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The commander felt a little awkward. He had never managed to be all that comfortable around Vulcans, and this one was… well, as Vulcan as they came. Even so, the man was a visitor on a ship full of strangers, and Crusher didn’t want to make him feel unwelcome.

He caught sight of a cup of steaming beverage on the table. From the aroma, he judged it to be Vulcan spice tea. Crossing to the replicator, he asked Tuvok, “Care for a refill?”

“No,” the Vulcan said. “Thank you.” His voice was every bit as icy as when he got off the transporter platform.

The commander shrugged and ordered his own drink-key limeade, extra pulpy. He’d have a synthale for his second drink, but this one made him think of Beverly. She had introduced him to it on their second date, back on Earth. He had fallen in love with key limeade and her simultaneously.

Bev, he thought. His bright, stable, yet passionate redhead. God, how he missed her. And little Wesley… he wondered what irretrievable moment of the toddler’s childhood he was missing today.

Turning around, drink in hand, Crusher saw that Tuvok was still staring at him. He held a padd in his hands and seemed, even in his Vulcan calm, to have a shadow of annoyance on his face.

“Care for some company?” the commander asked.

“I would prefer to be alone,” replied Tuvok.

Crusher ignored the comment. How was he going to get to know the ensign if they didn’t speak at least a little bit?

He gestured to the padd. “Research?”

Tuvok’s long fingers closed about the device ever so slightly. “No. I am fashioning a private message for my wife back on Vulcan.”

The commander’s eyebrows shot up. Family? This iceberg?

Well, it just went to prove the adage that there was a cover for every pot. Intrigued, Crusher decided to ignore Tuvok’s request for solitude for a few more seconds.

Hey, he mused, everyone likes to talk about his loved ones. Could a Vulcan be any different in that regard?

“I’ve got a family myself,” said Crusher, slipping into the chair beside Tuvok. “A wife and a little baby boy named Wesley.”

The ensign didn’t say anything.

“Beverly is a Starfleet doctor,” the commander continued. “I’m hoping that after my stint here is wrapped up, we can work together on a Starship. It’d be nice not to have to say good-bye to the wife and kids all the time, wouldn’t you think?”

Tuvok’s expression didn’t soften, but he did put the padd down on the table and regard Crusher steadily. “I am a father as well,” he said. “I have three sons and a daughter.”

Crusher smiled a gratified smile. Now we’re getting somewhere, he told himself. “Miss ‘em, do you?”

“Your statement implies sorrow or loneliness,” said the ensign. “You should know that I experience neither.”

Spoken like a true Vulcan, thought Crasher. He sighed, wondering how to get past the brick wall that had been thrown up in front of him.

“However,” Tuvok went on abruptly, “I do find that I am aware of their absence. I was fortunate enough to be with my children during their formative years. It is … regrettable that you are on such a lengthy mission and cannot be with your son.”

Surprised, the commander regarded him for a moment. By Vulcan standards, the man was positively gushing.

Crusher tried to conjure an image of Tuvok handling an infant on his knee… and failed. What were Vulcan children like? Were they born with this level of control, like tiny, emotionless adults? Or were they as wild as human children-maybe even wilder, if the ancient Vulcan heritage of violent emotion was still present in their genetic code?

It was an interesting question-and one that had never before occurred to the human. He asked the ensign about it

Tuvok shrugged. “Control must always be learned,” he said flatly. “That is the primary responsibility of a Vulcan parent However, to most of our offspring, it comes as second nature.”

Crasher nodded. “I’ll bet,” he said sincerely, “that you’re an excellent father, Tuvok.”

The ensign cocked his head just a millimeter or so. “I am indeed,” he replied simply.