His mother's antique grandfather clock chimed softly the dark hour from the estate's Great Room. Still in the midst of his report to the Vulcan Council, Ambassador Spock happened to glance up at the sound.

And found himself suddenly unable to return to his report.

She was so very beautiful.

His aduna was curled in an ancient carved chaise, the gentle gleam from the stars outside turning her sleeping silk to pooled moonlight. Her deep chestnut hair was unbound and fell across her pale throat becomingly in her sleep.

She had fallen asleep watching her stars again, while she waited quietly for him to finish his work.

Spock sighed.

His deep eyes saw her feet bare to the night's coolness and he rose as silently as he could, drawing off his outer ambassadorial robe.

She did not even stir from her slumber when he carefully slipped it over her sleeping form, though her breathing eased even more softly to his ears as his scent in the umber fabric filled her sensitive nostrils.

He found it pleased him profoundly.

A golden glint caught his eye and he tilted his head curiously to see what she had fallen asleep holding in her long fingers.

A single well-worn Romulan coin.

Spock stiffened, something illogical and very primal rising in his chest, and looked sharply at her face.

She woke suddenly in alarm and was on her bare feet, body instinctually crouching for battle, before she realized only her husband stood before her. Then she was past him like a deadly wraith and vanished into the shadows of the estate so fast it literally awed him.

And shamed him.

Knowing better than to be as foolish as to move into the shadows himself with her in full hunt, he gathered up his fallen robe. And heard the heavy clink of the coin on the ancient tile. He stared at it a long moment and then reluctantly picked it up and returned to his desk. Drawing on Discipline, he worked on restoring his logic, knowing full well the same strength of their bond that had transmitted his earlier response to her that sounded charged of enemy encroachment would soon send out a restoration of his control.

But the coin was hot still from her hand's heat and he gripped it tightly.

She materialized out of the darkness after longer than he expected.

Armed with a winged Andorian sword with dark streaming hair and looking for all the world the very incarnation of on of his mother's tales of Destroying Angels.

For some reason he felt suddenly chilled and drew his ambassadorial robe on once more.

"I have found no enemy, my husband. The estate is secured." Her eyes narrowed dangerously and the fingers that gripped the hilt of the sword tightened. "Who brings danger to you beyond our walls?"

He looked down at the hand which gripped the coin.

"Husband?"

Spock opened his hand and let the gold gleam in the soft light of his computer console.

Her sharp eyes caught it instantly.

And a purely confused look crossed her beautiful face. "Spock, Achernar would not harm you."

Spock actually flushed. He took a deep breath and then held out two fingers. Her brows drew down but she lowered the sword and crossed immediately to him, her long fingers brushed his and instantly their marriage bond sang loud and powerful.

Her eyes widened as he opened up his illogic to her.

And then her mouth was against his and when they parted at last, her eyes glinted at him in pure feminine humor.

"Perhaps, my husband, if you spent more nights in my bed than in your office, you would not fear a memory."

He sighed.

She reached out and let the tips of her fingers trail along his face tenderly. Her eyes sobered and grew intense.

"You were my choice then. You remain my choice now."

He looked down at the coin.

She took it from his hand and rolled it gently in obvious habit through her fingers. But though her face remained calm, her eyes grew dark and searching.

And Spock suddenly understood.

And it pained him to his very soul.

"You do not yet believe him."

She stared down at the gleaming gold in her hand.

"Only when you are near." She said softly. Her eyes eased and now he saw again the peace she had held in her sleep. "But I have never thought to have so much before." She blushed deeply and looked away from both the coin and him. "I grow arrogant."

Spock was almost amused. "Arrogance has never been yours."

Then his face sagged in old pain. "That was hers. And mine."

Saavik reached out and lifted his chin, sending comfort through their bond at the touch. Her lips found his again.

"You need this more than I," she whispered against his skin.

Spock felt the hot gold press into his palm. He looked into her eyes, his eyebrows drawing together. "But what of your need?"

Saavik took his hand and slid her fingers along his, stirring their bond again with the intimate touch. "You forget, my husband, the coin is a reminder. You are the realization."

"But I am not always near."

"No," she said regretfully. Then her eyes glinted mischievously. "Perhaps then I need a suitable token of remembrance."

He tilted his head, looking at her a long moment. Then his gaze shifted thoughtfully to her Andorian sword. And his eyebrow ascended. "Then perhaps I have just so suitable a token."

Her brow arched. "Indeed?"

"In the House Vaults."

"Which part?"

"The Inner."

Her eyes unfocused a moment as she mentally recalled the House's most guarded hidden place. And then it's single occupant.

Then her dark lashes went wide. "The . . . s'haren?" she whispered, not daring to believe he could have possibly meant that. "But . . . but adun, a House s'haren is . . . is . . . ."

He stepped forward and brushed her fair skin with his fingertips, reveling in the look of her face. He kissed her gently. "Of incalculable worth." He murmured against her lips. When he pulled back, her face was flushed and her eyes lowered.

"Spock . . . ."

No amount of persuasion from either Amanda or Sarek had ever made her even dare to touch it. Even as his wife, and rightful tender of the Vaults now, he had never managed to convince her.

He kissed her again.

"It is yours. In token of your worth to me."

She looked positively torn between being ill at how he was treating so precious an object and utterly shocked as the truth of his declaration burned through their bond.

He could feel her deep pain of old wounds—and for the first time, the faintest breath of something that could almost be . . . a shadow of considering belief.

Spock was certain now that her earlier beauty held no strength against this moment.