Human.

Austerity.

The smooth lines of her chamber flowed into each other with a kind of understated grace – all things were functional, to everything a place and use and order. She sat down on the bed and felt the layers of her Vulcan ceremonial robes crease sharply underneath her. She laughed. It was a short, harsh sound, explosive and tastelessly emotional – she clamped her hands over her lips and bit the insides of her palms. Put it away.

The air was not as she'd expected. It ought to be cool, crisp, invigorating and infuse her soul with energy, clarity…instead it was hot, sulphurous, something incredible churned underneath, a molten power. But wasn't that the point? Wasn't that what she'd always desired, needed: power under control?

Humanity had always irked her as pathetically powerless. For all their wars and weapons, arrogance, man was afraid – of itself, of the unknown, of death. She burned against that. She liked little rebellion – as a teenager she used to shout at teachers, stage government protests, shaved her head as a response to being conventionally pretty.

"You mean," she'd once said acidly, "My features happen to conform to a completely arbitrary standard, held up by the media as somehow better than all other combinations, in order to breed fear and insecurity and encourage consumerism?"

She raged at everything – the stark hypocrisy of everyday life, lazy double-standards, her friends and parents for not seeing the world was far from satisfactory – or even worse, not caring. It was the hope of more that sparked her interest in the fledging Federation, and for a while she had considered joining Starfleet. She got older. She reconciled herself to teaching high school chemistry, occasionally attending a symposium and waiting for earth to change.

Then Sarek.

True, there was an element of idol-worship in it, of drawing to the glamour of the alien. But more than that. From the first time she had heard him address the Federation he had been – what she needed. His modulated voice spoke truths unmarred by frippery. He spoke of unity and reason. He did not self-contradict, his sight was clear. She loved him.

Could it be love?

At their wedding – wedding! She was a married woman! Amanda raised her eyes to the ceiling briefly, jumping as the shadows of her Vulcan headdress momentarily marred her sight. At their wedding there was no kiss – just the bonding touch. This was the other side of Vulcanism, of course – the ritual, the ceremony, the prescribed Ways that had saved their people from war and devastation, after the sacred teachings of Surak. Her two fingers briefly crossed with her new husbands' to indicate the equal twining of their souls. Very egalitarian. And yet her flowing robes concealed all her skin except her face and hands, as was prescribed…there was a reason to it, obviously. Her essence was no longer flesh, but intellect, unlike the poor degraded women of earth – thinking of themselves as liberated, ogled like pieces of meat, no male would ever gape at her that way again. This was dignity.

But was it love?

What did she feel when she thought of Sarek? Good things! Admiration! What would she felt when they – well, passion. Obviously, passion. It was allowed, then, there was a reason for it -

She was afraid.

"What have I done?" she asked aloud. Her voice reverberated off the chamber walls and came back, broken. How could she live like this? Without touch, without empathy, without warmth…they'd called her arrogant and cold. She had believed she was, but next to the inhabitants of Vulcan she so often felt like a conflicting mass of bright unruly impulse…would it fix her? Did she want to be fixed? She wanted…to channel these parts of herself, into something creative and brilliant. Yes. Her eyes opened a little wider and she sat up straight. Something had clicked into place. In marrying Sarek, she hadn't just taken a husband, she'd taken a whole new world – a whole philosophy, a way of life…but she hadn't become a Vulcan.

"This is my way," she said in slow realization. "The ways of home were suffocating me. Here, where things are logical, I can make use of what I am…a human. A freak. Whatever. I will be the best I can be, I will have – meaning.'

"My wife."

His voice from the doorway. Utterly calm, polite, even and neutral. His face displayed nothing, his perceptive eyes absorbed the room, her, inner depths of her she probably wasn't aware of.

"My husband." Amanda stood. Something inside her moaned. This was a hard way, a bare way, devoid of many things. 'We choose,' Amanda thought, 'We sacrifice. I've made my choice, and for the things I want I've made my sacrifices.'