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 Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3 This one really got away from me...hrr it's more a Spock moment than Sarek, though I can imagine Sarek seeing something similar in San Francisco.
3: Wind
Generally speaking, Vulcan's weather patterns varied less extremely than similar planets. Its orbital balance was, apparently, ideal to promote this equilibrium and thus Vulcan only had three identifiable seasons during it's four-hundred and fifty-six day yearly rotation. The first was Falek'wak, the sequence of days wherein the planet it closest to its star. The second, Tvi'wak, the intermediary days in the interval between the extremity of Falek'wak and the long days of Irak'wak. And, lastly, the Vulcan equivalent of winter, Irak'wak wherein the longest night cycles of the year are achieved and the most extreme variations in overall atmospheric conditions are encountered.
It was, at that moment, the twenty seventh day of Irak'wak. The weather over Shi'Kahr was tempestuous. The humidity had doubled in the last few hours and the absorbed heat from the landscape was reacting poorly with the cool air from the west. Thunder pealed across the sky and the particular geography of Shi'Kahr offered very little in the way of resistance against the uneven, whiplash winds.
Spock lingered in the alcove of the Shi'Kahr Academy foyer and assessed the environmental conditions as he awaited his mother. His adolescent frame had proven an asset against the heavy winds, and his ascent up the steps to the Academy had been significantly less exhausting for him than for those of greater height and stature. As it was, the brief trip had caused an uncomfortable sticky sheen to accumulate across his exposed skin—he attributed it to the thick humidity and the moist, uncomfortably cold winds.
"Spock, early as always." His eyes turned from the view of the outdoors and his shoulders visibly relaxed as he identified his mother. She was wearing a light gown, something she'd brought from Earth, and a sweater of her own fashion was looped around her shoulders. Her hair was curled tightly and she clutched several PADDs and a small, nondescript, black bag in her hands.
"I arrived within a reasonable margin of our agreement," Spock defended and she spared him a sly look. He was grateful when she didn't continue her course of conversation and crossed the large, circular chamber to meet him by the doorway.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she prompted quietly as she stood beside him. He looked up at her and his brows furrowed—her smile was wistful as she glanced out at the gloom—the glass doors reverberated lightly as a particularly powerful gust of wind struck them.
"It is generally disagreeable," Spock corrected her and she arched an eyebrow at him. "It is considerably colder and more humid than optimum temperatures." She smiled, in the same fashion she did when he asked her about her knitting or spoke of the little confections she hid in his school bags, and ran her hand over his dark hair, smoothing it back.
"Come on," she said lightly, "I'm sure your father is waiting for us."
She'd ushered him through the door, out into the wind, before he'd had a chance to correct her statement. The wind was still as they took the first few steps down from the Academy doors. As they reached the fourth step, the a western wind tore up the steps and struck Spock hard enough to cause him to pause and close his eyes. His mother let out a strange sound and his panic forced his eyes apart in the wind—her face was bright and she gave a small shout as the wind tore her hair free from it's arrangement. She shrank, joyously, and fought to peer through the halo of her own long hair as they continued down the steps.
The wind was no less harsh when they finally arrived back home. The sky was dark and the chronometer noted a significant disparity in their travel time. Spock frowned at it as his mother ushered him through the door, into the peaceful interior of their shared home. Her laughter, which had echoed almost since she'd exited the Academy, chased her inside as surely as the wind—the soft material of her long dress fluttered and nearly enveloped Spock until the door shut behind them.
"I suspect it was the wind that caused your tardiness?" Spock glanced at the staircase and found his father staring down at them from the topmost stair.
"It was beautiful," Amanda informed him and her voice sounded exhilarated, as though the experience had been anything but harrowing. Spock eyed his mother as she all but tossed her bag and PADDs on the table by the door and jogged, lightly, up the stairs. When she met with his father, her eyes were still shining and she looked tousled—windswept? He stared at her flatly and she smiled.
"I'll be combing the resulting knots out of my hair," she explained and pressed a light kiss against his cheek, "I'll see to the evening meal after that." As she walked away, Sarek watched her. Her dress fluttered and Spock's eyebrows lifted as he watched his father's fingers move to graze the drifting fabric. Wordlessly, Spock turned and walked away. His father kept the upstairs windows open to 5% of their capacity that night.