"Sandar, once again. It was not your fault," murmured Mestral. "And despite everything we are doing well." She watched as her brother got dressed for work. He had managed to find a job in construction in the small mining town of Carbon Creek.
She herself was finding their stay fascinating. T'Mir and Stron found the situation intolerable. The savagery of the human race was appalling. She thought in part it was not being able to store the katras
of the departed crew that disturbed them as well. However, she thought they were doing well. Out of time or not Xander had adjusted rather well. He'd acquired a job, gotten them a place to stay, and hidden the remains of their crashed ship.
Xander sighed; Mestral was both right and wrong. He had a suspicion he had something to do with the engine failure that had forced them to attempt a landing. But all in all things were good, the commander had been able to get off a distress call before they'd crashed. With luck they'd be here within weeks.
If not he was certain they could lay low until they were rescued.~*~
"Yes, sir." Mestral met the commander's gaze. She knew he believed her actions illogical. T’Mir and Stron’s visible relief upon entering the ship had been apparent to all. Her fellow Vulcans had practically fled for the rescue ship the moment it had arrived. "This is what I wish. Healer Veran and the others of Tam'a have all said that it could be years before they discover a way to send Sandar home. He wishes to remain here and pass the time naturally. I have chosen to remain with him."
The commander glanced between the two. He had not had the pleasure of meeting the half-breed, but he could still see the resolve in the man's eyes. "I shall of course have to discuss this with T'San but if she is agreeable I see no problem."
Mestral nodded; she'd known what would be done. New York, 1969
Mestral glanced at herself in the mirror; even after several years the long hair still felt strange. She'd let her hair grow out until it reached her waist, the long waves covering her ears and brows.
She glanced over to where Sandar fiddled with his tie. She crossed to his side, and tied it for him. "Relax, Sandar. We have been running Infierno Designs for almost five years now. I assure you this company would be foolish to choose another for their design contract."
Xander nodded, taking a deep breath. Mestral was right as she so often was. Together they'd raised his little side business of woodworking into a design company that employed over a hundred people. It was a long way from being broke and ID less in San Francisco. As he waited to be called in, his thoughts wandered back to their first few months on Earth together."It's not lying, Mestral. It's survival. Stretching the truth," Xander reiterated.
"But I am not from this Sunnydale," said Mestral.
"Never mind, Mestral. Just let me handle it," he said.
Xander leaned against the counter of the county clerk's office. He smiled widely at the young woman working behind the desk. She was frazzled; the frustration rolled off her in waves. "Rough day, huh?"
She shot him a look. "Like you wouldn't believe. But you don't want to hear about."
"It's not like I'm in a rush," insisted Xander.
Several minutes and a much calmer government worker later, Xander made his request. "Listen, I know you probably hear this all the time but there was an accident in our home town. And all of our ID was lost, we needed to get it replaced."
"Where are you from?" asked the clerk, fingers poised over the keyboard.
The woman groaned; dealing with Sunnydale was always a hassle. No one ever had the right files. It took them months to respond. The workers all worked odd hours. "It might take anywhere from three to nine months to get your information and ID reissued."
"Isn't there anything you could do," asked Xander, leaning into the woman.
She blushed; he was such a nice man. He'd listened to her, and made her feel better. "I could rush it through for you. I can just file the documents from Sunnydale later, when they finally arrive. Why don't you give me your information, and I'll have it ready for you in a day or two."
Xander leaned over a dropped a kiss on her hand. "I am Xander Harrison born December 12, 1937. This is my sister Mestral Harrison born February 14, 1927."
Mestral watched as her brother proceeded to charm the human woman into procuring them illegal documentation. Yes, she'd made the right decision. This would prove to be the experience of a lifetime.
"We did it, Messie. A million dollar contract," crowed Xander after the ridiculously laid-back meeting. The company had been enthusiastic in their wish to hire his company.
"As if we could do any less. However," said Mestral slowly.
Xander paused mid crow. "However?"
"I believe it is cause for celebration. And I have just the venue in mind," answered Mestral, her eyes glinting with suppressed mischief.
Xander knew that look. That I'm-smirking-without-moving-my-lips look. Oh, boy, he thought. This is bound to be a trip. "What did you have in mind?"
"Woodstock. I have two tickets," explained Mestral.~*~
Xander wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the idea of attending Woodstock as Mestral was. He remembered seeing a documentary on it and had vague memories of how bad it had gotten in the end. But Mestral was insistent; this was a prime opportunity to observe the human race as they strove for peace and unity. Her words, not his. But he really couldn't complain, he'd heard that Joplin was playing this first night. While he'd always loved country music, Janis had a special place in his heart.
Mestral glanced around observing the large audience. Tents spread across the field in vast array. There were more humans here than she'd seen in her entire stay on earth. They'd arrived at the concert site all of twenty minutes ago, and all ready nearly a dozen people had wished them well and offered a place to relax.
Sandar however had glared at the last couple and growled. She gave a little sniff as if she needed protecting. Mestral glided through the crowd watching. Always watching.
Xander was bored. There wasn't actually all that much to do if you weren't getting high or laid. Joplin and Hendrix weren't performing until later and Creedence had all ready gone on.
He knew Mestral however was amused. Her comments were actually the best part of the day so far.
"Sandar," Mestral said, gliding up beside him. "Look, there."
He followed her pointing finger and rolled his eyes. There were several couples actively participating in free love.
"I thought you said humans did not 'do it' in public places," said Mestral, her eyebrow quirking as she observed their antics. The day had been most informative. She'd had a chance to speak with the various humans. The conversations had been fascinating. While she was still pretty sure the humans weren't prepared for first contact, she could see them being a worthy ally in the future.
"That's 'cause it's generally frowned upon," answered Xander.
Mestral shook her head. Humans really were odd. They had a tendency to focus on the wrong thing in her opinion. The event was designed to promote ideals, yet the humans there were polluting their bodies so much it was a wonder they were coherent let alone capable of procreation.
Mestral was roaming the crowd again, Xander following diligently behind her when she heard the sounds of distress. She paused, head tipping as she sought out the source.
"Mestral," questioned Xander.
"I hear a female in pain," replied Mestral. "Yet I can not pinpoint her location."
Xander sighed, but moved up beside Mestral. He placed one hand on her shoulder, knowing what she wanted him to do. Using her calm presence as a steady center in the flood of human emotions he opened his senses. The first wave of emotion nearly made his knees buckle but Mestral quickly steadied him. He narrowed his focus and had her in an instant. "This way," he said, drawing his shields back up.
Mestral followed him over to the flimsy first aid center. The edges of her mouth tightening at the poor conditions. Now that she was nearer she could hear the sounds of strain, and realized the woman was in labor. She hurried past Xander and entered the tent.
Mary Jo wanted to die. She cursed Mikey to high heaven even as he held her hand, crooning in her ear. Her mother had said attending the concert was a bad idea. Did she listen, oh no! She'd so wanted to be here. Another contraction ripped through her and she prayed the ambulance would get there in time.
"Breathe, honey," urged her husband. She shot him a glare. "When is the ambulance getting here?" she moaned.
Her husband glanced at the E.M.T that was working the station. The two looked uneasy.
"Oh, god. Please tell me I'm not having my baby in a tent at Woodstock," she cried trying to sit up.
"No. No. It's just traffic has started getting congested," explained Michael. "It will take a bit of time for the ambulance to get here."
Mary Jo knew he was lying. The British in his voice always thickened when he was lying. She was having her baby in a tent! She moaned again as the contractions grew closer together. A disturbance at the entrance of the tent drew her attention. A tall dark haired woman had pushed her way inside. She looked a bit Asian, thin black eye brows arched over midnight black eyes.
"Can I help you miss," began the E.M.T heading toward the woman.
"The woman she is in labor. I offer my assistance."
Mary Jo took a deep breath, something about the woman's presence calming her. She shushed her protesting husband. "Are you a midwife?" she asked.
"No. I have however studied the human body and functions extensively," she answered.
While her words didn't offer much comfort, her very nature did. "Michael, stop glaring. Please, if you can," she grunted as another contraction hit.
The slender woman nodded, "My brother, if he could come in?"
Mary Jo stared up into the calm gaze and nodded.
A dark-haired man entered at her call. Mary Jo stared and for a second wished for make-up and a mirror. Man, he was hot.
"This is Sandar. I am Mestral," said the woman, coming to her side. Mary Jo glanced between the two. They didn't look like siblings but hey who was she to say. As Sandar drew closer she could feel herself calming. He grinned at her and gave a little wave. She giggled.
Xander slid past the glaring husband and the protesting E.M.T. He stood at the woman's head and rested his fingers at her temples.
Mary Jo gave a sigh of relief as the pain eased and the strong fingers massaged her head. Man, she didn't know who they were but she'd be willing to name her first born after them if they kept this up. "Oh, that feels so good," she muttered. "I'm Mary Jo. That's my husband Michael by the way."
"Nice to meet," said Xander. That was all the time for pleasantries they had as the baby decided it was tired of waiting.
Mestral eased up to the woman her hands coming to rest low on her stomach, just under the curve. She could feel the child and it's eagerness to be born.
The E.M.T had finally given up protesting. Having gotten everything ready, he was waiting between the woman's thighs.
Michael clasped his wife's hands. He didn't see why she wanted them here, but if it helped her he'd tolerate it.
Mary Jo was calm. Calmer than she'd been since the pregnancy had begun. She didn't think she'd even feel this good if she were at a hospital. When Mestral urged her to push, she did.
After half an hour of urging and pushing Mary Jo's baby boy arrived.
"It's a boy," said the E.M.T handing the child to Mestral as he saw to the umbilical cord.
Mestral stared down at the wet, squalling infant. This was the first human baby she'd ever held. It was oddly beautiful in it's red, wrinkled way with the squashed face. "He is strong. Healthy." She glanced down at the boy, and whispered softly in Vulcan, "Live long and prosper." Then handed the child to its mother.
"Oh, Michael," muttered Mary Jo, cradling the boy. "He's beautiful."
"Do you have a name," asked Xander, stepping back.
She nodded. "Christian Michael Leonard Hawkins," she muttered softly.
Xander and Mestral slipped away while the new parents were preoccupied with the newest family member.
As Mestral followed Xander out of the tent she decided today had been a very good day indeed.
(Translation: a combination of soul and memory)