Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now.

AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Amanda attempted to celebrate Earth holidays with Sarek and Spock, and the one time they surprised her.

Valentine's Day.

Spock had wondered for several weeks why his mother had marked a heart on the seventy-sixth day of the Vulcan calendar. In this particular year, that day fell in the middle of the working period and held no particularly notable qualities that he could discern. Nevertheless, she made it very apparent that the day was significant by recording it on all of the chronometers within their household and in several places within his father's study.

Spock was perplexed and he grew ever more so as the date drew near. His mother was increasingly cheerful, had a significant lightness in her gait, and her eyes lingered on his father for seconds longer than usual. Though something in his biology disliked the idea of heavily contemplating his parents' relationship, he was fairly certain that this day was significant.

So it was, with keen interest and moderate hesitation, that Spock observed his mother on the marked day. That morning, she prepared a complex dish for breakfast and the plating arrangement was significantly more elegant than was strictly called for. She placed a lingering kiss on his father's lips, rather than his cheek as she often did, and was smiling broadly as all three parted ways.

When Spock arrived home, nearly a full hour before his father was scheduled to return and a full hour after his mother's class schedule concluded, the house was littered with alien flora. Upon investigation of the frequent and well spaced bouquets, reviewed with his scientific text, Spock identified the predominant flower as the Rosa chinensis. It was easily identifiable, though the synthesizing had darkened the redness of the petals and elongated the leaf clusters considerably.

"Spock?" His mother's voice sing-songed his name from the kitchen. He cast a final glance at the extensive decoration before placing his bag on his most regularly utilized chair. Free from burden, he walked to the kitchen. As he crossed the threshold, however, he came to an abrupt halt.

His mother was clad in a long red gown with a slit up the side that revealed her legs up just past her knee. On her feet were a pair of red sandals angled to balance her weight on spiked supports no less than eight centimeters in height and, judging by the color of her legs, she appeared to be wearing some sheer garment. Her long hair was down and she had pinned it back with a dark clasp—as she turned to face him, he noted her features were painted over with cosmetics.

Spock was rendered incapable of speech for several seconds. His mother was an aesthetically pleasing woman—in fact, she was the very gauge by which he determined what was or was not beautiful--but he'd never seen her in any manner of dress similar to this. Frankly, it was startling. Briefly he considered that it might be Halloween—but she'd not insisted on dressing him any any fashion.

"What do you think?" she prompted as she indicated her garments. Spock blinked silently and fought to keep his brow from furrowing with confusion—after a second, she beamed at him and returned to stirring the pan before her. "I hope your father likes it." Spock had no comment.

"Did you require aid?" Spock asked after a few seconds and watched as his mother shifted her attention back and forth across the myriad of dishes she was preparing. She had always professed a like of cooking—she jovially blamed it on her inability to purchase a replicator during her college years—and did so with frequency, but Spock had never witnessed her making anything of this complexity.

"Yes, actually," she commented without looking back at him. Something in the pan before her sizzled and Spock instinctively took a long breath through his nose. He hadn't been hungry before walking in, but the sensation was quickly forming. "Could you set the table for me? I don't think I can manage it and keep this from burning." The pan crackled ominously and she flipped its contents with admirable coordination. "Everything should be on the table, sweetheart."

Spock inclined his head and went about his task. As he sorted the plates and utensils, he came to the realization that he was one setting short. He furrowed his brow as he carefully arranged the table—he presumed the candles, though extraneous, were intended to go in the center of everything. Once done, he reentered the kitchen in time to find his mother covering the pans and shutting off the heating units.

"I believe you miscounted," Spock announced and she froze. He arched an eyebrow as she jerked back into motion—she turned and cast him an embarrassed, apologetic smile.

"Spock, sweetheart," she started slowly and Spock folded his hands behind his back, "It's Valentine's day."

"Is it an Earth celebration?" Spock asked and Amanda nodded ruefully.

"It's supposed to be a romantic evening," she explained and crossed the kitchen to his side. She bent at the knee until she was even with his eye level and placed one of her hands on his shoulder. "I made enough for you, too, sweetie...but tonight I want to have dinner with your father."

Spock frowned. "You intend to be...romantic?"

"Yes," Amanda said with a serious nod, "Yes, I do."

Spock cocked his head to the side just slightly and his brows drew together as he considered his mother's outfit and the extent to which she had gone to create a specific visceral atmosphere. He decided, after several seconds of serious thought, that he saw them kiss far too frequently as it was. He inclined his head in agreement and Amanda smiled.

"May I eat now?" Spock asked and Amanda beamed as she stood back up.

"Of course."

Sarek arrived home exactly seventeen minutes and thirty seven seconds later than his established norm. When he did, Spock quickly dealt with his dishes and retrieved his school work. As he traveled up the stairs to his designated room, he saw his mother embrace his father—he didn't hear what she said, but his father's ears flushed green as she said it. He frowned and decided that he had made the right decision—if he'd requested to eat with them, he'd likely have been subject to much of the same for a prolonged period of time.