1C13:11, Chapter 4, Col3:21

[teaoli]

Title: 1C13:11 — Col3:21
Characters: Spock, Amanda, Uhura, multiple OCs
A/N: Nyota has an epiphany; Spock sees her in a new light.
Warning: Starts off very K, but eventually flirts with M.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, any Star Trek characters or any Star Trek concepts. I also don’t get paid for writing about any of those.

( Read Ru2:13 )
( Read Prv22:6 )
( Read Prv4:1-15 )

---

Nearly everywhere on the planet Vulcan was hot by human standards; however, the atmosphere of Ambassador Sarek’s study in the S’chn T’gai family home was considerably hotter than average ambient temperatures.

There was much he wanted to say, but little he could claim as irrefutable truth. What “evidence” he had already uncovered would — and, rightfully so — be considered nothing more than conjecture at this point. And he was unsure whether his wife would see proof of the thing he did know as reason to agree with him, or as a sign that Spock should continue along the path along which she had inadvertently set him.

“Sarek, she’s a little girl!” Amanda exclaimed in exasperation. “What harm do you honestly think can she do?”

“If you truly believed she had so little influence over our son, you would not insist that she be allowed to see him.”

“If by ‘influence’ you mean that she reminds him that it’s okay to be a little human sometimes, then yes, she influences him. When he’s with her I get a chance to see a little bit of myself in my son!”

“And what of the girl? Can you so easily dismiss her attachment to our son?” He did not emphasize the word “our,” but she winced anyway. The question hinted more closely at the truth that was possibly wise, but his wife felt a real affection for the girl and he had few other supportive arguments for his line of reasoning. Few, in any case, that he was willing to use. Perhaps, he thought, she will be distracted by her concern for the child’s welfare.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! She’ll be nine years old in a couple of months. She’ll ‘fall in love’ and out again a score of times before she grows up. That’s what little human girls do!”

Perhaps not. Under other circumstances, Sarek might have gently teased his wife about her new-found ostensible lack of faith in human loyalty. At the moment, this seeming reversal of her generally-held views on the subject was making his effort to convince her of the wisdom inherent to his line of reasoning difficult.

“It has been five years, eight months and three days since she declared her intentions, adun’a. She has yet to show any sign of ‘falling out of love’ with him.”

Amanda wasn’t sure how to respond. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted Nyota Uhura to stop loving Spock. From her fierce hunger for knowledge for knowledge’s sake to her sometimes disturbingly adult observations, the young girl was odd by anyone’s standards. But when Amanda’s son was with her, something of the very little boy he had once been always came out. As selfish as she knew the sentiment might appear, she relished every moment of the boy he was then. Besides, soon enough, a human boy would catch Nyota’s eye and Spock would be free to be all Vulcan, all the time, once more.

Unconsciously, she set her chin stubbornly and prepared to continue her argument as logically as the subject would allow. Sarek spoke before the first sentence was fully formed in her head. It was almost as if he’d been reading her mind. Which he probably had been, she realized with regret. In her agitation, she’d neglected to close off the bond.

“I would remind you, Amanda, that in three years, your son might find himself in need of a bondmate. Should T’Pring fail to accept him when the Time comes — which, considering the influence T’Pau has had on her upbringing and training, she is increasingly likely do if things continue as they are — the child would be in no position to come to his aid if his Time comes.” He stared intently at the woman sitting across the desk from him. “Are you willing to risk our son’s life so that you can pretend he is human?”

Her shoulders drooped at his last words but, through the bond, Sarek could feel her growing resignation. He softened his tone to suit his wife’s human sensibilities, and projected familial affection through their marriage link.

“Adun’a, I have every confidence that Spock will be accepted into the Science Academy; your visit will have to take place at least two Earth months earlier than usual if he is to begin his studies on time. Nyota Uhura and her siblings travel to Betazed each year. All that I ask is that you plan your visit to the Drs. Uhura to coincide with the child’s trip off-world. I ask this for the sake of our son, Amanda.”

Fears for the safety of her only surviving child were her defeat. She knew that her husband would not have suggested the danger if he did not believe the threat to be real.

Standing, she walked around his desk. Without another word, Sarek relinquished his seat and left the room.

Amanda sat, unmoving, for the next ten minutes. She had two communications to get through and needed to choose her words carefully. Her parents would be pleased to learn their daughter and grandson would be making the visit in time to help with the early picking this year. Benjamin and M’Umbha wouldn’t say anything about this second change in the routine they’d followed for years, but she was saddened by what they might think about the delay. After the events of their last trip, surely, both would suspect the reason for it.

Spock, she decided to suggest, should be the one to explain the situation to Nyota.

---

The conversation was not going well. Spock thought of his first encounter with Nyota and was thankful he was not getting a repeat performance.

“But you always come to see me.” She had abandoned any semblance of Vulcan-like stoicism — along with her self-imposed edict to speak only the Vulcan language while in communication with him — when he’d informed her of the changed itinerary precisely two minutes earlier. Spock had used the three-second lag to brace himself for tears and perhaps even sobbing. Instead, she offered all the anger and indignation a 9-year-old human girl could manage. “You can pick fruit anytime!”

“Actually, you are wrong on two points: first, after this trip, my schedule will greatly altered from what it has been for the past six years and might prevent me from returning for future harvests,” he said with an air of indifference that he didn’t truly feel. His own disappointment upon learning their trip would be delayed this year had come as something of a surprise. He’d always told himself he merely tolerated the child’s presence. “Second, the purpose of our visits is so that Mother and I might see your parents. That we usually see you, as well, is... a bonus.”

Her face stared back through the comm screen for an additional twenty-seven silent seconds before her jaw began working as she searched for something to say. Spock leaned closer to the screen, intrigued. It was not often that anything struck Nyota Uhura speechless. This was only the second time he’d borne witness to the phenomenon.

“And when you go home to attend the Science Academy, who knows when you’ll be able to come see me again,” she went on. Apparently, she’d decided to ignore the implication behind his words and continue on her previous course. “It’s not fair!” she added in a plaintive wail.

Feeling equal parts amused, flattered and saddened by her distress — an effect, he’d noticed, she increasingly had on him — Spock searched for a reply that would either bring back her usual amiable disposition, or so discomfit (or anger) her, she would be rendered unable to speak for only the third occasion since he’d made her acquaintance.

“There is a Terran saying,” Spock told his young friend, “which I believe parents often use when speaking to their children. Under the circumstances, I think it is appropriate to remind you, Nyota: ‘Life is not fair.’”

---

When Spock unfolded himself from Samuel Grayson’s utility vehicle, he stepped onto a cushion of springy green grass instead of the pink stone or hard-packed red soil he had become accustomed to encountering during his first weeks on Earth every second year.

Green, in fact, dominated the landscape around him as he turned in a circle, observing his verdant surroundings.

Low shrubs, which he knew from experience produced a white variety of the sweet Nanking cherry, flanked the flagstone path leading up to the Victorian-style farmhouse, painted in shades of umber, sienna and mahogany. Honey suckle vines twined along the wooden fence that enclosed an area of land approximately six meters deep on all sides, around the exterior of the house. The farm itself — with its blackberry brambles, fields of mint and the cherry and apple orchards in the distance — was a veritable sea of emerald, peridot and jade tones.

Except for the house, nothing of his maternal relatives’ Washington State property reminded him of Garissa; the Kenyan district — which he noted not for the first time — was much like Vulcan, and, as Nyota might say “felt like home.”

He pushed the illogical thought from his mind, and strode over to where his mother and uncle were speaking with his grandfather.

_________________

“I’ve got something of yours, son.” Absalom “Abi” Grayson’s dark eyes gleamed with anticipated pleasure, relieving his weathered farmer’s face of its customary gruffness. He turned and led his grandson down a short corridor to his crowed, but neat office.

His back to the teenager, he ordered him to sit with a wave of his hand. Without checking to see if the kid had complied, Abi walked over to a glass-front bookcase made from the same dark wood as his wide antique desk and removed palm-sized silver cube.

Only when he was sitting in his own seat did he look at his grandson. He broke into a wide grin at the sight of Spock’s composed face.

Abi’s fingers slid over the surface, working an old-fashioned mechanism that made the seemingly unadorned cube pop open at the top.

A box, then, Spock thought. He wondered at the workmanship and if his grandfather intended to share the crafting of such cubes now.

Reaching into the cube, Abi closed his large hand over a cool round object and lifted. His eyes remained on his grandson as he placed it on the desk. “This is yours,” he said, reverently.

The half-Vulcan eyed the carving — predominantly of a rich green mineral, and polished to a dull shine — in equal parts confusion and curiosity before leaning forward to examine the stone apple more closely. Abi Grayson’s tone suggested that the object held significance.

“It represents your Earth family,” Abi prompted. “Every Grayson gets one of these the first time they help with the harvest. It’s made of vesuvianite and nephrite — hard jade.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up. Nephrite was expensive. “How is a stone figure of the fruit of Malus domestica representative of the Grayson family?”

Six generations before S’chn T’gai Spock was born, his grandfather explained, diversification and science had rescued Grayson’s Farm and Orchards from the brink of extinction. They had been in danger of losing everything that Abi’s own four-times-great-grandfather had established.

Diversification had become necessary after disease killed off ninety-percent of the family’s asparagus crop and changes in the market had rendered the small fruit-growing operation unprofitable. After several family conferences, an agreement had been reached: until their land was declared free of the blight, they would set aside several fields for growing a selection of crops resistant to the infection that had taken away the bulk of their livelihood.

A string of successful — and highly profitable — growing seasons had turned the temporary solutions permanent.

“We grow a veritable cornucopia of fruits: blackberries and plums and cherries all do well, but it’s the Vesuvian that matters,” Abi told his grandson.

“Grandfather, I still do not understand,” Spock said at last. “Grayson’s Vesuvian accounts for less than eight percent of your annual crop yield, and less than four percent of your yearly profits. How can it represent the Grayson family? Why not the spearmint and peppermint whose oils comprise the bulk of the family’s most profitable products?”

Abi smiled and gestured for the young man to pick up the carving. “The other crops made us enough money to save the business, yes,” he said, “and the mint-oil production ensures that we continue to live well, but that one fruit” he pointed to the stone apple “saved the Graysons. It reminded us of who we are, and of the strength it took to build up not just everything you see on this farm now, but also everything that came before it.

“Time was, a sport like the original Vesuvian would have been culled. Before the market became saturated, the business had reached a point where homogeny and the ability to deliver same product over and over again trumped the spirit of innovation that led Amasa Grayson to found this farm in the first place.

“Finding, and then developing, the Vesuvian reminded your ancestors of what he hoped to accomplish here.”

The fortuitous discovery of an accidental seedling — which eventually bore a sweet, yet long-keeping natural hybrid that grew well in the sandy soil and damp air of the Puget Sound region — had eventually led to the application of advanced breeding methods in order to develop a larger form of the Grayson Vesuvian apple without losing any of the fruit’s favorable characteristics.

Leaning back in his chair, Abi folded his hands over his abdomen and watched as Spock ran long fingers over the vesuvianite apple and its delicately-carved jade leaves.

Three weeks every two years isn’t a lot of time to spend with family, Abi thought. It’s not enough.

Getting to know this grandson had been more difficult than developing relationships with his other children’s fully-human offspring. But, damn if it hadn’t been worth it! Now, whenever Amanda and the boy left for the spacedock every two years, two pieces of Abi’s heart left with them. He wondered what Spock would have to say about that?

“It’s the perfect blend of chance and science, Spock. Just like you. And I’m grateful to have both.”

---

Nyota waited until Upenda and Muta exited the back of their parents’ rented hover before tumbling out herself. She’d managed to contain herself during the short trip from Seattle, but wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold back her happy dance.

Her feet sank into a lush carpet of green, stopping her short. Early morning mist still rose from the ground.

Spinning in a circle, she took in the world around her. Against the grey light of just after dawn, the jades and emeralds and peridots that made up Graysons’ Farm and Orchards’ color palette were nothing like Garissa’s red and oranges and pinks and browns. Except for the house, which was painted in familiar hues somewhere between orange and brown, the whole place was like a giant version of one of Baba’s gardens.

She breathed in the damp, slightly salty air. This was nothing like home, but it was magical and she loved it instantly.

M’Umbha moved to stand beside her youngest child, enjoying the wonder she saw in Nyota’s expression.

“He must love coming here.” The girl didn’t look at her mother as she took in the new world she was discovering. “Even Spock couldn’t look at this and fail to see beauty.”

Chuckling softly, M’Umbha placed a hand on Nyota’s shoulder and turned her back towards the house, where Muta was racing Upenda up the flagstone walkway. Benjamin followed behind them, walking slowly enough for the stragglers to catch up.

“There’s beauty at home, binti,” she pointed out as they walked towards the large structure. “It is different from here, yes, but no less pleasing to the eye.”

Now her daughter did look up. “But it’s different, Mama,” she said. “Compared to here, home must look just like Vulcan. Why would anyone want to take a vacation at home?”

M’Umbha’s laughter poured out into the early-morning air. “Perhaps your Spock gets homesick at times.”

Nyota shook her head, setting off the clacking of her beaded braids. “He’s Vulcan, Mama,” she said quietly.

“Then, perhaps there are other reasons for him to enjoy his visits to our home.”

Before her daughter could respond, they were standing on the front porch, Upenda and Muta flanking them, her husband at the rear, waiting to be welcomed inside.

_________________

Spock’s family was wonderful. They were loud and noisy and nothing like the half-Vulcan at all. Nyota liked them anyway.

Nyota and her siblings had been absorbed into a swirling mass of almost two dozen young people, all preparing to pick cherries in one of the early-season groves. She was surprised to find, as the baskets and instructions were handed out, that she didn’t feel shy or awkward like she usually did around children her own age. No one singled her out for teasing or made fun of the way she talked or laughed at any of the questions she asked.

She was nearly as comfortable surrounded by Graysons as she would be in a horde of Uhuras or Wakufunzis. Even so, she felt a twinge of trepidation at the yet to be discovered challenges of the task ahead. She loved learning new things, but she hated making mistakes. She wondered if she looked as afraid as she felt.

“You can be my partner, Ennie,” a small voice whispered in her ear. Seven-year-old Sarah Grayson looked her with soft green-brown eyes as she hooked a bony elbow around Nyota’s equally slender arms. “I’ll show you what to do. Last year was my first time, but I got really good at it.”

The young red-head had already been so sweet and helpful, Nyota decided not to tell her that only family members used the nickname, and she almost didn’t mind that they were the same height, although Nyota was two years older.

Her eyes combed the room, hunting for a tall, dark-haired boy with pointed ears. Instead, she found Upenda watching her. The look said, Are you alright? Smiling, Nyota gave a little nod and continued her search for Spock.

A tug at her arm brought her out of herself before she could find him.

“Come on, Ennie!” Sarah called, excitement filling her little voice with authority. “It’s time to go!”

The two fell in behind the group, as they followed their leader, Noah — a teen-aged cousin who didn’t seem to mind spending a day training the littles — out the back door, across the yard and into the small stand of cherry trees reserved for the Grayson kids.

_________________

Picking was fun, but harder than it looked.

The small swarm of children had spread out among the trees after Noah reminded them of the rules: pick from the stem and be gentle when placing the cherries in your basket, no littles under ten years old on the ladders (Grayson trees had plenty of low-hanging fruit), only eat one cherry for every twenty you pick. Most of the other kids had been coming to what the family called First Harvest for years and knew what to do, anyway.

Laughter filled the grove as the morning grew, and baskets filled with deep red cherries. Some of the older littles — “You’re a little until you’re fifteen,” Sarah had explained earlier — got into a competition while Noah pretended not to notice. They split into two teams of three pairs and set a fifteen-minute limit. The team who had the heaviest basket when time was called would be the winner.

Upenda and Muta, each picking for a different team, scurried up and down the ladders, following the advice and shouted directions of their own partners. Nyota stuck close to her young mentor’s side, watching their antics from her place on the ground.

Picking was fun and Sarah was nice, but Nyota had come to Graysons Farm and Orchards to see her best friend. And he wasn’t picking cherries with the littles.

“Where are all the grown-ups?” she asked, deliberately modifying her speech to fit the patterns she imagined most girls her own age followed. She handed the other girl a newly-picked pair of deep red fruit.

“They’re picking Vesuvians. All the bigs get to help. That’s what First Harvest is really about,” Sarah replied. She carefully tucked the cherries into the basket she shared with Nyota and reached for the next pair. She frowned before her fingers closed around the twin stems. “The think we’re still too little, though. They don’t let us help until the end.”

Nyota wasn’t sure what Sarah meant by either “vesuvians” or “first harvest,” but she was pretty certain the two terms had something to do with the little girl’s sudden show of indignation. She chose to forge on anyway.

“All of the bigs are with the grown-ups?” She hoped the question wouldn’t further perturb her source of information.

Little red head bobbing in confirmation, Sarah grasped the stems and placed the cherries with the rest.

“Yeah. Even my cousin Spock is helping. It’s his first time, even though he’s been a big for three years.”

Nyota swallowed a sigh and looked up into the tree so Sarah wouldn’t see the tears glistening in her eyes.

Picking was fun.

But it wasn’t spending time with Spock.

_________________

He placed his basket of Vesuvians in on the utility-hover’s flatbed and reached for a replacement. Uncle Sam clapped him on the shoulder and smiled fondly.

“Good work, son. Looks like you’re a natural.”

Spock’s lips twitched up at the corners. “I have it on good authority that the talent is a family trait.”

He was halfway through the next tree when Abi showed up to tell him he had visitors.

_________________

The littles took a break less than two hours after they’d started. It hadn’t felt like that much time had passed, not to Nyota or most of the others anyway, but some of the smaller littles looked done in, and everyone was happy to follow Noah over to one of the outbuildings and indulge in a snack.

“It’s all fresh. None of that replicated, processed stuff you get in the big cities.” Noah told the Uhuras proudly, as he led them to the dispensing machine. “Everything’s grown right here at Graysons.”

He pushed a series of buttons and a small container filled with a selection of dried fruits. Another series of buttons produced a cup of juice made from an apple only grown in the family’s orchards.

Food and drinks in hand, everyone got comfortable: leaning against fences, lying on the few blankets Noah had spread out or sprawling under giant maples that the Graysons didn’t seem to grow for any reason other than they were pretty, all the while chattering about past harvests and school and plans for the rest of the day.

Nyota lay on her tummy under next to Sarah under one of the massive trees. She attempted to keep up with the little girl’s rapid-fire questions about Africa as she continued her surreptitious search.

“Do you have trees like this one at your house?” Sarah wanted to know.

Nyota lifted her head to gaze at the maple. It was much bigger than most of the trees growing on the Garissa compound, but it looked like it had been climbable once.

“Not so big, but we have a few maples. Sometimes I climb them. I do some of my best thinking when I’m sitting in the arms of a tree friend.”

Sarah’s eyes widened at the new information.

“You like climbing trees?” Suddenly, she was standing and tugging at her new friend’s arm again. “I’ve got something to show you!”

_________________

Spock was fairly certain of his visitors’ identities.

His mother liked to say that she had been a schoolteacher. The truth was somewhat different.

Amanda Grayson had been a noted linguistics scholar, and by all accounts on her way to the top of her field, when she had met his father. She’d given up an illustrious career in the field in order to become a diplomat’s wife.

M’Umbha Uhura bint Wakufunzi had done nearly the opposite. After leaving the Diplomatic Corps, she had embraced the life so many Wakufunzis before her had lived. Many considered her to be one of the best of even that respected clan.

And Amanda had mentioned only the night before that Dr. M’Umbha would be speaking in Seattle…

He had not yet informed Nyota of his changed plans. The child could be persuasive when she wished to be.

Perhaps, he mused, I should have told her, and saved Dr. M’Umbha a journey away from her conference.

But the thought hadn’t occurred to him. And now, he suspected, she was here.

_________________

“It’s perfect,” Nyota breathed.

And it really was. Regularly spaced branches made it perfect for climbing. Their width made them ideal for sitting and thinking. In fact, the tree looked a lot like the ones Nyota had seen in the old illustrated children’s books Mama collected.

Sarah had raced back the way they’d come earlier, dragging Nyota behind her until they arrived in front of the farmhouse. She’d led the older girl over to the trees lining the hover-way.

This one had stood out. The perfect picture-book tree.

Nyota turned to Sarah, eyes alight. “What are we waiting for?” she asked.

_________________

Nyota wasn’t there. One minute she’d been lying under a tree with Sarah, his cousin Noah told him, and the next, the two little girls had been tearing back to the house. Nothing to worry about, he said. They probably had to use the bathroom and hadn’t though to use the one in the snack hut.

As a rule, Vulcans do not worry. But Spock knew Nyota better than Noah did. And he suspected his cousin Sarah wasn’t much less reckless than his young friend.

He was rounding the corner of the house when he heard Nyota scream.

_________________

She’d been almost happy. Her fingers had pressed into tree bark as she hoisted herself from one branch to another. Sometimes, she’s had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the next level, and she was suddenly thankful for the dance lessons Spock had continued to pay for, even after she’d told him how much she hated the classes.

Perfect Tree, as she now thought of it, welcomed her. It had tempted her like the tree of knowledge, urging her to taste its fruit by climbing higher and higher.

A sudden tug at one of her braids made her pause. “What is it, Sarah?” But the other girl wasn’t close enough to touch. Instead of the other girl’s pale hand, a gnarled brown branch gripped Nyota’s hair.

Wrapping one arm around a small bough for safety, she tugged gently at the braid. Then harder. As it pulled free, six small beads fell to the ground with a soft plink only Nyota could hear.

She made note of where they’d landed, then turned to resume her climb.

Mid-turn, her eyes slid over a tall figure rounding the corner of the house. He had dark hair and — she looked again — and were those pointed ears at the side of his head?

“Spock!” she screamed, excitement and joy and excitement and relief and excitement and love making her forget to hold on.

And then she was flying. No, she was falling. But, somehow it was all happening so…slowly, it was almost as if she were… floating to the ground. And she could see, out of the corner of her eye that Spock was running — so fast! So much faster than she was falling.

Time sped up.

Instinctively, she threw out one arm as she hit the ground with an agonizing thump, just in time to see familiar feet come into view.

She wondered, for a second, why Spock wasn’t wearing shoes, but then the pain in her arm forced her to roll over and she was staring up at her favorite face in whole universe.

---

He was there. Finally! She wanted to jump up and hug him and tell him everything — about how Mama got the last-minute call from a Vulcan lady asking her to speak at the conference in Seattle, about how this year, she and Penda and Mu were traveling to Betazed all by themselves, about how happy she was to finally see him again — and had he always been so handsome? — about how sad she would be when he returned to Vulcan. But the pain in her left arm was really bad and all she could manage was a croaked, “Surprise” before he was squatting next to her and asking all kinds of questions about what was hurting her and if she could stand, and saying she had been lucky not to have hit her head, and “Have I not told you to always be aware of your body’s relationship to its surroundings?” And even with the horrible, sharp ache pulsing through her arm, she was happy enough not to mind his scolding.

_________________

“No!”

Greg Mitchell’s head snapped down to stare at the little girl. His gaze slid over to where the hand of her uninjured arm gripped his wrist.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I won’t just yet.” She released him and he stepped back, flicking a questioning glance at Amanda Grayson.

The woman stepped forward and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. She murmured a string of words in some alien language. Greg thought he heard “Nyota” in the mix, but couldn’t be sure.

The girl — Nyota — had been a trouper throughout her examination. In spite of a face streaked with tears, she’d carefully described her fall and the resultant pain in precise terms. She hadn’t flinched when he’d run his tri-corder over her limbs but the moment he moved the device towards her head to check for injury there, her hand shot out faster than a striking rattler and caught his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip while she screamed her protest.

He was stunned. Didn’t know what to make of her sudden fear. But Amanda Grayson had supposedly known the child her whole life, and he trusted her to calm the kid down.

“Mother,” her half-breed son broke in. Thankfully, he spoke in Standard instead of that alien gibberish. He’d been silently holding the girl’s hand since Greg had entered the room to find mother and son huddled around the chair next the boy’s bed. At first, Greg hadn’t even noticed his patient. “Nyota did not hit her head when she fell. Perhaps further examination can wait until Dr. Uhura returns. He and Dr. M’Umbha are due back in less than ten minutes.”

Greg felt a surge of frustration at the alien kid’s interference. “Now wait just a second, son. You can’t mess around with a possible head injury.”

The boy turned his cold gaze on the doctor and repeated himself in that passionless voice. “Miss Uhura did not hit her head in her fall. I arrived in time to see. Her father is a certified physician, as well as a noted xenopsychiatrist. Surely it is wiser to wait for his imminent arrival than to further agitate the child.”

Frowning, Mitchell started to overrule the boy, but his mother interrupted before he’d done more than open his mouth.

“Dr. Mitchell,” Amanda Grayson began in that smooth, pleasant voice of hers, “can’t you just give us another ten minutes? Benjamin has been practicing medicine for nearly twenty years. And although he’s a xenopsychiatrist, he also did a specialty in treating human children. Wouldn’t make sense to give him another ten minutes so that he can examine his own child?”

The doctor never got a chance to answer, because while he was still thinking it over, Benjamin Uhura, M.D., FBPN-certified, and M’Umbha Uhura, Ph.D., entered the room and rushed over to their daughter.

_________________

“I don’t want to go to sleep, Baba! I thought people aren’t supposed to sleep after hitting their heads.”

Benjamin smiled at his youngest child. “I thought you did not hit your head?”

Nyota frowned, clearly disappointed at her failure to fool her old baba, and Benjamin’s heart melted. He knew how important this visit was for her.

“It will just be for a little while, binti. Just until your arm finishes setting,” he said softly. He glanced quickly at the young man standing by the window before returning his focus to the his little girl, now propped up in the youth’s bed. “Spock will wait with you while you sleep.” He cut another glance at the boy, daring Spock to contradict his pronouncement.

“That’s not the same, Baba!” she whined, and Benjamin knew a moment of worry. Nyota was not prone to whining… ahh, except where her Vulcan was concerned. He smiled apologetically at Spock and then stroked his daughter’s head.

“Perhaps he will tell you another story as you fall asleep.”

Rolling her eyes, Nyota muttered, “I’m not three anymore,” but Benjamin didn’t miss the hopeful look she aimed in Spock’s direction. “Low dose?” she asked, looking at her father again.

“Low dose,” he promised, and set the hypospray accordingly. “You have twenty minutes,” he told Spock. “Make sure she keeps that arm still until it takes affect. She should be out for about an hour.”

Spock nodded and moved towards the bed.

Benjamin rose from his haunch-squat, and with one last look at the half-Vulcan youth, left the room. He trusted the boy with his daughter’s life and, although he had never told anyone, not even M’Umbha, he also trusted him with Nyota’s heart.

_________________

“What’s that?” Nyota pointed to the green apple lying nest to a PADD on her friend’s bedside table.

Spock picked up the statue and placed it into the hand that wasn’t wrapped in a lightweight cast.

“It is an apple. Made of vesuvianite and jade. It is a Grayson family emblem, of sorts.”

“Amasa Grayson founded this farm one hundred ninety-seven Earth years ago because he wished to be more innovative than he would have been able to be working for his family’s eastern Washington farm.

“His experimental crops and methods were not an immediate commercial success, but his research was of great value to agriculturalists throughout the Pacific Northwest.

“Unfortunately, when he died just twenty-five years later, his sons decided not to carry on his style of farming. Instead, they chose to emulate their eastern cousins, and Grayson Farm and Orchards became a major producer of asparagus and of Red Delicious apples.”

He let his last sentence hang in the air, and Nyota sensed its importance.

“How did he die?” she asked at last.

Spock’s dark eyes bore into hers as he said, “He fell from a tree.”

Duly chastened — again — Nyota swallowed the lump in her throat and studied the apple carving in her hand.

“It was not until a fungal infection decimated their asparagus crop and an oversupply in the global fruit market made the apples unprofitable that my forebears revisited Amasa’s original goals.

“The Vesuvian apple was their first true innovation. It began as sport found in a long-disused orchard that had survived the purging of Amasa Grayson’s experimental plants. Although normally the family would have culled any chance saplings found on the property, this time, they did not. Instead, they used every technique available to them to encourage its growth. It came to represent the Graysons’ renewed commitment to Amasa’s plans.”

“Fascinating,” she said, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

He raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Explain,” he demanded when she didn’t immediately elaborate.

“The Vesuvian is much like you, Spock. Conceived by chance, but nurtured by science. Under normal circumstances, neither of you would have survived. You both are here today because your family loved you enough to ensure your survival.”

“How are you privy to the circumstances of my conception?” he asked, raising that eyebrow again.

Tucking the apple between her blanket-covered thighs, she touched a finger to her ear and then reached for the small personal access display device still lying on the nightstand. She balanced it on bent knees and began enter data with her uninjured hand.

Her words echoed in his head, and instantly his perception of her change. He decided not chastise her for eavesdropping again. She could not always help what she heard. That child’s ears! Dr. M’Umbha had said.

“Fascinating,” he echoed quietly.

“It is.” She yawned, but didn’t look away from the PADD.

He did not tell her that he had been referring to her insight and her ability to connect the family symbol to the conditions of his own gestation.

“And there’s more.” She ran her thumb over the small green figurine.

“The metaphysical properties of vesuvianite vary according to who compiled the lists, but there are a few things on which all of these ‘healers’ seem to have reached a consensus: it aids in meditation because it helps the user release anger and negativity, in order to find life’s true path. It aids in creative thought by stimulating the desire to discover new ideas and facts. It instills the courage to change in the person who holds it.”

Yawning again, she picked up the apple and held it close to her eyes.

“All of those things would be helpful to one seeking to follow the path of Surak, would they not?” she asked, finally glancing over to him.

“Indeed,” Spock told her. “Those properties would be most helpful… if one could give credence to them.”

He plucked the heavy statuette from her hand and replaced it on his bedside table.

“Now, it is time for you to rest, Nyota,” he insisted, taking her hand. Immediately, he realized her shields were down. He sensed her exhaustion, but also curiosity, anticipation and affection. He projected calm and felt her acquiescence.

“I want to finish helping with the picking, Spocky,” she murmured sleepily. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“I will not,” he promised, suddenly remembering he had not told her he would not be attending the Vulcan Science Academy.

Telling her, he decided as he watched her sleep, could wait.

---

A/N addendum: Extra special thanks to newchapter9501 and nubianamazon for listening late into the nights.

Go to Chapter 5