Fellowship & Fairydust

By M.C. Pehrson

Word Count: 4288

Rating: PG for a small amount of thematic content.

Summary: Spock and his daughter T’Beth have some healing to do over Christmas.

Author’s Note: This story is one of many that precede “Testament” in my Star Trek: Beyond series. It has been edited for use at this site. “Gifts” takes place after Spock’s return to life in “ST: The Search for Spock” and before he heads back to Earth with Admiral Kirk and crew. Not yet fully recovered, he had taken his teenage daughter on a promised trip when Klingons kidnapped them from a starliner. At this point, Spock and daughter T’Beth have been rescued and are back on Vulcan.

***

            …The door was massive, crafted entirely of Klingon kharaz. Spock knew something of the wood—its tough, impenetrable bark, the devilishly twisted fibers that defied splitting, the iron-like core that chipped and shattered axe blades. It spoke to him of grueling labor, of blisters and sweat, of rank humiliation. It spoke to him of slavery and betrayal. He hated the sight of it.

            And now, through the heavy wood came faint but unmistakable sounds of distress. His daughter’s voice pleaded, “No, no…leave me alone!”

            It was happening again. Spock could feel the dark dream-current sweeping him along, to an underworld murky with violent emotion. He had to save her, somehow. Like always he applied all his Vulcan strength to the door lock. For long moments he strained harder still…and failed once again.

            “Father,” came the young voice. “Father, where are you?”

            Throwing himself at the door, he pounded the unyielding wood until his bearded face was spattered with the blood from his own hands.

            “Help me!” came the choked, despairing cry.

            He answered with the outraged roar of an animal, a primitive sound that tore at his throat, shattering the kharaz and piercing the dreamscape…

            …Spock found himself in darkness, in bed, with a damp sobbing face buried against his neck. He touched his chin. The beard was gone, his hair cut short. The skin on his hands felt undamaged. With a sense of relief he remembered that he was back on Vulcan, safely recuperating before he returned to Mt. Seleya for more training.

He reached behind him for the light control and his bedroom filled with a soft, comforting glow. He tried to sit up, but the movement sent T’Beth into fresh panic. Lying flat, he gently stroked her heaving shoulders and dark tumble of hair. The actions felt forced and awkward. If only the girl would recover quickly this time.

“Oh Dad,” she sobbed, “It…it was horrible.”

Spock took a slow, deep breath and held it against a rush of regrets. Dad—such a human expression. Since their rescue she sometimes used it in strictest privacy. It seemed to burst from deep within her, like a cry for the father he would never be, for the human warmth he could never quite give. Holding her like this, fresh from the torment of his own nightmare, he questioned the lifetime spent walling his emotions instead of learning to regulate them like full-blooded humans. Now he never dared let go, never for an instant, never completely. Letting go meant losing control, which was always a shameful matter.

T’Beth grew calmer.  The quiet security of her father’s room, her father’s presence, gradually worked their effect, and she eased her hold enough for Spock to sit up. Looking down at her, he observed her frail appearance, the tear-reddened eyes haunted by the unspeakable memories of their abduction. He could not help but wonder what Klingon horrors were still locked up inside the teenager. She had told him so little since their rescue.

“T’Beth,” he began with care, “it has been seven weeks now. Rather than subsiding as I had hoped, you are still suffering these nocturnal disturbances.”

She bolted upright. “Oh, no. Please, Father, you promised me time. Just a little longer. I’ll be alright.”

Spock gazed into her desperate eyes. “I have explained to you that there is no cause for fear. Healers are gentle and understanding of –“

“No!” T’Beth caught hold of his hand. “Father, please don’t make me. Opening my mind would be so…so embarrassing, so awful.”

            With resistance such as hers, a healer’s mind-touch would be awful indeed. Spock sighed. He had seen a forced probing. Once, years ago, he had participated in a mind-trial, but the experience so sickened him that he later argued long and hard against the brutal practice. No. He would not subject T’Beth to anything of that sort, but it was becoming clear that she needed psychological help.

“Relax,” he said, “I won’t force you to see a healer.”

T’Beth closed her eyes in relief. As she settled back against him, Spock considered entering her mind himself, though such contact between a father and daughter was forbidden. It would not be the first Vulcan taboo he had broken for her sake. Properly executed, a gentle mind probe could rid her of the problem memories. But any dreams arising from her subconscious would then be even more disturbing, because she would not understand them. No, he decided. And with a heavy heart he escorted her back to her bedroom.

***

When Spock arose the next morning, he sensed a change in the air. After dressing, he walked down the hallway, into the kitchen. At the counter, Amanda stood humming as she sliced fresh gespar into a bowl.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said, inhaling the good aroma.

“Oh Spock,” she said absently. “Good morning.” She resumed her humming as she stirred the fruit, moving the spoon in rhythm with the lilting tune.

For some reason Spock found the music unsettling. There was something about it, something vaguely familiar that—

“Christmas is next week,” Amanda said, spooning the fruit into bowls. “Have you forgotten, Spock?”

            Of course, that was it. Christmas carols. Peace on Earth, joy to the world. Spock nearly winced at the thought of all that human sentimentality intruding on his life again, now of all times. There was no joy in T’Beth this year. There was no peace for either of them. How could Amanda be thinking of celebrations? If he were speaking with anyone else, Spock might have voiced his opinion. But this was his mother, so he chose his words with extreme care.

“Christmas,” he said. “Yes, it was always popular among the humans aboard ship. Some of the celebrations were quite…memorable. However…” With Amanda’s full attention, he continued delicately. “However, this year, considering all that has happened, such…festivities seem rather out of place.”

“Oh,” Amanda said dryly. “Is that so? Are you thinking of T’Beth now…or your own preferences?”

Spock stiffened. In his thoughts he seemed to hear her adding, It’s time you stop thinking of yourself. Taking T’Beth on that ill-conceived jaunt was totally irresponsible. It put her right into the hands of the Klingons. He had said it to himself often enough. His instructor in the disciplines lectured him frequently about the destructiveness of guilt. “I am thinking of T’Beth,” he said without much conviction. “Surely you’ve heard her cries in the night.”

Amanda wiped her hands on a towel with quick, angry movements, and then tossed it down. She stared at it in icy silence.

“Mother,” Spock began softly.

She whirled to face him. “Yes. I’ve heard! And I’ve wept in the night for her—frivolous human tears that serve no logical purpose whatsoever.”

Spock met his mother’s outburst with studied calm—a typically Vulcan reaction that served to fuel her anger just now. “Always so cool,” she flared, “so perfectly controlled. I sometimes wonder if those Seleyan priests are turning you into a—“ She broke off as T’Beth appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Biting her lip, Amanda set the bowls on the table. Spock ate only to please her. He dreaded emotional outbursts from his mother. He did not know how to respond to her disapproval, except by retreating further into himself, which did not help matters. He finished the meal quickly, then walked into town.

The morning air retained a chilly hint of desert night, but he was comfortable enough in his cloak as long as he kept moving. He did not have any particular destination in mind. He followed the streets in a rough loop that would eventually bring him back home, where he hoped to find his mother in a better temper. He would spend the day at his computer, immersed in mathematical studies. The cold, inarguable figures would settle his mind as surely as any meditation, eliminating all thoughts of—

“Moi fumo,” spoke a boyish voice.

Drawn out of his reverie, Spock found a Vulcan adolescent struggling to keep pace with him on the walkway. He came to a halt beside ShiKahr’s transit depot. The young, neatly dressed stranger stopped and gazed up at him through dark eyes.

“Good man,” he repeated most respectfully. “Chatai. Excuse me, but will you be going to ShanaiKahr?”

“Why do you ask?” Spock inquired, genuinely curious.

“I missed the early shuttle,” admitted the boy. “My first class begins within the hour. If you are hiring a skimmer, I would share expenses in exchange for a ride.”

Up until that moment, Spock had harbored no intention of going to ShanaiKahr, but the boy’s candor and resourcefulness appealed to him, as well as his outward calm in what was certainly a distressful situation. Spock could not help but sympathize with the young scholar’s predicament, even if it was the result of carelessness. He nodded and they entered the depot together.

***

The fireball of Eradani 40 painted the morning sky pink and crimson as Spock piloted the rented skimmer over the desert. Beside him the boy sat quietly, eyes forward, his hands relaxed on the armrests—a model Vulcan.

Since exchanging names, as even Vulcan courtesy demanded, young Stoba had answered Spock in the briefest language possible, as if reluctant to give up his silence now that he had secured a ride. Or perhaps he felt a little intimidated knowing Spock’s identity. But Stoba did not act intimidated, he merely acted…Vulcan. It was Spock who grew uneasy with the closeness in the cockpit and what suddenly seemed like an unnatural lack of sociability in a young person. As the trip dragged on, he found himself thinking of T’Beth’s spontaneity, of those swift unpredictable mood swings that made his daughter such a mystery to him, but an endearing mystery. Not unlike, he realized, her grandmother Amanda.

With a sense of relief, Spock delivered the prim scholar to his destination, and then aimlessly flew around the capital city. The feeling of discontent continued to build until he finally parked the skimmer in the port district and set out walking. Here alien-run restaurants, bars, and shops catered to the tastes of off-planet visitors. There was no place less Vulcan or more refreshing to Spock in his present state of mind. The babble of languages, the diverse swatches of music, the interesting assortment of aliens hurrying along the walkways—all seemed more attractive than any tedious session on Mount Seleya.

But what was he thinking?

Almost at once he argued back, Must thinking be all that matters? Had he not determined once and for all that there was also some value in simply feeling?

His eyes caught a garish twinkle of red and green lights on an artificial Christmas tree. Drawn to the window display, he paused to study the imitation snow flocking its branches. Someone smelling of liquor bumped into him without apology, and he moved closer to the window. On one side of the tree a holographic nativity scene played out jerkily, in urgent need of repair. Nearby, an image of a white-bearded human wore the archaic fur robe of Father Christmas.

Spock ventured inside the store. The shelves of the import shop were stacked with merchandise from Earth. Trying to be inconspicuous, wondering if the human in him showed, Spock indulged in a very human pastime. He browsed.

Many of the items he had seen before, in one form or another, but the toy section with its curious gadgets and games was a fresh, fascinating world. He had not paid any attention to human playthings since childhood, and even if he had, toys changed so much from year to year that there was always something new. Except for the classics. Those, he recognized immediately—scaled-down replicas of various conveyances, dolls, and fiber-filled animal likenesses such as the honey colored bear with a crooked yellow rain hat.

“Can I set you on fire?” asked a man in heavily accented Vulcan.

Startled by the request, Spock turned and stared at a small perspiring human.

“Can I set you on fire?” he repeated graciously.

It occurred to Spock that the man was not a pyromaniac, but had unwittingly mixed the similar-sounding Vulcan words for “set on fire” and “assist”. “No thank you,” Spock said in Standard, adding a phrase he had heard humans use in similar circumstances. “I am just looking.”

“For a boy or a girl?” persisted the salesman, at ease now in his native tongue.

“I beg your pardon?” Spock asked, confused once again.

“The gift. Is it for a boy or a girl? A Vulcan or…?” The man’s voice trailed off, his smile widening expectantly.

“Ah.” Spock was beginning to wish he had never come into the store. But now that he was here, and the focus of the salesman’s attention, wouldn’t it be simplest just to purchase some small trinket for his daughter? A Christmas gift might not distract the child from her troubles, but it would placate Amanda. “It is for a girl.” Rather than elaborate on T’Beth’s unusual bloodlines, he merely added, “A human who recently turned fifteen.”

“Well then,” beamed the salesman, “here’s the thing!” He grabbed a purple-furred multiped from a shelf and displayed it with obvious pride. “Cuddly and soft. I assure you, girls of all ages just love them.” He winked. “Even the grownup kind!”

Spock studied the toy animal in the salesman’s hands, but was unable to identify its species. By now he was getting accustomed to these gaps in his memory, and no longer found them quite so disconcerting. He asked, “What is it?”

“Why sir,” said the man, “I already told you. It’s a thing—a Thing with a capital ‘T’.”

Spock purchased the bear with a lower case ‘b’. Embarrassed by the whole business, he wrapped his cloak around the furry toy and carried it through the back streets to his skimmer.

Amanda surprised him in the hallway when he came home. Acutely aware of the bear hidden in his cloak, Spock hugged the bundle a little closer to his body.

Amanda seemed not to notice as her gentle eyes searched him. “Spock,” she said, “I didn’t mean to snap at you this morning. Sometimes I forget that…that T’Beth isn’t the only one hurting.”

The words challenged Spock’s composure. His back throbbed at the dark memories of a Klingon whip, of pain and humiliation lashed deep into flesh and spirit. Like T’Beth, he had never revealed the shameful details of his captivity to his family or his friends. It had been a terrible effort just to open himself, once, to the temple healer. He had not done it a second time. He did not want anyone to know what had happened behind Klingon lines.

Mother’s cool fingers touched his arm. “Please don’t go back to Seleya yet, at least not until after Christmas. Your being here means so much to T’Beth. It’s the best gift you could possibly give her.”

“Then I will stay,” Spock told her, not saying how long.

***

As Christmas drew near, the mountain refuge called out to Spock, promising a pleasant quietude far removed from his mother’s seasonal oddities. These days Sarek was seldom home, and Spock wondered if his father was seeking his own refuge. While T’Beth was at school, Spock spent a great deal of computer time on a supplemental re-education program prepared for him by his parents. When T’Beth returned home, he helped with her lessons, took her on long walks under the stars, and did his best to soothe the night terrors that sent her fleeing into his room all too often.

And right there in his room, another source of disquiet haunted his closet shelf: the golden bear, still wrapped in his cloak. How could he have made such a foolish, illogical, inappropriate purchase? He had allowed himself to be caught up in a “mood”, and now he was suffering the consequences. Knowing that he was hiding a “teddy bear” made Spock uneasy when anyone came into his bedroom, including T’Beth. Yet he could not bring himself to touch the silly thing, in order to take it from the house and dispose of it.

Late Christmas Eve, he caught his mother coming out of his room and all pretense of ignoring the situation vanished in a stab of panic. “Mother!” he blurted out, before continuing in a calmer tone. “Were you…were you looking for me?”

“No, Spock.” She said in the very patient voice that she sometimes used on slow learners. “You left your coat in the living room. I was putting it away.”

Spock’s mind raced to the closet. He envisioned his mother opening the door, saw her start to hang the coat, notice a wadded cloak on the shelf and reach for it. “You did not have to do that,” he said levelly.

Amanda gave him a look that he could not interpret. “We all do things we don’t have to do. They’re like gifts for each other. They make life pleasant. Speaking of which…are you giving T’Beth a present tomorrow?”

The question seemed calculated to throw him further off balance, and Spock responded curtly. “You said my being here was gift enough.”

There was an awkward moment of silence during which he came to regret his abruptness.

“Yes,” Amanda said at last, her voice delicately laced with ice. “I did say that, Spock. I should have known you’d take it literally.”

oooo

Long after the house grew quiet, Spock sat in his room, neither studying nor meditating. The unfortunate scene in the hallway kept replaying through his mind. He had shown a disrespectful attitude toward his mother, and all because of his embarrassment over a toy. To all appearances the bear had not been disturbed, but tonight he would remove the foolish thing from his closet, and from his life, before it caused him any further trouble. The trash cycler in the skimmer bay—or the “garage”, as his mother called it—seemed ideal for the purpose.

Now that his mind was set, Spock moved quickly, thrusting the bear under his shirt, easing his bedroom door open, looking and listening in the dim hall. The way was clear. With the soft, sensual feel of synthetic fur against his skin, he eased down the hallway, slipped through the shadows of the kitchen, and entered the skimmer bay.

The indicator light on the trash unit showed that it was occupied with digesting the contents of its last deposit. That meant the bear would have to wait in backload, but not for long. By morning it, too, would be devoured, right down to its crooked little rain hat.

Spock pulled the toy out from under his shirt. Warmed by his body, it almost felt alive to the touch. Its glass eyes caught the glow of the indicator light and glimmered at him as he forced it down the intake chute. Then the bear was gone.

Spock’s relief was short-lived. As he stood in the darkness, a cry of pain sounded from within the house. He followed the sound to his daughter’s room and did his best to comfort her.

oooo

Spock slept late the next morning. Perhaps it was an attempt to avoid Christmas, or escape the bitter memories of what a vengeful Klingon had done to his life and the life of his daughter. Whatever its source, the fatigue felt genuine and clung to him even after he awoke, making him want to roll over and go back to sleep.

A tapping at his door drew him back to reality. Sighing, he rose and put on a robe. He left the closet open, taking some small pleasure in the fact that at least he no longer had anything hidden there. Running a hand through his uncombed hair, he said, “Come in.”

T’Beth entered and shut the door behind her. She looked pale and dispirited in her best clothes as she said, “We’re waiting for you.”

It was painful to see her so downcast on Christmas morning, and Spock thought, that is what the Klingons have done to her. I was there when it happened. I practically handed her over to them…

“Admiral Kirk and the others are coming this afternoon,” she said, “when Grandfather gets home from work. Gram wants to go ahead with the presents now.”

“Then we must not disappoint her,” Spock replied.

A sonic shower did little to refresh him. Out of consideration for his mother, he put on a special suit of clothes. A pall of gloom hung over the living room as he entered. With a wan ghost of a smile, T’Beth looked up from the couch where she sat surrounded by brightly wrapped packages.

“Merry Christmas, Spock.”

He turned from his daughter and found Amanda seated in her favorite chair. Nodding to her, he said “Merry Christmas, Mother” because it was a courtesy expected of him. “I did not mean to delay the proceedings,” he added. And it was true enough. He had hoped they would go ahead without him.

“You needed the rest,” Amanda said generously. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” he replied.

“Then I think we’ve kept this girl waiting quite long enough.”

Spock looked once again at T’Beth. She had donned an oversized gray hat that made her seem even more pathetic.

“Recognize it?” T’Beth asked, handing it over.

Upon closer examination, he realized that the brimmed cap had once belonged to him.

“It’s from Starfleet Academy,” she said. “I found it in your things when you were…” She stopped suddenly.

“Deceased,” he finished for her.

She quickly moved on. “What was it doing here? I know that Sarek wasn’t even talking to you back then. He didn’t like you joining Starfleet.”

Amanda gave Spock a fond smile. “Do you still remember?”

“Yes.” Strange, how vividly he recalled that long-ago day and how deeply touched he had been to see her at his graduation. There, among so many humans, she had not stood out as she did on Vulcan. “You came to my commencement ceremony. This is the hat I wore. I didn’t throw it into the air, like the other cadets. Instead, I gave it to you.”

“And I’ve treasured it,” Amanda said. “I kept it from Sarek, in your bedroom.”

“Put it on, put it on,” T’Beth begged with more enthusiasm than she had displayed for anything since their captivity.

Spock obliged by donning the hat at the proper angle and she responded with a smile…but the smile grew forced as she began opening her presents. Spock settled into a chair and watched. Surely his mother could read the pain in her eyes. Why act out this   travesty of celebration?

As Amanda blithely accepted the thanks for each gift, Spock found himself growing more and more annoyed, but he maintained a respectful silence. At last only one present remained. The strain of the ordeal plainly showed on T’Beth’s face and in the   trembling of her fingers as she tugged red and green wrapping paper from the box. She lifted the lid. Tears gathered and she sat staring into the carton for so long that Spock almost said, “Enough.”

But then, incredibly, a smile began to steal over T’Beth’s face and she blinked away the tears, leaving her damp eyes glowing with an unmistakable light of pleasure. “Oh,” he’s adorable!” she exclaimed, carefully lifting the source of this remarkable transformation out of its box.

Curious, Spock leaned forward and glimpsed something golden and furry. As he stared at it, he could feel the blood rushing to his face, leaving his hands cold and his stomach in a knot.

Beaming, T’Beth soundly hugged the bear with the crooked yellow rain hat, and then jumped up and danced it around the room before collapsing in laughter on the arm of her grandmother’s chair. “I love him!” she said, clutching the bear in one arm and squeezing Amanda with the other. “Oh, thank you, Gram. He’s perfect!”

Spock looked on, speechless. What an odd coincidence; he had purchased the very same bear as his mother, only to destroy it. He had badly misjudged the situation, but now Amanda’s thoughtful gift was actually bringing T’Beth some real happiness. That should have been reward enough, yet he found himself wishing things had turned out differently and the credit for the gift might have been his.

Then Mother said to T’Beth, “Dear, I’m so glad you like it, but I’m afraid you’re thanking the wrong person.”

T’Beth went still and searched her grandmother’s face. “You’re joking.” She saw that Amanda was not joking. “Then who…?”

Incredibly, Amanda turned and gave Spock an amused, very telling look. He sat rooted to the spot as T’Beth followed her grandmother’s line of sight, eyes opening wide in astonishment.

“You bought it?” she cried.

Amanda said, “I only wrapped it for him.”

There was no chance for Spock to comment, even had he been so inclined. Leaping off Amanda’s chair, T’Beth rushed over and caught him in a fierce embrace that   knocked his hat askew. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered in his ear.

Holding her close, Spock gazed upon his mother with appreciation.