When Sarek decided to teach Spock to play chess, Amanda privately thought he was too young to enjoy it, but her husband seemed bent on keeping his brain busy lately, so she swallowed her doubts.
The last of her objections vanished when she caught them in the middle of the first lesson, with an old-fashioned two-dimensional board between them: Spock seemed to ask for nothing better than a new pastime, but it wasn't exactly going spectacularly.
He was holding a white rook between his fingers, head cocked in puzzlement, staring at it as if it had personally offended him.
"That is illogical. A tower should not be able to move at all, in a straight line or not."
"It is a human game, my son. It does not do to question its logic."
Amanda had to flee the room to have her most undignified, and very human, fit of the giggles.
"How's our miniature chess master progressing?"
"He is unlikely to become a master at this rate. It is unfortunate. He was showing promise."
"Oh? Why do you say that?" Spock was quite enamoured with the chessboard, though she would have been on the receiving end of a raised eyebrow if she worded it like that in front of either of them.
"He hasn't been showing any particular desire to improve, and I assumed he had lost interest."
That didn't add up. "Lost interest? He could study the pieces for hours if I left him to his own devices."
"That is not consistent with my observations. He has refused my last three offers to play."
Amanda's heart clenched as the pieces of the puzzle flew together.
"Has he managed to beat you yet?"
"No, he hasn't, nor do I expect him to do so."
She suppressed a sigh. For a species with a supposedly superior mind, the Vulcans' tendency not to see what was right in front of them never ceased to amaze her.
"Has it never crossed your mind to just let him win?"
"Are you suggesting I should play at less than the best of my ability to accommodate him?"
"Show him that winning is possible, at least."
"He knows perfectly well that it is possible. Playing more often would help him correct his weaknesses. He is only a beginner, after all."
"A beginner who doesn't want to make blatant mistakes in front of you!" she shot back, her voice rising dangerously. "He's refusing to play because he thinks he's not smart enough, not Vulcan enough to win!"
"That was not the message I intended to give." Hearing him admit his mistake so openly made some of her anger deflate.
"What's done is done. When are you going to learn that your opinion matters to him, Sarek? Right now, all he sees when you ask him for a match is a ninety-nine-point-whatever chance of disappointing you."
"That is an entirely false impression."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to correct it."
Not that I don't intend to give you a hand, she added to herself.
She didn't have to wait long before she caught Spock with the pieces laid out in front of him, brows knitted in a frown of concentration that he only allowed himself because he knew Sarek was sequestered away in his study, eyes flicking rapidly from the board to a PADD showing chess strategies far above his steadily progressing reading level and back.
"That looks interesting. Care for a friendly game?"
"I did not know you could play."
Admittedly, her chess skills, even by human standards, were far from excellent, and that was exactly why she was the kind of opponent her son badly needed.
"I'm full of surprises."
Soon enough, the PADD lay forgotten. Spock was an extremely dedicated little player, and though even she could see he hadn't quite grasped all the intricacies of the game, she delighted more in watching him make his moves than in choosing her own.
A few minutes into the match, he commented: "Your way of playing is… different." Those were the first words out of his mouth since they'd started.
"In what way?"
"You talk a lot. Father always plays in silence."
That threw her for a loop. She'd almost expected a full-blown analysis of her playing strategy, but maybe Sarek's mannerisms hadn't rubbed off on him that much.
Her son's simple assessment, she had to admit, was accurate: the running commentary she was keeping was as much a part of her plan as the direction in which she'd just sent her bishop.
"I like thinking out loud." It wasn't a lie, exactly: muttering to herself was often surprisingly helpful in gaining new insight into a problem, in chess or otherwise. She was, however, exaggerating that tendency on purpose, making it a point to praise Spock's good calls as she was now certain that Sarek never had.
And so they went on, with Amanda keeping up a steady stream of words meant to give him little hints on her thought process whenever she could, and Spock occasionally interjecting a timid comment of his own, as if he couldn't quite believe that chess didn't have a rule that said you weren't allowed to speak.
Time to test his reaction to the final act of her master plan. "Oops."
He raised an eyebrow, and he was so much like his father that she wished she could snap a picture for posterity.
"Once the hand is taken off a piece after moving it, the move cannot be retracted unless it is illegal," he recited, sounding for all the world like he'd swallowed a manual—and in a way, he probably had.
"I'll manage."
She did not, in fact, manage, and if she subtly made sure of that with a few more less-than-wise choices, well, Spock didn't need to know.
No one in their right mind liked losing, but it was well worth it when her son announced in all seriousness: "Checkmate," and crowned his achievement with a real, honest-to-goodness smile.