Friends of a Feather 

	The 1600 com-tram slowed to make its next stop at the Mason Depot.  For once Christine found she was home before dark and had a nice relaxing evening in mind.  She’d put something on the grill, pull on her new pair of satin pajamas, and break out the bottle of wine she got for Christmas.  The Mason Depot was little more than a commuter stop with a customer service screen, public restroom, and vending machines that were ill-stocked and only partially worked.  As she headed through the small station, the lone figure with his back to her concentrating on a data padd caught her attention.  Quietly she stepped over to block the light coming over his left shoulder.  He objected without looking up, “Could you please take two steps either to the right or the left.”
	“Only if you throw a bowl of plomeek at me,” she replied and waited for his reaction with a wry smile that turned into a grin when he looked at her, “Dr. Chapel, this is unexpected.”
	“Didn’t exactly expect to see you here either,” she replied and looked at the pile of luggage, “What are you doing here?  This is a comm station not a main line.”
	“I was to catch the Sacto tram here,” he replied. 
	“That leaves at 1235, this is 1600,” she stated.  
	“Yes, and I arrived at 1245,” he explained. 
	“Oh no…” she laughed, “So you’re gonna wait till the next one goes through at 2145?”
	“I have little choice,” Spock replied.  “I am meeting someone at that time.”
	“Ah… well, you’re wrong about one thing,” she said.
	He was intrigued, “And that is?”
	“You don’t have to wait here.  I live two blocks down and it’s much more comfortable.”
	“I am already situated here,” he assured but she noted a half empty bag of cheese flavored crackers.  
	“I’ll feed you, or do you enjoy baked fake cheese snacks?” she lured.
	That did the trick.  Shutting down the datapadd he tucked it in his cloak pocket and said, “Lead the way.”
	“Instead of toting all your stuff just lock it up in a box,” she suggested and he chose one of the larger lockers to stow everything except his cloak.  It was a pleasant spring day and he wouldn’t require it until after dark.  As they walked down the brick lined walks, the well-established trees filtered the sunlight.  Wrought iron fences were the norm and as they walked Spock noted the prevalence of masonry details, “There seems to be a large amount of concrete and brick structures here.”
	Christine nodded, “This was the center of the mason union when it was big a few hundred years ago.  The outer structures here have to be constructed or clad of at least 75% stone, brick, concrete, adobe, or terra cotta.  I found that out when I had an addition put on the back of the house.  It’s a historic district so they’re quite strict about what can and can’t be done.  I either did what they wanted or made do with tiny bedrooms.  Here we are corner of Mason and Granite.”
	The house was not large from the outside but occupied a corner lot so her front door was on Mason and her garage on Granite.  From the front the house was little more than a door and a massive chimney.  Brick, concrete, and stone were liberally used to cover every outside visible surface except windows and door trim.  The roof had been done in a contrasting dark green shingle to break up the otherwise brown palette.  Christine handed Spock the keys, “Go on in the front I’ll just be a minute.”  
	She disappeared around the corner and Spock easily got the door open.  Hardwood floors gleamed in the light but he was drawn to the large fish tank against the opposite wall.  It was an ordinary fresh water aquarium but was still quite attractive and mesmerizing.  He turned to find a dog grey as mist with ghostly light eyes and as tall as his hip staring at him as if waiting for the word to attack.  Chapel’s voice from the back called the dog away and Spock began to breathe again.  He followed the dog till he found Chapel in the garage doling out food to the grey beast, a white dog equally as large, and three cats.  
	“I see you weren’t mauled by Shadow,” she stated.  His cocked eyebrow made her smile, “He’s harmless but he’ll scare the hell out of people.  You never heard him come up to you did you?”
	Spock recalled, “No I did not.”
	Chapel patted the dog’s rump, “Atta boy.  Pretty good when you consider those Vulcan ears.  Now Misty here she’ll nearly deafen you barking.  The cats are Dick, Jane, and Bill when they’re at rest and Deadeye, Calamity and Buffalo when they’re in motion.  I assume you saw the fish?”
	“Yes I was admiring them when Shadow found me,” Spock admitted.  
	“Figures.  Well, I’ll give you the ten cent tour.  You’ve already seen it all though,” she left all the animals to their food.  “Stove and fridge give this room away as the kitchen, large table and chairs must be the dining room, and the living room is the only thing left.  Bedrooms and baths are down the side hall.  Any questions?”
	“You mentioned food,” Spock reminded.  
	“Ah yes, food.  How about something from the grill?  I was thinking of some steamed stir fry,” she suggested leading him back to the compact kitchen.  
	“I do not wish to upset your plans,” the Vulcan assured.  
	“Do you prefer rice or noodles?”
	“I have no preference.”
	She nodded, “All right, cook’s choice.  Now go sit on that side of the island and don’t get in my way.”
	“It is a small space,” Spock observed.  
	“Tactful,” Christine chuckled, “Leonard says I’m bossy in my old age.”
	“He should know,” Spock retorted.  
	“No comment.  I have tea, but it’s cold and with sugar, otherwise known as syrup.”
	“Water will suffice.” 
	“Glasses are behind you in the cupboard,” she instructed, “Water and ice in the door.”
	Spock served himself and made sure to stay out of her way.  She was combining a variety of frozen vegetables in a large stainless steel bowl.  “Do you prefer cashews, peanuts, or sunflower seeds?”
	Again he answered, “I have no preference.”
	“All righty,” she grabbed a measuring scoop of each and added them to the bowl.  “Soy or teriyaki?”
	“Teriyaki,” he decided and watched her add most of the bottle.  
	“How’s your father?” she asked absently.
	Spock hesitated, “He is well but adjusting has not been easy.”
	“Of course, how long were they married?” 
	“74.2 years.”
	“My God that’s an eternity,” she commented, “Must’ve been made for each other.”
	“I have been told that,” Spock replied quietly.  His mother’s death was no longer fresh but it was still keenly felt.  
	“But I shouldn’t be so surprised I mean you’re what… 69?”
	Spock nodded as he sipped the room temperature water.  
	“And how are you?” she posed. 
	Concern was in the familiar blue eyes and for a brief moment he was reminded of his mother’s and of the nearly identical question she’d asked a decade ago.  Regrettably he could not repeat his answer, “As I stated, the adjustment is difficult.”
	If it had been Leonard McCoy he’d have pressed the weak spot in the Vulcan’s armor, but Chapel had never demanded an emotional response from Spock.  He was therefore more apt to give her one.  His voice was a little rough, “At times I feel quite lost, as a ship adrift.”
	“Or a little kid all alone in a new place?” Chapel compared. 
	He agreed, “Yes, perhaps that is a better analogy.”
	“If it’s any consolation I think all children go through the same thing when their parents die no matter how old they are.  I know I felt the same way when mine died when I was 27.  Killed in an accident,” she supplied.  
	Spock mentally calculated.  She lost both parents and Roger Korby at approximately the same time.  It provided him with a new insight of her personality.  She was busy concentrating on the mix before sitting the bowl on a counter ledge behind her.  With a tired smile she retrieved a package from the cabinet and a large wok.  She toted them with her, “Grill’s on the patio.”
	Spock followed to the screened living area off the dining room.  It was obviously the more lived in section of the home by the way it was decorated and items casually strewn about.  A huge bird cage hung in the corner with a brightly colored parrot perched inside that perked up when the door opened, “Baby doll!”
	“Hello Lover,” she replied.  The bird bobbed his head up and down as if evaluating the new person in the room, he whistled, “Cutie!”
	Spock was startled.  Christine laughed, “Bird didn’t say a word till I let Janice pet sit a couple weeks the last time she was in port.  She named him Lover, not me.  His registered name is Valentino.”
	“That is somehow not surprising knowing Ms. Rand,” Spock stated.  
	“Nope.  You can let him out if you want.  He won’t fly off.”  
	Spock was intrigued.  He’d never seen a parrot up close in person.  “How?”
	“Just open the door and he’ll come and go on his own,” she said as she started the food.  
	Spock did as she said and without coaxing the parrot stepped out and hopped onto the back of the chair.  “Is Lover not chased by the cats?” Spock asked.
	“Dick tried once but got on eye scratched out, hence Deadeye Dick.  Lover’s pretty feisty and protective.  Pecked Leonard hard on the head when he sat too close once.”
	“To the bird?” Spock asked 
	“No to me silly,” Chapel replied.  “Lover what did McCoy say?”
	The bird puffed up and reared back, “Damn Yankee bird!”
	Spock almost, almost laughed.  He couldn’t hide the astonished look and half smile.  He liked the bird.  
	“Lover this is Spock,” Chapel introduced.  
	“Pointy-eared elf,” the bird replied without hesitation.
	“Oh no!” she roared and tried to explain, “He was only alone with Len one afternoon.  God knows what he’s been taught.”
	“He is quite a quick study.  But then Dr. McCoy was always better with animals and inanimate objects than with people.  Perhaps an investigation of his license is in order.”
	The bird seemed to concur, “QUACK!” 
	Spock agreed, “Indeed.”
	“Enough of that.  Here,” she pulled out a bag of chopped fruit and bits of nuts, “He’ll eat out of your palm but he forgets that his beak’ll break fingers.  Put the food in this little bowl and hold it in your hand for him.  You should be all right then.”
	Spock busied himself with putting various fruit chunks in the bowl and watched the bird take it.  After a few pieces Spock became distracted by the height of the flames on the grill and the bird bit his hand to signal more food.  Caught unaware Spock dropped the bowl and the bird went squawking slicing the top of the Vulcan’s hand as he took off.  Blood spurted out to stain the hem of his tunic.  Christine tossed Spock a clean towel, “Here, I can’t leave the food yet.  Lover, perch!” 
	Spock started to clean the fruit off the floor although blood was dripping down his hand.
	“Don’t worry about that now, wrap up your hand.”  It took a few minutes before she could tend him, “Nothing major, looks worse than it is.  It’ll quit bleeding with a little pressure.  Your tunic’ll ruin if it’s not washed quick.  Take it off and I’ll do it with my laundry.  There’s a scrub you can put on in the closet.”
	Spock found the scrub, thought it a bit loud but put it on anyway.
	“Somehow butterflies are not you,” she commented.  “Sorry about that.  Lover’s put up and supper’s ready.”
	The food was delicious but Spock expected nothing less, his tunic was freshly washed and dried, and he was able to enjoy the next four hours visiting.  She told him all about her ongoing research and he spoke about his new duties as Starfleet liaison.  His present lecture circuit came up, “I have never enjoyed public speaking as my father has, however it is a necessary part of the job.”  
	“God I hate giving speeches,” she insisted as she poured some more wine for herself.  It had been the most relaxing evening she’d had for some time. “I bet I sleep hard tonight.  I haven’t gotten much sleep this week for some reason.”
	“If I recall your work habits it is probably because you have your nose stuck in a microscope,” he recalled.  
	“Could be, probably you’re right, as usual,” she replied almost sleepily.  
	“I should go,” Spock decided.  “I do have a train to meet after all.”
	“Oh yeah, almost forgot about that.  It’s been so very nice to have you here.  You’re welcome to come back any time you wish,” she was saying as he retrieved his cloak.  
	“I shall remember that, especially if I am stuck in the train station again,” he replied and started to go back through the house.  
	“You can go out this door, shorter trip,” she said and pointed to the patio door almost hidden behind the bird cage.  Lover cooed, “Goodbye Cutie.”
	“Goodbye Lover,” Spock replied sending the bird into fits of feathers and fluff everywhere.  
	She chuckled, “Night, and thank you for a lovely evening.”
	“And you for the dinner, and an equally pleasant time,” he returned and pulled the cloak tighter about him to ward off the chilly wind coming from the north.  He did not look back as he headed back toward the station.  

	“If there are any questions or comments I will address them now,” Spock said to the Washington, DC group.  
	A hand popped up in the back, “Ambassador would you agree with the philosophy that peace is harder to win and keep than war?” 
	Spock nodded, “In general principle I would agree.  However, Vulcan maintains peace through inner motivation from all members working in unison not because there is a lack of disharmony or outside forces.  It is ingrained in our society so deeply that we see no alternatives.  Peace is most difficult to attain but once the roots are deep enough, it is not difficult to maintain.”  
	A man down front stepped forward, “Ambassador Spock, you are the former Starfleet Captain Spock?”
	“Yes.”
	The man nodded and two more men in uniform stepped forward into the footlights, “I’m placing you under arrest and you will be remanded to the California State Authorities.  You will come with us.”
	The crowd was stunned, Spock made no moves, and the panel of other speakers were equally as shocked, only Sarek reacted, “What are the charges against my son?”
	“Attempted murder of Dr. Christine Chapel on Friday, April 9th.”
	What few media personnel were there leaped into action.  Flashbulbs, mutterings from the crowd, and microphones were everywhere.  Someone recalled Spock’s current profession, “You can’t arrest him; he’s got ambassadorial immunity.”
	Spock held up a hand, “I will come peacefully.  Father, please find out what you can and contact Dr. McCoy.”
	Sarek watched as the officers cuffed Spock and read him his rights, “You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you do say can and will be used against you.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you…” 
	The elder Vulcan turned to his aide, “Find the number for Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, Starfleet physician retired, and appraise him of the situation.  Cancel all lecture dates and have the embassy skimmer prepared to follow where ever they take Spock.” He sidestepped the media giving neither answers nor opportunity for questions as he hurried after the officers.  

	It was raining in California when they arrived but the cloak Spock had had been seized as evidence and he had to make due with a plastic poncho provided by police.  He had been given no other details and requested none until he was behind a security screen and his father arrived.  Sarek had the information, “Dr. McCoy is tending to Dr. Chapel.”
	“And she accuses me of attempting to kill her?” Spock asked incredulously.
	“She is in a coma caused by a severe blow to the head and other serious but not life threatening wounds.  Dr. McCoy refuses to leave her side,” Sarek said.  “But he assures me the charge is ludicrous, or as he put it, damned idiotic.”
	Spock nodded, “She is in the best care.  What evidence have they got?”
	“An eyewitness puts a ‘cloaked’ figure leaving her home in the evening hours shortly before the police arrived, Vulcan blood droplets were on the floor near where her body was found, and identical feathers were found on your cloak and her clothing.  She also muttered something when she was found.  It was ‘No…Spock…Lover’,” Sarek said hoping his son had an explanation.  
	Spock digested the information, “She has a parrot named Lover, that explains the feathers.”
	“How do you know this?” Sarek asked.  
	“I was with Dr. Chapel the evening she was attacked.  She invited me to dinner while I waited to meet the Sacramento train.  It was a pleasant evening, however the bird scratched my hand, hence the blood drops on the floor.  When I left he went into some agitated fit and feathers went everywhere.  I was wearing my cloak, it was chilly so I pulled the hood up and walked the two blocks to the station.  When I left she was about to go to bed.  She was extremely tired and had imbibed two glasses of wine.  I neither saw anything unusual when I left nor did I attack her,” Spock explained.  
	Sarek nodded, “I know you did not, but all physical evidence points to you.  That, until something else is found, is all they have.  I have sent for the embassy attorney.  He is arranging bail and terms at this time.”
	Spock was anxious to leave.  It was not so much the idea of being incarcerated as it was he wished to see Dr. Chapel.  Perhaps if he could meld with her he could learn the truth.  Sarek must have seen his idea, “They will not allow it.  Dr. McCoy tried to convince them to allow me to attempt a meld but they are afraid I will ‘erase’ or change her memories to exonerate you.”
	“Human logic and suspicion will have me convicted before I can be released,” Spock lamented.  
	“The media are highly interested in the story.  This has taken priority over the launch of the Enterprise-B,” Sarek mentioned.  
	“I fear I will not be able to attend as Jim planned.  You will inform him of the situation.”
	“He has already contacted me and assumed as much.  He said he will come here before leaving for the shake down cruise.  He also wishes to check on Dr. Chapel.  I believe he said something about it being his duty.” 
	Spock was not surprised, “Jim Kirk is and always will be a ship’s captain.  He feels very strongly about his crew.”
	“She has not been ‘crew’ for twenty years, “Sarek pointed out. 
	“There is no time limit to loyalty father,” Spock reminded, “nor Human determination.”
	
	Leonard McCoy looked awful and felt worse.  The hospital ICU was no Hilton, hell it didn’t even qualify for a beaverboard inn.  He’d slept on broken down cots that were more comfortable than the lounge chair he’d been given.  As a doctor he could get away with constant vigilance.  The intercom crackled with Jim’s voice, “Can you come out or not.”
	McCoy opened the security curtain, “Just a second.”
	Setting the audio on the bio-bed to high alert he left the window clear as well.  Spock and Kirk waited in the hall.  “Want some coffee?” Kirk asked. 
	“No, I’m swimming now,” McCoy answered, “She’s alive but not responding to stimulus right now.”
	Kirk look in at the pale figure, “What happened?”
	“Someone bashed her in the head, hard.  She has a bone fragment in the upper left hemisphere that needs removed when she gets stronger.  Other than that she was nearly strangled and punched around some.  I can’t believe they think you’d do this,” McCoy spat.  
	“What motive have they got?” Kirk asked.
	“None that I know of, just a few facts that fit together.”
	“What has been done with her animals?” Spock asked. 
	“Neighbors are looking after the cats and fish.  Uhura has the dogs,” McCoy said. 
	“And Lover?” Spock asked.  
	“Lover?” Kirk repeated. 
	“The parrot,” McCoy said, “I dunno, no one mentioned the bird.  But you’d think if you both had parrot feathers…”
	“So, you were at Christine’s the night she was attacked?” Kirk asked.  
	“Yes. When she found out I would be waiting ten hours for the train she invited me to dinner.  Her home is two blocks away from the station.  I was scratched severely by the bird which explains the blood on the floor and the feathers.  When I left her at 2115, she and the bird were fine.”
	McCoy nodded, “I figured there was a logical explanation.  Too bad the police won’t buy it.”
	“Dr. McCoy I find your support refreshing.”
	“Well hell, I’ve known you forty years and you couldn’t hurt Christine even if you were out of your head.  If you wanted to knock her out you’d just give her a nerve pinch and be done with it.”  
	Kirk agreed, “Surely they know that.  I mean, you’re a Vulcan.”
	“You forget I am considered… a rogue among Vulcans.  I am sure my Human half is being weighed most heavily in this matter.  Regretfully I will not be able to attend the christening of the Enterprise-B.”
	“Damn the luck,” Kirk said.  “If I knew this was no joke I’d think you two’d arranged this just to get out of going.  Come to think of it can’t you link me in with this somehow?  I hate these media junkets.”
	“Then why go?” 
	“Curiosity I suppose, maybe an itch to get back on tour even for five minutes, or because Admiral Smillie said I had to, publicity clause on my retirement papers.”  
	“That was dumb,” McCoy muttered. 
	“It’s what happens when I go drinking with Scott and Chekov the night before,” Kirk grumbled and glanced at the chronometer.  He had to leave, “Well, keep the faith gentlemen, let me know if anything happens, and I’ll be back after this trip to help get you out of this mess.” 
	“I hope it to be resolved before your return,” Spock answered although he had little confidence, “but I will welcome your help in any case.”
	“Have fun Jim,” McCoy bade sarcastically.
	“I always do,” he declared and headed out.  
	Spock glanced at Chapel, he was not needed here. “I have an inquiry to make.  Can I bring you anything?”
	“Yeah some clean clothes.  These are starting to turn on me,” McCoy decided as Spock started toward the lifts.  

	“What bird?” Sergeant Tragg asked.  
	Spock replied, “Dr. Chapel has a pet parrot named Lover caged on the patio where she was found.  He is quite vocal and the cage hangs from the ceiling, you cannot miss it.” 
	“Didn’t see a bird or a cage,” the sergeant mused. 
	Spock was puzzled.  It was such a large cage; surely they could not be so blind as to miss it.  He looked at his hand.  The deep scratch was still visible.  “May I go to Dr. Chapel’s home, accompanied by police of course.”
	“Why?”
	“To prove a bird was there and if he is not now his disappearance may be key to this investigation,” Spock reasoned.  
	The sergeant shrugged, “Don’t see why not, the house has been released by the exam team.  I’ll come along in case you’re right.”  
	
	The house was as he’d left it except the cage and the bird were gone.  Four large hooks were all that was left.  Spock pointed out, “That proves my statement.”
	“What it proves,” the sergeant countered, “Is that there are 4 large hooks in the ceiling, not that a cage was here.”
	Spock yielded to that logic, “I have witnesses that can confirm the bird’s existence and the position of the cage.  Contact Commander Janice Rand who is presently serving on the USS Excelsior under Captain Sulu’s command.  Dr. Leonard McCoy is in charge of Dr. Chapel’s recuperation.  He can also confirm my statement.”
	The sergeant nodded, started putting the calls through.  While they waited a knock at the patio door interrupted them.  A short plump lady told them, “Tell Chris that I’ve got that cuckoo bird of hers trapped in my garage and I want to get my car out.”
	“The parrot?  How’d it get in your garage?” the policeman asked. 
	“I dunno, but he’s driving me nuts.  Keeps screeching “Damned Yankee and Killer and won’t let me near the car.”
	“That has to be Lover,” Spock affirmed.  
	“Come on, we might need animal control for this.”
	“Sergeant I believe that if you will allow me to lure the bird out with fruit he will be manageable,” Spock suggested.  
	
	Leonard McCoy checked his watch.  Spock’d been gone an hour when the crazy call about finding the bird came through.  That was five hours ago and since then nothing.  He started to dose a little till Spock’s voice over the intercom woke him, “I have your fresh clothing.”
	Stiff, McCoy hobbled over to the door and stepped out, “Where’ve you been?”
	“Being exonerated by police,” Spock explained and handed the physician the bag with his clothes in it.  “There was enough DNA evidence under the bird’s claws to clear me of any suspicion as well as point the way to another suspect.  They are now looking for a man named Carl Bert, a former associate of Dr. Chapel’s.”
	“Carl, I should have thought…  She dismissed him last month after she found out he was passing classified research.  Really made her mad, they’d been… involved as well.” 
	“You will be interested to note that your contribution to the bird’s vocabulary was of great assistance.”
	“Huh?” 
	“He kept repeating Damn Yankee and Killer.  I prompted him and he was able to repeat the argument between Dr. Chapel and Dr. Bert,” Spock reported.  
	“And I bet when she called him Bert he thought she said bird…  So why did he try to kill her?”
	“He did not.  He simply wanted the cage back that Lover was in.  When she would not let him have it he pushed her aside and she attempted to stop him.  He stopped her instead.  Why he wanted the cage is not known,” Spock retold. 
	“So how’d she get you involved in all this?”
	“That is an unknown,” Spock answered and looked through the glass at the still out of conscious physician.  “How is Dr. Chapel?”
	McCoy rubbed his three day beard, “Starting to worry me.  Her injuries aren’t serious enough to warrant this prolonged state.”
	“Are you still in favor of a meld?  I believe that now that I am no longer a suspect it would not be a problem,” Spock suggested. 
	“Excellent thinking.”
	Spock nodded, “It should not take long.”
	“I’m gonna go change clothes while you’re getting ready,” McCoy said.  
	Spock really did not need any time.  He’d had enough mental contact with Christine Chapel that the link was almost instant.  Once together he had little troubling ‘finding’ her.  Her coma was really deeply induced sleep from exhaustion.  He had to convince her it was time to begin to wake up even though she protested.  When Spock emerged he had an unusual expression on his face. 
	“What?” McCoy asked concerned.  
	“She told me to tell you it never fails, she finally gets a good night’s sleep and you want to wake her up.”  
	Bones laughed.  All the energy drained out of him with it and the fact that he could stop worrying about Christine.  “I’m gonna go sleep in a real bed for a few hours in the staff room.  How about you?”
	“I will stay with Dr. Chapel.  To explain if she wakes up,” he explained.  
	Spock settled in the vacant chair next to the bed greatly relieved on more than one account.  His innocence was now a matter of police record and Chapel was on the path to recovery.  His mind could use the peace and rest from the chaos, but the peace wouldn’t last long.  He did not require Mr. Chekov’s message to know what had happened.  But the ever youthful face was a mass of sudden age lines.  Spock made no outward sign of the loss, only assured Chekov and Scott that they could do nothing more and to keep searching would be fruitless.  It only seemed to make him even more miserable.  If Spock accepted the loss so readily, it could only be true.  “I vill tell Mr. Scott.  He… is not doing very vell.”
	The venerable Scott’s health had been in question lately and Spock turned his thoughts to that, “Then if you will look after him Chekov, that is where you are needed now.”
	“I will stay vith him, Mr. Spock I vish I hadn’t had…” he tried but choked up. 
	“It is all right,” Spock tried to assuage.  
	“Dr. Chapel… is she getting better?”
	“Yes, in that there is encouragement.  Please relay that to Mr. Scott, I know that he and Dr. Chapel are close,” Spock said.  “And I shall tell her you inquired when she wakes.”
	It was little consolation to the grieving Russian but he accepted it, “Thank you Mr. Spock.”
	The communication was cut off and the Vulcan sat, unmoving next to Chapel’s bed.  He allowed himself to lose track of everything, time, place, his very essence and he floated somewhere between nothing and nowhere.  There was no pain or sensation in that place.  McCoy’s voice cut through, “Spock… Jim’s…”
	The Vulcan did not meet the doctor’s eyes even after the door opened to allow him in, “I know Dr. McCoy, Mr. Chekov contacted me.”
	McCoy’s blue eyes blazed, “And you’re just sitting there?  Why aren’t you trying to get out there to find him, organizing a search…”
	“What I want is irrelevant.  What occurred is the only choice, I therefore must accept it.  There is no other choice.”
	“Accept! God dammit we risked life and limb to get you put back together when we should have just ‘accepted’ it and you can’t even think of a good reason to get off your Vulcan ass and find out what happened?”
	“Dr. McCoy,” Spock insisted calmly, “your actions are being controlled by overwhelming grief and exhaustion.  With rest, perhaps sedation, you will see more clearly the illogic of your demands.”
	McCoy’s voice was a hiss, “You cold, green blooded bastard.  Our best friend is gone and all you can say is take a pill and go to sleep!”
	“Jim is not gone, he is dead, truly dead and it is not my belief but the truth,” Spock insisted with such ferocity that McCoy began to quake, wide-eyed with fear and realization.  Tears fell, “My God Spock, he’s really dead…”
	The physician swayed and Spock caught him before his neck pinch kicked in.  Draping the inert frame across the lounge chair, Spock found himself alone again with the biobed bleeps and McCoy’s rattling breath.  He watched both physicians sleep and wondered if he would ever be able to find enough peace to sleep again.  Jim’s death had hit him in an odd fashion.  He had expected the jolt of a link being torn away as his mother’s death had done, even though it was expected.  Kirk’s sudden death actually made a clean, instant break that left no wound, just an empty space that would never be filled again.  He felt quite lost again as he had told Chapel that fateful night before dinner.  He recalled Chapel’s losses early in her life and found himself asking aloud, “Dr. Chapel you lost your whole world when you were twenty-six, how did you cope?”
	“Because I woke up the next day, and the day after that,” she replied dryly from the bed, “It took nine years for me to plan farther than a day in advance but I finally did.”
	Spock was amazed, “How long have you been awake?”
	“You two arguing could wake the dead, sorry bad pun,” she apologized and held out her unfettered hand, “I’m sorry.”
	Surprisingly, Spock took the hand and held it tightly.  She was an anchor for him when he needed one.  It allowed him to let go and a sob from deep within erupted to spill tears down his cheeks.  Chapel did nothing, just held his hand.  Without questions, expectations or discomfort, Spock could release the turmoil of his emotions.  When he was able to compose himself he let go of her hand.  All she said was, “How’s my zoo?”	
	“They are being cared for.  Do you not wish to know how I feel?”
	Chapel shook her head, “If I asked stupid questions I’d be a reporter.  I know where you’re at, that’s enough.  What happened?”
	Spock related what he knew which was very little.  When he finished Christine was silent.  She took a deep breath then confusion knitted her brows together, “What are you doing here?”
	“Through purely circumstantial evidence I was arrested as your attacker.  That has since been ruled out.”
	“It was Carl Bert, the son of a bitch.  Came in after you left and tried to take Lover…” she trailed off thinking of her talkative pet.  
	“Lover has been found and is being taken care of but his cage is still missing, as is Carl Bert.”
	“It all happened too fast.  I was in bed and I heard Lover start fussing.  I thought maybe one of the cats had tried to be brave and got up to find out what was going on and there was Bert taking the thing down from the ceiling.” 
	“Where were the dogs?” Spock asked realizing it had not occurred to him to ask about their whereabouts before.  
	“I’d locked them in the garage for the night so they’d not disturb me wanting to go out.  Believe me Carl wouldn’t have even gotten in the house if they’d been loose.  So they thought you bonked me on the head and tried to strangle me?  That’s… stupid.”
	“Given the only evidence they had I do see the logic of their conclusion, even if it was stupid,” Spock said.  
	“But you said they’ve cleared you right?” Christine asked concerned.  
	“Yes, I am completely cleared.”
	“Mmmm, that’s good,” she said and leaned back into the pillows.  Her head was beginning to hurt, “I think I’m gonna try to go back to sleep.”
	“I will be here when you wake,” Spock promised and she fell back in her world of darkness and calm.  
	
	The memorial service for Jim Kirk became the sensation of the day.  In one sentence the media heralded him as saint and bad boy, necessary evil and genius of peace, but none quoted the only statement from Spock of Vulcan, “Dr. Chapel was right, reporters do ask stupid questions.”  He was notably silent regarding Kirk’s death and how it came about.  They all were.  None of his old crew cried foul, they all maintained he died being who he was—Captain of a starship.  Spock had chosen to sit with the old crew instead of as a member of the Vulcan Embassy.  He wore the uniform of a retired officer and had been chosen as the final speaker.  He sat listening to the others, people who had only briefly known the arrogant pompous Kirk. They all glorified his achievements, his tenacity, his heroism.  Spock felt he had nothing really left to offer and the fact that he had been unable to think of anything to say in the first place made him uneasy.  He did not like speaking in public, but this was the first time he had a case of what Humans called nerves.  Christine Chapel sat next to McCoy, fully recovered and the case against Carl Bert over with.  She leaned forward to say something to Spock and noticed the look of… desperation in his eyes.  She’d never seen it before.  She had no time to say anything to him or McCoy because his name was announced and like a convicted man going to the gallows he left his seat to go to the podium.  A casket, ornamental only, lay draped in front of him and for a moment he stared at it trying to think of something, anything…  Then it came and without preamble he recited in a clear voice full of the emotions that he was not supposed to have, 
“O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.”
He finished the Whitman poem originally written at the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and stepped down from the podium without another word.  The room was silent.  Instead of stopping at the aisle to his seat he kept walking and headed right out of the building while everyone else watched him go.