Sarek gazed down at the crying infant in his arms. Despite being decades out of practice, his arms instinctively gathered his granddaughter close to his chest, her small curl covered head supported in the crook of his arm. Makeda, barely an hour old, still protested being wrested from the warm dark confines of her mother’s womb to be brought into the bright light and heat of the New Vulcan afternoon. He looked up from the bundle in his arms towards her mother and father. His son sat on a chaise on the patio of his New Vulcan home cradling the white linen clad form of his wife against his chest as she rested from the hours of labor. Noticing his inspection, Nyota turned towards her father and offered him an encouraging smile. Sarek’s breath caught in his throat. How similar she was to his Amanda, full of warmth and love, offering support to those around her despite the weariness that even now fought to overtake her. She was radiant, the bright sun of the afternoon no match for the joy that radiated from her.

Sarek’s eyes rested on his son whose focus was solely on his mate. Spock seemed oblivious to all around them; his eyes heavy lidded and his left hand smoothing back the long dark tresses of his wife. Sarek could not fault his son for his preoccupation. The delivery of Makeda had been a long and difficult affair. As soon as Spock had informed him of Nyota’s pregnancy, Sarek had implored them to take a leave of absence from Starfleet and settle on New Vulcan for the duration of her twelve-month gestation period. 

His Amanda’s pregnancy had been a difficult one. In later months she required near daily treatments to stave off blood poisoning and weekly checkups on the development of their son. They had both suffered through two miscarriages, as the doctors had not known the proper precautions to take for a hybrid pregnancy. Sarek was thankful that his children had been spared that pain. Nyota’s pregnancy was not without its hardships; she was ordered to take bed rest for the final six months of the pregnancy, a difficult task for one so used to being active. The delivery had been painful and drawn out, Nyota’s cries of pain rang throughout the compound. Sarek had sat stoically alongside his elder son during the eight hour delivery while his younger son, tossing aside convention, demanded and gained entry to the birthing room, the cries of his wife and her distress he felt through their bond being too great to ignore. While other Vulcans might have regarded Spock’s behavior as a failing due to his human half, Sarek could not fault him. He now looked back with some regret on all of the times when his Vulcan training had prevented him from offering his mate the comfort and affection she required.

The gurgling of his granddaughter soon broke him from his maudlin and illogical train of thought. He returned his dark gaze to that of his granddaughter. She had stopped her crying; her dark unfocused eyes trained on his face. Sarek trailed his free hand through the sparse dark curls of her hair, over the gently pointed tip of her ear and around to her temple. He lowered his mental shields and tentatively touched her mind. Makeda did not yet have words, but her mind was a field of expressive colors and textures. He felt the bright green of her curiosity over this new world filled with strange people, the soft pink of her growing joy and contentment, a deep fading blue of her longing for her former home and a crisp yellow of familial love blossoming in her mind as she recognized the voices of her kin. 

A corner of the Sarek’s mouth curved into a grin. His granddaughter’s mind was active, fertile, and even more beautiful than her cherubic face. Sarek closed his eyes in concentration. While her mind was active, it was also delicate in its newness. He allowed impressions of his own mind to filter through their tentative bond. His own love for her, yellow wreathed in orange, strong and unconditional. His acceptance of her Vulcaness and humanity, lavender tinged with blue. 

Sarek was surprised to feel a gentle tug on his own mind, a flicker of bright green delving into his consciousness. He calmed himself and encouraged Makeda due to his own curiosity over the object of her search. Great was his shock when the flicker of green wrapped itself around a memory of Amanda before turning to a bright yellow flicked with blue. 

“That is your grandmother who is lost to us, little one,” Sarek spoke, gently breaking their bond.  

He opened his eyes to find the deep brown eyes of his granddaughter, focused and clear, fixed on his own. They were so much like her own.

*********************************

Spock Prime gazed down at the gurgling infant in his arms. She was nearly the splitting image of her mother. Large dark brown eyes gazed at him quizzically from a warm deep caramel colored cherubic face. Wisps of curly jet-black hair framed her sweet face and curled around pointed ears. Makeda, his daughter, was a beautiful child. 

Spock looked up from the bundle in his arms to observe her parents. A weary Nyota lay in her husband’s arms, the afternoon sun kissing her brown skin and lending her a becoming glow. His younger self sat on the chaise behind her, his head bent towards his wife and two fingers of his right hand pressed against two fingers of her left. A contented smile spread over Nyota’s features at the contact before she moved her hand up along her husbands arm to twine in the short black hairs at the nape of his neck. Spock allowed his forehead to be brought down to gently rest on that of his mate. As his younger self’s eyes fluttered closed, Spock Prime returned his gaze back towards the child in his arms.  

Makeda’s large brown unfocused eyes were fixed on his face, her small lips pursed in what seemed like concentration. A tiny hand reached up towards his face. Spock Prime grinned slightly before bowing his head towards the small questing fingers, which quickly latched onto this nose. Spock could not suppress the laugh that bubbled up from his throat. Makeda’s eyes grew large at the unexpected noise. The babe looked as if she were about to cry before Spock brushed her temple with his hand and sent soothing thoughts. 

Gently, two aged fingers brushed over Makeda’s temple, barely disturbing the dark curls that rested there. Just at the edges of his consciousness Spock Prime could sense the warmth of Makeda’s mind. Warm burnt oranges reminiscent of the sands of Vulcan swirled with deep aubergines and cool turquoise blues. In the warm mass of color tickling the back of his mind Spock Prime could feel wonder, an insatiable curiosity, love, contentment and uncertainty. Careful not to overburden her young mind, Spock opened his mind to the infant.  

“Fear not, young one. You are fortunate to have the best of parents and a ship full of uncles who will dote on you and protect you with their lives.”

Spock showed her images of her Uncle Len, whom he expected to be her favorite uncle. Despite his gruff exterior, when it came to Makeda, Spock knew that McCoy would be completely besotted and her devoted slave. He could sense her intrigue over the images of Uncle Jim who would be her fiercest protector but who would also aggravate Nyota and his younger self with the captain’s attempts to spoil her with gifts and exotic sweets. (Spock grew amused at his good friend’s ability to charm the ladies, even those who were only a few hours old.) Uncle Pavel would tell her Russian folktales and fill her head with nonsense about how Russia invented every good thing about Earth culture. Uncle Hiraku would keep her quarters stocked with flowers and blooming plants and attempt to shape her into a fencing aficionado as soon as she was big enough to hold a foil. Uncle Monty would similarly seek to recruit Makeda as an engineer, giving her a miniature tool kit and waxing poetic about warp drive converters. (Spock also did not doubt that Scotty would pass on less favorable habits, such as bawdy tales and choice insults in other languages.)

 “If you should ever tire of your gaggle of uncles, there will always be a place for you in my home, young one.”

***************

Spock brought his wife and child back into the house as the sun began to set, carrying his wife from the patio to the living area and reclaiming his ko-fu* from the attentions of his older self, his father and his mother-in-law. Spock’s heart was full and while he desired to keep his newly expanded family to himself for a while longer, he had promised Captain Kirk and his friends and colleagues on the Enterprise that he would inform them of the birth as soon as he was able. 

“Commander Spock,” Kirk greeted brightly, his smiling face appearing on the view screen. “I take it that you have some happy news to share with the crew?”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, suppressing the prideful smile that sought to overtake his features. “Lieutenant Uhura, and I would like to announce the birth of our daughter Makeda Amanda.”

Spock lifted his now sleeping infant towards the view screen. He heard Nyota laugh joyfully at the chorus of applause and expressions of wonder that broke out over the bridge. 

“Why, isn’t she just the prettiest little thing,” Doctor McCoy exclaimed. “Who would have thought you had it in you, Spock?”

Kirk and the rest of the bridge laughed good-naturedly. 

“Behave, Len, or you’ll be on permanent babysitting duty when we get back to the Enterprise!” Nyota threatened with a smile.

“You know I’m just teasing the boy, doll face. Congratulations. Makeda’s just as pretty as her momma.”

Spock listened to the congratulations of his colleagues with genuine gratitude and good humor. He soon ended the communication, much to the regret of the Enterprise crew, citing the need to put Makeda to bed.

Nyota accompanied Spock as he carried their sleeping daughter to the bedroom, leaning heavily on his free arm for support. Spock moved towards Makeda’s sleeping alcove just to the side of their bed. Nyota had been insistent that the baby sleep in their room for at least the first few weeks, resisting the counsel of her Vulcan midwife. T’Lao had argued that Vulcan children are encouraged to be independent of their parents as soon as they are weaned. Nyota had replied, most logically, that Makeda was not a Vulcan child.

As he laid his daughter down in her sleeping alcove and adjusted the temperature to match her needs, Spock couldn’t help but agree with his wife’s assessment. Makeda was not a Vulcan child. Nor was she human. She was a child of both worlds much like himself. However, Makeda would have the benefit of his own experience and would not be made to choose one world over the other. His daughter would be raised to appreciate the qualities that her three-quarters human heritage brought her just as much as she valued her one-quarter Vulcan heritage. He did not fault his father for making that choice for him. Indeed, Sarek had thought that raising his son in the Vulcan way was in Spock’s best interest. As a child reared on Vulcan, he would have been even more ostracized if he were raised in the human fashion, giving free reign to his emotions and whims unguided by logic. 

Makeda would also be fortunate to be raised in an environment where her unique background would not be seen as a disadvantage. He and Nyota had many long discussions about where and how to raise their daughter. Space was a dangerous place to raise a child, especially on a vessel charged with seeking out new life and civilizations when there was no promise that the new peoples they encountered would be friend or foe. Yet, they were also painfully aware that life planetside came with no promises of peace or safety. Ships and planets alike could be destroyed with the press of a button. 

The last five years had brought much loss and pain. The only home he had ever known was no more. His beloved mother, the only person who made him feel like a whole rather than two parts, had been taken from him before his eyes. So many colleagues, students and friends had perished as well. Yet, as Spock gazed at the sleeping form of his new born child, one arm draped around his wife, he could not help but be grateful for all that the past five years had given him: a ship full of colleagues and friends that valued him and his work; his broken relationship with his father restored and made stronger; acceptance and respect from a people that once saw him as defective; friend, a lover, and a soul mate that completed him; and a beautiful, healthy child who was the evidence of their bond.

Spock turned from his child towards his wife. Nyota gazed up at him, cupping his right cheek in her left hand, her eyes bright with affection. He lifted her up in his arms, causing a surprised giggle to bubble from her lips, and carried her to their bed. He tucked the covers around her form, smoothing his hand over her still rounded belly.

“You are weary, ashayam. You have labored hard today and you must rest.”

Nyota smiled up at him before she was seized with a large yawn, her fatigue suddenly pronounced. 

Spock closed his eyes and brought his forehead down to rest upon hers as he lifted two fingers of his left hand. Nyota released a contented sigh, her breath cool against his lips, as she placed two fingers of her right hand against his own. 

“K’diwa’sa-telsu.”**

“K’hat’n’dlawa.”***

 ___________________

*ko-fu = daughter

** k’diwa’sa-telsu = beloved husband

*** k’hat’n’dlawa = one who is half of my heart and soul