An Ideal Husband

by

Pat Foley

Chapter 2

"Let women make no more ideals of men..."

She didn't get home before Sarek, as she'd hoped. She arrived with him.

His flyer landed the same time as hers, but when she stepped out into the hanger, he was already there, in front of her, a look of urgency, stress on his face she had never, well rarely, seen.

"Sarek?"

He lowered his head, "Hours, now."

At least he can still speak, she thought critically, evaluating everything from his posture to his breathing. And English too. Twelve hours. Maybe fifteen. Those were also the first words he had said to her about what was coming.

"I've cancelled everything," she assured him. "I'm here for the duration." Then when he didn't raise his head, or reply, or do anything except breathe raggedly, she was consumed with pity for him. "You look terrible. I wish this wasn't so hard on you."

He did look at her then. "It will be harder on you."

"If you're making it harder on yourself by trying to fight it, then just don't," Amanda said. "You know you can't stop it. And it just makes things worse for you. Maybe for me, too."

At that oblique reference to vrie, he looked over her shoulder, at the farthest range of the distant Llangon Mountains, eyes narrowed. "Amanda. There's still time. If you get away now, off planet- Sascek could take you." He gasped at that, and faltered.

She realized he must have come back to himself, in a last ditch effort to warn her, save her. A noble but futile effort. "You'd come after me. You know that you'd have to. Wherever I went, you could find me through the bond."

"I might not catch you, before…"

"You'd die trying. Anyway, I would never do that, Sarek. That's not a solution, for you or for me. You're just trying to avoid the unavoidable. The only answer for either of us is to see this through."

"I don't want to," Sarek muttered, as if to himself.

She laughed at that, albeit without humor. But it was funny, in that she had never in her life heard him sound so human. His disgruntlement was almost comic, given their situation. "Well, I don't either. But we don't have a choice. And your running away is no more a solution than my running away. We're bonded. We made the commitment. We just have to get through it now. It won't last forever." She reached up and put a hand on his cheek. "It won't last six months," she said, her voice catching a little. "Two weeks at best. I can handle that. We can."

He caught his breath, stricken. "Amanda-"

"This is the deal we make with life, my husband. The pain we have to go through now, is part of the happiness we share otherwise. It's part of some cosmic balancing act."

"Not for humans."

"You can't be wishing you were human. Or if you are, that does convince me you're far from your right mind. You would never wish for that, after."

Sarek just shook his head, philosophical arguments beyond him.

"We should go in," she said. "You should try and eat something."

He shuddered at that. "I couldn't possibly."

"Well, I'm not hungry either. But I am going to force myself because I should. So should you. And if you can't eat, you must at least try to drink some water." She took his hand, tugged at it. "Come on."

T'Rueth served them silently, putting food out, even though her skeptical look at Sarek told Amanda what she thought of the likelihood of him eating. She said nothing, but before she left, she gave Amanda a significant glance, and a tilt of her head that indicated she was prepared to leave. Amanda nodded, and heard the garden door click behind T'Rueth as she vacated the house. The rest of the house, the nearby gardens, were silent. Deserted. Save for Sarek and her.

"Drink," she told Sarek. He looked at her, as if not understanding her. She repeated the command in Vulcan. He looked down at the water, as if he didn't understand where it came from or what relevance it had to him.

She took the glass and held it to his mouth. He allowed the liquid to touch his lips but did not drink. She gave up then and finished her own meager meal, not wanting anything too heavy on her stomach. She forced down a second glass of water and then rose, looking around the room almost as if she were seeing it for the last time. The extremes of Vulcan biology tended to bring out the fatalist in her. But Sarek had obviously expended the last of his fragile control, in urging her to leave. And seemed now beyond speech. Twelve hours, or a little less. And then the acute stage of the Fever would be upon him. And her. To burn through. Or burn up.

"Just get through this one, Amanda," she muttered. After this bad one, the next Pon Far would be absurdly light, not much more than a passionate weekend. Even the next one after that wouldn't be that bad. These extreme Pon Fars only came cyclically. She looked over at her husband, not wanting to startle him by rising. "Sarek," she said softly. She held out a hand.

He closed his eyes, and she watched him come back to some semblance of himself. Enough to move, if she moved with him. He put his hand in hers and they climbed the long stair.

In the master bedroom, Amanda did a final check of her supplies, laid out a glass of water nearby and ready, and then prepared for bed.

She helped Sarek undress, his own fingers clumsy and shaking on seams and fasteners and drew him down into bed next to her. But he shied from touching her now. He wasn't ready yet, even normal libido short-circuited by his physiology. She laid down by his side, and closed her eyes resolutely. Much as it might be considered impossible to sleep in these circumstances, she mastered enough control of her own body, purely human bio feedback means, to let her take advantage of this respite. And better to sleep than run. And if she stayed awake, counting down the moments to nightmare, she would be tempted to run.

When dawn broke, she was dreaming the Fortress was on fire, flames crackling up the tapestries, the stone walls crumbling and blackening in the intense heat. The very sand foundations melting and glassifying. She woke to find Sarek no more than half conscious at her side, his skin burning with fever, waves of heat shimmering off his body. At its acute stage, Pon Far was cruel.

Her rising stirred him from the Fever. Or rather it stirred what Sarek had become. She knew that Vulcan. Had met him periodically over the years, from one Pon Far to the next. Had dealt with him through the six months of vrie, though the months leading up to those incidences. The hair trigger, testosterone fueled entities Vulcans became when they lost their control. Their veneer of civilization. Thin but so strong. Until it cracked.

She gasped when he turned to her, and she saw that face again. Nightmares she'd suppressed for two years came back in stark reality. She couldn't help, couldn't stop herself from flinching. But she didn't run. Even in terror she knew that was fruitless. He clutched at her, his strength fortunately yet tempered to her bones. She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax, and slid beneath him, even as he moved to cover her. He put fingers to her temples, and the fragile barriers she had against his condition burned away like tissue paper before a lit match. And then they were both engulfed in an inferno, like fallen angels from Milton's Paradise Lost. Falling endlessly, flames licking up around them, surrounding and encompassing, burning and yet not consuming. Somewhere she was soundlessly screaming, flames sucking up the oxygen in the air, taking her breath. And Sarek was there too. Even though her Sarek had been physically replaced by this relentless pre-Reform Vulcan, through the bond her Sarek was still with her, frantic, flaming, burning, near dying. He clutched her to him and she to him, sole surcease and lifeline, before they both lost themselves to the flames.

She came back to awareness some time later. She was dry as sand inside and out, eyes, mouth and other areas. The water glass at her side was empty, but she snagged some juice and drank half a bottle in one long parched swallow. That gave her enough awareness to realize she was ravenously hungry, her stomach flat against her backbone. Her fingers fumbled and found a bowl of fruit. She ate half a peach in a few bites. And that was enough, for now, her stomach having shrunk in the …days? since she had last eaten.

That gave her enough energy to look at Sarek. His skin was still burning with fever, but it wasn't as intense as the level he'd been at when the fever had started. His breathing was shallow, but he was breathing. She slipped out of bed, took care of certain basic functions, and then stepped into a hot shower. She was only in it for a few minutes before Sarek joined her. That was a measure of his level of fever, Never would he voluntarily step under a shower of water except in this state. He shivered violently as the water soaked his fever hot skin, but he seemed otherwise unaware of it, still pulled her against him, pushed her against the shower wall and took her then and there, while the water poured down on them both. But at least she got a shower out of it, for him and her.

She'd left towels out. With his head a little clearer, post sex, Sarek was aware enough again to be eager to get rid of the chilling dampness. She managed to get the bed stripped and the sheets changed while he toweled off, before Sarek came back to her. And then they were lost to flame again.

The episodes of fever repeated themselves until she finally woke one morning not from a dream of fire, but of water. She was so thirsty. She sat up with difficulty – everything ached so it was torture to move, but her thirst was worse – and opened a bottle of juice. After her third, she felt somewhat sloshy, but able to look around her.

The sun wasn't quite up yet, but the room held the gray light of dawn. Sarek was still sleeping, his face sunken and wasted from fever, but when she held a cautious hand above him, not daring to touch, his skin was just little hotter than normal Vulcan temperature, and he was breathing normally. She had to hold onto a bedside table to get up, but she got her feet under her, and made it under her own power to the bath. This time, she managed to shower alone, using all those Orion ointments. Once out, she tossed everything nearby fastidiously into the fresher. Towels and piles of rank sheets were scattered around, testament to unremembered times she had done this half asleep or unaware. Then, feeling shaky, sat down and ran a brush through her damp hair. Once her hair was pulled back, out of her way, she brushed her teeth.

Sarek was still sleeping. She had no intention of waking him. She made herself a meal of some fruit and nuts, watching him warily. When he still hadn't stirred, she counted her lucky stars and piling her hair on top of her head, ran herself a hot bath, liberally laced with more Orion body soothers. Half an hour's soak didn't make her well, but she felt somewhat human again, not an aching shell of skin and bone wracked with pain and fever. She pulled herself out of the bath when the water cooled, before she fell asleep again. And then returned to Sarek's side. He still hadn't stirred. That was good, it meant the fever was waning.

He woke a few hours later, but the encounter was brief and he fell asleep immediately after. The trend continued – longer periods of sleep and briefer periods of sex. She took stock of her own condition. Her Orion products had probably saved her from any serious internal damage. She was very sore, but not bleeding. No apparent internal injuries. She had some bruises from being clutched too tightly – she suspected she might have a cracked or sprung rib, but nothing serious there.

She had survived.

And Sarek's fever was waning. With the worst apparently over, he looked like he might survive as well.

On the twelfth day after they had climbed the stairs to their suite, he woke. His first move was not to reach for her. He sat up and looked around, looked at her. She had sat up too, knees under her, her own senses hair trigger. But he still didn't reach for her.

Instead she felt him stretching his senses through the bond, to check on her condition. She held herself open to that contact, with a bit of difficulty. Once she might have pulled back, post Pon Far, from a surfeit of such attentions. But she'd learned that could be disastrous, given his state of Pon Far. She bit back the comment that he could at least ask her how she was feeling. Because that was the human in her. Not only was this mental contact normal in his culture; it was courteous. Her shielding against him would have been the exception and not the rule. Given Sarek's prior medical history with vrie, it was a reflex she had to guard against. He was still in an unfinished state of Pon Far. She had to be with him until it terminated normally.

She felt the mental link lesson somewhat, and Sarek drew a breath of relief. He didn't apologize for his action, and she told herself not to expect it. What would be polite respect for privacy between bondmates under normal circumstances was precluded during Pon Far. Then the flames flickered again in his dark eyes.

"Amanda," Sarek said quietly, and then pulled her to him.

But he had his voice back. That was something. Two more days, then she thought. Two.

Perhaps it was some compensation for her that she sensed through the encounter that he was as aching and sore as she was. Fortunately it was brief, and then he slept again.

And those two days passed without incident, largely sleeping, save a few more brief encounters, as the final embers of the fever cooled and died.

Until they woke one afternoon. It was Vulcan's usual, brilliantly sunny day. Sarek's temperature was back to normal. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was watching her, but not touching. He hadn't reached for her.

"Amanda?" he asked her.

"Is it over?" she croaked through a dry throat. She sensed that it was. But she was human enough to want to hear it, in words. In his words.

"Yes." He sat up and reached to her supplies, opened a bottle of juice. He moved to help her sit up. She couldn't quite keep herself from flinching a little at his touch, but she caught herself and allowed it. He did help her, but let go as soon as she could manage on her own. She took a sip, then a long swallow, closing her eyes. When she finished it, he took it from her hand. Then rose and tossed the container in the recycler.

Then he came back, picked her up, and put her in a chaise lounge nearby. Went and stripped the bed, replacing the sheets with fresh ones. She eyed her stacked supplies, noting how they were substantially depleted. But the room was neat. Sarek must have woken hours ago. Put himself in a light healing trance to heal the worst of his sore muscles. He was moving without much soreness or hesitation. He must have eaten and drank from the cache of supplies, because she knew she hadn't eaten all that. Cleaned up. When he had finished the bed, and put the sheets in the fresher, he brought her, unasked, another container of juice.

"How many days?" she asked, when she had drunk half of it.

"Twelve," he said, his voice clipped.

Tears had sprung to her eyes, shock and relief mixed, but a few moments of deep breathing and she got herself past the crying jag that threatened. "That was a bad one." She looked him over. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," his voice was terse.

She blinked at that. "Sarek?"

He looked at her, and then as if relenting, came and sat near her. "I'm well. I'm just..."

"Angry with yourself," she said. Then added. "That's...silly."

"You do not see yourself at the moment."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm in one piece." She looked down at herself. "I think. I've lost some weight." She eyed him. "So have you."

He said nothing.

She marshaled enough energy to take a deep breath, a painful one, under her present state of circumstances. But it had to be said. "Sarek, if you nurse that anger and resentment at your Vulcan self, if you blame yourself, rather than letting yourself heal, then you might end right back in that chronic, unfinished state that led to vrie. And that we can't risk. So please don't."

He startled at that. "I wouldn't-"

"See your healers," she said hoarsely. "Make sure you're well."

"I think you had best see your own healers."

"Tomorrow," she murmured. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. "Sleep now."

He picked her up, and she dimly felt him putting not fingers, but lips to her temple, reviewing her physical state. "Very well, my wife." He laid her back in bed.

She caught his hand, entwining her fingers with his. Reinforced by Pon Far, the touch gave her deep contact through the bond, letting her sense his physical state, even as he could feel hers. She was too tired to discern his thoughts. "Stay with me. Yes?"

"Always," she heard, before she spiraled down, not flaming now, just entwined into blissful, beautiful rest.

It really might be worth it, was her last conscious thought before she drifted off.

The next morning, Sarek was gone before she woke, even though it was early. That was a bit cowardly of him, she thought a bit uncharitably. And her mood spiraled down in response. Still, she understood his inclination to run and hide. Or perhaps, with Vulcan thoroughness, he intended to follow her instructions above all practical considerations. It wouldn't be the first time a Vulcan saw the trees rather than the forest. Their judgment was definitely not human.

She called her physician. It was early enough she caught him at home. He'd have been expecting a call from her about now, since she'd warned him too, before the fever hit. She let him know she was coming in. "I'll need some sonics," she said curtly. "No nurse."

The request, the way she said it, was shorthand for them. He would know why she needed sonics, why she wanted privacy.

"Before morning scheduling?" he asked cautiously.

"I'd prefer it."

She cut the connection before he could ask her how she was. After two weeks of mostly mental contact, it was almost unreal to talk, and chit-chat felt painful.

She got herself bathed and dressed without too much difficulty and went out into the brilliant day. It did feel odd to go out of the gate - shades of captivity hovering over her. But that faded once she put her flyer into gear and headed for the Federation Enclave and her physician's office.

Once there, she changed into the skimpy exam gown and lay done on the treatment table, an arm thrown over her eyes before he had finished pulling up her chart, which he kept coded and triple encrypted away from his standard medical files, just to be safe.

Mark looked over the network of bruises she sported from wrists to arms to thighs, the inevitable consequence of a Human subjected to barely tempered Vulcan strength and said, unguarded, "Whew! You look like hell, Mandy."

"Just do the sonics okay?" she said, uncharitably. "I want to get out of here before your morning staff arrives."

"Cheerful, aren't we?" He said, but set up the sonic session, and scanned her during it. "You're not in too bad shape otherwise," he said, in grudging surprise, reviewing the results.

"Orion pleasure products. What an endorsement I could give them if I didn't have Vulcan's reputation, not to mention mine, to protect. I wonder what they'd pay me for it."

"Hmmm. You're not too badly bruised either, considering how bad this session was. Maybe he's getting older? Less able to toss you around with a fingertip."

"I'm getting older too." Amanda sat up wearily.

"Was it bad?"

She shook her head. "Long. I lost track of everything. I don't remember it well."

"I've heard that before," Mark said skeptically.

"Oh, shut up, Mark. I was caught up in a bond with an out-of-his-mind Vulcan in the grip of a devastating fever for at least ten days, and slept most of the last two. Spare me your shrink theorizing. You wouldn't remember much either. No one would."

"Maybe not," he looked over her results again. "You're still dehydrated, but not too badly. All in all, I'm impressed. I've seen you come out of these things in worse shape. Especially considering the intensity of this one."

"I had plenty of warning. I had everything prepared. Plenty of fluids so that I wouldn't dehydrate. Anti-inflammatories, to minimize bruising. Clean sheets. I'm no silly neophyte. I know how to do this now."

"Something here though," Mark said, pointing his scanner at one darker than average bruise on a rib.

"Zigged when I should have zagged. I got a little clumsy. He got a little clumsy. It's nothing."

"Just a hairline crack, not a fracture," Mark said, and reached out to trace the rib line. "I can fuse it, you shouldn't need a-"

"Don't touch me!" Amanda snapped, suddenly furious.

Mark paused. "Easy. I've got to touch you a little, to treat you." He waited for her to answer and when none was forthcoming, he said, "Amanda. Are you okay?"

She still didn't answer, folded in on herself and began to cry. Finally falling apart as she hadn't dared to at home, with Sarek depending on her. Here where there were only human expectations, and human reactions, she could risk being human herself. At least for a moment's brief loss of control.

"Amanda," Mark looked from her to the wall clock, thinking of his arriving staff, and how Amanda would hate to have them see her in this state. But they still had time. And if not, then the hell with her public image. "It's hard to comfort someone, when you can't touch them," he said to her, wanting to at least give her a hug, but leery of touching.

Amanda choked out a laugh. "We're Vulcan here, don't you know? We don't touch, not casually. It's either palm to palm in holy palmer's kiss. Or we go straight to rape."

"It was rape then?" Mark asked neutrally.

Amanda scrubbed at her eyes. "Perfect non-directive counseling technique, Mark. You really ought to hang out a shingle."

"Was it rape?" Mark asked.

"You make me laugh," she said. "If he were a human, it would be rape. And if I were a Helios being, I'd lop his head off after sex, and eat it as a tasty snack. And if wishes were horses, every dewy eyed romance reader would have her own fantasy Vulcan, and Pon Far would be a magical marathon lovemaking session, and not a physiological rut with a partner who can't even speak. But he's Vulcan. So, no, it wasn't."

"I thought you and Sarek were doing well?"

"We were. We are. Or will be. This wasn't Sarek, Mark."

"Of course it was."

"No. That's where you don't really understand. It wasn't." She let out a deep sigh. "But it doesn't matter. It's over." She looked up at him. "I had my requisite post Pon Far nervous breakdown. Does that make you happy? I'm fine now."

"Amanda, I really doubt - " he reached out a hand, touch be damned, but she stiffened even before he made the contact, her eyes widened and she smacked her palm to her forehead. "Oh, my God, I just remembered. Romance readers!"

"What? Is something hurting or-"

"Nothing. Sorry. I'm not going crazy, really." She sat up, moving somewhat cautiously. "Mark, sorry to disparage your technique, but those sonics haven't quite kicked in yet."

"Give them a few hours. I can give you something until then."

"No."

"What was that about romance readers?" he asked cautiously.

"I just remembered this silly girl, who was in my office a few weeks ago. Amy Prue. I have to follow up on her. Still, I'm sure even she wouldn't have been so stupid as to - I meant to ask you about her anyway. Do you know her?"

He turned his back to that, and puttered away at getting out his instruments. "I know the name. She's not a patient of mine."

"Well, I guess that's some good news. She certainly would have been, had she gone ahead with her plans. Someone must have prevailed some sense on her. I suppose there's some blessings left in the universe."

He turned, his face neutral. "I'm more concerned about you." He touched an overlooked tear on her cheek.

She scrubbed the remaining tears away, blushing in embarrassment. "I'm not …traumatized." Seeing his disbelieving face, she scowled, "not the way you think. It's just the first one since – you know. And it was such an intense one. But I was warned that it would be. Come on, Mark. I wouldn't be human, if I didn't have a tear or two in me after that."

"More than you're showing, I should think."

"You're not happy when I cry, and you're not happy when I don't cry. You're impossible to please."

"I'd be happier if you weren't in this situation."

"I'm not really hurt, and I'm no neophyte. I'm sorry I snapped at you, Mark. I just feel like one of those mothers, you know, with toddler triplets, who has been hung on for too long."

He leaned against the opposite counter and regarded her. "That's not what you're feeling. At least not all of it."

She folded her arms across her knees and shrugged. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to really fall apart? Have a hysterical breakdown because the love of my life, my otherwise considerate, logical bondmate turns into a serial rapist every seven years or so? That's the human perspective on it. He's not human. And I knew that about him. I chose him, having been told there was a Mr. Hyde, if you will, to my otherwise cultured Dr. Jekyll. I took them both. Married both of them. And I made a promise. I can't blame him for it, or hate him. I just have to deal with it and get us both through it. And I did. One more time." her voice shook a little. "That's all I can deal with right now."

"I'm concerned for when it may be one time too many. Humans bend pretty well, but sometimes they can break. You've come through it physically. That's hard enough. But how about emotionally?"

"I just need some space of my own for a while. That's all. Even Sarek understands that. He isn't pushing me. He scooted out of the Fortress this morning without even talking to me. On the one hand, I am so grateful that he did. I couldn't face another scene of him feeling guilty and hating himself for what he did and what he felt, all together. And me having to comfort him. But, on the other hand, damn him."

"He's Vulcan. Denying emotion is his forte. That's not a human solution."

"We'll work it out. I know how to do that," Amanda insisted. "That isn't why I came to you."

"All right. You also need a cracked rib laser fused."

"Then just do it, and stop talking."

He picked up a hypospray.

"Oh, please. No drugs. You know they make me sick to my stomach. I can't face a day of being queasy. My ribs are too sore to spend the day retching."

"It's going to hurt, at least a bit."

"Do you think I can't handle that? Get on with it," she said, with nothing more than a sharp breath and a brushed away tear when he was done.

"I hate practicing medicine with no drugs," he complained bitterly, handing her a tissue, before putting away his instruments. "This isn't the fifteenth century."

"Just the aftermath of thousands of years in the Vulcan past." She blew her nose, and tossed the tissue into the recycler. "I'm done, right?"

"You'll should have another two days of sonics. Same time tomorrow and the day after?"

Amanda nodded, and slowly began to pull on her clothes. "I'll be here."

"You're not going back to work today, are you?" he asked worried.

"No. I took the rest of the week off. They know I'm not Vulcan. Even Sarek wouldn't have gone back so soon, except this was such a long one, and he necessarily had to leave a lot of irons in the fire. And I suspect he's got some cabin fever, too. And his healers are panting at the bit to make sure I didn't make a muck of handling their beloved clan leader."

"And he's running away from unpleasant things."

"He'll be home soon enough. I should be home when he returns. Just in case. But I think he's all right."

"Don't you know?" Mark asked.

"I know. If I cared to stretch my senses a little, I'd really know. But I'm too sore for that too. Mentally, that is. I can't make myself do it. But his healers will check him out. Make sure there's no lingering …issues."

"When will you know for sure?"

"By tomorrow, I expect."

"You two didn't talk?"

She blew out a breath, shrugging awkwardly into her jacket. "Not much. He thinks he's free of the fever.

"I'd think he'd come in with you."

Her eyes widened at that. "You are expecting a lot. I told you. I'm a little surfeit of Vulcan attentions right now. And while he would deny he's embarrassed, he's definitely not ready to face your too knowing gaze."

"And physically? He got through it okay?"

"If I'm all right, why wouldn't Sarek be?" she asked, astonished at his persistence. "He's the one with ten times my strength and three times my mass."

"You sound a little resentful."

"Sarek can go into a light healing trance and be nearly right as rain two hours after one of these. Vulcans are built for this. I'm not."

"You sound really resentful."

"Oh spare me your psychological theorizing," Amanda retorted, sliding from the table to her feet. "I've got an errand to run, a Vulcan husband to coddle, and being human, I only have so much time or strength. I'll see you tomorrow." Amanda paused, puzzled. "You sure you haven't heard anything about Amy Prue?"

"I don't have any concerns, no." Mark said. "It's getting late, you'd better run if you want to miss my nursing staff."

"All right, then." Amanda said, and took her leave.

to be continued...