleeping infant, then gave Spock a nod. He carefully unfastened an outer layer of gift-wrap. As he peeled off a second layer of protective material, Lauren froze, staring at the side hidden from Spock's view.
"What is it?" he asked.
Since she did not seem inclined to answer, he swung the frame around and came face to face with Adam and Eve fleeing paradise.
"The Chagall," he said with some surprise. Surely not the original that had been hanging in the New York museum. "A fine copy."
Lauren shook her head. "No, Spock. Not a copy. It was on loan to the museum from the Sanger collection. My great-grandmother was Edith Sanger. That collection belongs to my mother now. I…I probably should have told you."
Spock propped the painting securely atop a chest of drawers, then moved back by Lauren and studied the anguished figures painted by the Russian-born artist almost four centuries earlier. The words in the card echoed in his mind. Now he understood their meaning, but there would be no world built by him and Lauren.
Lauren patted the bed beside her and Spock sat on the indicated spot. Taking their son into her arms, she smiled down at the sleepy newborn and said, "I've decided on a name."
Spock waited.
"Simon," she said. "Simon Spock S'chn T'gai."
His family name came out sounding like Su-kin-Tu-guy, which was about as well as any non-Vulcan, his mother included, could ever hope to pronounce it. But it was the other names that captured his attention. "Simon," he spoke, and found it agreeable. As for Spock…!
"Simon is a human name," Lauren said, "but Vulcan, too." Eyes shining, she glanced up at him. "What do you think?"
"I think," he said bluntly, "that naming him Spock is most inappropriate."
The light in her eyes faded away. Sudden tears welled and averting her face, she said, "You'll never forgive me, will you?"
Spock stared at her in disbelief. "Forgive…you?"
"I can't help thinking that…a Vulcan woman would have stayed with you that day…she wouldn't have gone for the door."
"Surely you are not blaming yourself."
"Why not?" she flared, facing him squarely. "You take on the blame for everything."
Spock watched their newborn son stir in her arms and considered how very fragile a thing was trust. "Earlier," he admitted, "I stood over you as you slept and was tempted to wipe the terrible memory of that day from your mind. I did that once, long ago, to Jim Kirk—and he still does not know. So you see how easily I could betray you again."
"Oh yes," Lauren said with some asperity, "and maybe murder me like Reesa Weller? This isn't about Kirk—or Weller. It's about us."
Spock leaned over, elbows on knees, and stared at the floor. Lauren's hand touched his back. There was no stopping the painfully sweet surge of mental contact that swept its way along their bond. If only she would agree to sever it…
"Spock," she said softly.
With all his heart he longed to take her into his arms and put the past behind them. But he abruptly rose, breaking the contact so he could think clearly.
"Spock," she repeated, and this time he turned and looked at her as she said, "You are the most aggravating man I have ever known. I have no idea why I love you…but despite everything…I still do."
So it was as he had feared—she was ready to forgive him, but he could not forgive himself. "Unwise," he said with painful effort. And he explained, "I have come to the conclusion that I am inherently flawed and should never bond with any woman. I simply cannot be trusted."
Clearly it was not the response for which she had hoped, but it was the only reply he could offer her. The room was ominously still, and then she said, "No bond. No wife. Then tell me this. If the pon farr comes again, what will you do?
"I lived many years unbonded. If my Time should come again, I will die."
Lauren's eyes flashed. Looking down at the sleepy infant in her arms, she said, "Did you hear that? Your father would rather die than be my husband. You see, he's inherently flawed—not born perfect like the rest of us. So chances are, he'll be gone before you grow up—but at least you'll have his name. That's something."
Battling his emotions, Spock complained, "Already you would turn the child against me. How typically human."
"Good grief," she said, "as if he understands a word!"
They were arguing yet again. It was clearly best that he withdraw for now. He was almost to the door when it opened. Aunt Doris walked in with T'Beth at her side, still clothed in a school uniform.
"Oh Spock, I hope you don't mind, "Doris said. "I was coming into town anyway, and she so wanted to see the baby."
T'Beth's eyes silently challenged him, but he merely remarked, "I would have picked her up myself."
"Of course," T'Beth mumbled so very low that only he heard it.
Doris cast a smile toward Lauren as she told him, "My, but you and T'Beth certainly kept this quiet. Is that the Vulcan way?"
"The Vulcan way is one of privacy," Spock answered evasively.
Taking leave of them, he headed out into the corridor. As he began walking, it occurred to him that he had better send off a quick notification to Vulcan. Now that Doris knew of the baby, she would waste no time getting a com to her sister—with ample photos of Simon attached. Spock's mother and father would be stunned. And it would not be long before Amanda boarded a starliner, expecting a pleasant visit with her grandson…in a home where Spock lived with his wife like any normal couple.
With each new unpleasant thought, Spock's steps slowed. Should he tell his parents outright? My marriage is finished. We no longer live as husband and wife. We have not lived together in months.
Would his mother then ask, "How many months?" And he would feel obliged to answer her. And she would start counting the months backward and forward from Simon's birth. And then she would surmise what had happened—that he had entered pon farr and returned without a wife. Utterly mortifying. No—for now he would merely announce his son's arrival, answer any questions with care, and see how events unfolded. After all, one never knew what the future might bring.