November 2228

He heard the thrusters disengage and rocked forward slightly from the sudden deceleration. The shuttle's inertial dampeners needed to be recalibrated.

Through the shuttle's stadium window he could see the bold characters of the ship's designation scrawled across the belly of the saucer. NCC-1463 – The USS Valley Forge.

Amanda's face was ashen and she appeared to be concentrating on the seat in front of her. He explored the fringes of her mind through their bond, realizing she was trying very hard to avoid becoming sick. He had not considered the effect of spaceflight on her condition, and the shoddy inertial dampeners were jarring the spacecraft more than was necessary.

A spasm of irritation began to grow and he worked to suppress it. An engineer, either through laziness or incompetence, had failed to maintain the shuttle to a proper standard, thus increasing his mate's suffering.

No. That was irrational.

Amanda was suffering because of an elective medical procedure and he had no logical basis for blaming a nameless engineer for the state of the shuttle. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, reassembling his logic. The slow emergence of pon farr made him feel vulnerable and powerless. He took her forefingers – her hand trembled.

"Will you be alright?" he asked through their bond.

"I don't know," she answered telepathically. "How much longer?"

He glanced through the window again, observing the shuttle bay growing larger on their approach.

"Several more minutes," he answered. "I regret I cannot be more precise without an understanding of Starfleet docking procedures or the shuttle crew's efficiency."

A barely audible whimper escaped her lips. He glanced around at his colleagues. If anyone had noticed her moment of weakness, none gave any outward indication. Her fertility treatments continued to leave her in a constant state of sickness, and the medicinal tea recommended by T'Pol seemed to be losing its efficacy.

Sarek struggled with his own troubles. He had less than three months remaining before the plak tow would begin. It was difficult to determine how his condition was progressing because his symptoms were worsening so gradually. He was becoming more agitated and restless, and though he was still capable of maintaining a decorous outward appearance, it was far from easy.

His twenty-three day tour of Earth had been more challenging than he'd anticipated. At times he found himself feeling despondent because Amanda had been unable to join him, and being forced to cope with sadness was vexing. He was familiar with grief – he had grieved the loss of both of his parents upon their passing – but random bouts of sorrow due to a temporary separation from his mate were repulsively illogical.

Yet his return to Vulcan six days ago had demonstrated a curious phenomenon. His symptoms became milder in Amanda's presence.

It gave him great relief to engage her in ozh'esta, and eased his mind even more to meld with her. These things also seemed to bring her comfort, though doing them routinely provoked his urge to mate with her.

Despite his intense desire for her, he had no interest in traumatizing her in her current condition. She had continued to deteriorate during his visit to Earth, and now she was simply too sick and weak for him to dare broach the subject of intimate physical contact with her. She had lost so much of her body fat to the nausea that he could now easily inventory her ribs, and she wore permanent dark circles under her eyes. When his arousal became too great, he would pull away from her and spend hours in intensive meditation. He knew his behavior was confusing her.

He wished to discuss his impending pon farr with her, but he struggled with irrational anxiety. Amanda knew what pon farr was, but she had never experienced it, and her ignorance concerned him. He was afraid of upsetting her, and then grew angry because of his illogical fear, and then his anger would turn into embarrassment because he could not control his anger, and embarrassment would evolve into depression. It was astonishing that humans routinely coped with such things.

Whenever he resolved to speak to her, she was often too sick or fatigued to entertain serious conversation. She spent most mornings in the lavatory vomiting, and he returned home each night to find her asleep in their bed or on the chaise. As the plak tow was still several months away, he decided there was little harm in postponing the discussion until after her treatments had concluded and she began to recover.

Light flooded through the windows of the shuttle as it entered the bay, and less than a minute later, the vessel landed on the platform with a gentle shake. Amanda clapped a discreet hand over her mouth and clenched her eyes shut, taking in deep breaths through her nose.

His colleagues stood and began to disembark, but he waited for Amanda to collect herself. She had taken her prescribed autoinjector earlier that morning to settle her stomach and had insisted she felt well enough to come, but her chalk-white face and unsteady hands suggested her condition had severely declined.

"Are you well enough to stand?" he asked, his voice low and patient.

She nodded, clutching the back of the seat in front of her to rise to her feet. She took a deep breath and offered a feeble smile.

"I think it was just the shuttle ride," she whispered. "I'll be fine."

Amanda so rarely complained, but she also rarely acknowledged her limitations.

"I am certain the vessel has medical facilities, if you-"

"I'll be ok, Sarek," she said, inching forward to allow him out of his seat.

They emerged together through the hatch into the shuttle bay. A detachment of Starfleet officers was waiting to greet them and the rest of the contingent from the Vulcan Science Academy.

"Good evening," the man at the head of the procession exclaimed with a gentle, unfamiliar accent. "Or I suppose I should say good morning, since I believe the sun only came up over Shi'Kahr several hours ago."

Was the man really trying to explain how time worked to the engineers and physicists from the Vulcan Science Academy? Of course they knew Federation Standard Time was currently 2130 hours and that time of day was relational to the relative position of a planet to its central star.

"I'm Captain Sandeep Dhaliwal," he continued, swallowing heavily and glancing at his guests. "Welcome aboard the Valley Forge. We are honored to have you aboard. Live long and prosper."

His hand formed into an approximation of the ta'al, or the Vulcan salute, and he offered a slight nod. The Vulcan delegation returned the greeting, and Captain Dhaliwal turned to a woman and two men behind him.

"This is my first officer, Commander Agnes Pritchard, my tactical officer, Lieutenant Alexander Marcus, and my chief medical officer, Dr. Marcel Durand."

Sarek considered each in turn. Commander Pritchard bore a striking resemblance to his wife, though she was slightly taller, broader, and had a number of gray hairs at her temples. Lieutenant Marcus had an immaculate haircut and a hawkish gaze that reminded him of his previous secretary. Given the surname, perhaps he was a relation. Dr. Durand was shorter and thinner than Amanda with a shock of white hair and a demure smile.

Such a curious assortment of humanity.

The captain escorted them out of the shuttle bay and bid the party goodbye, and Commander Pritchard began their tour of the vessel. Several of the Academy's engineers began asking to visit specific areas of the ship or to speak with specialized personnel, and Sarek drifted toward the back of the group with Amanda.

They had been invited to tour the vessel to mark the successful completion of a five-year project between Starfleet Academy and the Vulcan Science Academy. Human and Vulcan warp field physicists and engineers had developed a warp propulsion system with a sustainable cruise velocity of Warp Factor 7.5 and a theoretical maximum velocity of Warp Factor 9.0 – a twenty percent increase over any previous engine in the Federation. The Valley Forge had been commissioned only last year but was already on the verge of becoming obsolete.

"Are you well, madam?" called a soft voice.

Sarek turned to see Dr. Durand addressing Amanda. She murmured, "I'll be fine. I got a little sick in the shuttle, but walking around is helping."

"Space travel and nausea are old friends," he grinned. "But let me know if I can be of any assistance. My sickbay is always open."

"Certainly," she replied, reaching with her left hand to take Sarek's right fingers.

Relief. The embrace of her fingers was soothing, which was surprising, since he didn't realize he'd felt agitated.

"Are you certain?" he asked through their bond. "Perhaps you should accept the doctor's offer and rest."

"I'll make it," she responded. "Besides, I'm burning to know about the fifth-phase dilithium controlled matter-antimatter reactor."

Her eyes darted toward the front of their group. Velik, head of the Academy's Engineering Physics Department, was interrogating Commander Pritchard on her knowledge of the ship.

"I had no notion you were interested in propulsion systems," he replied.

"I'm not."

She stifled a chuckle, but her eyes widened and she clasped her hand over her mouth to silence a soft belch. She shuddered once again from the nausea, and Dr. Durand put his hand on her shoulder. Though Sarek understood it was a human act of concern from a doctor to a prospective patient, he felt a passing moment of rage that he would touch Amanda.

Irrational.

Amanda peered at him, cocked her head, and retracted her hand. She knew something was amiss.

"I'm alright," she said, shifting her gaze to the doctor to offer a reassuring smile. "I promise."

She turned her head forward to the ship's first officer, squinting and swallowing steadily. Commander Pritchard continued to speak in broad terms about the structure of the vessel and the marked differences between the Valley Forge and the previous Lancaster-Class starships.

"Are you ok?" Amanda finally asked, reaching his mind through their bond.

"I am."

He longed to take her hand again, but was still working to repress his lingering jealousy and annoyance and didn't wish to alarm her. They stopped outside the main engineering room, and Commander Pritchard began explaining that the new jointly designed engine was incompatible with most Starfleet spacecraft.

"How does Starfleet intend to extend the design life of the planned Constitution-Class vessels?" someone asked.

"Yes, why are current starships incapable of retrofitting?" asked another.

The interrogation of the ship's first officer began anew, and though Sarek thought Pritchard was well informed, she was poorly prepared for the demanding inquiries of thirteen Vulcan scientists and bureaucrats.

Sarek continued to walk with Amanda. Though she appeared engaged on the surface, he sensed she was bored and exhausted. Commander Pritchard piqued his interest when she began a brief lecture on the upgraded sensor array, and he caught Amanda's eyes flash in his direction.

"Go," she said telepathically. "I know you want to. But please be nice to her: she looks really stressed."

He nodded and stepped forward.

"Are there any questions?" Pritchard asked, her voice cracking in a singsong lilt.

"Tell me, Commander, what advancements has Starfleet made with duotronics?"

"Ah, ambassador, yes- um, there's still some debate as to whether we can ever really get away from circuitry-"

"I do not think there is any debate," he interrupted. "I believe your own Dr. Daystrom has made a number of advances."

"I- uh, I'm not actually aware of his research," Pritchard replied.

"I said be nice," Amanda's voice echoed in his mind.

He experienced a strange compulsion to smile. Illogical.

He locked his hands together behind his back and listened as his colleagues began arguing the possibilities of duotronics and theoretical multitronics. As they proceeded to the deflectors, a part of his mind began to fade and he turned to see Amanda beginning to slump into the arms of Lieutenant Marcus.

"Ma'am?" the lieutenant barked. "Ma'am?"

Dr. Durand lurched forward and helped him lower her to the floor while Lieutenant Marcus reached for the communicator on his belt. The entire Vulcan delegation turned to see the cause of the shouting, and Sarek stood frozen, willing himself to remain calm during one of the most emotional experiences of his adult life.

Pon farr was now the least of his worries.

Amanda's eyes were closed but she was quickly drifting back into consciousness. Panic swelled in her – where was she?

The Valley Forge. Right?

Where was she now?

Lying in a bed. Why?

Her conscious mind began to thaw, and she became aware of two male voices talking nearby.

"I heard from Crewman Smith who says he overheard Lieutenant Marcus say we're heading to the edge of the Neutral Zone after we leave here."

"I don't buy it. It's always scare tactics when it comes to Romulans."

"They say there's a lot more activity near the Neutral Zone lately."

"Who are 'they?'"

Her eyes wandered open and she saw a fresh-faced, young man running his finger across a PADD and another, older man watching a monitor over her head.

"Oh, you're awake," the young man said, delivering a reassuring smile. "I'm Ensign Campbell."

"How do you feel, Mrs.- erm, ma'am?" the other man asked.

Ma'am. Like she was fifty years old.

She tried to sit up but they both motioned for her to lie back. Her queasiness and cramps were mostly gone, but a rolling headache was beginning to drum at her temples.

"Not as bad as before," she choked.

Her mouth was dry and her voice sounded hollow and foreign. She licked her lips and gasped for breath.

"Do you know where you are?" Campbell asked.

Things began flooding back. The tour. The warp drive. The sensor array. Speaking with Lieutenant Marcus. The staring. The fainting. She felt her face growing hot.

"I'm guessing a medical clinic on the Valley Forge?"

"Welcome to sickbay," the older man said. "Are you in any pain right now?"

"Um, what? No, not really," she croaked. "Where is Sarek? Um, Ambassador Sarek, my husband?"

"Uh, I think he's outside talking to Dr. Durand," said the ensign. "Do you think you could sit up and let me do a quick exam?"

"Sure."

"Would you like some water," the other man asked.

"Please."

Ensign Campbell helped her to a sitting position and began checking her pupils, but he kept eyeing the biobed monitor above her. She guessed her vitals were probably terrible, but they hadn't been great in recent months. Her blood pressure was low, she was becoming anemic, and she was losing more weight than the Vulcan physicians had anticipated. She only had four treatments left to go, but they were talking of halting the procedure prematurely out of concern to her health.

A distant humming sound faded and Dr. Durand appeared from behind a dividing wall.

"Mrs. Sarek," he said. "Glad to see you are awake."

Mrs. Sarek? She almost wanted to laugh, but settled for a mildly disapproving look and said, "Please, call me Amanda."

"Ok, Amanda," the doctor said, glancing at Ensign Campbell.

Apparently the look was a sign to go away, but the other nurse chose that moment to return with the glass of water she'd asked for. A rush of gratitude spread over her as she took the small cup and lapped the contents in two big gulps, surprised to find her stomach didn't immediately reject it.

Soon she was alone with the doctor, who took a seat on the end of the biobed.

"Your husband tells me you've been undergoing recombinant fertility treatments for the past five months."

"Uh," she blushed. "Yes."

Strange that it should feel like a source of embarrassment when talking about it with a doctor.

"Where is he? My husband?"

"He's outside. I needed to speak with you privately first."

"He's my husband," she argued. "Why can't he come in?"

"He can, if you'd like, but because of privacy reasons I wasn't able to discuss your condition with him until you gave consent."

"My condition?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'm not sure how to say this, but you're pregnant."

Her jaw dropped and her heart quickened in her chest. She and Sarek hadn't – actually, they had, right before he left on his visit to Earth.

"I don't- how is that possible? I'm on a course of treatment that's supposed to last six months- I'm thrilled, obviously, but-"

"Amanda, it's not that simple."

His tone was somber and his face was rigid, and her heart, which moments ago had been soaring, was now beginning to sink.

"What's wrong?"

"Scans of the embryo show significant chromosomal abnormalities," he said.

"How significant?" she whispered.

"You're in the earliest stages of a miscarriage," he explained.

"But- but can't you do something? Isn't- I don't-"

Her chest tightened and her world numbed.

"No," Dr. Durand replied. "The abnormalities are so extensive I'm afraid they're incompatible with life, even with the best gene therapy we have. I'm so sorry."

She heard his words, but the only one she could process was "no." She had a baby, and then she didn't, all in one conversation. Her breathing turned into panting. A low whistle escaped from the back of her throat, something sad and involuntary.

"It's- I- it's-"

The first tears began to fall and she fought to breathe. Dr. Durand reached for his hypospray but she pushed his hand away, clutching her knees to her chest to sob instead. She hadn't cried like this since her father died.

She felt a soft touch on her right hand and pulled away. The sensation followed her hand, and she managed to pry her eyes open to see Sarek. The muscles of his face were smooth, but his eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them. She was vaguely aware that he was speaking to the doctor, but the numbness began to overpower her.

She leaned forward to bury her face into her husband's chest, and much to her surprise, she wrapped his arms around her. His empathy made her cry harder.

She didn't remember much about the next twenty-four hours. Captain Dhaliwal was gracious enough to dispatch a shuttle to return them to Vulcan early, and Dr. Durand gave her a week's supply of pain relievers and sedatives. The sedatives seemed redundant – she already felt exhausted and numb.

When they arrived back at their estate, she trudged through the door to the rear entry, and headed straight for bed, dispassionately kicking off her shoes as she walked. Sarek followed her like a silent sentry – he hadn't said a word since she shrieked at him on the drive home to shut his mouth when he tried encouraging her to approach the situation logically.

She knew she was being irrational and she couldn't explain why. She didn't tend toward being a very emotional person, but this was hitting her harder than she would have imagined. This had been one of her worst fears, undergoing treatment and creating a sick child.

She knew how irrational that was too. The embryo wasn't at a stage where it could feel pain, and it didn't have much in the way of recognizable features or a heartbeat. But it could have.

She knew that people had miscarriages all the time, but this one was hers. Dr. Durand had explained that so many pregnancies ended before the woman even knew she was pregnant, and had she not fainted and ended up in his care, she may have never even known. Somehow, knowing changed things, especially after all she'd been through to try and have a child.

She felt grateful to be in the company of humans when she found out, given her Vulcan healer had the bedside manner of a particularly aloof housecat. She felt angry too. The healer had explained that conception would be difficult even after the full course of treatment had been completed. She had asked about the possibility of something like this and had been assured it wasn't possible at all.

Leave it to her to be a freak of medicine.

She fell into a deep sleep when she reached the bedroom and didn't awake until dawn. Sarek was nowhere in sight, but I-Chaya was curled at the foot of the bed, resting his chin on her feet. She stroked the silky fur of his ears and felt herself growing teary eyed. She felt a little better, physically and emotionally, but knew she had a long way to go.

"Amanda?"

Sarek stood in the doorway of their room. Burning shame crept through her – though unintentional, she had caused a scene yesterday in front of his colleagues, his Vulcan colleagues. Only her husband and a small handful of the Valley Forge's medical staff had witnessed her emotional breakdown, but even fainting was embarrassing.

"I have prepared breakfast," he said.

Her stomach flip-flopped and she nodded, throwing her legs over the side of the bed to stand. Cramps surged low in her belly and she choked back sadness. Maybe she wasn't doing as well as she thought.

Her pink dress from the day before was now a wrinkled mess, so she took the time to change into more comfortable clothing while Sarek looked on. The way he was watching her now was unnerving, like a whipped puppy with a serious face. Irritation bubbled to the surface, and she pictured him telling her she was "illogical" for being annoyed at being observed. He had been so weird lately.

One moment he looked like the Vulcan equivalent of a smitten teenager and the next he was cold and indifferent, even for a Vulcan. Yesterday on the starship she had actually sensed anger in him, but couldn't place the source of it. Her husband was good at sensing her feelings through their marriage bond, but she could count on one hand the number of times she'd actually sensed Sarek's emotions. He had emotions, he just kept them so repressed she was never aware of them.

She finished dressing and followed him to the kitchen to discover he'd made her plomeek soup and bar-ka-got tea. Her eyes became misty, and she hated herself for teetering on the edge of tears over a simple breakfast.

She was upset, and he was trying to make her feel better in one of the only ways he could contrive. Guilt and gratitude mingled with her annoyance as they sat down to eat.

She took her first sips of the broth, waiting anxiously for it to settle in her stomach before continuing to eat. She stared at her bowl, and mumbled, "I'm so sorry for yesterday."

"You have nothing for which to apologize."

"I- I meant for creating a scene," she clarified.

"I do not believe it was in your power to prevent losing consciousness."

"I wasn't feeling well and I shouldn't have even gone," she argued.

He did not reply, but chose to gaze into his bowl of plomeek soup.

"Shouldn't you be leaving for the Academy right about now?" she asked, noting the sun beginning to peek through the wide windows of the kitchen.

"I have some affairs to settle this morning and am not expected at the Academy until later this afternoon," he replied.

"Settling affairs" was code for "traveling off world soon."

"Where are you going?"

"Coridan."

"When?"

"This evening."

"What? Why are you only telling me now?"

"My presence was only requested late last night after you were asleep."

"Requested? So you could refuse to go?"

Of course not – Vulcan pleasantries always made marching orders sound like invitations. If that wasn't illogical, she didn't know what was.

"No," he replied.

She inhaled sharply, beating back the queasiness. "When will you be back?"

"I estimate a week."

"Estimate?"

"Conflicts have once again escalated between the Coridans and Orions over trade routes."

"Didn't you settle that?"

"Tensions have existed between those planets for more than a century," he explained. "Brokering a long-lasting peace takes time."

"Soup shouldn't be this interesting," she thought dryly to herself, staring at the beige liquid before her.

Why did he have to leave now?

Truthfully, she wasn't sure she wanted him to stay either. She didn't know what she wanted. It was evident he was trying to spare her the emotional trauma of talking about yesterday and losing their baby, but a Vulcan attempting to tiptoe around feelings was analogous to an rhinoceros trying to pirouette around a pottery store.

Her chin quivered and she took another low breath. Whether she liked it or not, the tears were coming back.

She rose to her feet, locked her knees, and then walked away without another word. By the time she made it to their bedroom, the first tears began to cascade down her cheeks, but she managed to contain the sobbing until she reached the bathroom.

She shut the door behind her, leaned against it, and slid into a sitting position. Moments later she heard I-Chaya scratching at the door, and it only spurred more unbridled tears. She fell asleep that way, and when she woke, he was gone.

She regretted not saying goodbye, which only made her cry again.

She slept away most of the next twenty-four hours, rising only to eat, care for Euclid and I-Chaya, and take pain medication. The following afternoon, she decided to utilize the old method of faking feeling better until she actually did.

She showered, shaved her legs, tweezed her eyebrows, and put on slacks and a nice shirt. By then it was early evening, and the whole exercise began to feel silly. She was all dressed up and had nowhere to go.

She considered visitingT'Pol, but she was still more emotional than she wanted to admit, and didn't want to have a breakdown in front of her. Thinking of T'Pol reminded her of her garden, and when she stepped outside to tend it, her heart dropped. Of the thirteen rosebush seedlings, only four remained alive. Barely alive.

She filled the watering can and did her best to resuscitate them, and began to feel a little weepy again. She couldn't keep anything alive.

"No, you're being stupid," she said aloud, uttering the declaration so vehemently she thought she sounded a bit ridiculous.

What was happening to her?

She had never been so irrational, sad, agitated, or restless in her entire life. The miscarriage was still raw, but Amanda had endured so much in her young life that being this emotional seemed… bizarre.

Dr. Durand had explained the pregnancy hormones would continue to linger in her system for several days and the fertility treatments had her body pretty out of whack as well. Maybe that was it.

She continued to weed, prune, and water her plants. She worked herself into an easy sweat and began to feel dizzy. The Vulcan summer had come early, or so T'Pol claimed, and even though it was early evening, the heat was still monstrous. She decided to go inside and drink water, but as she shut the door to the atrium, the door buzzed.

She held her breath and watched the front entry. It was probably T'Pol, but she didn't think she was ready for visitors. The door buzzed again.

She sighed, brushed some of the sandy soil from her pants, and opened the door to a woman she'd never seen before.

"Hello?"

"You are Amanda Grayson, I presume?" the woman asked in clipped Federation Standard.

"Yes. May I ask what this is about?"

She froze when she saw a small head poke out from behind the woman's legs. A child, barely a toddler, peered up at her in the fading evening light.

"Is Ambassador Sarek home?"

"No," she replied, unable to take her eyes off him.

A little boy. A mirror image of his mother.