Nature? [The barest furrow between his up-swept eyebrows mars Spock's otherwise impassive expression.] Surely nature's way is to find harmony in chaos.

[There can be nothing more unnatural to Spock than a rage so all-consuming as to rip away his fine veneer of logic and reason. Brutality is as foreign to him as green blood and red sand are to Captain Reynolds. And yet...]

[Spock's eyes fall to his knuckles, counting only three where there should have been four. The knuckle of his middle finger is concave, collapsed and snapped out of place where it met the bone of a cheek or a chin. There were so many blows exchanged, Spock can't quite remember how it happened. It had come so easily to him.] I've never known nature to be vengeful. Only careless.