Poetic Cycles

Summary: Spock witnesses an intimate moment between his mother and father concerning a book of Terran poetry. The way Spock is with Uhura now - it's poetic. Sarek/Amanda. Spock/Uhura.

Response to st_xi_kink prompt: "Would someone draw a parallel from this poem [Work Without Hope] to Scotty, Bones, or even Spock! Well anyone really just ah-would someone write a response to this?"

Warning: I tried to be as cannon as possible with Lady Amanda but I've taken some liberties movie-style. Spock/Uhura. I understand that some people really don't like this pairing so you have been warned! Literary references. Both poems ('Work Without Hope' and 'Desire') are by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Sometimes, as she veiled herself from the scorching rays of the hot Vulcan sun, Amanda missed being on Earth. It was midday and while she was used to the dry heat, it was not advisable for her to venture outside. The best times for her to be outside were during the early hours of the morning and in twilight, the sky adorned with a dusky pink glow. Kept inside in the radiance of the day, it left her feeling restless, imprisoned and lonely. Her thoughts would inevitable drift to her time on Earth, having been outside in at noon, basking in the warmth of the sun. She knew she could truthfully say that she was the only one on Vulcan who felt that way and it was a sobering thought.

Nevertheless, the Lady Amanda would not regret falling in love with Sarek. Though he only showed emotion in the privacy of their quarters and was entirely logical almost to a fault – he undoubtedly cared for her in his own stilted way. She had learnt to look for signs of his affection in the most discreet of gestures and to listen closely, not to the words he said but the ones he did not feel he have to say. Her union with Sarek had been trying but it had bore them the miraculous gift of a son. She knew it was not easy for Spock to be half-human and half-Vulcan. At least she could say that there was an entire planet full of people like her. He was really unique, the only Human-Vulcan hybrid in existence. She did not care that people felt that he was deficient. He would always be perfect to her in every way and she was proud of him. She made sure to reinforce this to him even though he assured her he did not need 'such human comforts'.

While Spock was at school and Sarek was in discussion with the Federation Council, she was left in the compound and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Amanda did not have many possessions from Earth but Sarek had allowed her a wide array of literary works from Earth. After all they were of 'educational value' and could serve as 'cultural resources'. Amanda knew that Sarek had meant that he wanted to her to feel comfortable with her human heritage. He was willing to compromise for her too because he knew that sacrifices that she had to make for him.

At times like this, when was alone, Amanda would read passages of Terran classics aloud. Part of it was to fill the silence. Part of it was to ensure that she kept up with Terran languages. Part of it was to transport herself back in a world that was different, green and lush. A place where emotions were as important as breathing and everything was about feeling. Where life was not about the most logical way to live but about the passion and vivacity of living. These personal imaginative retreats gave Amanda time to get in touch with her humanity without it being a hindrance. It was not easy to be human on Vulcan. She let the words soak into her like sinking into a relaxing bath.

"All nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing."

One of the things she missed most is the sound of poetry. Poetry in Vulcan was like winter. Vulcans stayed away from it. There was barely any rain let alone snow as Vulcan was a desert planet. She asked Sarek about this peculiar ...lacking in Vulcan culture and he patiently explained to her that Vulcans did not use poetic language as it obscured the clarity of meaning. Any Vulcan poetry pre-dated Surak and is studied for historical purposes. Aesthetics of language were unimportant. Amanda could have argued for the uses of aesthetics but she had learnt to accept the differences between their cultures. This was one of the things they had agreed to disagree on. It was logical after all.

Still, Amanda misses the vivid language of poetry. As a professor of xenolinguistics and a love of xenoliterature, the sensuous images of poetry fed her intellectual hunger. Vulcans could not be more opposite to poetry with its emotive qualities and tendency for superfluous detail.

"Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!"

She can recall the first time Sarek gives her a bouquet of flowers almost with the eidetic texture of a Vulcan mind. She had genuinely been surprised at his gesture but she wisely refrained from insulting him by calling it heartfelt or anything emotive.

He had held the bunch of red roses behind his back citing twentieth century romantic films. "I believe humans make this gesture in courtship," he said, explaining his actions with one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. "I hope you will find these to your satisfaction." Amanda tried not to be amused at the vexed look on his face. With much prompting, he admitted that the symbolism of the act of giving flowers knowing that they will die eluded his understanding. Flowers on Vulcan were rare and to cut them would be illogical, he reasoned. Though he understood they were more abundant on Earth, he still believed it "appears to be a waste of resources". Amanda had told him it was the thought that counts and then went on to explain the human adage.

Even now Sarek preferred to give her potted plants because they are more practical since freshly cut flowers do not last. Especially not with the hot atmosphere of Vulcan. Amanda lamented that most of the Earth varieties wilt quickly and must be kept in the temperature regulated greenhouse that Sarek had commissioned for her benefit.

"With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?"

It took three months into their courtship before their hands touched. Both had been careful to avoid accidental brushes of fingers. Amanda had known that Vulcans were very particular about hand contact since the hands were erogenous zones and Vulcans were touch telepaths. She respected his customs, knowing that he would touch her when he was ready.

During one of their customary strolls in the evening, she finally gathered up her courage and confessed that she was in love with him. His features rearranged themselves in an expression that she would come to recognise as surprise. "I do not find your emotions objectionable" he had said. The wonder of a warm hand on hers told her that he loves her too.

Amanda smiled fondly at the memory then she turned back to her book to finish the poem. She was surprised as a familiar, soft voice joined her.

"Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live."

Sarek was leaning on their plain doorway, face as impassive as ever. "Work without Hope by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 1825," he recited dutifully.

Amanda felt embarrassment creep to her cheeks. With his memory, he would think he had married a sentimental fool. "I was just practicing the intonation of my native tongue."

"Quite logical. Please excuse my interruption, my wife."

"No, not at all, my husband. You're welcome." She paused thoughtfully, "I didn't expect you back so soon. Is something wrong?" Instantly, she was worried. "Is it Spock?"

"Do not worry my wife, the council merely adjourned early today because Ambassador Suket has other matters to tend to."

"I see." Gesturing awkwardly to the book, she said, "I remember that was the first poem we shared."

Sarek knew that his wife was stating the obvious but he didn't say so. "Indeed," he agreed patiently.

Amanda knew that Sarek couldn't say what he needed to say, his Vulcan pride would not permit him to. Yet he stood awkwardly at the door, undecided, unable to leave. She extends an olive branch to him, with a soft, affectionate glance. "If it will not impede on your work, would you like to join me?" She slides another chair over, a physical gesture of invitation.

"I would find the experience enlightening." He sat with Amanda for the whole afternoon, listening to her read and when prompted, read to his wife. His t'hy'la.

As Sarek read, he noticed Amanda's lay her hand softly by his stomach, where his Vulcan heart was. The beats, much faster than a human heart, felt like a hummingbird's thrum. A smile lay at the edge of her lips. It never ceased to amuse and amaze her that he was so different yet to similar to her. Sarek did not prevent her from this strange gesture, deeming it conducive to reinforcing his wife's understanding of Vulcan physiology.

With her free hand, Amanda turns to one of her favourite poems in the entire anthology. She looked expectantly at Sarek and he indulged her, speaking fluently in Terran English without a hint of an accent.

"Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame," he began.

"It is the reflex of our earthly frame."

"That takes its meaning from the nobler part."

"And but translates the language of the heart," she finished, closing her eyes and savouring the moment.

In her lifetime, not once will he be able to say to her the three words she wished she could hear most from him. She never stopped wanting, waiting, hoping but Amanda knew that you cannot always get what you want and sometimes you had to settle for what's close enough. She would settle for this moment then.

Later when Spock came home from school, he sees his parents in the sitting room together reading a book of romantic poetry by a Terran poet. His curiosity leads him to eavesdrop even though he knows that it is impolite to do so. His father is reading ridiculously romantic phrases to his mother in his neutral tones. Spock could not think of any purpose such literature could serve or his father's recitation of such nonsense.

Still, Spock did not disturb them. He would recall this memory with much confusion and when he was older, with fondness. His mother and father sat close together, their bodies angled towards each other though they were barely touching. The only sign of his father's affection for his mother is that their fingers are loosely entwined. Quietly he retreated up the stairs. It never ceased to puzzle him how illogical his father could be around his mother. But recalling again the look on his mother's face, so open and content – Spock was glad.

*

Cadet Uhura had just finished marking the papers for Commander Spock. She had gotten them marked ahead of schedule to ensure that she could be free to assist with Commander Spock's presentation later in the afternoon. They had only recently decided to begin 'courting' one another and though he had said that she was welcome in his office, she still felt a little out of place and out of her depth. She was a Cadet and he was a Commander. Not to mention intellectual capacity and Vulcan strength. In his absence, she wondered if she might put the papers on his desk and return later. He was probably fixing up the holoprojector for the presentation, she mused. However, she was curious about his office. When she put the bundle of pads down, she noticed that Spock had a book. An actual book, not a data padd open to on his desk. Curiosity won out and she decided she would stay. Just to have a quick glance. She was not surprised that the Commander had Terran literature. After all, she had seen Alice in Wonderland on one of his bookshelves a while back. She did want to know what he had been reading.

Uhura perused the book in her hands, turning it over with reverence. It was a slim anthology of Coleridge's poems. On the inside cover was a name marked in pen 'Amanda Grayson'. His mother, she realised. She felt a little guilty for touching it like she had witnessed something private.

"Cadet Uhura."

"Commander Spock!" Uhura exclaimed putting the volume down quickly, retreating from his desk. "I'm sorry, I was just curious..."

"I see you have found my Terran literature. I appreciate Earth's cultural history and am trying to gain knowledge about classical poetry." He spoke with his hands behind his back, voice even.

It sounded like a perfectly logical explanation but Uhura was not a xenolinguistics student for nothing. Perhaps it was the brief moment when he averted his gaze as he spoke. There was something about the way Spock had said it that made her look at him expectantly.

After a long pause, Spock relented. "This volume of poetry was my mother's. That poem you read was the first of many that she shared with my father."

Uhura did not comment as she did not know what to say. She did not want to ruin the moment. She knew that Spock had recently begun to see her in a different light, beyond that of his assistant but he rarely shared anything about himself. Vulcans were intensely private beings.

"Are you familiar with the work of this Terran poet?"

Uhura furrows her eyebrows as she recalled Samuel Taylor Coleridge from her History of Human Linguistics class that she took while she was still a junior. "Um, I have read his work before but a long time ago," she admitted with a blush to her chocolate-coloured cheeks. One of her hands immediately went to twirl her ponytail but she suppressed the very human desire to fidget.

"I see. And what is your analysis of this sample of Coleridge's work?"

Uhura began listing the qualities, analysing the components of the work in her head as if translating the language of the work. "Structurally, it is written as a sonnet, a fourteen line poem, though not in its traditional, conventional form. The poetic cycle is very similar to it nonetheless with most of the content developed in the first twelve lines and the last two lines presenting the overall theme to the reader."

"Which is?" he prompted, ever the instructor.

"It is impossible to draw nectar through a sieve... so one must work with hope. And hope must have a purpose." She smiled as she figured out the puzzle. "Thus work must have a purpose." She tilted her head with a small, hesitant smile. "I'm sure that Vulcans would agree with that logic."

"You are correct in all aspects," Spock acknowledged.

Uhura flushed anew with his praise, slightly ducking her head.

"You are very astute. You detected a connection between this piece of Terran poetry and Vulcan philosophy which my mother also observed. She said that hope, an emotion, is what completes the purpose, being logic. Hence logic combined with emotion 'gets work done'," Spock said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He said looked at the Cadet with emotion as he said this, letting his guard down momentarily and letting his gaze speak the words that he could not yet say. You are my purpose. I need you.

Nyota understood what he meant anyway beaming at him. "Your mother is a wise woman."

"Indeed. She studied xenolinguistics." Like you. Spock wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. He wanted to tell her all about his mother. He wanted to reach out to her, to close the gap between them. His human hormones flowed through his copper green blood-

Spock tensed. He had revealed too much of his emotions, his feelings. It was too soon and he had forgotten himself.

Nyota could see his impassive expression sliding back into place, his hand dropping down beside him. She swallowed her disappointment, remembering her promise. Uhura had said that she would be happy with whatever he could give her. Today, this was as far as he was willing to go. It would never be easy, dating the only human-Vulcan hybrid in existence but she knew it would be worth it.

"Let's go get some work done then." Uhura deliberately infused a light tone in her speech, letting him know that she was pleased. Thank you for sharing this with me.

He nodded with a grateful glance. Spock and Uhura headed off down the corridor with matching strides, the bud of a companionship which would blossom in time.

All criticism welcome.