Note: Sarek gets violent in this one.

They wait for their shuttle off Andoria, tense and unhappy. Sarek vibrates with barely contained energy beside her, and Amanda tries to soothe him through the bond. She projects calm and peace, trying to imagine the spiraling sand eddies common on Vulcan. She finds them restive. They simply remind him of home, where he desperately needs to be.

He had hoped to put off his time through intensive meditation, thus enabling him to see to a dispute on Andoria. His success was minimal.

"I will speak with the staff about our shuttle," he declares, moving to rise.

Amanda rises with him, deftly stepping in front of him and blocking his progress. He regards her with an expression of faint upset.

"We must go," he says softly, modulating his voice so no one else will hear.

Not that there are many people near them. As an ambassador, he needn't wait for a shuttle with everyone else at a starport. They have a private room, secured by Vulcan guards.

She knows they need to leave – they don't have much time before he will need her – but there is an ice storm ravaging the surface of the planet. It started the previous day, and all forecasts suggest it will last another week and a half at the very least. They are trapped.

"We can manage here," she says, offering him the ozh'esta.

He touches his fingers to hers, and electric awareness of him zings across her skin. Little frissons of anxiety turn her stomach and make her flesh prickle. His mind sinks into hers, a trembling weight, and she closes her eyes to brace herself against the enormity of his presence.

I cannot, he whispers in her mind.

"We must," she replies, unwilling to let him take all responsibility for his time upon himself. "We can't leave." She shifts closer to him, resting the back of her hand against his abdomen. His knuckles brush over her clothing, but both these gestures are hidden by their bodies.

She is rather proud of how adept she's become at hiding physical contact with her husband from the rest of Vulcan.

Though T'Pau probably knows. T'Pau always knows.

"Sarek," she says, imploringly, opening her eyes to study his face. He doesn't look much different than he did twenty years ago. He's still just as handsome. And just as hard to convince of something. She touches his mind with hers. What will we need?

He answers her with impressions of images – rooms, a safe place, removed from others. Complete privacy. A place where they will not be interrupted. A place where no one can see the shame of his people and his complete loss of control.

Her fingers move gently along his. I will tell Sakkath, she says, shifting away from him.

NO

She stumbles – into him, at the very least – at the force of his mental voice. It's more than just a voice, it's a physical pressure on her mind. She's never felt this before, and she realizes he's moved his hand against hers so their palms and fingers touch. His presence in her mind is a force of nature, a hurricane of wind and rage, and she struggles not to show any outward reaction. Even so, she gasps his name.

The winds abate, the rage dims, but she sees the emotions in his eyes and feels the fire burning inside him.

Sakkath has a bondmate of his own, she reminds him, doing her best to communicate mentally in spite of her rattled thoughts. She pictures T'Kan's pretty face, with her delicate cheekbones, and almost-pixie like chin.

Sarek, naturally, latches on to the fact that she considers T'Kan beautiful.

You're being unreasonable, she grouses.

I am… compromised, he agrees. Speak with Sakkath.

She presses her hand against his firmly. She imagines her love as a feathery blanket, warm and soft and suffused with sunlight, and she pushes that mental image at him. In return, he sends her that strange Vulcan emotion that she equates with love but is actually so much more.

One day, she wants to dive into the place of his mind that he keeps so carefully locked away. She wants to swim into his depths and understand him completely.

Drawing away, she gives him a fleeting smile with her eyes. He settles into his seat once more, but he watches her like a le-matya stalking its prey.

"Sakkath," she says quietly as she approaches her husband's aide.

Sakkath is not a fool. He is very clever, very intelligent, and very astute. He has the unique ability to step into a room and immediately comprehend the relational dynamics between the people in it. It's why Sarek values him so much.

Inclining his head, he shifts his back to the rest of the room. Standing beside him, feeling Sarek's eyes on her back, she murmurs, "We are out of time. The Ambassador and I will need a very private room." Her eyes briefly meet his.

Sakkath's face remains impassive, but he gives her a curt nod. "Will you require anything more?"

She considers this. She prefers to see a Vulcan healer as soon as possible after her husband's time, but that won't be possible on Andoria. And she wouldn't reveal the bites and bruises to anyone other than a Vulcan healer. "Hypos for pain," she says. "Food. Water. Perhaps some bandages."

There is the slightest change in Sakkath's expression. He, like all Vulcans, hates discussing this particular quirk of their biology, and a hint of his shame shows through. His concern for Amanda, he would surely say, is completely logical: she is the Ambassador's wife, and after Sarek, she is the most valuable person in their group. To control Amanda is to control Sarek.

"I will make arrangements immediately, T'Sai Amanda."

He wakes her with the slide of his body into hers, and Amanda groans, arching her back to allow him deeper. With a contented purr, Sarek lifts her leg and drapes it over his hip. His lips touch the sensitive place behind her ear as the fingers of both his hands find hers and lace them together to bring his mind into hers.

She keens softly but is otherwise still, unwilling to open her eyes.

Languorous warmth ripples through her body, tendrils of heat from the embers of his ardor. His fingers brush against hers, and she murmurs contentedly.

Nuzzling that spot now, he releases one of her hands so he can stroke her breast. His mental whispers, mostly incoherent things, center on the delicateness of her body. She is small and fragile, but so strong. So smooth to his touch, so cool and so sweet.

Moaning quietly, she arches against him again, and his thumb traces a circle over her nipple. Her skin tightens and pebbles, and his purr against her neck is full of delight. That hand traces down her stomach, lingering on her ribs. There are already bruises blossoming on her skin, and he is careful to avoid them. He loves them, though, and he promises that later he will stretch her out on their bed and lick and kiss each wound before he slides into her welcoming body and makes her scream for him.

She shivers, and the tips of his fingers trace the outline of her navel in what shouldn't be but is an incredibly erotic caress. His name falls from her lips, a quiet whisper.

His hand flattens possessively over her stomach, his long fingers just touching that place between her legs that makes pleasure burn brightly in her. He shifts, moving even deeper into her body, his thrusts harder, and she senses his presence sinking more firmly into her mind.

The fire in him dances down her arms and across her spine, and she twists her head about in a sudden motion. It startles him just a bit, but her mouth is on his before he can react. The kiss is awkward, cricking her neck, but she needs his tongue in her mouth. She needs him to move in her, to take her and brand her with his fire.

In a swift and fluid movement, he rolls her to her stomach. He doesn't pull out of her, somehow managing to keep inside her, and she cries out at the headiness of it. His hands fall to her hips, pulling her to her hands and knees.

K'diwa.

There's that word, the one that echoes inside her with all the depth of the ocean and the vast expanse of the skies. There are planets and stars and galaxies in that word, all of them painfully sweet and profoundly precious.

It fills her mind with the feeling of being adored, of being protected.

His hands slide up her sides, drawing her upright. Her thighs spread across his, her knees bracketing his, and he moves in powerful surges into her. She can barely breathe. He fills her so well, so perfectly, that there is no room in her body for breath.

Those hands stroke her ribs, brush lightly over her bruises again, and then rise to cup her breasts. His mouth trails over her shoulder to the place where it slopes into her neck, and she moans as he bites down. His pleasure is hers, rushing through her with the force of a river.

"Sarek," she gasps, his name stuttered and malformed on her lips. She rocks against him as best she can, struggling to find the right rhythm to move with and against him. "Sarek, please."

He doesn't laugh out loud, but she hears the quiet rumble of it in her mind. Please? Sanu? he asks her, his voice deep and rich and thick like chocolate or some kind of taffy. She whimpers, and she feels that laugh again in her mind. Sanu… ra? Aitlu tu ra?

She doesn't know how to communicate the crystalline pleasure of release in her mind. She can barely form cogent thoughts. It's unfair that he wants more than that from her. But he's asking what she wants, and she knows from experience that once she tells him what, he'll want to know how, because he is Vulcan and Vulcans demand exacting replies to their inquiries.

With a strangled cry of frustration and need, she forms the mental image of his fingers stroking between her legs as he moves in her, of her head thrown back and her lips parted as she gasps his name.

He obliges her, and, oh, the ecstasy of his touch pours through her. She writhes against him, and he lets her move as she will. His fingers play havoc between her legs, shamelessly seeking and provoking her pleasure. His other hand curls possessively around her neck, lightly caging her. She shudders and moans, and he nudges into specific parts of her mind, seeking the pleasure receptors there.

She climaxes with a ragged scream, her body undulating against his in a sinuous dance. He encourages her, urges her to keep moving, to take more of her pleasure from him, and she does without hesitation.

She's lost to the joy of being one spirit moving fluidly through two bodies. There is no division between Sarek and Amanda, only one creature of perfect beauty and boundless delight. Her emotions are as light as air and bright as the sun, shimmering onto the dark depths of his own abyssal feelings.

His fingers don't stop moving, his mind wraps her tighter in its embrace, and she's not sure if she comes again or if it's more of the same, endless wave of exultation and rapture.

His own release is accompanied by a snarl of pleasure, of her name transformed into something primal and animalistic. He drags her to the bed when he's done, pulling out of her and rolling her to face him.

She slides her hands over his naked chest, curling them over his jaw and brushing her fingers over his ears, and he shifts her close so that he can steal kisses from her swollen lips. He nibbles and bites, but only gently, catching her lower lip between his teeth and tugging. He nuzzles her cheek and then her neck, one hand at the small of her back, the other drifting up her face to her psi points.

Lightly, he brushes those points with his fingers. It's a faint, inquiring caress, and she murmurs an assent as she stares into his dark, beautiful eyes.

His mind sinks completely into hers. In a way, it's the same as when he makes love to her, but this lacks the single-minded and intense focus of that touch. This isn't to feed her his pleasure and take her own back into himself. This is how he holds her hand and how he hugs her all at once, how he envelops her in his presence and his person.

With a smile, she leans forward and kisses him lightly, feeling the kiss as both giver and receiver. His pleased purr reverberates in her own chest.

At his silent urging, she closes her eyes – and the world seems to change. She sees through his eyes, and he's looking at her, studying her face and committing it to memory again.

She is… exquisite to him. He finds the gray in her hair enchanting. The lines of laughter around her mouth are indescribably erotic to him; he appreciates that she has them in spite of twenty years on Vulcan. He finds the sweep of her lashes against her cheek a study in mathematical perfection. Her skin, so soft and pink, is an alluring contrast to his own that fascinates him.

He looks at her and sees the embodiment of beauty. He can't even consider turning his eyes to another. She is everything he could ever desire.

Amanda opens her eyes and urges him to close his own, and she returns the favor. She sweeps her eyes over his strong face, weathered by Vulcan's harsh climate and his own difficult position as an ambassador. There is a story on his face, and she reads it in the wrinkles and lines of his skin. His eyes, eyes that so many find dark and unfeeling, are warm and soft to her. He is protection and safety, the one person who stands between her and everyone else. He is her sword and her shield, her guardian and her lover.

His hands slip into her hair. Gently, he tips her head back so he can kiss her again. Between them, she feels his hard length against her thigh, and she sighs, more than ready for him to make love to her again.

His mouth stops just short of hers, and his entire body goes rigid.

Something sick and strange courses through her, one of his feelings, and she touches his cheek. "Sarek?"

He draws his hands away from her psi points and rises, looking over her shoulder toward the bedroom door.

Sakkath came through quite well, finding them a penthouse suite at a hotel not far from the starport. There are no other guests, and though there are other rooms sharing the floor with theirs, no one else will be staying in any of them. Sakkath saw to that.

There are guards, too; Sarek's entourage stands watch at the door to the suite and at the turbolift, taking turns to protect their ambassador while he is vulnerable.

The look in his eyes is dangerous. Frightening. His hand falls to her shoulder, stroking lightly down her arm as he looms over her.

"Sarek," she says again, scratching her nails down his chest to get his attention.

He sends an impression of danger over the bond.

"No," she murmurs, covering one of his nipples with her lips. She nibbles and licks, trying to distract him, but he will not be distracted. "It's just you and me," she promises him.

But she's not too sure. He can hear far better than she. His senses are far more acute. And in this state, with him ready to defend his mate should he need to, she would imagine his senses are even more heightened.

She reaches blindly for the thick bedcover they kicked to the side earlier in the day. Night. One of the two. Dragging it over her body, she shrinks into the safety of Sarek's shadow, watching him with wary, uncertain eyes.

A sound makes his eyes narrow. She doesn't hear it, but she hears the echo of it in her mind.

Slowly, he rises from the bed. There is nothing gentle about the way he moves. He is corded muscle and danger, and he moves with predatory grace toward the bedroom door.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at her. She nods. Nothing could convince her to move from their bed if he thinks they're in danger. But she shifts toward the bedside table. A phaser rests on the table's surface.

Sakkath gave that to her, too. As a precaution.

Her lips quirk, even though Sarek is not amused by this particular train of her thoughts. Sakkath, she thinks, has no idea how much she enjoys her husband during this time. Sarek has grown accustomed to the idea of her liking his ravenous lack of control, and where he might have been offended by such a thought in the past, he now feels nothing but pleasure.

Curling her fingers around the phaser, she sits on the bed, wrapped in the thick comforter, and waits. Her husband disappears into the rooms beyond the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

Every second is an eternity. Amanda deliberately keeps her mind separate from Sarek's, not sure how he would react to her presence there. She doesn't want to distract him more than is necessary. And she doesn't want to see through his eyes should he encounter an intruder.

She can imagine what he might do. She has seen him practice Suus mahna, and as much as he may claim it is a purely defensive art she knows he could do a great deal of damage with it.

Closing her eyes, she tries to focus on something to distract her that won't distract her husband. She wishes Vuhlkansu had conjugated verbs. But as it doesn't, she decides instead to work her way through multiplication tables.

One times one is one.

Sarek's tension resonates with her, stringing her own muscles tight.

One times two is two.

She swallows convulsively and forces her fingers, white-knuckled and tight on the phaser, to relax.

One times three is three.

Her knuckles hurt when she uncurls them, and she shivers slightly. She is being… illogical. Her husband is more than capable, and there is no chance anyone got through the guards.

One times four is four.

And why would they? There's no reason for anyone to want to see Sarek. Sakkath made excuses for them – the Ambassador was delayed by the storm but has work to accomplish. The Ambassador can't be disturbed.

One times five is five.

Fear claws at her anyway. She is naked on a foreign planet. It's unlikely, but there could be someone in the next room with the intent to hurt her husband.

One times six is six.

She should have given him the phaser.

One times seven is seven.

Nodding to herself, she scoots to the edge of the bed, her mind made up.

One times eight is eight.

She'll call to Sarek over the bond so she can give him the phaser, and—

The door to the room slides open, but her husband isn't the one standing there. An Andorian man fills the doorway, a phaser in one hand.

She stares at him with incomprehension.

He does not hesitate. He lifts his arm and fires.

The blast doesn't hit her – she thinks a phaser blast should hurt, and because she doesn't hurt she clearly hasn't been hit – but she screams anyway. And not just aloud. She screams in her mind, too, a primal wail of fear that is echoed by her husband a moment later.

He blasts into her mind with all the subtly of a Constitution class Federation starship. It takes perhaps a fraction of a second for him to show her how to fire a phaser. Her arm moves reflexively, as if she's done this millions of times, and she shoots the Andorian.

As soon as she realizes what she's done, she drops the phaser. Nothing Sarek can say in her mind or impress upon her can keep the weapon in her hand as she stares at the blue blood spreading rapidly across the Andorian's shoulder.

Her husband's body slams into the Andorian's, sending the latter sprawling across the bedroom floor. His phaser skitters to a halt near Amanda's.

Amanda scrambles across the bed, shaking, her thoughts barely coherent. Sarek is still in her mind, and he is full of rage. He burns with it.

The fever of his time eclipses all rational and gentle thought, and his fist connects solidly with the Andorian's face – and Sarek enjoys it. The man groans, clawing desperately at Sarek's wrists and arms, but she knows Sarek is too strong for the man beneath him. And he has something to protect. The Andorian has nothing to motivate him.

A black loathing rolls through her followed by a burning so fierce Amanda can't understand why she isn't actually on fire. Her flesh feels like it should be peeling away from her bones, and her body feels too small to contain everything that she is and feels. Her senses are overwhelmed with a hatred that is darker than the depths of black and empty space.

Sarek is going to kill the Andorian. But he isn't going to do it gently. She sees his intent as clearly as if it were her own, and she lets out a hoarse, ragged scream.

Sarek freezes. His weight holds the Andorian down, but he stops attacking.

Their gazes meet, and for a moment, Amanda is able to find herself in the center of the storm of his emotions. He looks wild and fierce as he chokes the Andorian, and he sees himself through her eyes. He is… pleased. He is glad to be protecting his mate.

His hand goes to the Andorian's psi points, and he places a shield between their minds and hers. Amanda's eyes go wide as the Andorian starts to scream. It's the most horrific sound she's ever heard, a terrible death cry. She covers her mouth with her hand, dragging the comforter around her shoulders. She wants to look away, but she can't, and she knows that Sarek is ripping through the Andorian's mind to find out what he wants and why he's in their room.

And, presumably, how he got around the guards.

The screaming stops abruptly when Sarek breaks the Andorian's neck in a single, efficient gesture.

She understands that they need to call for Sakkath to take the body away. Amd she doesn't want to be in this room anymore. She doesn't to be anywhere near it and the death inside it.

K'diwa.

The word rolls through her mind like thunder. It is an assurance against all horrors, and it is a sweet, precious promise. She looks at her husband through watery eyes, and for the first time in their marriage she feels like she finally understands him. And his people.

There is no difference between love and protection to the Vulcans, she realizes. To be loved is to be protected and to be protected is to be loved. It is only logical. Maybe this is why they've done away with the concept of love in their own culture. It is redundant to them.

Crying, she reaches for him, and he envelopes her in his arms, holding her tightly. Even though she is scared – a little of him; she would be a fool not to be – she tries to form her thoughts into something orderly so he understands Sakkath has to take care of the body. And that she doesn't want to be near it.

He doesn't want another Vulcan male anywhere near her.

Whimpering, she presses her face into his neck. Please, she thinks.

His reaction to that one word is visceral. It rips through him at warp speed, and he responds just as quickly.

There is a blur of activity around her. She feels her husband pick her up, but her eyes are closed against the sight of the Andorian's body. But the image of his head at an unnatural angle to the rest of him seems burned into the back of her eyelids.

She hears voices. Feels her husband tremble with barely controlled rage. This is the fourth day, she thinks. It's possible all the sex and then the killing has taken some of the edge off. He has managed to find some semblance of civility.

But when Sakkath suggests someone who isn't Sarek tend to her, Sarek's mood turns dark and terrible again. And she panics just the smallest bit. She doesn't want someone else to take care of her. She wants her husband to keep her close and protect her. His rage is a terrible thing to behold, but she can feel him through their bond. She knows beyond any doubt that he would never turn that rage on her.

He settles on a couch with her in his arms in one of the other apartments, and his mouth immediately seeks hers. His teeth catch her lower lip, tugging gently, and then he kisses her. His tongue presses into her mouth, gently coaxing hers to respond.

She kisses him as though his kisses are air and she needs them to breathe.

The barrier between them slowly comes down, and as it falls, she begins to burn for him.

He tugs at the comforter around her, pulling it off her body and tossing it aside. Straddling him, she rocks herself against his length, whimpering as it slides against the slickness between her legs.

She can't understand how she wants sex right now.

He assures her it is a completely logical reaction.

This time, she kisses him. Her mouth is harsh and demanding over his, and she reaches between them to slide him into her without preamble.

They don't make love as much as they strive together for mutual completion, their bodies competing for the pleasure of a climax. He snarls and snaps at her neck, and she digs her nails into his shoulders in return, her eyes fixed on his.

When she comes in his arms, he wraps her in a tight embrace and takes her to the floor. Holding her to the ground, her legs wrapped high around his back, he starts the dance again, driving his body into her with an insatiable need.

T'Pau is less than thrilled.

Amanda can see the tightly controlled fury in the snap of her gaze as Sarek calmly explains precisely why he killed an Andorian. Vulcan High Command will make excuses for the Ambassador. Sarek himself will make no apologies.

For the most part, she doesn't think the rest of Andoria will care that he killed one of their own in self-defense. The Andorian was an assassin, sent to murder her husband and prevent him from further aiding one of the races seeking entry into the Federation. She isn't sure why preventing this arrangement is beneficial to the Andorians, but diplomacy isn't her area of expertise.

She can't wait to return to Vulcan to continue teaching. Most of her work is with off-worlders who are visiting Vulcan for an extended period of time – the children of Ambassadors and members of the Federation. But she has a few Vulcan students. She misses them.

And, as always when she thinks of her Vulcan students, she thinks of her son.

"Sarek," she says when he closes the comm channel with T'Pau. "Sarek, we—"

"We will not speak on it," Sarek says, knowing already what she wants to talk about.

Anger bubbles up in her alongside frustration. She's not sure whether he means to say their son is an it or if it refers to the situation, but either way, she isn't pleased with his words. "Not talking about it won't make it go away."

Sarek turns to her, inhaling softly. She feels his breath swirl in his lungs and senses his own tiredness – which is precisely why she's picking this battle now.

"It is of no concern."

"Sarek, you can't just cut Spock out of our lives."

He gives her a lengthy look. "We will not speak of this, wife."

Her hands ball into fists and she lets out a frustrated cry. He takes this in stride, used to her emotional outbursts in private, though he's thinking he prefers a different kind of outburst.

"And you won't derail this conversation with sex, Sarek."

He lifts one brow. "I am not attempting to do so." He rises slowly, extending his fingers to her in the ozh'esta, and she isn't sure she wants to take them.

But she does because it's the good and right thing to do. She doesn't hide her opinions from him, though. She lets them pour through the bond. He is angry Spock went to Starfleet; she thinks his anger is foolish; he refuses to admit he is angry.

"He is accomplishing good there," she says imploringly, willing him to forgive.

Sarek withdraws his fingers from hers. "We must leave Andoria," he says, stepping around her.

She scowls at his back. "Denying a problem exists won't make it go away."

He steps through the door, and she releases another strangled sound of irritation. Needing to vent her feelings in a physical way, she kicks a waste can and sends it sprawling across the hotel room.

It doesn't help.