Only Human After All

"Spock!"

Spock recognized the voice immediately. In an instant, a flurry of emotions rushed through his body. An instant after that, he suppressed them. So as he turned to see the one who had greeted him, he kept his face as impassive as possible.

"Michael."

He recognized her, after all these years. Her voice was the same, as was her face. Even if she hadn't called out to him across the grounds of Starfleet HQ that overlooked the San Francisco bay, he would have recognized her immediately. Recognized her, and walked off in the opposite direction. Illogical perhaps, but there was a saying that discretion was the better part of valour. When it came to his foster sister, Spock was happy to simply employ discretion, and reserve valour for when it was needed.

"Hey," she said, walking over. "It's been…what, ten years?"

Valour such as that reserved for Nero and the Nerada. Valour that would be required in the months to come. The Federation had lost an entire fleet's worth of ships to a vessel from over a hundred years in the future that hailed from an alternate reality. A ship that had destroyed one world, and nearly another. It was logical to assume that the Federation's enemies would sniff blood. It would be logical to assume that there was at least the possibility that they might wish to draw more of it.

"Ten years, one month, and seventeen days," Spock said.

"Hmm." Michael stood there, trying to imitate a vulcan's stoicism, and failing. "We're both in Starfleet, you'd think we'd run into each other more often."

"We have run into each other." Spock gave her a small nod. "Good day, Commander."

He began walking off. He felt cold – it was usually cold in San Francisco, even in summer. He'd often felt cold on Earth, period. Living most of his life on the world of his father, his mother's world had been much colder, much wetter, and much stranger in comparison. He'd gotten used to it of course, as had the dozens of species from across the Federation that had decided to call Earth home, but-

"Spock!"

He stopped short, thoughts of water, temperature, and immigration gone. Of course Michael wouldn't let go, he reflected. She'd never let go of her own past, why would he expect her to let go of his? He turned around again.

"Father's with the remnants of the Vulcan High Council," he said. "As I'm assuming that you want to know about the status of the vulcan people, I believe he can answer your questions far better than myself."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you," Michael said. "How you're feeling?"

"My feelings are academic. Vulcan is gone. Our people will find a new world. If we are to honour those who perished, we will continue to serve in Starfleet to the best of our ability."

"That's not an answer."

"It is illogical to ask about my feelings at a time like this – the needs of the one don't outweigh the needs of the many."

"You're my brother. I'd say it's logical to ask how you're feeling. Especially since our mother is…" Michael trailed off. "You know."

Logic kept Spock in place. Kept him from acting on his anger and strangling his foster-sister where she stood. Such an act would have been monstrous, he told himself, but the mere mention of his mother, of using the words our mother…

"Our mother is dead," he said simply.

"I know."

"Then you know there is little to discuss."

Michael sighed. "Is this how it's going to be? You, me, on a constant merry-go-round?"

"We all have our paths to follow. You chose to intersect yours with mine."

"And often it seems that you make sure yours evades mine." She frowned. "Does your crew even know about your sister? Or your brother?"

No, Spock reflected to himself. And Sarek willing, they never will.

Prayer would do him little good – not any more good than Sybok, who was now pursuing his own path in the depths of space. Following emotion instead of logic. He…Spock found himself forming a fist. Nero had followed emotion instead of logic. Logic would have told him that whatever had happened to Romulus in his own universe, the people of this universe, of this time, couldn't be held responsible for it, and no amount of bloodshed would bring his world back. Nero's emotion had cost over 5 billion vulcans their lives. Emotion…He unclenched his fist. Emotion was a barrier between him and his sister. It always had been. He, half human and vulcan, and tormented by bullies for it. She, a human, taken in by his father by a stray, brought up in the vulcan tradition, and praised for the mere effort. She, who had followed him to Starfleet, not letting him be free of his shadow. He'd resented his foster sister. It had been illogical to do so, but he had.

And now she was reaching out to him, as a human would. Perhaps she had some excuse for that, of emotions informing her logic, or some such. But…

"I understand what you're doing," Spock said. "You wish to see that I'm emotionally healthy."

"That's one way to put it."

"Then I assure you that I am…coping. And I would also ask how you are doing."

"How I'm doing?"

"Vulcan was your home for much of your life. My parents were yours for much of your life as well. The loss of my…our, mother, would have hit you."

"It…" Michael sighed. "It did."

"And will you hold the romulans responsible for her death?"

"The romulans? Nero didn't act on the Star Empire's behalf."

"As surely as you do not hate all klingons for your own parents death?"

Michael stiffed. "My attitude towards the klingons extends in as much as Starfleet's does."

It wasn't an answer. But Spock would accept it for now. Michael was his sister. He had to accept that. Just as he had accepted that his mother and world were gone. So with that, he gave her the vulcan salute.

"Live long and prosper," he said.

She repeated it.

Spock smiled.

A/N

Thoughts on Star Trek: Discovery aside, I can't help but wonder if Michael could appear in the Kelvinverse. Probably not, considering the rights issues that exist between CBS and Paramount, but anyway, drabbled this up.