Chapter Ten: Bend
Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the mischief, and it doesn't pay. Sigh.
"You're going, aren't you?" she asks.
Spock studiously avoids looking up at Nyota. From where he sits at his desk working, his back is to the door of his office where she is standing—probably as she often does, with her left elbow bent, her hand pressed against the doorframe, leaning slightly, her skirt gently rucked up around her hips by her off-balance stance, his attention pulled to the curve of her rear—
Which is why he is careful not to look right now.
An innocuous action her part, of course, to stand this way. He's considered commenting on it before but hesitates because she might feel self-conscious or embarrassed.
And because she might stop.
Focus.
"Well?" she says, stepping into the office and sitting in the chair at the side of his desk.
At last he glances over at her. As he expects, she is smiling broadly, her excitement easy to read.
"I am not going," he says, looking back to his computer monitor. As he expects, he senses her mood going flat.
"Why not?"
Her disappointment is palpable and he feels a flutter of uneasiness about being the cause.
When he opened his mail early this morning, he saw the invitation right away—a proposed midterm recruitment junket with a stopover at Riverside Shipyards. Nyota and eleven other top students were listed as participants. He and three faculty members were given a chance to supervise.
He immediately began drafting a note to Dean Richardson declining.
Not that the recruitment tours aren't important. A recent dip in enrollment at the Academy has been bruited about in faculty meetings as a source of concern. An uptick in anti-Federation xenophobia is probably the reason—in the past month two local rallies of a group calling itself Earth United has put anti-alien sentiment squarely in the public eye.
Which is why Spock is on the recruitment trip list. A calculated image of Starfleet's diversity?
He chafes at the role he's being asked to play, as if he somehow represents all offworlders.
He also chafes at the inconvenience of rescheduling his classes for the rest of the week.
And if the truth be told, at the daunting task of socializing with strangers for three days, of working as part of a team to chat up recruits—neither teamwork nor chatting coming naturally to him.
He turns to Nyota and says, "Because I do not wish to."
A frown flickers across her face and she says, "That's not a reason."
"It is mine," he says, turning back to his monitor. He's aware that Nyota is watching him closely for a clue about his reticence. For a moment she says nothing, and then she stands up and steps back to the office door, shutting it.
He listens as she walks back to the chair and settles in, leaning so far over the desk toward him that he catches a whiff of her scent—soap, and the strawberries she had for breakfast, and something unnamed but spicy, like nutmeg or cinnamon.
"Now tell me," she says, her voice low and husky, "why you don't want to spend three days away from the Academy. With me."
She's being playful—her intonation, her pacing intentionally comic. But Spock recognizes the seriousness behind her question.
What it implies, however, he isn't quite sure. Surely she knows that they will have less time alone with each other on the junket than they would otherwise. She's been on recruitment tours on the past, knows how frenetic they are, how wearying the constant conversation, the lack of privacy.
Or perhaps those are the reasons she wants to go.
Ever since Nyota first caught his eye in his introductory xenolinguistics class, he's noted how outgoing she is, how comfortable she is in her own skin. He isn't the only one she puts at ease. Her classmates seek her out, turn to her as an unofficial liaison—or at least they did in his class, seeming to know that she was that rare fearless student who didn't mind engaging him in an argument when she thought the occasion called for it.
With a pang, he wonders if she finds him tiresome or is lonely in his company.
"If you and I were the only two going," he says, "then I would be willing."
"I see," she says, but her tone of voice is at odds with her words. She sounds confused, or more. Hurt.
He needs to say something but is at a loss. Finally he says, "I have offended you," and to his surprise, she shakes her head vehemently and says, "I'm not offended. But I think the trip is important. I don't know why you don't."
"I did not say I thought the trip was unimportant," Spock says, resting his hands together in front of him on the desk. "I said I did not wish to participate."
"Aren't you interested in recruiting good students?"
"Absolutely."
"Doesn't it worry you that enrollment is down?"
"It does."
"Don't you think the PR is worth the inconvenience of being away for a few days?"
At this he hesitates a beat before saying, "Perhaps," and she narrows her eyes at him.
"And wouldn't you like stopping at the shipyard to see the progress on the Enterprise?"
"I can see the holos of the construction any time I wish."
He hears her huff as she leans back in her chair.
"That's not the same as being right there! Not at all! The last time I was in Riverside, the ship was hardly more than a shell. By now some of the decks are open for tours. I want to actually walk through—"
"Then by all means you should go," Spock says, attempting to sound genuinely supportive, to strip any possessiveness from this voice.
But there it is, part of the reason he doesn't want to go. Nyota has spoken often and eloquently about her desire for a posting on the Enterprise when she graduates—and indeed, she's on course to graduate about the time the ship is fully operational. The odds are high that with her exemplary performance at the Academy, she will get that assignment.
The thought brings him unexpected pain.
"I am going," she says, blinking up at him. "And I wish you would come, too. The last time I went barnstorming for Captain Pike, I met two Vulcan students and an Andorian who came to our information session. If you had been there—"
Against his will, he feels himself stiffen.
"Because I am a Vulcan."
"Yes," she says, leaning close again, draping her right hand across his wrist. "You are a role model, whether you like it or not."
"I have no control over how others perceive me," he says. Nyota looks at him sharply.
"What exactly are we talking about?" she says. "I just meant that it's nice to know someone who leads the way. Other young Vulcans would know it was possible to join Starfleet because they see that you were able to."
Her comment is so illogical that he doesn't bother to correct her. Any Vulcans interested in joining Starfleet already know it is possible. His personal history is irrelevant.
"And don't give me that look," she says, sliding her hand down until she twines their fingers together. She reaches up and places her palm under his other hand and suddenly she is there, in his mind, the bright edges of her thoughts flickering like fireflies against his somber musings.
A noise down the hall—and Nyota pulls her hand away abruptly, and with it, her presence in his mind.
Without a word she heads to her little work station in the corner, not looking up when he crosses the distance to the door and opens it chastely, safely, in case anyone should look in.
X X X X
As soon as Sarek came into the room, Amanda knew things had not gone well.
Until she didn't hear them, Amanda wasn't even aware that Sarek habitually entered a room with a suite of gestures and sounds that signaled his pleasure in her presence—a quickness to his step, a lightness to his breath, a swish of his cloak that meant he was hurrying forward almost swiftly enough to be undignified.
Not today. His tread was heavy, his breaths so ponderous that in anyone else she would have called them sighs.
His facial expression, too, gave him away. Although most humans that she knew characterized Vulcans as stone-faced, stoic, Amanda had never had any trouble reading Sarek. A slight quirk of his brow was as telling as a full-face frown in someone else. A narrowed, unfocused gaze meant he was deep in thought.
Today his brows were deeply furrowed, his eyes dark and brooding.
"Tell me," she said as he joined her on the sofa.
Instead of answering, he let his hands rest on his knees as he slowly looked around the small living room of Amanda's apartment. Forcing herself not to hurry him, Amanda said nothing more, letting the silence settle around them like a heavy blanket. In the distance a hover bus honked. A cloud raced across the sun, sending a shadow across the room.
Reaching across the distance, she slid her fingers around Sarek's hand. To her surprise, she felt nothing—not the electric tingle of his skin nor the tickling sensation she had come to associate with his mind touching hers.
That absence was so disorienting that she shivered. He was shielding her from something.
"Tell me what happened," she said, more insistent.
"T'Pau objects," he said, looking up at last. "Not personally, but as the head of the clan. She foresees…issues…both with the bonding and the marriage."
To her horror, Amanda felt angry tears spring to her eyes. Letting go of Sarek's hand, she lifted her palms to her cheeks.
"But, why—"
"She is being logical, Amanda. It may not even be possible to achieve a successful bonding. As far as I know, no human and Vulcan have ever tried—"
At that Amanda lowered her hands and said, "That doesn't mean we shouldn't!"
"I am simply reporting what T'Pau said," Sarek said. Although Amanda could hear the effort it took him to try to sound reasonable, rational, she felt a flash of irritation at him for not openly sharing her anger.
"So just because something hasn't been done means it shouldn't be!"
Sarek sat up a fraction and said, "Vulcans value tradition, Amanda. You know that. What you and I are proposing is…radical. That is why T'Pau anticipates objections from the Council. This is not a referendum about you personally—"
"I suppose I should find that comforting," Amanda said, crossing her arms. "It's not just me being rejected, but all of humanity."
The sarcasm in her voice wasn't helpful—she knew that. And for all his seeming equanimity, Sarek was upset, too—she knew that as well.
Still. It was maddening to have to get approval this way for something that should have been a personal matter. What about that so-called Vulcan value for privacy?
She sighed—a deep, loud human sigh that signaled both her exasperation and her aggravation.
"So," she said, "what do we do now?"
Blinking twice, Sarek tilted his head and said, "There is nothing to do. Other than wait for the Council to meet, of course."
Amanda felt herself flush hard.
"You're joking," she said flatly. "Just wait for T'Pau to tell the Council that she doesn't approve, and then wait for them to officially say no. And that's it. Nothing else."
"T'Pau will not express her reservations to the Council."
"You said she doesn't approve of our being bonded. That she isn't sure it will work. That we shouldn't be married—"
"I said that she is uncertain that we can be bonded, and without that, the point about marriage is moot."
"Then let's find a healer and settle the matter," Amanda said with as much asperity as she could summon. "Why all this discussion about what might not be possible?"
At once Sarek's expression clouded over, and Amanda said, "What? You aren't telling me everything,"
Sarek took a breath and folded his hands.
"Even if we find a healer," he said, "there's still the matter of the law."
Amanda shifted on the sofa and said, "Don't tell me that it's against the law for a Vulcan to marry a human."
She laughed at the absurdity of her statement, but Sarek's expression remained cloudy.
"You are saying that," she said, astonished.
"Not precisely," he said, looking away.
"Then," she said, placing her hand on his arm, "what precisely are you saying?"
For a moment he didn't answer and Amanda pressed forward.
"The law," Sarek said slowly, "says that marriage is between Vulcans. It does not include…anyone else."
With a whump, Amanda felt the air escape her lungs. Never had she even considered any legal hurdles in her relationship with Sarek. She felt nailed to her seat, overwhelmed.
They were willing to navigate so many other difficulties—cultural differences, physical limitations, social pressure—not to mention the ordinary tightrope every couple walked when finding a way to balance competing interests. All along the way they had encountered numerous Vulcan naysayers—colleagues and family whose reactions ranged from muted to openly skeptical. A legal stumbling block probably shouldn't have been a surprise, Amanda thought angrily.
"So even if we can be bonded," she said, "we can't legally be married."
"Not as the law stands now, no."
"Then T'Pau's wasting her time even going to the Council."
At that Sarek shook his head.
"Not necessarily. The Council can amend the law—even expand it or invalidate it—if it is logical to do so."
Amanda felt her spirits brighten. The law could be amended. Surely the marriage law, like everything else on Vulcan, was ancient, established before first contact with Earth, before Vulcans even considered the possibility of other marriage partners. Her heart was hammering so hard that her next words came out more forcefully than she intended.
"Then T'Pau has to convince them!"
"My conclusion as well," Sarek said dryly, and for the first time since he arrived, Amanda saw a glimmer of humor in his countenance. "I have asked her to meet with us before she appears before the Council next week."
"So when—"
As if in reply to Amanda's interrupted question, the door chime rang.
"Now," Sarek said. "She's here in San Francisco to address a Federation subcommittee on agriculture, and she returns to Vulcan tomorrow morning. This is the only time she has free."
Leaping to her feet, Amanda rushed to open the front door. There standing on the porch was T'Pau, unattended, one hand bracing an ornate walking stick, the other lifted in the ta'al.
Returning the gesture, Amanda said, "Lady T'Pau. You honor me with your presence."
Amanda had met T'Pau several times before briefly, each time with the sensation that the elderly Vulcan found her vaguely amusing or eccentric, an attitude that made Amanda more self-conscious than she would have been if T'Pau had been frankly judgmental or austere.
Even Amanda's smallest actions felt clumsy in contrast to T'Pau's dignified demeanor. Nothing Amanda could say—no rehearsed formality, no sincere salutation—had the appropriate gravitas.
Sarek had assured her that T'Pau was more familiar with human behavior than most Vulcans, claiming several human companions and friends in her youth, but Amanda still felt awkward, even foolish, in her presence.
Now was no exception. Stumbling as she moved back, Amanda motioned for T'Pau to have a seat.
"Sarek," T'Pau said, nodding as she sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa where he stood, waiting. "You have apprised Ms. Grayson of the difficulties if you choose to proceed."
"I have."
"And you," she said, turning to where Amanda was settling herself on the edge of the sofa, "do you realize what you are asking?"
Amanda felt herself blush.
"I think so," she said. "We simply want to bond and marry—"
"It is not so simple," T'Pau said, cutting her off. "You are asking Vulcan society to change. You are asking the High Council to change the law. Neither is simple."
Amanda cut her eyes to Sarek. He was looking at her carefully, as if he was gauging her possible responses.
She felt such a mix of emotions that she wasn't sure how to respond. Anger, disappointment, dismay...even the beginnings of something akin to resignation. Maybe this was all a waste of time.
Taking a breath, she said, "Then perhaps we shouldn't try."
Both Sarek and T'Pau seemed nonplussed by her answer—Sarek visibly so.
"Amanda—" he said, and she hurried on.
"I mean," she said, "we can always be married on Earth. Human marriage laws are more…progressive. Centuries ago we gave up defining which adults could and couldn't marry."
T'Pau raised an eyebrow and said, "Your marriage would not be recognized on Vulcan."
"Then we have nothing to lose," Amanda said, but T'Pau shook her head.
"As ambassador to Earth, Sarek is expected to uphold Vulcan traditions. Some on the Council might look unfavorably to his flaunting them this way."
"You mean they might recall him as ambassador?"
"A possibility," T'Pau said, and Amanda felt her face grow hot.
"Even if we are bonded first?" she asked, and T'Pau's expression grew distant.
"If you were a Vulcan, you could live together as a bonded couple before marriage. Then with marriage come the rules that govern property and the status of children. But you are not Vulcan, Ms. Grayson. As the humans say, that little detail is a game changer."
"Exactly!" Amanda said. "The fact that I'm a human is a little detail—a technicality. I'm a person as much as any Vulcan—a sentient being, with my own will. Surely the Council recognizes that."
T'Pau readjusted her heavy robe and glanced over at Sarek before answering.
"No one doubts your personhood," she said. "But the law is the law. Vulcans can only marry Vulcans."
"But laws can change," Amanda said, and Sarek added, "If we can convince the Council that doing so is logical."
"So you said," Amanda said, allowing some of her annoyance to show. At once she was abashed. Embarrassing Sarek this way in front of his clan matriarch wasn't called for. "Please forgive me," she said, lowering her eyes but keeping her body turned toward T'Pau. "I have let my emotions rule my words."
Darting a look at T'Pau, Amanda was heartened to see a flicker of approval in her face.
"What about you, Sarek?" T'Pau said suddenly. "You have chosen an alliance with a human. How do we convince the Council that a law that has stood the test of generations should be changed for you?"
"By saying," Sarek said without hesitation, "that the change is not for me but for all Vulcans. As members of the Federation, we accept humans as equal partners in interstellar governance. Why shouldn't they be acceptable partners in other ways as well? Infinite diversity in infinite combinations is not possible with the kinds of limits the current law dictates."
For the second time that day, Amanda felt her eyes water. She looked at Sarek gratefully and stopped herself at the last moment from reaching out to touch him.
Standing up from her chair, T'Pau leaned on her stick and said, "I will contact you after I meet with the Council."
Amanda started to speak but something in Sarek's posture warned her not to. Instead, she stood up when he did and followed T'Pau to the door.
"You are hopeful, then?" Sarek said as T'Pau made her way down the outside steps.
"I am always hopeful," she called back without turning around.
But her optimism was misplaced. By the end of the week T'Pau sent a terse one-word message to Sarek: "Denied."
"How could they?" Amanda said, stunned, so angry that she wasn't even close to tears this time.
"It may be irrelevant," Sarek said, crooking his arm tentatively around her shoulders as they sat side-by-side on the worn sofa in her apartment, "since I have been unable to find a healer willing to attempt our bonding."
And then, just like that, Amanda could see a future she neither wanted nor planned on—but one that stretched out like some terrible journey she had started down without a map.
She felt as helpless as she had as a small girl when her parents made some incomprehensible decision that affected her without her consent—decisions as silly and small as committing her to hated dance lessons, for instance, or decisions so large that the entire family was rocked by them. A quiet choice to hide her mother's alcoholism rather than seek treatment, for one. The inevitable divorce that followed, for another.
That same sense of being out of control threatened to bowl her over now.
"How can the Council make a decision about me without asking me how I feel?" she wailed, and then despite the seriousness of the situation, or perhaps because of it, she doubled over hiccuping in laughter.
Sarek was clearly alarmed.
"It's okay," Amanda said, sitting back upright, stifling her laugh. "It's what we do sometimes when we are overwrought—laughing this way—letting off some of the pressure."
"Then you are not amused?"
"Oh, it's amusing to think that the Council would care about my feelings. About anyone's feelings."
"That is not their task," Sarek said, still watching her closely. She ran her hand over her brow and nodded.
"It was a joke," she said. "I'm just…upset…that I don't have any say in what happens. That I have to depend on T'Pau to speak for me."
Something in Sarek's expression shifted suddenly, catching Amanda's attention.
"You wish to speak to the Council?" he said.
"I didn't know it was allowed."
"Anyone may address the Council," Sarek said. "As head of the clan, T'Pau functions as our speaker in most matters, but it is not required. If you like, I can petition for an audience for you."
"It's too late!" Amanda said. "They've already turned us down. What else can I possibly say to change their mind?"
"Uncertain," Sarek said. "But I know from experience that you can be very convincing in person."
Amanda snorted and pressed her palm into his.
"Besides," Sarek said, "to quote you, we have nothing to lose."
A week later when she and Sarek waited outside the meeting hall at the main government building in Shi'Kahr, Amanda tried to recall how resolved she had felt that day back in San Francisco, how buoyed by Sarek's words.
It was difficult. She was tired from the quick trip to Vulcan, wearied by the heat and the gravity and the spare, uncomfortable hostel room where she had spent the last night, Sarek decorously taking a room in a separate inn.
Even the clothes she was forced to wear made her bristle—the borrowed tunic itchy and stiff, the woven outer cloak so long that it dragged the floor and tripped her up if she wasn't careful.
When the attendant opened the thick ornate doors to the meeting room at last, she trailed Sarek by a few feet as he had coached her and let her gaze survey the Vulcans who held her fate—so to speak—in their hands.
There were six of them—four men and two women—all but one of them gray-haired and much older than Sarek. All were dressed in the same style of decorative garments embroidered with signets and what Amanda assumed were family crests.
They were sitting behind an irregularly-shaped table. No other furniture was in the room.
In spite of herself, Amanda felt a prickle of irritation at being made to stand throughout the interview. A power ploy? She didn't doubt it.
"Sarek, son of Skon," the Vulcan looking to be the oldest said without preamble, "your clanswoman has already appeared before this Council with your request. Please explain why you feel it necessary to revisit this issue."
"It is the right of any citizen to address the Council," Sarek said, his voice unnaturally loud—something that Amanda recognized as nervousness. Her heart sped up.
"That does not answer the question," the Vulcan Councilor said.
"Then to clarify," Sarek said, "the issue T'Pau brought before you concerns not only myself but Amanda Grayson, and as T'Pau is not her head of clan, Ms. Grayson wishes to speak in her own behalf."
"The Council is not required to hear the petitions of non-citizens," the Councilor said.
Over tea and bread that morning, T'Pau had told Sarek that the vote to deny their petition to marry had not been unanimous, that at least one Councilor had argued in their favor.
"I have few specific details, but I suspect T'Pol was sympathetic," T'Pau said. "She lived for many years on Earth and worked as an adjunct member of Starfleet before returning home to work in the High Council. Her experience with humans is, therefore, extensive. That could be to your favor."
"Or not," Amanda had chimed in. She shrugged when both T'Pau and Sarek gave her the same look. "Well, not all humans are…pleasant…to know."
Now she locked her knees to keep them from shaking. She let her gaze sweep over the six Councilors sitting behind the table.
That one, the woman with an almost imperceptible frown, her head canted in concentration. That must be T'Pol.
"But if the Council wishes to have all of the necessary data before passing judgment," Amanda spoke up, directing her attention directly at T'Pol as she stepped forward, "you will agree to hear what I have to say."
There. She'd done it now. Unwilling to look up at Sarek, she kept her eyes straight ahead. Either they would throw her out for her audacity, or their curiosity would get the better of them and they might let her stay.
A moment passed, then two. Some unspoken signal rippled around the table and then the head of the Council said, "Very well. Speak."
Repressing a temptation to breathe a sigh of relief, Amanda took another step forward until her elbow almost brushed Sarek's.
"Thank you," she said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. "I appreciate the chance to speak to you personally—"
"Understood," the chief Councilor said. "Please explain why you asked to be here."
Swallowing, Amanda said, "I know that Vulcan law requires couples who wish to marry to register with the High Council—"
Again the chief Councilor interrupted her.
"Ms. Grayson," he said, "our time is valuable. We know Vulcan law. What is your point?"
At her side Amanda felt Sarek shift his posture—though because she had chosen her opening salvo poorly or because the Councilor was being intentionally curt she wasn't sure. She glanced up at him quickly but his expression was unreadable, even to her.
"Sarek and I wish to marry—"
"This, too, is already known."
"—but because of the way Vulcan law is worded—"
"Ms. Grayson," the chief Councilor said, this time with an unmistakable hint of irritation in his tone, "you are wasting our time and your energy. As I indicated, we understand that the law prohibits your marriage to Sarek."
"But you can change the law—"
"That, too, is known. This Council finds no compelling reason to do so. You and Sarek do not need to be married to cohabit if that is your wish."
Amanda felt an upwelling of frustration.
"But marriage is more than cohabiting," she said. "Married partners have certain rights and privileges under the law that other couples do not share. Property protections, for instance. The power to make medical decisions for each other when necessary."
"Contractual law allows anyone to set up such arrangements outside of marriage," one of the other Councilors said.
"What about children?" Amanda said. "Married couples share responsibility and custody of their children. Unmarried couples don't under current law."
"That hardly seems a concern for you," the chief Councilor added, and Amanda flushed.
In fact, he had touched on the subject that caused her the most friction with Sarek—not just whether or not they could have children, but whether they should. His forced estrangement from Sybok played into his ambivalence, of course. Sarek was adamant that he would not father another child who was not also his under the law.
"It is already a concern," Amanda said. "Sarek and I want to make a home his son can share."
Another wave of unspoken communication rippled around the room and Amanda let out a breath.
"Sarek's son has a home," the other Vulcan woman said, and Amanda nodded.
"But not with his only living parent," she said. "As it is now, Sarek has little time with him—"
"That is a matter between Sarek and his son's family. Not you," the Vulcan woman said.
Amanda began to feel the first real inkling of panic. Whatever she had imagined she would be able to do to convince the Council to change their ruling, she was failing miserably. How pointless it was to try to outlogic a Vulcan…an exercise in futility. She felt her heartbeat in her throat.
"If you have nothing else to say," the chief Councilor said, and Amanda looked up again at Sarek. His expression was still unreadable, a blank that frightened her more than anything else that morning.
"Ms. Grayson."
T'Pol, speaking for the first time. Amanda blinked and turned toward her.
"Why Sarek? I understand why someone might seek the legal protections of marriage law. What I do not understand is why you wish to marry this man? When this arrangement offers so many obstacles, why not find a more suitable partner?"
For a moment Amanda wasn't sure she had heard her correctly. She blinked again and shook her head.
"I…do not wish to find someone else. My…regard…my love…my respect for him…it isn't something I can transfer to someone else. It comes from our interactions with each other, from our shared interests and experiences."
She knew she was babbling, was speaking of her emotions in a way that made even Sarek uncomfortable when she did it so openly. Well, there was no help for it. She didn't know any other way to answer T'Pol's question.
Which, she realized with a jolt, might be T'Pol's intent.
If Amanda knew anything, she knew that the stereotype of Vulcans as stoic, emotionless people was just that, a stereotype based on popular perception rather than reality. Under the surface they were as passionate as the most demonstrative humans...or more so, according to Sarek. Perhaps T'Pol was guiding her to abandon logic and appeal to that sensibility.
"But you heard what the chief Councilor said," T'Pol said. "You and Sarek can live together unmarried. That does not require amending the law."
"It is out of my respect for both Vulcan law and tradition that I ask you to amend it," Amanda said. "Sarek and I want to be husband and wife not just in the eyes of the law but in the eyes of the Vulcan people. To raise his son. Perhaps to have our own children. To support each other through difficulties. To celebrate each other's successes. To do all the things that you do without anyone calling our relationship into question—"
She stopped abruptly, unable to go on.
To her surprise, she felt Sarek step so closely to her that his robe brushed her hand.
"If that is all, you may retire," the chief Councilor said, "while we deliberate."
Still unable to speak, Amanda nodded quickly and waited as Sarek lead the way back through the ornate doors of the meeting room.
He continued on down the corridor to a small waiting area with several chairs and tables. On a sideboard sat a ceramic teapot and several typical Vulcan mugs without handles. Sarek motioned toward them but Amanda shook her head. Even though her mouth felt hot and dry, she was sure she would choke if she tried to drink anything.
In a moment she heard footsteps in the corridor. Could the Councilors be finished already? And if they were, was that a good sign or not?
She turned to face the door.
T'Pau stepped in slowly, leaning on her walking stick. She stretched out her hand to Sarek and gave him a slip of parchment.
"For you," she said. "From T'Pol. The name of a healer who can help you."
Over her shoulder as she headed back down the corridor, she said, "And if you want me to officiate at the wedding, you must make haste. I will be traveling off planet soon. My daughter on the Caelerian outpost has a new child I want to see."
X X X X
Spock stretches out on the sofa, one hand trailing the ground, the other twisting a small, circular rubber ring in his fingers, one of Nyota's hair bands, found between the cushions. Rolling it over his thumb, Spock lifts it in front of his face and holds it up to the light. One coiled sprig of hair is trapped in the red threads of the band.
It evokes an odd sensation—loneliness? Longing? Regret that after their conversation this morning, he and Nyota had no time to talk further. Instead, he had headed to his advanced computer programming seminar; she left to pack for the recruitment junket.
He sets the thought aside and sits up.
With a practiced motion, he moves quickly to the small desk in the corner of the room, tabbing on the subspace transceiver. On most Mondays he calls home—a concession he makes to his mother. Normally he waits until mid-afternoon Vulcan time, but his mother is, in all likelihood, home if he calls now, two hours early.
He doesn't want to alarm her, but he feels a need to hear her voice, particularly since he's lain here immobile for part of the afternoon, replaying her favorite story in his head, like watching a theater piece put on for his benefit alone.
As he expects, she reads more into the timing of his call than is warranted. She peers out from the monitor with a concerned expression on her brow.
"Has something happened?" she says by way of greeting. "Are you okay?"
"I had time and opportunity to call right now," he says, but she tilts her chin and gives him a look that means she doesn't believe him. He almost sighs.
"Why?" she says. "Are you going somewhere later?"
"I am going nowhere," he says, looking down at the hair band still around his thumb. When he looks back up, his mother's expression hasn't changed.
"I was invited to accompany a recruitment tour for the next three days," he says, "but I declined."
At that his mother's face softens and she grins.
"What a homebody you've become," she says. "Just like your father."
"Father travels frequently," Spock says. "In fact, he is away more than he is at home."
"That doesn't mean he wouldn't rather be here," Amanda says, laughing. "For all your vaunted curiosity, you Vulcans are just as happy in your own back yard."
They finish their conversation shortly afterwards—but rather than being soothed or settled, it leaves him feeling more restless than ever.
He's never understood what his mother means when she uses the term homesick, has never missed his parents in the way she describes missing her sister, her nieces and nephews. Even in those first baffling months at the Academy several years ago, he hadn't wished to be back on Vulcan, back in his familiar room, his familiar routine.
Yet now he feels an unaccountable emptiness that seems to fit her description, as if his attention has been hijacked against his will, leaving him scattered and discontented.
Meditation, then.
He settles on the floor in front of his asenoi, willing himself to focus on the flickering light, on the faint heat he feels radiating from it. Slowing his breathing and calming his heartbeat, he concentrates on letting go of any sensations.
The gentle mechanical hum of the cooler in the kitchen down the hall…he acknowledges it and then lets it go.
The distant sound of traffic. Gone.
The rub of the carpet on his exposed ankle. He feels it and then blocks it. The whiffle of air from the exchanger overhead fades away.
Closing his eyes, he tries to sink below the first level of consciousness.
An image of Nyota swims before him—the way she had parted her lips as if to say one last thing before she walked across the commons earlier, her hand raised in farewell.
Opening his eyes, he looks down at his own hand, the red band still between his thumb and forefinger. He stands and douses the useless asenoi, already planning how he will explain his change of plans to Dean Richardson, listing what he needs to take for three days away, calculating how fast he needs to walk to make it to the transport station where even now she is probably watching, waiting.
A/N: Another little change up in the plan, this time because Spock doesn't actually tell anyone Amanda's story but comforts himself by remembering it. I hope that wasn't confusing!
If you aren't an "Enterprise" viewer, you might not know T'Pol…she served on the first Enterprise with Captain Archer and crew and became romantically involved with the ship's engineer, Trip Tucker. She occasionally drifts through my stories.
That red hair band, too, appears again when Amanda finds it in Spock's bed in "The Interview."
Thanks to everyone who continues to read this story, and double thanks for those kind souls who take the time to review!