Excentryke's Musings

Title: The Ancestor
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: StarTrek!Reboot / Harry Potter Series
Pairings: Harry/Spock, (past) Spock/T’Pring
Word Count: 5k
Rating: PG
Warnings: xenophobia
Prompt for Rebecca: Would love another Harry/Spock crossover! Maybe post war for Harry? He gets thrown through the veil because they believe he is a horcrux? So Rough war tired Harry meets Spock?

The Ancestor

I.

Spock had the unfortunate habit of being early.  He did his best to hide it, but he had never quite grasped the Vulcan concept of time correctness.  Vulcans were always seamlessly on time, never early, never late, always appearing exactly where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be.  Spock knew this was because of the inner chronologer every Vulcan had—the perfect ability to tell time.

However, Spock was half-human.  He had never quite erased the fear of being late he had developed as a young child on Vulcan.  As such, he was always chronically early to every meeting, every appointment, every gala, every test.  Sometimes he would appear as early as 0.52 hours early in his anxiety.

And this anxiety—this crippling anxiety of being late, he could never meditate it away.  His father, Sarek, son of Skonn, had tried to meld with him on three occasions to allay his misgivings, to give him peace of mind—twice when he was a child and once as a young teenager, but it was to no purpose.

Such was it when at twenty-two stardates old, Spock was scheduled to take the entrance exam to the Vulcan Science Academy.  He was 0.35 hours early, per usual.  Not wishing to approach the exam hall, Spock chose a short wall under an awning to find repose. 

However, it was already occupied—by a human no less.

The human was male.  He was approximately 1.753 meters in height.  He was as pale as any Vulcan with green eyes so human they were almost too bright.  He also wore the antiquated human invention of spectacles on his face, although earth had long mastered surgery into ocular correction.  And there, just on his forehead, was a thin scar just peaking behind his unruly black hair.

It was not only unusual to see a human at the Vulcan Science Academy, it was statistically impossible to find one unaccompanied by a Vulcan.  However, here this aesthetically pleasing human sat, wrapped in the sand robes of a Vulcan, writing on a padd with a stylus.

Hesitating as he did not wish to disturb, Spock carefully approached the human and hovered 2.1334 feet away from him.

At first the human did not sense him.  Humans, after all, had inferior hearing to Vulcans.  However, after about a minute had passed, the human lifted his stylus and looked at Spock in question.  His eyes were even brighter than Spock had first believed them to be.

“Are you lost?”  The human’s Vulcan was slightly accented, but he seemed to have mastery of the language, which was difficult for nonspeakers to grasp without intense study.

Spock lifted an eyebrow in question.  “I was about to posit the same query,” he told the human, “however, you are clearly perfectly situated.”  He indicated the wall, and the human nodded his head, allowing Spock to join him.

“What brings you to the VSA?” the human inquired.

“I am to undergo my entrance examination in approximately 0.32 hours.”

“Huh,” the human responded, making a definite human sound.  “An early Vulcan.”  He paused, thinking.  “What’s that in minutes?”

It was interesting hearing a contraction in the Vulcan language.  They did not linguistically exist, at least not as the language was spoken on Vulcan.  This human seemed to have mastered the language so completely, however, that he was correctly contracting words that would have been elided in poetry or music.

“Nineteen,” Spock informed him.  “Eighteen now.”

The human nodded.  He went back to his padd.  After several moments, he looked back up at Spock, pushing his spectacles up his nose.  “The Vulcans call me T’Harauk,” the human introduced, putting his left hand in the sign of the ta’al, the Vulcan salute. 

Spock paused. 

Approximately three months previously, Spock had overheard his father on the holovid speaking of a temporal anomaly and an ork’ik’a appearing in the sands of Vulcan before stumbling into a village.  He had been given Vulcan citizenship and had been granted the name T’Harauk.  Spock had not realized the ork’ik’a—the ancestor—was a young human man of approximately twenty years of age.

Coming to himself, Spock raised the Vulcan salute.  “I am Spock, son of Sarek.”

A look of knowing came into T’Harauk’s eyes.  “Your examination is greatly anticipated,” he told Spock.  “You are the first Vulcan hybrid not of Romulan descent who is undergoing it.”

Spock nodded, knowing this to be true.  Carefully, he noted, “You are trusted with sensitive information.”

“I am staying with one of the examiners,” T’Harauk told him.  “He is my sponsor.”  He shrugged. “I overhear things.”

“I shall not pretend I do not understand you,” Spock told him.  “My father is the Vulcan ambassador to Earth.”

T’Harauk looked up, his impossibly green eyes shining behind his spectacles.  They were the most entrancing eyes Spock had ever seen.  “I imagine you hear a lot too then.”  Now T’Harauk was slipping in a Romulan colloquial a lot, into his Vulcan.  He did it seamlessly.

“May I commend you on your mastery of the Vulcan language in such a short time.”

At first T’Harauk did not acknowledge this, he just went back to his padd.  Then, he admitted with a shrug, “The Vulcan Council wishes to integrate me into Vulcan society.  They do not wish to transfer me to Earth guardianship.  I understand that your teacher Surak had a prophecy…”

Spock’s eyes widened, albeit infinitesimally.  He knew the prophecy of which T’Harauk spoke.  It was little discussed outside of great philosophical matters, but every Vulcan child knew it.  Out of the past would come an ancestor from war, an ork’ik’a, who would scorch the sky.

“You have seen war,” Spock posited.

T’Harauk sighed.  “Like nothing you’ve ever known,” he whispered.

The time was fast approaching for Spock’s examination.  He considered.  “You are to stay here, on Vulcan.”

“Yes,” T’Harauk confirmed, glancing up again, a questioning look in his eyes.

“My mother is human,” Spock told him.  “Perhaps you would enjoy Terran cuisine.  Vulcan nourishment is vastly different from earth foods.  She can make you whatever you request.  She is skilled in the kitchen.”

“Kitchen?” T’Harauk asked hopefully.  “She wouldn’t get it from a replicator?”

“We have an oven,” Spock told him, and if there was a hint of conspiracy in his voice, that elusive and deadly emotion, Spock did not acknowledge it to himself.  “Shall we expect you tomorrow evening, 1900 hours?”

T’Harauk smiled, a small smile, barely imperceptible, but he handed over his padd.

Spock inputted his communicator number.  “Text me your request tonight and I will be sure we can accommodate you.”

“I know now,” T’Harauk informed him.  “Steak and kidney pie with squash to drink.”

Inclining his head, Spock agreed.  “I must go take my examination.  I wish you peace and long life.”

T’Harauk saluted him again.  “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Spock stood and forced himself to walk away.  As he pushed T’Harauk from his mind, determined to focus on his upcoming examinations in 0.0667 hours, his heart nonetheless fluttered.

He walked into the examination hall, head held high, and underwent the questioning. 

When he was admitted immediate entry, the panel not even needing to withdraw to consider or put him on a waiting list, Spock only considered for a moment when his human heritage was denigrated.  T’Harauk would be here on Vulcan.  T’Harauk might even walk the halls of the Vulcan Science Academy as his sponsor was one of the nine Vulcans who were evaluating him. 

“I graciously accept,” Spock told the council, inclining his head.  He pointedly did not look at his father who was among them.  “I hope my entry into the Vulcan Science Academy proves fortuitous for both my clan and the establishment.”

When he went back outside, he found T’Harauk still sitting on the low wall.

“Greetings, T’Harauk.”

The ork’ik’a looked up, a smile of indeterminate emotion spreading across his face.  “How was it?”

“I was immediately offered placement and have accepted.”  He sat down and forced himself not to show pride in his achievements.

“Just like that?” T’Harauk asked, snapping his fingers in what must be a human gesture.  “I thought only twenty applicants were admitted each cycle.”

“I am one of them,” Spock informed them.  Changing the subject, he inquired: “You did not tell me the identity of your guardian, although I do not know the names of all the examiners.”

A light lit up in T’Harauk’s eyes.  “Nivol,” T’Harauk told him.  “He’s the really old one who looks five hundred years old.  He assures me that Vulcans do not live that long.”

Spock thought back and remembered a wizened Vulcan face that showed unusual emotion.  “I believe I can identify Nivol.”

Before either of them could say more, Spock heard others approaching.  He turned and saw his father, stoic, though with a sense of being pleased around him.  “Samehk,” Spock greeted, standing, “this is T’Harauk.  I invited him to dinner tomorrow so he can experience earth cooking.”

Standing, T’Harauk put aside his pad and offered the Vulcan salute.  “Greetings, Ambassador.”

“Greetings, T’Harauk,” Sarek replied calmly, coming up to both of them.  “We would be much gratified to welcome you into our abode if Nivol can spare you.”

“I need to ask,” T’Harauk admitted.  “He’s been busy the last three hours.  I’m sure it will be fine, however.”  There with the skilled contractions again.

“We look forward to your communication,” Sarek told him, inclining his head.  “Come, Spock.  Your mother awaits the outcome of your examination.”

Spock’s eyes locked with T’Harauk’s and held even as he was led away.  He sensed a curiosity coming from T’Harauk that was certainly reciprocated.

II.

Harry rushed into the Vulcan house, that was full of sunlight, barely having time to take off his shoes.  Nivol preferred that shoes be left at the doorway.  Harry didn’t know if that was a Vulcan thing or a Nivol thing.

“You’ll never guess who I met!” he cried, whipping around the corner to pop his head into what he thought of as the library.  It was more of a nook, really, with a couple of shelves built into the wall.

Nivol looked up, his ancient brow lined with question.  “Whom could you have possibly met at the Vulcan Science Academy?” he asked no one in particular, as if he already knew the answer.

“Spock, son of Sarek,” Harry told him, pulling off his messenger bag and dropping it off on the floor.  “He invited me to dinner tomorrow so his mother could cook for me.”

Nivol seemed more amused at this than anything.  “Lady Amanda is to cook for you?”

“His eyes,” Harry admitted.  “His eyes are so human.”

“I believe Spock, son of Sarek, would see that as a failing, not a quality to be admired,” Nivol admonished.

Harry had been looking away in thought, but then quickly snapped his attention back to Nivol.  His eyes were terribly emotive as well.  It always confused Harry that Nivol seemed to be such an emotional Vulcan, and no one seemed to mind.  He wondered if that’s why he’d been placed with Nivol: the elders knew it would be easier for Harry to live with him than a traditional emotionless Vulcan.  The time travel thing helped as well.

“I had wondered,” Nivol admitted, going back to his book, a leather tome made with actual parchment, “if Spock would accept his placement at the VSA.  Stolek was harsh concerning Spock’s disadvantage.”

“What disadvantage?”

“His human mother,” Nivol carefully informed him.  “Many see him as a testament to Ambassador Sarek’s pride or a genetic experiment that never need be repeated.”

Harry looked at him knowingly.  “You don’t see him that way.  You were looking forward to his examination.”

“I was not disappointed,” Nivol confirmed.  “Spock is one of the great minds of his generation, I am certain.  I look forward to his career at the VSA.”

Coming further into the room, Harry took a seat and regarded Nivol for a long moment.

Nivol ignored him.

Harry continued to stare.

“If you have a question to ask, T’Harauk, ask.”

“Do you think he likes me if he asked me to dinner?  Or was he simply being polite?”

Nivol closed the book carefully and took in Harry.  “I sense a colloquialism I do not comprehend.”

Harry blushed.  “I don’t think the word ‘fancy’ exists in Vulcan.”

“Fancy,” Nivol repeated in Standard.  Then, switching to that language, he asked pointedly, “Are you asking, T’Harauk, if Spock of Vulcan fancies you?”

Blushing even harder, Harry bit his lip and looked away.

Switching back to Vulcan, Nivol noted, “I never asked you about your,” here he searched for a word, “attachments on Terra-That-Was.  I know of your kinship with Ronald and Hermione, but not of any personal pursuits of other women or men.  I thought it not my place to ask.”

Harry cleared his throat, but then looked at Nivol dead on.  Nivol’s eyes were a deep chocolate brown, unlike the usual black of Vulcan eyes Harry had observed.  He could not quite figure out if it was a genetic variance or not.  Harry had noticed the same deep brown color in Spock’s eyes, eyes he couldn’t look away from.

“I kissed a girl when I was fifteen,” Harry admitted.

“On the mouth,” Nivol clarified.  “I believe that is the human custom.”

“Vulcans don’t kiss with their mouths?” Harry asked in confusion.

“We kiss with our fingers.  If Spock, or anyone, offers you their two pointer fingers, they are offering you a kiss.”  He held out his index and middle finger out to demonstrate.  “We are touch telepaths, if you remember.”

“You know I can read your mind without touching you if I want to,” Harry reminded Nivol.  After the war, he had trained in legilimency as well as perfecting his occlumency with a private healer instead of going into the Auror Academy as everyone expected.  Now, as an adult without Voldemort raping his mind, he was a skilled legilimens and could enter anyone’s mind with simple eye contact.  He had been tempted to enter Spock’s mind when they had caught gazes when Spock was led away, but he didn’t want to invade Spock’s privacy like that.

His manners hadn’t stopped him from performing legilimency on every Vulcan he had come across when he first arrived through the Veil and didn’t speak the language, not knowing anyone’s intentions.  Little did he realize, that he would be hailed as the ork’ik’a and it was only a matter of time before he was introduced to Vulcan society at large.  There were, however, a few diplomatic and clan matters to attend to before that could happen.

“I know,” Nivol told him, “and my mind is open to you whenever you wish.”  Turning the conversation back on track, Nivol asked, “there was only that one young woman then?”

“There was another girl when I was sixteen,” Harry answered with a shrug.  “She was Ron’s younger sister.  We were thrown together.  I didn’t really—” here he searched for the Vulcan word “—olayek.”

“We do not have the term,” Nivol told him.  “Feelings do not come into our romantic pairings.”

“No, you’re all bonded as children.”  A thought occurred to Harry.  Panicked, he asked, “Do you think Spock is bonded?”

“Most likely.”

“Do you think he lives with her?”  Harry really didn’t like the thought of that.

“If Spock, son of Sarek, invited you to his mother’s house, it is unlikely he has a wife.  He is young yet.  He has not even entered the VSA.”

“But he will marry her,” Harry checked, a sense of dread sinking in his stomach.  “You said it was statistically irrelevant when bonds did not become marriages when I asked—what?—where your bondmate was.”

“That is your intention then, with Spock,” Nivol checked, pondering.  “He is half-human.  He may not want a Vulcan wife.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll want a human man from the twentieth century!”

“Any clan would be glad to welcome you,” Nivol assured him calmly.  “I am of the House of Surak, if you remember.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, trying to calm himself, “yes, you had mentioned that.”

“And as my adopted heir, you will become of the House of Surak,” Nivol continued patiently.  “You are also the ork’ik’a.”

“I think Spock knew that,” Harry admitted.  “I think he overheard his father or something.”

“Ambassador Sarek has been negotiating your citizenship with the Federation.  It would behoove him to close doors if indeed his son has overheard him speak of you.  It would also behoove him to not disclose your status to his human wife, if that is how Spock learnt of it.”  Nivol seemed displeased. 

“He seemed surprised that I was human.”

Nivol considered.  “While Surak never specified that the ork’ik’a was human, he also never specified that he was Vulcan either.  He after all he existed in a prewarp society.”  He paused.  “It is well that you visit Spock tomorrow.  You need what the humans term ‘friends.’  T’hai’lu.”

“I don’t want to be just friends,” Harry griped.

“Then you must pursue Spock,” Nivol concluded, picking back up his book.  “I look forward to this with interest.”

III.

Spock greatly anticipated T’Harauk’s arrival.  They had agreed on 1900 hours, and if T’Harauk had a Vulcan sponsor, it was likely that he would be on time.

At 1856, the doorchime rang.

Spock tried not to spring from his chair.

“The servant will get it,” his mother told him patiently, eyeing him with curiosity.  “He will come in a moment.”  Amanda knew of her son’s impatience and had tried to circumvent it when he was younger.  Now she seemed to accept it, though she did offer calm when he was anxious not to be late.

T’Harauk was shown in, carrying a Vulcan orchid.  He looked into the sitting room and his eyes immediately landed on Spock before he turned to Amanda.  “It’s customary on earth to bring flowers or chocolates.”  Once again he spoke with flawless Vulcan, eliding his words into contractions.

“Oh, how sweet of you,” Amanda answered, springing up and coming over to T’Harauk.  “Is that not thoughtful, Spock?”

“Very thoughtful,” Spock agreed, his eyes not leaving T’Harauk for a moment.

He was once again dressed in Vulcan robes, this time of spun brown, the lifted collar nearly covering his rounded ears.

“You do not dress like a human,” Amanda observed as she led T’Harauk into the dining room.

“No,” T’Harauk answered.  “I find Vulcan robes to be much more comfortable.”

Spock followed at a sedate pace.

“Sarek will not be joining us because we are eating meat,” Amanda explained as she showed T’Harauk to his place at the table, on her left.  “Vulcans are vegetarian.”

“I am well aware of that,” T’Harauk laughed.  “I’ve been eating nothing but vegetables and bread since I arrived here five months ago.”

“And you are from Earth or a Federation colony?” Amanda asked.  “You have a Vulcan name.”  It was clear that his father hadn’t informed her that T’Harauk was the ork’ik’a.  Spock wasn’t even supposed to know.  Amanda was only aware that T’Harauk was a human that was being sponsored in Vulcan culture, which was statistically unlikely though more probable than time travel.

“I’m from Earth, south of London,” T’Harauk explained as he took a sip of his water.

The servant had finished pouring and had now gone into the kitchen to deliver their nourishment.

“I recently lived in London proper, though, before coming to Vulcan.”

Spock knew of London.  It was the capital of the United Kingdom, which still had a king, although he bowed to Federation oversight.

T’Harauk looked up and his bright green eyes caught Spock’s, holding for several moments before he was forced to return his attention to Amanda.

“Spock told me you have a Vulcan sponsor.  That is—unusual.”

“Surely you had a Vulcan sponsor when you arrived planetside,” T’Harauk posited.

The servant now came and placed the steak pie on the table, placing the pastry fork next to it.

T’Harauk leaned forward and sniffed before smiling.  Such an action would be considered rude on Vulcan, but Amanda only smiled at his reaction.  “Does it pass muster?”

“I haven’t tasted it yet!” T’Harauk laughed.  There was the contraction again, so elegantly employed but with so little effort.

“Well, then,” Amanda decided, standing to cut the steak pie.  “T’Val should be in with the squash any moment.  I am afraid I had to replicate it.”

The steak pie was certainly an experience, to Spock’s Vulcan tastebuds.  He was used to his food being more spiced, but T’Harauk certainly enjoyed it, and he drank two glasses of a yellowish liquid he called ‘Squash.’  Spock had never heard of it in his studies of Earth, but he supposed it was a regional variant.

Amanda looked over T’Harauk with pride.

After the meal, she served treacle tart, much to T’Harauk’s obvious delight, before leaving the table and suggesting that Spock and T’Harauk take a walk in the garden.

“Your mother has made a lovely home,” T’Harauk complimented as they walked among the plants.  “It’s not like earth, of course.”

“I have been to earth,” Spock told him as he walked beside T’Harauk, his hands behind his back, “San Francisco specifically.”

“Earth’s capital,” T’Harauk replied.  “How life has changed in over two hundred years.”

Spock looked over at T’Harauk and took in the line of his nose, just visible past the high Vulcan collar of his robes.  Spock himself favored utilitarian clothes, a pair of pants and a matching shirt, often in dark colors.

T’Harauk looked back, his eyes anxious.

Pausing, Spock turned to him and lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Vulcans bond as children,” T’Harauk stated carefully, his shining eyes still anxious.

“Affirmative.”  Spock did not know why T’Harauk mentioned this.  T’Pring was never in his thoughts.  She had a cold mind and their preliminary bond was not a comfort to him.

“Humans don’t.”  There, the elegant contraction again.

“Did you have a wife back on earth?” Spock asked as he began to walk again, T’Harauk falling into step with him.  For some reason, the idea displeased him.

“Negative,” T’Harauk told him plainly.  “Twenty is a little young for humans to marry.”  He peeked up at him again with those startling green eyes, the spectacles sitting on his nose.

“It is legal,” Spock reminded him.

“Just as it is legal to have a bondmate at the age of three,” T’Harauk stated carefully.  “Younger even.”

“I was seven,” Spock admitted.

T’Harauk paused and reached out, pinching Spock’s sleeve.  “So old?”

Spock was uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had suddenly taken.  However, he suppressed his emotions and refused to let it show on his face.  “My father had difficulty securing a bondmate for me given my difference.”

“Difference?” T’Harauk checked, clearly confused.

“My genetic heritage.”

T’Harauk nodded.  “I’m telepathic,” he suddenly announced, changing the conversation entirely.

Spock was confused.  Humans were not touch telepaths.  They were psi null.  Spock only had a parental bond with his mother because the matriarch of his clan had to forcefully place it within their minds when Spock was four.

“I’m not a touch telepath,” T’Harauk told him, holding his gaze.

Spock did not blink.  “I see.”

“I can control it,” T’Harauk clarified as they began to walk again.  “I’m not like a Betazed whose mind wanders into other minds without a thought to politeness.”

“I do not comprehend—”

“I’m telling you that it would be easy for me to form a telepathic marriage bond,” T’Harauk huffed, stopping and turning to Spock again.  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”  His emotive green eyes looked down at him imploringly.  Spock was tall but T’Harauk was approximately two centimeters taller.  Spock did not mind the height difference.

Spock paused.  “You are informing me—”

“Affirmative,” T’Harauk agreed.  He held out his two pointer fingers and waited.  Spock’s heart skipped into his throat.

He only needed a moment to consider.

He looked down the path to ascertain that they were alone, and then placed his fingers upon T’Harauk’s, sliding them carefully in the ozh’esta.  A small spark flashed between their fingers and Spock gasped.

Eyes widening, T’Harauk whispered, “Was that supposed to happen?”

In that moment, Spock had seen the entirety of T’Harauk’s mind.  He saw Terra-That-Was, he saw the war, he saw magic, he saw Voldemort, he saw T’Harauk—Harry, his name was Harry—falling through the Veil—

“Spock?” T’Harauk breathed.

“I saw—” Spock tried to explain, but was at a loss for words.

“I saw myself through your eyes,” T’Harauk breathed, wonder in his voice.

Spock looked up in confusion.

“Is that how you see me?  Shining brightly like a star?”  T’Harauk pushed his glasses up his nose, but his eyes were still wide and brilliant.

“Affirmative,” Spock confirmed.  “You shine more brightly than Vulcan’s two suns.”

A smile lit up T’Harauk’s face.  Carefully, he offered his fingers again, and Spock returned the ozh’esta.  This time he was prepared for the sensations, the images, the telepathic bleed.

“Spock!”

Guiltily, they sprang back from each other, fingers disengaging, and Spock turned to see his father standing further down the path.  He was visibly angry, standing rigid.

“Ambassador—” T’Harauk tried, but Sarek put up a hand to silence him. 

“Perhaps you should say your farewells,” Sarek demanded, not even the hint of a suggestion in his voice.  “You may go now.”

T’Harauk turned guiltily to Spock, their eyes connecting the barest of moments.  The thought, “I will return,” swept through Spock’s mind, obviously a message from T’Harauk, before the ork’ik’a walked out of the garden and back into the house.

Spock stood tall, not willing to apologize.  “T’Harauk is telepathic,” he explained.  “I saw Terra-That-Was.”

“From simple touch?” Sarek demanded, coming forward, anger still visibly radiating off of him.  “I taught you better than to behave in such promiscuity.  I can expect as much from T’Harauk, he does not know our ways, though he knows enough of our customs, clearly.”

“It is not promiscuous,” Spock responded carefully, “as T’Harauk asked me to bond with him in the Vulcan way.”

Sarek cut a sharp look at Spock.

“As I said, T’Harauk is telepathic.  We read each other’s lives without having to meld with one another.”

Considering him, Sarek nodded.  “I shall speak to Nivol of the House of Surak.”

It was Spock’s turn to be shocked.  “T’Harauk is being adopted into our greater clan?”

“Affirmative,” Sarek agreed carefully.  “You shall speak none of this to your mother.”

Spock lowered his eyes in agreement.  It would be best not to upset her, though knowing her love of Cary Grant, she might not be all that upset.

IV.

Spock of the House of Surak—Spock Prime, for all intents and purposes—had come through the temporal anomaly on stardate 2233.09, five days after the Nerada had destroyed the USS Kelvin.

He had since integrated himself back into Vulcan society and now held a place of honor.

It was known to a limited number of the Council that he was Ambassador Spock—and what had happened to him—but only a handful of individuals possessed this knowledge.  Not even Sarek, son of Skonn, knew.

Spock Prime had been the obvious choice when T’Harauk appeared in the Vulcan desert from prewarp Earth.  He could understand T’Harauk in a way no one else could, not only with his half-human heritage, but also with his own temporal displacement.

When T’Harauk returned from Spock’s abode, he was clearly upset, but Spock Prime did not inquire.  Young matters of the heart had a way of working themselves out, at least that had been Spock Prime’s experience.

It was curious that T’Harauk should focus on his younger self.  Curiouser still that young Spock had chosen to accept the VSA’s offer of placement after a single meeting with T’Harauk.  His timeline was now firmly separating from Spock Prime’s own.

It was with a sense of confusion, then, when Ambassador Sarek came to visit him the next day.  T’Harauk was up in his room watching Terran holovids, and Spock Prime decided not to inform him that they had a visitor.

Welcoming Sarek into his study, Spock Prime patiently waited while his father-from-another-timeline centered himself.

“I found Spock and T’Harauk in a promiscuous position last night.”  Sarek said it so simply and with an obvious distaste.

“Do you object because T’Harauk is human?” Spock Prime inquired, hoping this was not an obstacle.  Sarek’s own wife was human (albeit she was his second wife) and his son was half-human.  However, Sarek had always championed the bond between Spock and T’Pring in Spock Prime’s own timeline.

“I object because T’Harauk falsely informed my son that he is telepathic.”  T’Harauk had informed Spock, then.  He was pursuing him more aggressively than Spock Prime had initially believed.

“T’Harauk is nothing but polite.  He was my ward for nearly seven weeks before he informed me he had been reading my mind the entire time.  His knowledge of events he could not have knowledge of was astounding.  He sometimes even finishes my sentences.  It is how he learned Vulcan so quickly and without any formal tutorial.”

Sarek lifted his eyebrow in surprise.  “You claim he is telepathic although he is human?”

“He is undoubtedly the ork’ik’a,” Spock Prime responded.  “Now, do you object because T’Harauk is human?”

Pausing, Sarek was silent for several moments.  “He proposed a bonding to my son.  Spock is already bonded.”

“But it is only a preliminary telepathic connection,” Spock Prime argued, wanting nothing but T’Harauk’s happiness and integration into Vulcan society.  His own bonding with T’Pring in his own timeline had ended badly.  “Such bonds can and have been easily broken.”

Sarek remained silent.

“Of course,” Spock Prime continued, “the young men in question need more time to get to know one another.  Let us not be too hasty.”  He glanced up at the ceiling where he heard T’Harauk move about in his room.  “My ward is becoming restless.”

“I shall leave you then.”

Spock Prime rose and opened the door.  “We are in agreement however?  The young men in question will be given time to acquaint themselves with each other with the knowledge that they already have a strong telepathic affinity for each other.”

Sarek paused at the door.

Spock Prime could hear T’Harauk coming down the stairs.

“Educate T’Harauk on the proper way to conduct himself.  Otherwise we have an accord.”  Sarek offered the ta’al and then promptly left, having not recognized his own son in Spock Prime.

Turning, Spock Prime saw that T’Harauk had come into the hallway.  “Does he want me to stay away from Spock?” he asked carefully.

“He wants you not to engage in promiscuous activity with his son, otherwise,” Spock Prime informed him, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Sarek, son of Skonn, is amenable to a courtship.”

T’Harauk looked at him hopefully.  “A courtship?”

“A definite courtship,” Spock Prime answered, wondering what the future would hold.

The End.