Holography

Volume 3

As a Reminder, and a Promise

Run mad as often as you chuse; but do not faint—

Jane Austen

by

Pat Foley

Note: This novel is a continuation of the Holo series, Volume 1: The Catalyst & Volume 2: The Wedding Present or the Starling’s Lament

Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan

Prologue

Freed from six months of chattel status after her husband had worked through a chronic Pon Far condition, Amanda discovered upon her return to society that her husband’s “throwing her into the deep end of the pool” had the elements of both a blessing and a curse. He’d signed her up for her usual set of classes and seminars at the Academy and let her in for it further by submitting for review a slew of academic papers she’d written months ago.

All this on top of her just getting used to wearing normal clothing again, walking without flinching through the doors and gates of her home that were formerly locked against her, taking calls, making calls, and horror of all horrors, actually dealing with living people. It had been singularly stupid of Sarek to have assumed she could so easily resume her personal and professional lives simultaneously. Yet his naïve and touching faith in her abilities made her love him all the more.

Though it was hard to imagine how she could love him more than the day he’d restored her to bondmate status. She didn’t have much time for introspection, but even she spared some moments marveling over her feelings for him. Intellectually, she felt like she should have some …reservations about the man who had raped and injured her, locked her up and kept her under strict chattel status all this while. And yet it was if that was another Sarek, maybe even another Amanda. As for her, she had six months of living in near stasis to make up for, six months of being starved for an emotional and physical connection to anyone, and most particularly her husband. And now that he – and she—were back to normal, she could hardly contain her love and relief. She felt like she could not get close enough, could not hold him, or have him hold her, tight enough. It was the first, and strongest reaction to her changed status, and while she had fleeting moments of wonder about it, her intellectual curiosity was far removed from her emotional needs.

Fortunately Sarek was feeling something similar. Lessons aside – and she knew if she cared to think about it that they both hated lessons -- they hadn’t made love in six months. And now, in spite of all the tasks that required her attention, and the frantic rushing to catch up that should have left her exhausted anyway, they were making love every night and every morning, with more than a few interludes in between when they could catch a minute. To a certain extent that wasn’t all that unusual for them, before, but what was different was the way they were making love – with the frenetic desperation of a couple of teenagers.

So it was that they had woken at dawn, after a late night of lovemaking, and made love again. What was the phrase? She was drowning in honey, stingless. Rushed as she was from six months of delayed tasks, she went back to sleep for an hour, relaxed and content.

And woke for the second time, but this time to a lematya’s outraged scream.

She sat up, blinking at the orange sunlight streaming through the long windows. It was much too late for a lematya to be around.

The furious scream came again, making her flinch. That was close. She heard the sound of male voices in the courtyard below. One calling to another, who answered. The words were indistinct, but she could hear the urgency in their tone, Vulcan though they were. She slipped from bed, took a wrap from the bathroom and went to the balcony.

Sarek came back into the bedroom, dressed for the desert in sand colored clothes, his hair in the crisp curls that was its natural state. He came up behind her on the balcony. “What is it?”

“I can’t hear what they are saying,” Amanda admitted. The lematya shrieked again, and she shuddered. “But I can hear that! What is she doing here, after sunrise?”

“An excellent question.” At the third scream, Sondt, who managed the estate came out of the archway leading to the office wing, head turned to the sound of the lematya. Sarek stirred. “I should go down.”

“No,” Amanda protested. “You’re not a guard. Let them handle it.”

“I recently changed the security programs,” Sarek reminded her. “It is extremely unlikely that I made an error. But I suppose it is possible. I must go and see.”

A pair of guards, fully armed with stun phasers and tranquilizer guns, ran past, heading for the far gardens.

The lematya screamed again, furious, outraged. Amanda shivered. “It must be a cub in trouble. That’s the only reason she’d be up after sunrise.”

“Perhaps. Probable. A lematya might breach the security to protect a cub, but if she did, she’ll be dangerous. Nevertheless, you need not be concerned, Amanda. We are well able to handle a stray lematya.”

“What is this we? You don’t have to handle it.”

“In this case, it is my responsibility to assess the situation,” Sarek was already halfway out the door. He paused and looked back at her, “Amanda. Don’t go farther than the courtyard.”

She was new enough to freedom that she hesitated at his words, then she realized what he meant. “You just told me there’s nothing to worry about,” she countered.

“Nothing for you to worry about. I don’t want you near a raging lematya.”

“Oh, that makes me feel much better!” She looked at him, but the habit of six months made her reluctant to argue or question further. “Be careful.”

“I am always careful, my wife. I have not your predilection for accidents, cuts and scratches. So you will not follow me. The guard and I will have enough to do with suppressing a raging lematya, without concerning ourselves with the safety of a careless human.” He disappeared.

Amanda sighed, amazed at how Sarek could express both love and censure in the same sentence. He must get it from T’Pau. And then she went to get dressed.

She made breakfast, taking out her anxiety by making some of Sarek’s favorites, as if she could tempt him back from his dangerous pursuits. Her preparations were punctuated by the sounds of the lematya’s continued enraged screams. Like tearing metal. Amanda consoled herself that the big cat must not be inside the perimeter, because if that weren’t the case she’d have been dispatched quickly. She must be outside the fences and forcefields, and it must be a cub that drew her. It was sometimes frightening to realize these deadly creatures prowled so close to her home, right outside the garden walls, but Amanda had discovered, almost from her first days on Vulcan, that there was a traditional truce between Vulcans and lematya. Outside the protected cities, and the walled gardens of isolated households like hers, they were allowed to roam free, at night. If they breached security, or made nuisances of themselves during the day, impeding travel, or threatening safety, they were taken down, tranquilized and moved to remote and unpopulated areas. Most lematya, nocturnal anyway, were no trouble. This one must be after a cub. If her cub had gone inside the perimeter fences and somehow gotten trapped or stuck, she would leave as soon as her cub was returned to her.

Breakfast made, Amanda left it in stasis, and went out into the court. She hadn’t heard any screams for the last five minutes, and she was at the end of the path, seriously considering going after Sarek anyway and marveling at her own temerity. And then saw Sarek and Sondt returning, head to head in discussion. Sarek glanced up and saw her, nodding that whatever had happened was over. For a moment, she still hesitated. She was getting used to the idea that she didn’t have to shy from the staff, but she’d not yet actually pushed herself to encounter one. But she had to do it sometime, so she squared her shoulders and went to meet them, touching her fingers to Sarek’s in the only public embrace proper for bondmates.

“Was it a cub?”

“Indeed.” Sarek sounded amused. “It was chasing a litka, which took refuge in a irrigation tube. The cub got stuck, and could neither advance, nor retreat.”

“Oh, poor thing. Is it all right?”

“We had to cut the tube apart to free it, which took some time and care not to injure the cub inside.” Sondt said, “It cried continuously, hence the mother’s outraged screams. However we did recover it undamaged, and it did not need much encouragement to flee for its mother. They returned to the hills immediately upon its release. I don’t think we’ll see that cub again. Though we have tagged it, as a matter of course. It is cub 467M.”

Amanda wondered at the pride Vulcans took in tagging, tracking and otherwise taking care for these vicious predators. “A boy cub. No wonder it got into trouble. And the litka?”

“Long gone. Sarek, this was not a situation envisioned by the company that created the irrigation system. But covering those tubes with a mesh would prevent litka from entering them, and tempting foolish cubs.”

“That seems a reasonable prevention.”

“Isn’t there some way to keep lematya cubs out of the garden?” Amanda asked.

Sarek shrugged. “The little ones do get through. They are close enough in scanner readings to other Vulcanoid forms that preventing their access would be disruptive to the ecosystem as a whole. And at that stage, they are harmless.”

She shivered. “Their mothers aren’t.”

“She was outside the perimeter.”

“And I bet she was furious enough to breach it, even through the forcefields.”

“There were several guards ready to stun her if she tried.”

“She was a tagged lematya,” Sondt added, “one resident in this area for many years. She was well aware of the perimeter, and no doubt expected her cub to be released. She knew there are no predators within the gardens, and that we would not hurt it. Her screams were mostly frustration that she could not get to it, and because her cub was crying.”

“Amanda, do not be distressed. She will keep that cub far from the gardens, in future. As it should be.”

Amanda sighed. She’d never been quite sanguine about the idea of violent predators outside her door, but it was another part and parcel of life on Vulcan. “Anyone want breakfast?”

Sarek perked up immediately, “Indeed.” Even Sondt looked tempted. She supposed hunting lematya was hungry work.

“I have breakfasted,” Sondt admitted, “but I would take some tea.”

Sarek ate hungrily, and Sondt, lured by his clan leader’s example, succumbed to blueberry muffins. The blueberries were real, but the muffins weren’t what Terrans would consider muffins, as much fruit as batter, and that with no added sweetener. Over the years, Amanda had adapted almost all her recipes to Vulcan tastes, and they had largely become her tastes as well. But today, she sipped tea and watched them, her own stomach still unsettled by nervousness from listening to the lematya’s fury, a mere fence and forcefield from her husband.

Sometimes she wondered if she would ever get used to life on Vulcan.

Hunger appeased, Sarek was looking at her, frowning slightly. Her eye widened a little at that expression that so recently had meant trouble for her.

“You did not eat breakfast, my wife.”

She let out a relieved breath. Freed or not, she had yet to get used to not entirely quailing under her husband’s even slightly disapproving gaze. And today she had errands to run and newly freed as she was, even the thought of going outside the gates, on her own, robbed her of appetite. At times, on the outside, she was fine. And then there were times when the world seemed an awfully big place, and she seemed out of place in it. She reminded herself she’d been released only a few days. She was bouncing back with remarkable speed, a few frowns aside. “I ate while you were freeing the cub.”

Sarek eyed her, knowing her well enough to be entirely unconvinced.

“Scout’s honor.” She put up a hand, lying through her teeth, without a qualm of conscience, since she’d never been a scout. It was either that or have Sarek stand over her until she did eat breakfast. He might have recovered from vrie, but he was still overprotective, and he had developed the idea that she had lost too much weight in the last six months. And had taken to urging her to eat, as if she could make it up in a few days. Well, she had lost a little, but she rather liked it and was in no hurry to gain anything back. Besides, he should look in a mirror and see himself. And she was not nagging him with every bite, something she’d never found an inducement to appetite. “I ate a big breakfast.” Sometime in my life anyway.

Sarek gave her a look askance, not fooled for an instant, but polite enough not to question her veracity before a guest. To her relief, he forbore to pursue the matter. “I must prepare for Council. What are your plans for today, my wife?”

She wondered at the change in her life that Sarek was asking her, with real interest, what she planned to do, when a few weeks ago, she was forbidden to even think of doing almost everything. “I’ve got some meetings at the Academy. School starts in three days.” She shivered a little. “I’m not nearly ready.”

“Of course you are,” Sarek rose. “You will ‘catch up’ as you say, very quickly. You always do.”

Sondt rose too. She’d almost forgotten him. But rather than paying attention to their rather personal conversation, he was regarding the muffins remaining on the serving dish with a nearly wistful gaze. Amanda took pity on him, and wrapping them up, gave them to him before he walked out the door, waving aside his grave sentences of appreciation. Many Vulcans had developed a real taste for Terran foods, particularly low sugar fruit like berries. They’d become something of a fad. But they were prodigiously expensive in commerce. To put it bluntly, even Vulcans had something of a sweet tooth, but found it inconvenient to accommodate. And though he was surrounded by a virtual garden of such, Sondt was like most Vulcans, a stickler for honestly, and probably rarely so much as boosted a berry off a vine. They should have him in for dinner, or at least breakfast, once in a while.

The fortress was something like the Terran equivalent of a historic preservation site and had a staff that maintained it. She’d always left the Vulcan staff to Sarek’s governance, and she had no idea what provisions he had made for their…provisions. Probably none because when the gardens had first begun, Vulcans looked askance at human foods, and no doubt the current staff wouldn’t betray themselves by little more than a glance that things had changed. Perhaps she should talk to Sarek about making sure they had an allotment of the garden produce. It seemed a little unfair for Sondt to be responsible for the Fortress and for him not to have a share of the bounty it produced.

After a moment she dared to say so.

Sarek blinked and looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. And then he nodded, a Vulcan nod, a slight inclination of his head. “You are correct, my wife. I had not considered the staff’s…tastes…might have changed. It was thoughtful of you to consider such. I will see to it.”

She let out a relieved breath, still finding herself surprised that she had her Sarek back, in all respects.

“I must go,” Sarek said, and gave her a questioning look.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. And leaned up and gave him a kiss. “For luck,” she said.

“I did not think it was for logic, my wife,” he teased back. And then took his own leave.

She straightened the kitchen and then flew up the stairs, to change for the Academy. At least today, if she looked a little nervous going out that fearsome gate, she could blame it on lematya.

And at that, she thought, God bless lematya. Perhaps there was something to be said for them after all.

***

On the morning of the Academy’s new term, Sarek woke a few minutes before it was necessary. It was an important day. Today his wife would go back to teaching. Back to her former life in all respects.

He looked down at her with affection…and concern. She had been working too hard. Trying to catch up, and trying too, to leap past the barrier of six months of chattel behavior. And she was succeeding, but it was taking a toll on her. She looked tired, and she was still too thin.

A faint haze of perspiration covered her body and Sarek drew back away from her, to let her cool. She told him often, teasingly, that he was like a furnace. But she still slept curled against him every night, in spite of the warmth of the room and the warmth of his skin. Years ago, he had wanted to air condition the house to human standards, and Amanda had refused, saying she would prefer to acclimate. He had done so anyway, but Amanda refused to use it at all in winter, and kept it on a minimal setting in summer. And acclimate she had – far better than he, in spite of his Vulcan controls.

He drew up a corner of the sheet and ran it across her brow, and down her body, and she sighed, and stretched without waking, a murmur in her throat. And he realized anew she had, even asleep, taking his gesture as a prelude to lovemaking, and became aware himself of the sensual feel of the sheets around him, and shifted, resisting their lure. Today they were cotton velvet, one of his favorites. Not that Amanda had done that deliberately, she alternated them more or less randomly.

It was he who had come to enjoy the feel of the different textures against his skin. But it was Amanda who had innocently introduced him to them….

Stardate 2230.1 Terra

They’d just been married, and he’d been …suffering…that was the only word for it, in the Terran ambient temperature he’d newly imposed on his quarters. To put it bluntly, he had been frozen all day. Outside the Vulcan embassy in Geneva snow had been falling thickly, and the cold damp seemed to permeate even climate controlled buildings. He sometimes wondered why Terrans didn’t have gills, having evolved on a world of mostly water, where water in various forms poured down from the sky, not merely during rainy seasons, or expected periods but at almost daily intervals. A most inhospitable world.

He’d been accustomed, upon a day spent in frigid Terran rooms, to the warm haven of his own quarters after business hours. It had been a sharp physical shock, in spite of his setting the environmental controls himself, to return to rooms as cold -- or even colder, for some of his contacts tried to accommodate Vulcan needs -- than those he had left.

He had only tensed, but Amanda had shivered.

“It’s cold in here. Don’t you feel it?”

He looked down at her, almost too cold to think. “We have been told that sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit is an optimal temperature for humans.”

“Yes, for humans. In business meetings where you’re wrapped up in layers of formal clothing. Aren’t you cold?” She looked at him closely, and her eyes widened. “You’re shivering!”

He drew up, surprised and a little hurt that his own wife would point out a flaw in his physiological control. “I am not.”

“Of all the silly …” she crossed to the environmental controls and turned up the heat with a vengeance. He’d been about to protest and then, as the pure bliss of warmth enveloped him, after a day of holding himself against Earth’s relentless winter, he’d just relaxed into it.

“I thought Vulcans were beyond macho behavior.” She said, coming back to him. “That was singularly stupid, my husband. You don’t need to do that again.”

He eyed her. “Now you will be too warm.”

“Not at all. Humans are infinitely adaptable. I hardly ever use air conditioning in the summer. I hate it. And I don’t like being cold any more than you do. Anyway, if I am going to Vulcan, I had better start adapting now, don’t you think?”

The warmth of the room was clearing his mind, previously so distracted with dealing with physical discomfort and he was able to consider matters more logically. But he was a little confused by her phrasing. “If?”

“Since. When. It was a hypothetical question.”

“There is nothing hypothetical about your going to Vulcan. It is a fact.”

She sighed. “Rhetorical, I meant.”

“Indeed.”

“You should take a hot shower, and go to bed. What good will it do me to marry you, if you die of pneumonia before we even go to Vulcan?”

Finally comfortable, he drew a deep breath and relaxed completely. And looked down at her, amused at the latter. “I am immune to most Terran diseases so that rhetorical question has no bearing. As for the rest…no, to the shower. I still prefer sonics. But, after that…” he reached down and slid a finger down her cheekbone, the lightest of touches. “Yes to bed.”

She blushed, a phenomena he found intriguing, her behavior in regard to this subject equal parts bold and shy. He’d been considerably …apprehensive …about this aspect of their relationship before their marriage. Vulcans did not practice premarital sex. Sarek found the idea of such intimacy outside of a bond impossible. But to take the risky step of bonding without empirical proof of that compatibility had been a leap of faith for both of them.

He had been well pleased with the result. His control had held, and the dreaded specter of harming her not only had not come to pass, but he had …fulfilled her. And himself. He had in fact enjoyed himself, found far more pleasure in mating than he had ever considered possible. The freedom to indulge in that passion, finally and at last, was quite delightful . He almost found it difficult to restrain his passions to attend to his duties. In fact he found the concept of a “honeymoon”, a period where one apparently did nothing but engage in such relations, understandable now, whereas before it had seemed one more example of Terran excesses. He had much to learn of her, and he felt the press of time. He could not be sure when his first Pon Far would overtake him. If he followed the pattern of most Vulcan males, it was probably was no less than a year away. Hardly time to learn her well enough that he felt safe subjecting her to the fever. He would not see her hurt.

After a sonic shower took away the last vestiges of cold, he watched her finish brushing her hair and then come to bed, clad in one of the light gowns she wore at this time. He granted that it was a pretty gown, but he didn’t understand the purpose of wearing a gown to bed, only to have him remove it moments later. And as pleasurable as the events after the removal, and she certainly didn’t resist him as he did so, he didn’t like the unspoken barrier the gown represented. It was unseemly in a wife.

“Perhaps now that the room is warm enough, you will no longer find the need to wear clothing to bed,” he suggested as she settled against him.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Does it displease you?”

Sarek hesitated making an unqualified affirmative. Displease was such a strong word, and not a feeling akin to anything he felt for his wife’s doings. “It is merely…not suitable…for a wife to wear garments in a bed chamber.”

Amanda considered that, eyes wide. “Never?”

Sarek conceded with a raised brow.

“Really.” She was startled at this. I didn’t know. We didn’t talk about this.”

“No. It would never occur to me, it seems such a …nonsensical act.”

“’Please don’t eat the daises’,”[1] she murmured, looking down at her gown. “I guess daisies come in all forms.”

“My wife?”

“Nothing. Just another nonsensical act.”

Sarek felt a touch of relief that the subject had been raised. “Is it taboo in your culture, not to do so?”

She looked up at him. “No. Oh, no. In my culture, pretty much anything goes between consenting adults in private quarters. However, such clothing is common. A traditional gift, both from friends and family to a bride upon her marriage and from husband to wife.” She shrugged one shoulder lightly. “I plead cultural blindness and confess I didn’t even think about it. Human men generally like to see their wives in such clothes.”

“Only to remove them moments later?”

“Yes. Though sometimes they are not removed, just…pushed aside.”

Sarek couldn’t stop an expression of disgust from crossing his face at that image, and Amanda laughed. “You did not say it was a taboo of yours!”

“Not taboo, but I find it incomprehensible to engage in intimate acts wearing clothing.” He was beginning to undo the tiny froglike loops down the front of her gown. She thought to tell him it was unnecessary, easier to pull the gown over her head, but the feel of his hands, the quiet intent as he undid each loop with studied Vulcan concentration stole the breath from her lungs. “These gowns were marriage gifts?”

She shrugged. “Most, yes.” She rolled her eyes, thinking of the teasing behavior of some of her friends when they realized she was really going through with marriage to a logical Vulcan. And wondered who had the joke on whom looking at his dark head bent over his task, crisp curls freer after his shower when he didn’t bother to smooth his hair into accepted Vulcan lines. The sound of his voice that seemed to echo deep inside her, the feel of his strong fingers sliding under each silken loop through the silk of her gown, the burning brand of his bare skin against hers. She had to shake her head to clear it enough to continue her answer. “It is traditional that a bride come with a trousseau of such things. And friends and family provide them – part of the bridal “shower” of gifts. Let us say, I got my share,” she smiled, “most of which I haven’t unpacked.” Given that I only wear a nightgown for about five minutes

“Perhaps, as you will not be needing them,” Sarek finished the last loop with an exasperated air of that’s done, and looked down at her meaningfully, “you can give them back, to be gifted to another.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” She looked up at him, seeing him blink in astonishment at her refusal. “Only because, if I did, people would conclude from such an action that we had found ourselves unsuited. That there was no intimacy between us.”

“They would extrapolate such a conclusion based on --” He was shocked enough to pause in drawing her gown back from her body. “that I do not choose to have you wear clothing to bed? Does human intimacy require it?”

He was clearly astonished at the idea. It was hard for her to remember how she had once thought him inscrutable. Now she could read almost every nuance of his expressions. “No, to the second. But yes to the first. They would think it was because you did not find me desirable.”

“It is the clothing I can do well without, my wife. It is a tedious hindrance to desire. And having indicated my displeasure to such, I trust you will no longer wear such obstacles, however easily disposed of.” He laid her down. “I wonder how humans can consider them a facilitator of desire, rather than the opposite.”

“I won’t anymore. As for humans, they find it difficult to think outside the conventions of their own culture. If I gave the gowns back, or away, they’d draw negative conclusions.”

“You said it was not taboo,” Sarek paused, reminding her, a faint line between his brows.

“It’s not, but even humans who don’t usually wear such clothes to bed find them appropriate and desirable at certain times.”

“And what times are these?”

She sighed. “Romantic times. Honeymoons, wedding anniversaries, Valentines Day--”

“Valentines?”

“A day which celebrates romance between lovers.”

Sarek looked truly pole-axed now, clearly struggling to understand. “And on days such as these, meant to honor intimate relationships, human males prefer their wives…clothed .” He said it slowly, as if somehow that would help clarify the point of view.

She knew she must be going crazy, because she was beginning to share his confusion. “It’s illogical, I know.”

“Indeed.” He shook his head, giving up the subject. “It is not merely humans who find it difficult to think outside their conventions. I find incomprehensible any beings wishing to keep their wives always dressed, even in intimate circumstances.” He drew her under him, slid the offending gown from underneath them both, glad this would be the last time he had to deal with such tedium, and tossed the confection of silk and lace across the room. For all his studied lack of expression, his manner said as plain as day that he was glad he didn’t have to bother with that again. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling outright at his profound relief. “It is not a sentiment I share,” he continued. He ran a hand up her inner thigh, enjoying the feel of a silk that was infinitely preferable, that of her delicate skin.

She drew a sharp breath at the feel of that hand, and didn’t think twice about a future life sans all nightgowns. “You are wicked, my husband.”

He had already learned that word, in this context, meant his wife was delighted and pleased with his ardor. “Very wicked, my wife. Let me show you how much.”

***

The next morning, he came back into their bedroom from taking a priority call and looked at his wife. In spite of the warmth of the room, she was wearing warm and very casual clothes, a heavy knitted sweater, jeans, sneakers. She had pulled her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Next to her were a navy coat, scarf, gloves and a hat that he had never seen before.

“Amanda?”

“Hi. I’m going out. Shopping. Incognito.”

”Indeed.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Why must you be…incognito?”

“To give those press hounds – I looked out and saw there was still a pack of them by the main gate-- the slip. If I go out the back, with the morning shift change, head down, bundled up, no one will be the wiser. I’ve done it before. These are my alternate ID clothes. You’ll never see me go out the main gate, or as me, in these.”

Sarek considered that. Every being had an aura, and as a telepath, Sarek would recognize hers regardless of her clothing. How strange were humans to be so dependent on a limited sense like vision.

“Not that even this disguise will last forever. When summer comes and I can’t bundle up, that will be a new challenge, though I hope and expect they’ll have moved onto other targets by then. Or if some event should bring them back, I’ll think of something else to sneak past them.”

“You speak as if you were some sort of quarry,” he said, puzzled.

“Where have you been all this time?” She looked at him in astonishment, then shrugged. “I suppose you don’t watch the scandal news. Neither do I. But unlike you, I haven’t been living under heavy guard. And I can assure you that I, if not we, have been their bread and butter lately. Meaning that they will sell more news services if they run stories and video about us, or at least me.”

“Why?”

She hesitated, looking at him. “I think that requires a longer discussion than you have time for. And one I’m not sure I can explain too well myself. And as you say, you have meetings. Suffice to say, that as to the nature of the press and myself, your analysis is correct. I am a sort of quarry, for them, right now.”

“Indeed. I was not aware. My encounters with the press while occasionally…unpleasant…have at least been …civilized.” He hesitated, then qualified. “Somewhat. Certainly nothing I would consider requiring a disguise.”

“You deal with the legitimate press. Under very controlled conditions. That’s not the sort that has been after me. But I’ve gotten very good at this these last months. Don’t worry.”

“This is your world, my wife,” he said, a frown between his brows. “I would not presume to tell you how to behave on it.” Though it came to him, watching her as she completed her…disguise, that this was precisely what he wished he could do.

“I’m glad I have such a sensible husband.” She put up her face to be kissed.

He kissed her, wondering why he had the impression she regarded him as just the opposite. And a little wondering at himself, that he had fallen so quickly, and so easily, into this human gesture. In public, in the embassy, in front of Vulcans, she responded appropriately to the two fingered touch of bondmates. They had made no public appearances as bondmates before humans yet, had both been avoiding them. He sensed she was a little shy at the prospect. And before they did, they would have to discuss how to manage them, what behavior was proper. But in private, she was just as likely to wrap her arms around him and hug him Her passions were almost as Vulcan strong as his. At present, in private, it was easier to…kiss her. But there were things he had to explain to her. So many things. He sometimes felt overwhelmed by them, by how he was to acquaint his wife with a culture – and a world – she had not even seen. And in so short a time.

Yet it was easier, for now, to kiss her.

“I’ll be back…oh, early this afternoon. Wish me luck.”

“Luck?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Then wish me logic, my husband. I’m not proud.”

But she was out the door before he could wish her either.

He had forgotten all about her shopping trip when he returned that evening. The rooms were again, blissfully, almost Vulcan warm in spite of the unpleasant sight of more snow falling outside. He found his wife working on her portable computer. She was dressed in very light clothes, and a portable fan blew strands of her loose hair back from her shoulders. She was concentrating so deeply, she had not heard him enter, and he watched her a moment, almost enviously. She was not teaching now, they had been married during an interstice between terms, but she also wrote papers, and prepared in other ways. As had he, for at one time, he too had had an academic career at the Vulcan Science Academy before family duties had required his assumption of his father’s role as diplomat. Diplomacy was not his chosen profession; he bore more than a few regrets for the tedium of his imposed profession over the one he had originally chosen. But then if he had stayed on Vulcan, he would not have met her. On balance, a more than even trade.

He went and ordered a meal. The arrival of it roused her, and she came into the main room of their suite, stretching a little. “Oh good. I am starving. Running from reporters does give one an appetite.”

He paused in beginning his own meal, fixing her with a sharp gaze, a line between his brows, alertness in every line of his body. “You were required to run?”

“I meant figuratively, not literally.” She assured him, though she sensed he was not entirely appeased, looking at her thoughtfully as she continued, “Well, at least not much. I was ingenious enough again to avoid the main crush. But I did get noticed by a few, sneaking back in. I got busted. Caught.” She elucidated.

“Caught.” Sarek frowned.

“Not physically. By the time the recognized me, I was nearly in, and then I did outrun them. But only for a dozen yards or so, and then I was past the security and home free. But that disguise and that tactic, won’t serve me again. I’m going to have to think of something else. And those crazies at the front gate make it even harder. I never cared before what the neighbors would think but they are an unruly group.”

“Neighbors?

“Just an expression. It refers to public opinion.”

“Indeed.” He hesitated, somewhat daunted by her colloquialisms and not quite sure what to make of them. After a moment he shelved his concerns, deciding that based on her blithe manner, she had not been in serious danger. “How went your …shopping?”

“You will tell me that later.”

He glanced at her, not sure what she meant. And abandoned that topic. It was, indeed, sometimes easier to kiss her.

It was not until later, pleasurably anticipating those activities, that he discovered the purpose of her shopping. He had pulled the cover off their bed, and pulled back the top sheet, his hand brushing against the fabric, and he stopped, staring down at it. “What is this?”

“What I went shopping for. In winter, humans do all manner of things to keep warm. I’m surprised that no one mentioned such things to your advance staff.

“Vulcans can control their physiology.”

“Right,” she said, unimpressed. “I think yesterday blasted that little myth. Anyway, I thought some flannel sheets might be in order.”

“These are…flannel?”

“No, actually, I found more than I expected. These are cotton velour. I thought they’d be even warmer.” She ran a hand over them herself. “Like velvet, aren’t they?”

“The texture is very pleasing.”

“I’m glad you like them. They ought to be warm, with a nap like that. And I got fleece ones too, as cuddly as a set of Dr. Denton pjs.”

“What are pjs?”

She smiled. “What I’m not allowed to wear to bed. Pajamas. Nightclothes,” she elucidated. “But with a thick, plush texture. Traditionally used for children.”

“Ah.”

“I got a set of flannel sheets too. You can try them all, and let me know what you like best. And it is a good thing I am not wearing gowns, because these are warm enough that between you and them, I’ll going to be toast by the time the night is over.”

“Toast.” Sarek echoed the word, and shook his head, mystified. “Like the breakfast food?”

“You are so right, my husband. Warmed on both sides.”

He raised his brows at that image, and pulled her down against him. The feel of the velvet against his skin and the silk of her skin against his made him understand something of her reference. And rapidly caused him to lose any desire for control. “Are you sure you purchased these…just for warmth?”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, “Is it like that?” She blushed, smiling. “My motives were pure in intention, my husband. But I admit,” she ran a loose fold of sheet against his skin, causing him to draw himself up to keep some control. “They do have advantages I had not considered in my originally altruistic motives.”

“Indeed. You are wicked as well, my wife.”

“I confess to that, my husband. But I am all yours, so …” she leaned forward and kissed him. “There’s no need to be shy. I don’t bite. At least, not much.” She nipped his lower lip lightly.

It was as if a supernova hit him, the emotions overwhelming him. Still unused to being newly married, newly bonded, and bonded to an emotional human wife, at that, he was unskilled at handling his own emotions in this regard. Certainly not this kind of assertiveness, that was totally uncharacteristic for a Vulcan bondmate. He drew her body under his, took her wrists in one hand, pulling them over her head and pinning her fully, and covered her. He just…barely…avoided taking her as well. With her safely pinned, immobilized, he drew a deep shuddering breath and fought his way through green flame back to some semblance of control.

Amanda was staring at him, utterly astonished. “Whoa!” It was an exclamation, not a command, but it halted him just as effectively even though he didn’t understand the reference. “What did I do?”

He still said nothing for a moment, breathing deeply, striving for the calm to speak to her rationally.

“Sarek?”

“I am sorry, my wife.” He looked down at her, but did not risk releasing her yet. “I did not hurt you, did I?”

“No. Just startled me. What happened here?”

He slowly released the lock he had on her and drew back. She sat up, equally cautiously, rubbing her wrists and eyeing him.

“Vulcans…can respond somewhat…precipitously…in reaction to aggression. Particularly in situation where our emotions have been given some free rein. As with a bondmate.”

“I wasn’t being aggressive, I was just…” her brow cleared. “You mean that little nip?”

He nodded, shamefaced.

She was stunned. “Wow. It is a good thing I didn’t try that--” she drew a deep breath herself. “I am sorry if I frightened you.”

“Amanda.” He shook his head in amazement as such a misconception on her part. He looked down at her small frame and arched an eyebrow “You did not frighten me.” He held her eyes with his, letting her sense the truth of that and she colored again. “It is merely that aggression with a bondmate can trigger aggression in kind.”

“But I wasn’t being aggressive. I was just--”

“I understand. But I am not human male. What would be …safe…to do with a human is not safe with me. I am much stronger than you and have not mastered full control around you yet. You are not a Vulcan female – you are far more …fragile. And you have seen how …volatile.. my reactions can be when I lose control.”

“You didn’t hurt me. And I’m stronger than I look.”

“Nevertheless, a Vulcan bondmate would not choose to risk rousing aggression in her spouse. As I have no wish to hurt you, that is something, you had best not do again – at least not until I am more familiar with my responses to you. It is not how a Vulcan wife would behave.”

She lowered her eyes, considering this, a bit chastened and hurt by the comparison. “That I am not Vulcan should hardly be a surprise to you.”

“Nor do I expect you to behave as such, in most things. But there are some things you should know.”

“We haven’t exactly talked about this. How would one behave?”

He hesitated, considering her. “I had intended…eventually…to show you this.”

“Eventually?” She raised wide eyes to him. “Is it so very different?”

“Not different…so much as-- ” he hesitated, finding it difficult to explain such a private act in words. “If you wish, I will show you now.”

She nodded.

“Lie back. Lie still,” he added. “And just relax.”

“Lie still? And relax?!” She looked up at him in astonishment.

“Precisely.” He watched as she settled into the velvet sheets, hands at her sides, eyeing him. He drew a deep breath, marshalling his control, and reaching down, began a caress, feather light, over her temples, her brows. He had been so…longing…to do this Vulcan style.

In five minutes he had yet to move from the edges of her face. He brushed her cheekbones, the curve of her ears, the tips of her lashes, slowly, with a deep relish, so long had he denied himself this …license… to treat her entirely as a Vulcan woman. Her eyes were wide and she was visibly trembling, her hands no longer relaxed but clenched into fists with the effort not to move. “Sarek,” she whispered.

“Relax,” he murmured, “we have just begun, my wife.”

She whimpered, and before catching the sob in her throat. “Oh…my…god...”

He shook his head, not wishing her to speak, not really hearing her, steeling himself for tracing her lips with his fingers. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from kissing her at that point, his desire torn between Vulcan and more direct human methods. He drew a finger lightly between her brows, between her eyes, down the bridge of her nose, flicking it off the tip. Prepared to move to her lips. And looked down in astonishment as his wife’s tension suddenly broke into giggles as his fingers lifted from the tip of her nose.

“Amanda?”

“I’m sorry.” She drew a deep breath, trying to choke them back.

“Relax, my wife.” He reproved, surprised at her reaction, eying her firmly until she stilled herself. But his curiosity at her unexpected reaction made him repeat the caress. And he watched, dumbfounded while she broke into giggles again, rolling to one side, holding her sides as she laughed out her tension.

“Amanda!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just so incongruous. That particular touch, at such a time as this.”

“Why is it incongruous?” He didn’t understand her, she had certainly felt desire up until this point. He had been pleased and relieved at that.

“For humans, it is something a parent might do to tease a child, or even a lover, but as a sort of … teasing reproof. It’s not an …an amorous touch. Not such as you were intending.”

“Indeed. Amanda, I thought we had agreed—“

“I’m sorry. I’ll try again.” She lay back, hands back at her sides, not relaxed but at least lying quietly, forcing her face to some sort of composure. Which did not last. He no sooner raised his hand, not even touching her, when she descended into giggles.

He dropped it, frustrated. And then became amused himself, watching her laugh herself out. “You are impossible, my wife. A child would have better control.”

“A child is right. If you treat me like one, what do you expect? I thought I was doing pretty well, until that. It makes me feel about five years old.” She sat up, and wiped the tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Come, let’s try again. I do want to be a--” her lips twitched, “a proper Vulcan wife.” She broke into laughter, and rolled to one side again, shaking her head. “Oh, my god. I never expected this. Do I have to lay still while you tickle me, too?”

“I think not,” he said dryly.

She looked up at him, stricken. “Oh, don’t be mad. Look, I’ll be serious. Honestly.” She lay back down, her lower lip between her teeth, as if ready to nip herself if she laughed again.

“Amanda.” He shook his head in exasperation. “Not that serious.”

“I didn’t mean to break the mood.” She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissed each fingertip, while he drew a sharp breath. She looked up at him. “It was…quite a mood.”

“My moods are not so easily broken,” he traced her lips with his finger, then drew her under him, giving himself up to that near equal pleasure, reveling in the feel of the velvet sheets under him and that of her in them, under him. He looked down at her. “And anger is most definitely not what I feel for you, my wife. We will try it again. But not tonight. Between these sheets, your nip and this,” he touched his finger to the tip of her nose, half smiling at her renewed smile. “I do not have the …patience…tonight, to see you properly instructed in such behaviors. After all, we have plenty of time.”

“Ummm,” she wrapped her arms around him, human style. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Not yet this evening,” Sarek murmured. “But words are so…inadequate… for such sentiments.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps you might show me.” He flicked a finger off the tip of her nose. “Sans…giggles.”

***

When he woke the next morning, the first thing that came to him, beyond the utter joy of feeling her against him, was the sensuous feel of the velvet against his skin. He didn’t wait for her to awaken naturally, but kissed her awake, and before she was even fully awake, had drawn her under him and made love to her. Defiantly human style. At times like these, he didn’t care one whit for Vulcan traditions, or Vulcan necessities and he banished, at least for the moment, the specter of Pon Far to some distant, far distant, and irrelevant future.

“Wow,” Amanda said, when he had finished both of them, and she was catching her breath. “To what do I owe that, after my fiasco last night?”

“To you.” Sarek kissed her again, then drew back reluctantly. “I have meetings today,” he half growled, and went to shower and dress.

She laughed. “Maybe we should have taken a real honeymoon.” She called to him, and lay back lazily.

He came back from his shower, studying her curiously. “I remind you that you have not married a human. A month of such mornings would not still my passion.”

“Lucky me,” she sat up. “So you liked my gift?” she flung aside the sheet.

“Very much.”

“So do I. I prefer not to see my husband a lime popsicle in the morning.” She laughed again as if at some private joke, and shook her head. “I am wicked. Well, I’ll put the fleece ones on for tonight. You might like those even better. Seeing as how we were both behaving rather like five year olds at one point last night, fleece is definitely what we need.”

“I had no idea humans had developed such a variety of bed coverings,” Sarek said, watching her change the sheets. He came over and ran a hand, eyes widening, over the replacement. And looked down at her, her limbs still bare, skin flushed, from his recent attentions. “If I had not meetings, I would not wait for tonight. We still have some …unfinished business in that regard.”

“Humans are ingenious.” She eyed him. “But I think Vulcans aren’t far behind us. I can’t wait.”

“Indeed.” Sarek tore his eyes from her, and lowered them to the sheet under his fingertips. “Which do you prefer, my wife?”

“Which--” For a moment she was flabbergasted and then she connected their two disparate conversations. “Oh, you meant the sheets.” she blinked, “At home, I mostly have jacquard.”

“This is your home,” Sarek said, frowning slightly. “Now.”

“I meant,” she shook her head. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes.” He put her disquieting remark down to the imprecision of the language. “What is jacquard?”

“A weaving process, where patterns are woven into a damask like fabric. Heavy cotton, silk or satin. Floral, geometric, stripe. They’re very soft, but you can feel the patterns against your skin.”

“Indeed.” Sarek considered this, brows rising, intrigued. “Interesting. I would like to try your choice as well. Your first was certainly …warmer. Much warmer.”

She turned to him, astonished at his play on words, something he was not known to do. He raised an eyebrow archly.

“You are very wicked, my husband.”

“Indeed.” He kissed her again, then put her from him reluctantly. “Go shopping. Get one of each.”

Her laugh was cut short by a summons at the outer door of their suite. Sarek went to answer it, and Amanda went to shower and dress.

With another shopping trip in mind, and mindful of fact she might need to outrun a few paparazzi, she’d dressed in jeans and sneakers again, was brushing her hair, trying to think of a good way to disguise herself, and thinking with some amusement, the best disguise would be as a Vulcan, when Sarek came back in. He glanced at her, and said, “Amanda, can you come with me? This concerns you.”

She followed him, to discover two Federation Security officers out there. They rose when she entered. One appeared brash and direct, complete with military swagger. The other gray and silent, thin and nondescript, had the appearance of a clerk.

After they were introduced, she asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“I understand you went out of the Embassy compound yesterday.”

She stared at him, not mistaking the touch of hostility in his manner. And she thought she understood its cause. She’d discovered very few people were…neutral to what she had done. Some regarded her marriage to Sarek as if it were some sort of ultimate Cinderella story. Those people could at times be tiresome, but were not really a problem. Some regarded her with shock and disdain, as if there were something wrong with her. And some human men regarded her as if her choosing a Vulcan was an affront to all human men, a sort of cultural traitor. She’d developed a kind of radar for these attitudes, and she sensed he was one of those. “I hardly think that is any of your concern.”

“Actually, it is. Very much so. We’ve gone through quite a crush assembling your security detail, but it isn’t quite ready yet. We’d appreciate it if you stayed in the compound until it is. And never again pull any of the kind of tricks you did yesterday.”

“What do you mean, tricks?” her eyes narrowed.

“Evading Federation Security is a serious matter. We understand you’re …young,” his eyes roved over her jean clad figure, and gave Sarek a look as if it confirmed him a cradle robber while she bridled, “and this is all very new to you but believe me, it is best if you cooperate and work with us in the future. Your team has been hand picked, the lead comes highly recommended, pulled off the detail for the Federation president’s daughter. But we can’t help you if you deliberately circumvent us.”

“Now wait just a minute. With all due respect to the President’s daughter, you can give her favorite guard back to her. I don’t want him.”

“Her. Carry Phillips. She’s in some final training, but should be here tomorrow afternoon. She’s fully qualified, trained in twelve different martial arts,--”

“Good for her. I won’t be needing them. Or her.”

The officer frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree.”

“I think you must be confused. I’m not a diplomat. I’m just a teacher.”

“And now also the wife of a Federation Ambassador.”

She drew up a little. It came to her, to everyone in the room, that she hadn’t quite looked at herself in that light.

“Surely you must have been aware that would be a benefit of your decision. The attention, the clamor, those are the positives.”

”You consider the media frenzy that’s surrounded me any sort of benefit? I consider it far rather the reverse.”

“If you really don’t like it, then you should welcome our assistance. And you will need it for the true negative side of all this, you are also now a target.”

“If I needed help with the press, it would have been before I got married, when they were camped out forty deep outside my door. And as for scaring me with words like target, all I can say, is that I’ve been dealing with all this for months. It is a little late to pop up now and start playing the heavy.”

“Technically, we’re only responsible for providing security for Federation level dignitaries and their dependents. We have no legal responsibility for …fiancés.”

She bristled at that. “Thank heavens for red tape. I managed just fine dealing with the press who hounded me night and day, the calls and messages from sickos who wanted to tie me down and kill me slowly, to make me appreciate the error of my ways--”

Giletti flinched. “If you ever get any more messages like that, you need to let us know.”

“It’s sweet of you to care,” she shot back. “Now. But as I said, a little late.” She rose. “I’m sure, being so highly placed in Federation Security, you can find your own way out.”

“Amanda.”

Sarek had been so quiet, she had forgotten he was there. She started as her put a hand on her shoulder, the other on her wrist, drawing her back down into a chair. Then stood behind her, placing the other hand on her shoulder, and left both of them there, casually and effectively trapping her under his hands. He so rarely touched her in public, his gentle restraint now was as effective as a forcefield. “I think we should listen to this further.”

“Thank you, Ambassador.” Giletti drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid this is not negotiable. Federation Security is now responsible for your safety. And you will need to--”

The overbearing manner short-circuited her temper. “Are you not hearing what I am saying? Are we not speaking English?” She looked from Giletti to Sarek. “I’ll say it in whatever language I need to. And it’s non-negotiable to me too. The answer is no. No overbearing phaser-toting Federation G-man is going to follow me around and tell me what I can and can’t do!”

“Look, you can cooperate or you can’t, but we are dealing with credible threats, here.” Giletti was exasperated. “Credible threats. Your” he swallowed whatever word he’d almost used, “situation has created a whole new security issue for us, one we’ve yet to completely evaluate. We’re used to dealing with anti-Federation humanists, but not with this new anti-miscegenistic element. And it’s taking us a little time to get up to speed. And sneaking out of the compound--”

“Sneaking!”

“My officers will still be responsible for you no matter how you behave. Even if you don’t give a damn for your own life, I resent it if your behavior gets one or more of them killed.

She drew a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

“I said credible threats.”

“What sort of threats?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“It’s my life they’re threatening and you can’t tell me?”

“You don’t have the security clearance.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Oh, for -- Is this Alice in Wonderland or are we in the real world?”

“Believe me, this is real.”

She stared at him, and shook her head. “You expect me, without any evidence, without knowing a thing about you, to let you dictate to me how I’m going to live? That’s not my nature.”

He looked, just briefly, from her to Sarek. “It would seem that it is.”

She rose, shrugging off Sarek’s hands on her shoulders, furious. “That’s enough. This interview is over.”

“Damn it--”

The other security guard suddenly rose. Giletti flushed and abruptly subsided, while the other looked at her straightforwardly. “Dr. Grayson. Forgive my colleague. Please. Sit down.”

She had at first taken this silent man for a clerk, a subordinate, but now he’d changed his aura from a cipher to one of command. Now it was the colleague who subsided, flushed and embarrassed, while the other dominated the room, from dark to light, like a flaring star. That he could switch modes so quickly, and so absolutely marked him as an experienced, high level security analyst. An agent. And his attitude was professionally reserved – he might have shared his colleagues disdain of her, but if he did no one would know of it. Perhaps not even himself. A consummate security agent, soldier, spy. She didn’t find that reassuring, in fact, she was less comfortable in his presence than in his colleague’s, whom she could despise. She was well aware she was out of her element here.

“Amanda.”

Sarek’s voice. She flinched, having almost forgotten him, glanced from him to the agent, saw he was in agreement on this. A look passed between Sarek and this man, once of meaning, and she realized they were acquainted, indeed in league on this. She found herself letting Sarek draw her back down to her seat, his hands once again firmly on her shoulders. She looked up, feeling suddenly beleaguered. Surrounded on all sides. And she wasn’t just out of her element, she was out of her league.

“I don’t want a guard.” She’d meant to sound firm, and was shocked at how that it came out half plaintive. She looked up at the men standing over her, none of whom she’d known three months before, and now who were all telling her how to live her life. Perhaps Giletti had a point. She shifted slightly under her husband’s hands. As if recognizing her unease, Sarek moved to sit beside her, taking her hand. He almost never did that in public. She looked down at her hand in his, looked at him, and then back up, as the other agent almost moved to sit across from her.

“Dr. Grayson. My colleague misspoke. Federation level protection isn’t meant to restrict your freedom. Not at all. Merely to ensure your safety.”

She swallowed hard and tried to ease her hand out from Sarek’s, well aware his culture didn’t approve of such in public. He didn’t let go. She drew a breath and tried to calm herself, deal with the situation rationally. “Perhaps that’s the intent. I suspect the reality is quite different.”

Revierre continued. “Certainly, there will be some…new considerations. Concessions. You have been dealing with some of that already, and it’s admirable how well you have dealt with it, given you have no training and no experience. And while so far your….efforts…have been largely successful, some of the groups we are dealing with are not amateurs. And I am sure you appreciate – certainly your husband would – that your safety deserves more than your sole amateur efforts. Eventually you will get caught. You were almost caught yesterday, and in a manner that …deeply concerned some of our security staff. You were …fortunate.”

Sarek’s fingers tightened on hers and he gave her a sharp, accusing look. She flushed.

“To be caught even by the paparazzi press can be a frightening and dangerous experience. Yet bad as that could be for you, we are concerned with far more than that.”

She looked down, feeling mulish. “As I said, it’s a little late. The press have been after me for months. And for weeks, it has been pretty intense. I’ve managed.” She looked up. “I don’t need Federation Security riding in on a white horse now.”

“We owe you an apology for our late response to your situation. It hasn’t come up before, and unfortunately we answer to a bureaucracy, and that can be slow to respond to new circumstances. However, we now have appropriate measures ready to implement. And as a dependent to a Federation Ambassador you now do come under our jurisdiction.”

“I’m not a dependent.”

“I apologize if you find the wording offensive. Anything but the principle,” he glanced at Sarek, “is categorized as such. Regardless of the wording, as a spouse of a Federation level ambassador, you are covered by such protection, whenever you are not on your home world, or on assignment.”

“I am on my home world.”

“In this case, that means Vulcan.”

She flushed at that, so taken aback she almost missed his next words.

“Your security detail is required to protect you, regardless of the choices you make.”

“You’re saying you have to protect me, even if I tell you that I don’t want that protection?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m still a Federation citizen. Don’t I have any civil rights in this?”

“Your civil rights aren’t being violated by having Federation protection. It isn’t meant to compromise your freedom..”

“As far as I’m concerned, it does.”

“Your protection detail isn’t meant to prevent you from living your normal life.”

“What kind of a normal life can I live, surrounded by guards?”

“What kind of a normal life are you living now?” He asked, and when she drew up at that, he said, “Tagged by fifty, a hundred, paparazzi? Even though those are the least of our concerns, you will need help having any freedom of movement now. They are on to your tricks. They’ve staked out all the entrances to the embassy, and at least for now, they aren’t going away.”

Amanda took back her hand from Sarek, lowering her head.

“Dr. Grayson. Your detail will deal with the paparazzi. You don’t need to worry about that any longer. And in general, you won’t find your movements too constrained by the necessities of Federation level protection. However, we are professionals,” he glanced briefly at his associate, “most of us, and there are times when we will… make recommendations that we strongly urge you to take into consideration. Such as when we receive credible threats. I can assure you, Dr. Grayson, that this is one of those times.” He hesitated, watching her struggle with this unwelcome news. “Probably as you say, one of those rare times. Right now you are in the media’s eye, and such attention attracts all types of notice, some unwelcome. But you’re well aware that the media’s attention – and probably these other unwelcome interests – probably will move on. Consider taking a little precaution now, knowing that it hopefully won’t be required at this level in the future.” He studied her a moment. “I’m afraid if you choose to disregard those recommendations, we’re required to protect you regardless.”

“You mean I can’t say no?”

“You can, certainly. But it will just make our jobs more difficult. You will get the protection, regardless.”

“Oh,” Amanda closed her eyes a moment, daunted by the prospect. How had her love, her marriage, come to this – being shadowed by guards where ever she went.

“Amanda?”

She looked up at Sarek and saw concern in his eyes. She’d forgotten he could sense something of what she was feeling through the bond, particularly when he’d had her hand in his. Not even her thoughts were her own anymore. She lowered her gaze, unhappy and resentful, and not willing to go into this with him before these guards. She looked over at them. “I need some time to consider this.”

“Of course.” Revierre rose. “However, I would request,” he stressed the last word, “that if you intend to leave the compound today, you obtain an escort.” He held up a hand as she drew a sharp breath. “I assure you the inconvenience will be slight.” Seeing her subside, he added, “And tomorrow, if you would allow it, we could introduce you to your team. Once you’ve met them --”

“Whoa.” She put up a hand. “I never said--”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make a final decision without having all the facts.”

“You are railroading me.”

“I don’t think anyone could do that.” He glanced at Sarek, and then back to her. “As you say, you need time to consider.” He rose. “A great pleasure meeting you, Dr. Grayson. Ambassador, I’ll see you this afternoon to go over those reports.” They walked out of the room together.

“What reports?” she asked, when Sarek returned.

“My wife?”

“What reports is he going to go over with you?”

“Amanda--”

“Is it something about me? What do you know that you are not telling me?”

“Amanda, you do not, yet, have the security clearance for what you are asking.”

She sighed. “This is a nightmare.” She looked at him. “Did you know about this?”

“Until this morning? No. But I have found Revierre to be a thoughtful and intelligent associate and am willing to accept his assessment.”

“What about his friend?”

“Him I have not met before. No do I much care to continue the acquaintance. He seems ineffective at his position as well. Perhaps I shall have him removed.” He considered it briefly, then flicked an eyebrow. “Yes, I see I must arrange it. His behavior and attitude appear at odds with the importance of his position.”

She glanced up at that, startled. Sarek looked thoughtful, he didn’t seem to find his statement amiss as she did.

“The importance of his position?”

He looked down at her, and though his look was calm, even affectionate there was something in his gaze that chilled her. “Guarding you.”

“I don’t need to be guarded, Sarek.”

“Apparently, there are violent factions on your world that make that necessary, my wife. I am sure every effort will be made to lessen the onerous nature of the requirement. But guarded you shall be.”

She drew a breath at that. Her husband was so kind and gentle, in general, that she always found the casual authority he could and did summon to be something of a shock. She eyed him, newly reminded of it. And him. “I didn’t mean to leave you out of the decision in there, to ignore you. Their attitude just,” she swallowed the words she would have chosen, “upset me. But I’m not willing to be left out of this decision either.”

“Giletti’s arguments were poorly and insultingly put. However, the situation does seem to require an appropriate response.”

She looked at him, her heart sinking. “I don’t need this. I can be careful. I will be careful. I promise.”

“Indeed you shall.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Her brows knitted together. “Look, I thought you told me you’re weren’t going to dictate how I behaved on Earth.”

He raised in eyebrow, looking at her. “We were then discussing behavior. Not safety.”

“I don’t think it’s fair you suddenly putting conditions on that statement after the fact.”

He merely looked amused. “Do you consider that statement a treaty of sorts?”

“Well, who better to have one with?”

Sarek considered her a moment. “I will review the relevant reports, and let you know of my conclusions.”

“What about my conclusions? Don’t I have a say in this?”

“In this case, a limited one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As some of the information is classified, you will not have the relevant facts on which to base an appropriate conclusion.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“Perhaps not, but it seems unavoidable at the moment. Amanda, no one is saying that your freedom will be restricted. You will merely have attendant security.”

“To me that is a restriction.”

“You will have to get used to it.”

She looked mulish. “I’m not sure I can.”

“You will have practice, then, to learn such acceptance.”

She stared at him, and he looked back, no compromise in his manner. It was her first experience on the receiving end of the indomitable will she knew her husband possessed. He might as well have given her an order. It certainly felt like one. Part of her told herself she should fight this battle now, or she’d set an uncomfortable precedent. She’d agreed to his right to make certain…inviolate…demands in their marriage, but this wasn’t one of them. She shouldn’t let him think he could order her about whenever he chose.

But part of her shied away from the thought of their first real argument. Fight. She was strong-willed, stubborn, perhaps, but she didn’t think of herself as contentious. She hated the very idea of a big row, so soon into their marriage. And certainly none of this was Sarek’s fault. It was her own people, humans, who were creating this problem for her, not Sarek. She pushed the thought of a fight away as too painful. If she was setting an uncomfortable precedent, so be it. “Maybe, when you review the reports, they won’t be so bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, then hesitated and said, “I doubt that irrelevant concerns will be brought to my attention, but I suppose there is some slight chance of that.”

She sighed. At least nothing had been decided yet. “He was right about one thing. I wasn’t really thinking any of this would apply to me. I mean, the press, yes, and the attendant crazies, but not,” she looked puzzled. “Not the political ramifications. I mean,” she looked at Sarek, for confirmation from him at least of this truth, “I’m not a diplomat. What can any of this have to do with me?”

“You are my wife.”

“Mmm.” She thought about that, unhappily. “I suppose I am tarred with the same vile brush. No don’t ask, it’s an old colloquialism. I have to stop using those around you. I confess it never occurred to me that marrying a diplomat would make me part of the club. That it would have political ramifications for me. I suppose that was,” she shook her head, “singularly stupid of me. Particularly of me.” She looked up at him. “They say doctors make the worst patients. And I am not thrilled at the notion that my personal life is going to start having political and …social…overtones.”

Sarek frowned. “Amanda, this issue of security is a minor one. Provided the agents do their jobs, it should merely be an annoyance. Not a serious constraint.”

“It doesn’t seem minor to me. Nor does the rest of it.” She sighed. “I certainly wasn’t expecting it.”

He merely looked at her. “I share your belief in one respect, Amanda. It is, as you say, a little late to impose conditions.”

Amanda colored. “I not saying I regret our marriage. I’m just frustrated with myself for not thinking of all the ramifications. When we married we concentrated so much on the personal issues, we, or maybe I, never considered there would be others. As I said, singularly stupid, particularly of me. I’m just not used to considering myself in the equation. Being so …close…to the situation requires a certain change in perspective.”

Sarek studied her a moment, non-plussed. “I find myself somewhat…disquieted, Amanda, that you would have such a violent emotional reaction to such a minor consideration.”

“You think this is a violent emotional reaction? Sarek, you’ve seen me in a temper.”

“Indeed. I am not referring to external expressions of temper. I refer to your internal distress.”

She colored again. Through the marriage bond, he was now more aware of her emotions, could sense at least something of what she was feeling. It was a violation of privacy that she also hadn’t quite gotten used to. Was not sure she ever would. Frankly the healers who’d instructed her on Vulcan marriage had emphasized so much the physical requirements of marriage to a Vulcan, Pon Far and everything that went with it, they’d overlooked what to a human was even more daunting, the telepathic and emotional bond. Perhaps they assumed being relatively psi-null compared to a Vulcan, it would not matter to her. Or perhaps they thought humans were so blatant in their emotions and expressions that they had no privacy to violate. She could have told them far otherwise.

Sarek had told her he wasn’t a very strong telepath, by Vulcan standards, and the few mind touches they’d tried before their marriage hadn’t seemed so daunting. It wasn’t the aspect of telepathy that bothered her, the kind that was clear and definite, that started with his hands on her and ended with when he took them off her. It was that now, he didn’t have to touch her. That after their bonding, there was no clear cut boundary between them anymore. Merely by concentrating he could get, not actual thoughts, per se, that seemed to require touch, but her emotions, and some gist of her thoughts.

Sarek spoke of it easily to her, after they were bonded, as if it were nothing special and she tried not to dwell on it. Losing even that privacy of mind, losing control over that aspect of herself was not something she was sanguine about. But Sarek didn’t dwell on it either. It wasn’t as if she heard his voice in her head all the time, felt possessed or anything of the sort. Sarek had long ago told her that Vulcans revered privacy, that even between bondmates, privacy was not to be violated. That had eased some of her fears about the bond. But that also meant she had to keep her own barriers up to ensure her privacy, and she wasn’t facile at such shielding yet. Though she’d been assured it would soon be reflexive and she’d learn to lower her barriers only at will. Sarek’s occasional …perceptions of her emotions and her thoughts were relatively rare occurrences, ones she chose not to call him on. If Sarek noted she had any unease at that, he gave no sign. They were still so tentative with each other in many areas. Both of them knew they had so much to learn in this marriage.

Proving he sensed something of what she was thinking, Sarek continued, “Amanda, there will be…many issues in our marriage that will require some compromise. Including unequal compromise. It is not something of which you were unaware and I am …disheartened that a point of contention has arisen so soon.”

“It’s the idea of guards that bothers me, not compromising.”

“We are compromising about guards.”

“I didn’t think we were compromising at all.”

A ghost of a smile touched Sarek’s mouth. “Do you think me a tyrant, to impose my will arbitrarily?”

Her eyes narrowed, a little upset by his tacit betrayal. “I thought you and your Federation security pals were getting very chummy there.”

“Chummy?”

“Giving each other the secret handshake. Ready to take a house by the sea together.”

He fought harder to control that hint of a smile, and only partially succeeded. Shaking his head slightly in amusement. “I believe I am beginning to understand some of your colloquialisms. I am relieved you find some humor in the situation. Your conclusions, however, are inaccurate. As I think you do know. I am not in league with them against you. Further, this issue and the relevant security requirements should only be a temporary situation, while are on Terra. It should quickly pass.” Then he flicked an eyebrow. “However, we will not always be on Terra. And elsewhere, there may be other issues you will have to deal with.”

“I realize that.” She was still coming to terms with it, with committing herself, not just to marriage, but to life on a world she had never seen, and within a society she did not know. A life of perhaps more unequal compromises, however couched they were for her own good. There were times she almost understood the incredulity with which people like Giletti regarded her. She looked up at Sarek, seeing him not as Sarek but as a Vulcan, an alien. It was harder and harder to cast aside the veil of her familiar husband to see that he was also that, too. And one who had no qualms about issuing orders, even politely couched. And all that could be …daunting. She drew an unhappy breath. “As long as I’m not the sole person making the compromises and dealing with the issues.”

“Do you believe I am sanguine that my attentions to you have antagonized those on your world to the extent that they threaten your life?”

She lowered her eyes. “No.” She admitted that probably frightened him more than it did her – being Vulcan he was less used to violent crazies.

“Apart from my regard for you, your life is as important to me as my own. You are my bondmate. Our lives are now …inextricably tied.”

She looked up at him. “Sarek, if something …happened to me, you’d be all right. Wouldn’t you?”

“It is possible to survive a bondmate’s death. Not always. And sometimes hardly desirable.”

She drew a breath at that. “I didn’t know that. Sarek --”

He reached out and touched her face with his hand, tracing her cheekbone, palm warm against her cheek, before drawing it away. “There is much for you to learn.

“I’m beginning to fully appreciate that.” She had yet to even begin to understand him, and she wondered at his choice, to caress her cheek now. He rarely touched her during the day, outside of the two fingered touch. Or holding her hand – unVulcan as it was, she’d found it hard not to take his hand or arm at times, and he allowed it. Though she felt his surprise when she did so, and she tried to curb that impulse. It wasn’t so much that he resisted her touching him, as he seemed to hold himself in check against touching her, except in private. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he didn’t let himself. She was still trying to reconcile the two Sareks in her mind, the formal Sarek of the day who kept to Vulcan conventions, and the Sarek of their private quarters who couldn’t keep his hands off her. Both were Sarek, and both seemed a contradiction in terms, if you didn’t understand them. And she knew so little of him, or he of her. If she were Vulcan, and had just tied her life, as she understood Sarek had tied his, to a quixotically emotional human female, she’d be terrified. Knowing his biology, she was still amazed at the level of trust he had in her, to so willingly put his life in her hands.

He dropped his hand. “Now however, is not the time. I still have meetings. Amanda…you will heed the directives of Federation security detail? I do not say you cannot leave the compound. But you will take the protection they offer.” It was and was not a question. It was and was not a demand. He looked at her expectantly.

Trust was the coin they had to pay in, both of them, for this marriage to succeed. For a last moment she resisted the tacit demand in his voice, his tone, his manner, his eyes that expected her acquiescence. And then she lowered her gaze, uncomfortable still, but slowly nodded.

For a moment he regarded her, non-plussed. Then he reached out, and briefly caressed her cheek. “Yes means yes, Amanda.”

She looked up, astonished. He slid fingers under her chin, raising her face a little more, his eyes meeting hers. Not expectation in his eyes, but a demand. “Yes …means yes.”

There was nothing tacit about that demand.

“I agreed, didn’t I?”

Sarek frowned, not at her, but in frustration. “You have not said so.” He shook his head a little, “English is a most imprecise language. It has no emphatic mode. Amanda. This is important to me. I would think to you as well. Therefore, I would hear you say it.”

“All right then. Yes. I agree.” She eyed him, a trifle resentfully. “Happy now?”

“I am pleased.” He seemed completely sanguine, not at all put out by her resentment.

Alarmed that he might take this as an unconditional surrender, she shook her head, sliding free of his possessive hand. “I agreed, for today only. Then I want to discuss it further. After you’ve reviewed the reports. And…” she sighed and relented, “After I meet the agents.”

He seemed merely amused at her conditions. “Logical, my wife. But given that this may not happen entirely in a day, you will agree to protection until such a discussion and decision has been reached to our mutual agreement.”

She looked at him. He waited for her reply, seemed completely sanguine that she’d accept these new conditions, as if he’d never had any doubts she would acquiesce.

It struck her anew, standing across from her very Vulcan husband, that now she was a Vulcan citizen herself. On an Earth which even her unwanted Federation security guards no longer considered her home planet.

Only a few weeks ago, she’d been single, had never met a Vulcan, never known one. And now she was one half of an unlikely alliance, that had infuriated enough humans that they were willing to kill her for her daring to marry outside of her species. She not only had the Vulcan husband, she had the Federation security guards to prove it.

And a virtual command from her husband that she agree to that protection, until he agreed otherwise. “You’re saying I have to do this until you agree that I don’t.”

“Do you think I would continue this, past need?”

“You tell me. I’m not sure my definition and your definition are going to be entirely in synch here. And I have a feeling I’m not going to come our ahead.”

He merely looked at her, brows raised in innocent astonishment. “A feeling, my wife?”

“Oh,” She debated whether to argue with him about this, and then suddenly tired of a disagreement she hadn’t even started. That was making her feel shrewish and unreasonable, in the face of his apparent innocent concern. Not that she didn’t have her suspicions about that. She wasn’t entirely psi-null. Most humans weren’t. And a bond worked two ways. He certainly didn’t like the idea of her being the focus of animosity, and he didn’t much care for Federation Security, but there was something about this whole issue of her being guarded she felt he was relieved about. And in no hurry to see end. But looking at his innocent countenance, she felt suddenly unsure again. Who was she kidding, trying to pierce through her husband’s shields. She didn’t know anything, for sure, she was totally out of her depth in all of this. And as much as she resisted the necessity, she acceded to that fact, however unpleasant. “All right. I’ll do it. Yes.” She emphasized the word he’d previously demanded. “I give in. Capitulate. Throw in the towel. You win this one. Unconditionally. Whatever you and they want. I’ll do it.”

“This is hardly something I want, my wife.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t approve. You know you do. I know you do. If you hadn’t, you would have chucked that pair right out of here before even calling me.”

Sarek just looked at her, neither confirming nor denying it. She wondered at his ability to help her make his choices – the decisions he wanted her to make, the choices for her that favored his own views -- seemingly without saying a word to her. He was getting frighteningly good at that. And she found it a little daunting that he never argued with her, that as a diplomat, whose sole tool was words, he never wore her down with them. He could just look at her and somehow, uncannily, his unspoken arguments overcame hers, and she’d fold. And he was right about one thing. It was hard to argue with someone who didn’t argue back.

“Some day you’ll have to tell me how you manage that.”

“My wife?”

“Get me to agree with you without saying a word.”

Sarek half smiled as if she amused him. “I am doing nothing my wife, but giving you time to reach your own logical conclusions.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced. “Just one thing.”

“Yes?” Teasing her in turn with the very word he’d demanded from her. She could tell it from his arch tone, from the expression, however faint on his face. She would have smiled, but she was in no mood, no temper, for humor

“Please tell me that at least there are no guards on Vulcan.”

Sarek drew a breath at that, hesitated. Then, unknown to her at the time, he settled for the emphatic rather than the literal truth. “My wife, such hostilities as you are experiencing here are entirely unknown on my world. Vulcan has been at peace for 5000 years.”

She sighed in relief. “I guess that’s something.”

***

But after he left, she felt uneasy. She went to the windows, looking out behind the curtains at the press ranged outside, and behind them, a host of what she’d come to call crazies, those opposed to non-human membership in the Federation, and the worst of those, the ones outraged at the idea of a interspecies marriage.

“Look at what the neighbors think,” she muttered.

She did think them crazy. But in truth, what they were was frightened. Fearful of the unknown. And however little she thought of them, lately she’d come to some understanding of that attitude.

She’d been faced with the prospect of a similar, if far more personal, alliance. And she had a few fears of the unknown herself. In fact, she sometimes felt a striking sympathy with them on that chord, much as she loathed the violence and hatred that accompanied their fear.

She’d wrestled, debated, fought with her own fears and doubts on that issue of trust.

Sarek had made up his mind long before she had made up hers. She had felt some pressure on that regard, though he had not actually pressed her, at least, not until the end. She had just felt it, knowing he was waiting for her to make her decision. Every day she delayed felt obscurely like a day she had committed, at least in Sarek’s eyes. She had, after all, not yet said no. And every day she had understood a little more what living with him would be like, so calm, so in control, and even worse, so devastatingly able to get exactly what he wanted. As if he had only to wait, and she would come to him. Rather amused that it was taking her so long, that she was so…slow, so obtuse, but willing to be patient. She knew he had never been that sanguine about it, but he could certainly give that impression. That supercilious patience had tested her temper more than once.

And she had just experienced it once again. She had to admit, sometimes her husband’s calm sense of entitlement set her teeth on edge.

While she was still deciding on marriage, she’d had a few rebellious rows with him, frustrated at her own indecision and tension, just to test his ability to deal with her temper. She’d stormed out of the embassy more than once, taken off in her aircar with a burst of fuel and a breaking of all the traffic laws. But she felt, knew if she cared to think about it, that Sarek had seen through her behavior for what it really was. As fear, a need to put distance, a final futile resistance to the acquiescence he knew was coming. And if not condoning her behavior, had at least understood it. Was willing to overlook it. Sure in the knowledge that eventually she’d come to the conclusion he’d already reached. That he’d get what he wanted. Her.

And he’d been right. He had.

She had the feeling he expected that he always would. In everything. It was an odd thing to think, but she suspected, knew if she cared to really think about it, that he must have lived a very sheltered life, at least in some respects. She didn’t know much of Vulcan society, but she knew it had various castes and he was highly placed in the highest caste. Among his aides, associates, the rest of the embassy staff, his voice, his manner was understated, but his requests were invariably taken as orders and always obeyed. And if he was even slightly displeased, his voice got an edge to it, barely there, but discernable to her. And then his associates rushed even more so to correct whatever the flaw.

He’d had the same expectations with her. Perhaps he had a little concern, in that she was human, and not fully predictable, and he certainly was more than patient with her inevitable …resistance. But she felt he still expected she’d acquiesce. Knowing he had that calm expectation, that sense that her agreement was inevitable had both frustrated and frightened her. The more she had come to know him, to feel attraction for him , finally to come to love him, the more she’d been well aware that it wasn’t even so much that he was Vulcan that intimidated her – but the Vulcan that he was. He’d been born to an expectation of entitlement. She suspected that included entitlement to any Vulcan woman he would have wanted. And though he’d rejected that option and chosen her, though at first he’d seemed alternately alarmed and amused at the notion of giving her a choice in the matter, deep down she suspected he’d felt entitled to her.

She wondered a little, but tried firmly not to think about, how she had ended up at the Vulcan embassy. For as much as Sarek had asked for – ordered – a comparative ethology study extrapolating Vulcan’s effect on baseline Federation politics, and though he’d apparently read the report and listened to her extrapolate on it, from the beginning she’d half suspected he didn’t care about it much at all. She had to keep suggesting ways he should be using the information, and he seemed …surprised…that it had so much relevance to his work, his negotiations. Even looking back now to the first days of their association, he had seemed much more interested in her. At the time, she had some inklings of that, but had put it down to her own cultural misinterpretations. And his.

Part of her wondered if she had never misinterpreted him at all. If his request and her coming to his embassy, had from the start had always been planned by him, for this.

But she told herself that was ridiculous.

Whenever the idea had come into his head, once he had it, he seemed to think it inevitable that he would also …have her. His expectations wavering only slightly depending on how recalcitrant she’d been to his determined suit. And he’d become less alarmed than amused as she slowly and inevitably started falling for him. She had come to wonder if she would have been allowed any choice if she was Vulcan. And how much of a choice she’d really had even as a human.

But while she had been wresting with that choice, Sarek had been waiting, somewhat less than patiently, for all his calm manner, for her answer. Eventually she had felt she had put him off long enough. She had to make a decision. True she had known so little of Vulcan, or his culture, and the thought of spending the rest of her life within it was …well, daunting would be an understatement. But somewhere between her fear and her wonder, the Federation politics and the incomprehensible Vulcan customs, the cold logic of his Vulcan associates and his very warm pursuit of her, was the stark realization that not only had she fallen, but she’d fallen hard.

It would have been difficult not to fall for him, once she realized his intents. He was handsome, he could be charming when he chose, he was absolutely determined to please her, highly placed in his society and hers. They seemed to share a lot of views, on everything from sociology to poetry, surprising as all that was to her. She enjoyed his company. He had a sense of humor. And god did they need one, in this situation. He made her laugh. He even had a mischievous sense of play. And over all that, he had that absolute sense of entitlement, of being born to have whatever he wanted. Including her. Especially her.

Yet… when she wasn’t with him, she missed him. And she left him enough to feel the ache of that, left him deliberately, stormed away, determined to stay away. And …couldn’t. For she discovered that not only did he want her/love her, whatever you wanted to call it, but she had come to love him. He might be alien to her, his culture, his world all but unknown to her, but when she was with him, impossible as it seemed, that rarely seemed to matter all that much. They struggled over words, sometimes. But she’d been right from the first. They had more shared similarities than differences.

And in spite of his being Vulcan, and that sense of entitlement, even that chilling sense of command she’d seen him assume occasionally with his subordinates, she had invariably felt safe with him. His interest, his all encompassing concern for her made her feel like he would do anything he could for her. Made her feel not just wanted, but cherished. Safe. In fact, when she was with him the idea that there was anything to be concerned about in marrying him seemed ridiculous. And as for the wanting part, logical Vulcans aside, he’d left her in no doubt of his desire. And she had come to return those…feelings… with a strength of desire that startled her.

It was only when she wasn’t with him, trying to explain herself to friends, to colleagues, or like now, totally alone and trying to explain yet to herself how once again she had gotten herself in a situation that she hadn’t anticipated, or felt entirely comfortable with, that the absurdity, the danger of her intended course came back to her. She barely knew him, didn’t know his culture much at all. No one did. No human had lived intimately with Vulcans. She’d be the first.

They had no shared history. Not personally, having known each other only for a couple of months. And not species-wise either.

Vulcans had been tacitly in the Federation for years, they had long been known to be a deterrent to Romulan aggression, controlling a significant quadrant of space for millennia before Terran exploration brought the two powers into contact. In fact, they had warned Terrans off from the Romulan Neutral Zone, which Vulcan still patrolled.

But Vulcan had been unhurried in embracing Federation membership. For most of that association the contact had been at a distance, via subspace communications. Now they were gradually being assimilated into mainstream Federation politics, the largely Terran dominated Federation. Or perhaps it could better be said the Federation was coming to encompass the mix of worlds and civilizations the Vulcans were bringing to the table. With the Federation previously being largely composed of Terra and Terran founded colonies, the mix was eclectic. The Federation was experiencing significant culture shock, finding it hard to accept that humanity might actually become if not yet a minority in Federation politics, then no longer an overwhelming majority. And Vulcan was the major threat to that dominance. Technologically rich, they also brought with them not just Vulcan and Vulcan’s sector of space and all their colonies, but a huge block of worlds and civilizations that had been under Vulcan’s protection from Romulan aggression. What was disconcerting to Terrans was that Vulcan seemed to regard the Federation, of which Terra took so much pride, with the indulgence a parent has towards a posturing child. They seemed to regard participation in Federation politics as a duty, rather than a benefit. It has been quite a blow to the Federation’s ego that the casual alliance of worlds that Vulcan represented was far more diverse and almost as numerous, as the Terran colonies that largely comprised the Federation of that time. And that they were as a rule, singularly unimpressed with the Federation. It could have been a question of who would join whom.

The difference being that Vulcans and the worlds they were allied with, were far less interested in the Federation than the Federation was in them. Asking the Federation to join the ancient alliance was far removed from Vulcan’s thoughts. Asking Vulcan and its sister worlds to join the Federation was very much on the Federation’s mind, particularly an technologically advanced ally who already had forces cojoined against a threat to the Federation.

Hence the reason Sarek was here, and the almost anxious deference he was given by the Federation leadership. He was here to hammer out an alliance of sorts, a formal cojoining of their mutual powers. And with some ominous signs that the Romulans were stirring beyond their borders, the Federation was anxious for that alliance, and for the wealth of technology Vulcan and its sister worlds would bring to the Federation. Sarek was encountering very little resistance to his terms, but he still wasn’t rushing to any quick settlement. And while a significant faction of the Federation membership saw the benefit of Vulcan’s membership, another faction were in threatened opposition, and far more rowdy and less restrained about showing it. There was some concern in certain factions to get the treaty signed before those forces became more mobilized, and threatening.

She suspected the Federation would be quick to throw him any bone to get that treaty signed. And if that tossed bone included an obscure if rising Terran theorist, it wouldn’t hesitate a moment.

And even knowing that, still she told herself it had never happened that way. And it didn’t even matter, really, how she had come to meet him, to know him. What mattered had been what she was going to do about it. Marry him, or say goodbye forever. Never see him again. Because she’d come to realize if she rejected his suit, he could not keep the acquaintance with her. By then she’d had enough sessions with his healers, had been told enough of Vulcan biology to understand the longer she delayed, the more she was reinforcing an attraction that for Sarek was even less easily put aside than hers. If she said no, she could never see him again, or he her. At least until he was safely bonded to another.

She’d cried a few nights over that. All or nothing. A daunting choice and one that was fading every day she delayed. She had to make a decision soon. Sarek hadn’t been rushing her. But then the healers had played their hand, had made it clear that they felt he was already too fixed on her, and they had concerns that if it continued much longer he’d be unable to take another. That if she didn’t choose soon to marry him, then for both their sakes, they must irrevocably part. Forever. That to keep him from pursuing her even against her will, he must immediately be bonded with another. They’d bundled some Vulcan girl aboard a fast starship heading for Earth, a suitable bride, borne of his caste, for that very possibility. And though Sarek had no interest in this woman, she’d been given to understand that rather than risk forcing her, or dying himself in the fever, he would bond to her.

As if he couldn’t have the woman of his choice, it mattered not whether he cared for her surrogate.

And that made her cry anew. That she would do that to him.

She could choose what they both wanted, or choose to deny them both. Part of her sheer resistance was the outrage, the fury, that this choice was being forced on her. That she had this power, unwanted, over both their lives. She hadn’t asked to take responsibility for his happiness. She barely knew him. And yet she could not escape it. Or him. Or at least, if she did, it would be the last time she would ever see him. Because if she refused him, she could never face him afterwards, knowing what she’d done to him. She’d even been told it would be unwise to see him, even socially, ever again.

All or nothing.

What she had finally come down to, was the certain knowledge that she had come to love him. That she would rather be with him, even if she were miserable, scared, homesick, frustrated, frightened – and some of those emotions she certainly already felt -- than placidly safe on Terra without him. Not that she expected the worst of the horrors she’d forced herself to imagine. He was, above all, logical, kind, considerate. And even though he never said the words to her, in fact denied that loved her or that he ever could love her, telling her love was a human emotion he could never feel, she knew he felt a caring that was as strong or stronger. It was the word that he rejected, not her. Something in the notion of human love he had looked at and rejected. She couldn’t quite fathom what that was, but she wasn’t interested in debating semantics. She knew that when she’d told him love was a requirement for her, that she had to feel love, both for and from him, that he’d done some research, some reading on it, and who knew what he’d found. Human love could be very diverse in its expressions, everything from Harlequin romances to Gothic novels. She’d have gagged at and rejected much of that herself. She could hardly blame Sarek for refusing to say the word if he found himself unequal to one or many of its myriad facets. He was always precise with words. That he offered her the Vulcan equivalent, she had, at least at times, considered enough. She’d had ample evidence he was prepared to be as fully devoted to her, more so in fact, than even she might wish.

She felt he did love her, whatever he might say otherwise.

Though at times she did realize she was going to miss hearing those words. It was, after all, practically her human birthright. Before she chided herself for being silly and provincial.

Still, before making what she had come to understand was an irrevocable decision, she forced herself to consider not just him, or the love she had come to feel for him, the physical attraction, the enjoyment they had in each other’s company, the thought of having that forever but to consider worst cases. She steeled herself down, from the fantasy of romance, to sheer stark practicality.

She didn’t have any misconception that living on Vulcan with him was going to be a lifelong picnic. Or that, merely from knowing him on Terra in very controlled conditions, she could even imagine what it would be like for her living in a logical society. His logical society. She imagined herself immersed in his culture, far from Terra, from friends, family, such support systems as she might have,. And with a husband who might be devoted to her, but for all that was still raised to a sense of utter entitlement, even as it came to entitlement to her. Once she married him, there would be no going back. She would be awfully isolated, undeniably dependent, and essentially trapped. She’d been told enough of Vulcan biology to know she’d be his, unconditionally and forever. She’d been told about divorce on Vulcan. Just enough to know it wasn’t anything she’d ever want to experience. That it entailed a fight to the death. To the death.

How odd her husband’s culture was. A mixture of logic, and passion, non-emotion and violence.

What sane being wouldn’t be scared at that. She’d confessed some of this to Sarek, and again, he’d seemed almost amused at her concern. Assuring her that he had a vested interest in making her very happy indeed.

She’d stared at him, realizing he still didn’t understand human emotion. “You can’t make me happy, Sarek. Only I can make me happy.”

He’d just flicked an eyebrow, unimpressed by that. That sense of entitlement again. He balked at love, but if happiness was what she required next, he had no concerns on that score. As if it could be something indented for. He knew she was happy when they were together. From what he could see, it was only the choice that was tearing her in two. To Sarek’s mind, the sooner she got the choice behind her, the sooner she would be free to be happy.

He was right about that. The choice was tearing her in two. She imagined herself saying no. Saying no forever. Seeing herself on Terra, living her life without him. Marrying some safe human substitute. It would be the sensible, easy, prudent sane thing to do. And emptier, full only of more regrets than she could possibly imagine living with. She cried a few nights over that too. To make such a choice, not because she didn’t love him, didn’t want him, but because …let’s face it…she would have been too cowardly to risk the unknown. It wasn’t how she thought of herself.

Yes it was a daunting decision. Marrying him was a great risk. But she knew whatever potential risks she might take in marrying him she was guaranteed a life of regret if she didn’t. That he was right. Even with the unknown worst of times added in, being with him would on balance be better than living without him.

And this was Sarek, after all. He was sensible, gentle, kind, seemed more than willing to accommodate her human foibles at the same time not expecting her to be anything but human. She’d admired that in him before she even knew he was interested in her as anything other than a business associate. She’d come to enjoy his company, to even at the back of her mind, consider him as a man, though her reason had told her she was mistaking the signs he had seem to be giving her as to his intentions. And once she understood those, it was hard to resist someone who desired her so much he was willing to put aside all the conventions of both their species to marry her. She still could hardly credit that he really wanted to marry her.

She found it even less credible that more and more, she’d come to realize she wanted to marry him.

That he was Vulcan was certainly a deterrent, in that so much of his culture – and him—was an unknown. They had no shared history. No shared culture, and when – if – she married him and left Terra, she’d be leaving her culture behind. And she happened to like her culture. Flawed as it was.

But his being Vulcan also backed up many of those traits that she admired in him.

Whatever their problems, their differences – and what marriage didn’t have problems – they were two intelligent people. She told herself surely they could work them out reasonably. As long as she wasn’t doing all the compromising.

The plain fact was, she had come to love him, and not just as a friend. She’d come to desire him. And while Vulcans did not engage in premarital sexual relations, and Sarek was …careful…not to go too far lest he reinforce his own desire so much that he couldn’t allow her a choice, they did …touch. His touch left her breathless.

He even kissed her. It was a good thing he had some control because after one kiss she would have willingly gone much further, Vulcan customs be damned. Lord , was he a quick learner. She’d …almost…begged him for more. And he’d known exactly how she’d felt. He was, after all a touch telepath. She’d barely been able to look at him the next day. Been miserable enough to want to run away, for that alone.

And yet, when they were alone for a moment, he’d taken her hand, very briefly, her fingers in his, thumb caressing the inside of her palm and when she’d raised her flaming face to his had said, “Amanda. Do you think I desire you any less for my control? I remind you, I have asked you to marry me. And am still waiting, what seems like an inordinate amount of time, ” he flicked an ironic brow, “ and with somewhat less than full patience, for your decision. I am …relieved…that you share my desire. I would be far more concerned if you …felt nothing. Control,” his mouth curved infinitesimally, “is never an entirely pleasant requirement, and I do not wonder that you find it so. I tire at the necessity of continually practicing it. And look forward to a decision on your part which will negate the necessity of it becoming a continual practice.”

“Oh, you,” she said, but she had smiled back, and somehow, his words, his touch had made everything all right again. That he loved her as much, as well.

But bed and marriage were two very different things.

She was quite a bit slower – it took her weeks, months to reach his conclusions. Almost two, anyway. Once she reached them, and knew what she wanted, it all boiled down to two things. Trust and courage. Either she trusted him and had the convictions to follow her heart, or she didn’t.

Once she’d decided that, the rest was …not easy. But inevitable.

She was not so much a fool that she thought she would never have regrets. Not even a human marriage was without its rocky shoals. And hers would be no fairy tale. She had a temper, and she’d come to realize Sarek had one too, though he kept it, as a rule, firmly in control. Some of her bad behavior before they were married was an attempt to see that temper, to test him. No one was always in control, least of all her and probably not him, either. They’d probably would have many issues, most unimaginable to her now, with her current ignorance of her husband’s culture. And his of hers. She could only trust, in both herself and him, that they’d love each other enough to get through them, and that the good would outweigh the inevitable bad.

Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan

Amanda was trying not to be nervous, and failing miserably. Ostensibly pretending to eat breakfast, she kept looking at her watch, which was behaving oddly. The time would variously crawl and then speed by. She told herself it was only the first day of classes, something that with twenty years of teaching should be nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t even the first time she’d gone back to teaching after a long hiatus – with Sarek’s schedule, she was always being pulled halfway across the Federation at a moment’s notice. And then rushing to catch up with the latest publications and research, only to have the same thing happen again. But it was the first time she’d gone back to teaching after being locked up for six months. Though she told herself ruefully some of those long tedious diplomatic missions were really not all that different.

Who was she kidding?

“Amanda?”

She looked up into Sarek’s concerned eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“You will be more than fine,” Sarek said. “You are an excellent teacher.”

She gave him a scapegrace look. “You know what I mean.”

Sarek regarded her doubtfully. “If you do not wish to go, Amanda, I could--”

“No, I’m being foolishly nervous. Just wish me luck.”

“I will wish you logic, my wife.” He looked down at her, and she smiled, shaking her head. At times, Sarek could be totally dense about her emotions. And then, at times like this, he could bring up a teasing moment from the earliest days of their marriage, their shared history, that made her love him so much it was all she could do to keep her hands off him. “Why do you say such things to me when I have to run right out the door?”

“To bring you back home again.” He bent his head down and kissed her thoroughly.

“Oh, yes,” Amanda said, thoroughly bemused. “Count on that.”

And it must have been the right thing to say, because as daunting as going back to teaching was for her, she hardly thought twice about walking through the gate that day.

Her office at the Academy had been unchanged. As if she had never left it, not been gone for months and months, perhaps never to return. She told herself not to think of that. Someone had even watered her plants. She’d been into the Academy after her release, for a few meetings and some necessary pre-semester work. But she’d felt rather like a visitor. And truth to be told, she’d avoided people as much as possible, virtually sneaking in and out, and burying her head in work when she did, trusting in the Vulcan conventions that would prevent people from casually interrupting her. None of it had felt really…real.

She felt real when Sarek had his arms around her. When she was holding him. The rest seemed …strange.

But this was for real. She kept telling herself that, even though at times it seemed like an elaborate play. When she walked in, as always the lights automatically waved up, the air conditioning kicked in, the windows repolarized to the setting of light and shade she preferred and the computer greeted her solemnly and informed her of her daily schedule.

“Welcome back,” she muttered to all this. “Curtains up, light the lights.” She took a look at her class schedule, three undergraduate, three graduate and two research seminars and shut her eyes. “I could just kill him.” She picked up her lecture notes and drew a deep breath. “Face it, Amanda, you had that chance. And you blew it.” She sighed and set her shoulders and went to her first class.

A sea of faces faced her. Vulcan, Human and a sprinkling of other Federation races. For a moment, seeing all those strangers made her want to turn tail and run, but she took a deep breath, gave the half smile that was acceptable even among Vulcans and greeted her class.

At least the first one at least was an introductory seminar. Something she could have taught in her sleep. Something she could have taught having woken up from a six month sleep. Which is essentially what she’d just done. She liked to teach the undergrads though, their enthusiasm kept her young. And after the first few minutes, something kicked in place and she felt as if she’d never been away.

Normal.

Blessedly, relievedly normal.

She even began to enjoy herself.

***

In his office at Council Keep, Sarek was striving –and failing – to concentrate on a priority report that required his attention. He kept thinking of Amanda – and how anxious she had looked that morning. He went to the window instead and looked out. From this vantage, he could see the towers of the Academy. Where his wife was teaching.

Part of him felt unutterable relief at that. And part of him was torn. There had been a certain comfort for him in her chattel status. He reminded himself of the drawbacks of that status. He was musing so, he didn’t hear the attendant enter.

“Leader?”

Sarek stirred. “Yes?”

“This is the standard time for our conference.”

Sarek blinked. “Not today. Have my aircar brought round.”

“Yes, leader.”

Sarek flew to the academy, not even sure yet why he was going there. He just knew he had to.

He did not have to look up her schedule. He always did so, at the start of a new term. Checked it once, and then it was consigned to his eidetic memory. He had little need to do so, but he always checked. He liked to know, where she was, when she was.

So his steps went unerringly from his aircar to the location of her class for this time period. The class was just ending, students beginning to rise, some to cluster around her. Part of him was relieved to see her, and looking so well, unflustered.

And part of him was relieved that it apparently did not stir the slightest twinge of possessiveness for him to see her in this, her natural milieu. It had been the worry that had been plaguing him all morning. Could he really let her go back to teaching? Would the vrie rise up at this new stimulus and claim him again? He had taken some risk in releasing her. He hadn’t been free of the chronic fever that long, and for weeks the healers had urged caution, fearing relapse.

He watched her, and felt unutterable relief that he did not feel the slightest twinge of that rush of possessive anger. The ghosts of vrie which had haunted him for months, had apparently been banished. He could see her, back teaching, surrounded by others claiming her attention, and not feel the slightest distress. And no more concern than usual at the thought of her out and about on his world, a world which was, after all, alien to her. Nor did she look stressed or overwrought. She was, in fact, smiling, as she turned from one student to another. And then something, some tug from their bond, even as tightly as he was shielding made her look up and see him.

Their gazes locked. He had not meant to disturb her, had given some thought to leaving unnoticed, if he could. He did not want her to think he’d reconsidered, that he now regretted releasing her. For a moment, he worried that might be the case. But then she…smiled, in surprise, widening to welcome, exactly as she would have before, if he’d come to see her here. As if the months he’d held her confined, had made no difference to her, or to her feelings for him. He found that astonishing too, that she could have forgiven him so thoroughly, so completely.

The students clustered around her saw him too and took their leave. And she smiled again, arching, amused, a look that brought back the memories of twenty years flooding back to Sarek., the look that had made him want her as his own.

“Come to be educated, have you?” she inquired.

He approached her, amused in turn, and relieved. “I came to see how went my educator’s first class.”

“It went very well.” She laughed lightly. “I was a little nervous at first. But I suppose in some respects it is like falling off a horse.”

“That is one of your finer non-sequitors, my wife. I will, however, play the student and ask how.”

“You just have to dust off your clothes, shrug off your bruises and get back on.”

He looked down at her. She didn’t seem aware of all that she was saying in her comparison, but if it was too apt in that regard, he would not call her on it, however that reflected on him. “And you feel ready for a race?”

“Well, a trot around the park, anyway.” She smiled up at him.

They walked down the corridor to her office, the pair of them getting more than one surprised look, and those that would have waylaid Amanda with greetings or questions about her return letting her pass by when they saw whom she was with. She put down her teaching materials at her desk and looked up at him. “I’ve another class in fifteen minutes.”

“Nor can I stay. I just came to…see how you were.”

“That was sweet of you.”

He half smiled. “An inaccurate characterization, but one I will gladly accept.”

“You have your moments. And how are you?”

“I am quite well. Very well. The better now, for being assured that you are.”

“The characterization stands, my husband.” She smiled and reached out to run a finger down the front of his tunic. “I could wish, though, that I didn’t have a class in fifteen minutes. There are certain disadvantages to this life.”

“Twelve point two, to be exact, my wife. I would see your wish,” he glanced around, “and raise it,” and he kissed her, “but I can also take a hint, and the leave that it implies.”

“Bye.”

Sarek paused, half way out the door, considering, “Perhaps you might be free for lunch?”

Amanda was already glancing through her notes for the next class. “’No really provident woman lunches regularly with her husband if she wishes to burst upon him as a revelation at dinner,’”[2] she said absently.

“I take it that means no,” Sarek said, amused in spite of himself.

Amanda looked up from her notes. “Sarek, you know I have back to back classes all day.” She gave him a look. “You signed me up for them.”

“Indeed. In truth, neither am I free. I was considering – what was your phrase – playing hooky?”

“On the first day? You know that’s impossible.”

“Undeniably true, and yet, as you, I might wish otherwise.”

Amanda looked up. Eyed him and seemed reassured by what she saw. “I’ll see you this evening. Where I will thank you, properly, for your visit.” She blew him a kiss, “And your support.”

“Indeed,” Sarek promised. And found it more than possible to take his leave, with that in mind. But he did look back, once. And was reassured by a return of the smile that he had first known in her. He took that with him as well.

***

Amanda let herself in the kitchen entrance and dropped her carrybag on the table. And drew a deep breath of relief. She had gotten through it. She felt like she’d just run a marathon – not of miles, but of milestones. So many things she’d been avoiding since she came back into the world, taking or making calls, using a computer, even speaking to people. It had been so easy to avoid much of that at home, easy to use Sarek as a shield. He still had such innocent faith in her, that she could do anything, that he was largely unaware of how she’d been hiding behind him.

But apart from him showing up at her first class – and how she had loved him for that – today she had been all on her own. And she’d gotten through it.

Amazing, how she felt like raising her hands in a victory cheer over something that six months ago would have been no more than business as usual.

“One step forward, two steps back,” she said, and shook her head. The movement caused the heavy weight of her bound hair to shift, reminding her anew of her promise. She glanced at her watch. Sarek should be home soon.

She went upstairs to change. Took a quick shower, to erase the stresses of the day, and dressed in a house shift, brushing out her hair. She looked at her image in the mirror, this one more familiar, more recent to her, than the other, the teacher, the wife, the person the outside world knew, the person she’d just taken off. She shook her head. But she felt almost comfortable with her image in the mirror.

“Old home week,” she told the other Amanda. She put the brush back down on her dressing table, and ran her finger down the ribbon, once again hanging from her mirror, where she’d clasped a succession of barrettes. Glanced to look at her bed table, where now two frames sat, with two documents, one in her handwriting, one in Sarek’s. And shook her head at that.

“Stuff to you,” she told the image of a chattel in the mirror, now consigned only to a mirror, and half smiled as she went to prepare dinner.

She held onto her sense of self walking down stairs. But it was funny how, gathering produce in her garden, and then going in to prepare dinner, that other Amanda, the chattel, seemed to …descend…from somewhere, and take possession of her. It was almost hard for her to believe she had been out today, that it wasn’t all just a dream. She told herself firmly she was being silly, but actually stopped, in the middle of chopping some carrots – they grew well in the light sandy soil if they were well watered – to stare hard at the gate. Half thought of going out to try it, to test it. And shook herself back to reality again.

And yet, padding barefoot through the kitchen, setting the table, shaking her hair back when it hindered her movements, she felt that other Amanda stealing into her, a ghost taking possession. A surprisingly tenacious possession. Hard to shake off.

It was getting late. Outside the sun was setting, long shadows stealing across the gardens. Sarek should be home by now. Should have been home some time ago. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, suddenly unsure, arms wrapped around herself, hugging her elbows.

The chime of the comm sounded overly loud in the quiet room. She stared at it, as if it were something foreign. She had yet to answer the comm at home, since her confinement had ended. She just was ….conveniently busy, and let Sarek pick up any priority calls that came in. They were mostly for him anyway. Those that weren’t, she’d felt more comfortable answering at her office. If he found her behavior wanting, he had not said anything about it.

The comm sounded again, the priority signal, coded for her, and demanding her attention, and she tensed, then forced herself to cross to the unit. There was no one else here, and there could be something wrong. And she had to learn to get used to such things again here. She accepted the call and then nearly jumped back, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, as Sarek appeared on the screen.

“Amanda. He frowned at her, and she felt her heart leap into her throat. “Are you… quite all right?”

She told herself that of course he was expecting her to answer the comm, he’d called her for that purpose. “Yes.” She shook herself into some semblance of calm and gave him a half smile. “I was just startled to see you. I thought you’d be on your way home by now.”

“There is a …situation…that require my attention here,” Sarek said.

A situation. The word, the way he said it, was code for them, that meant something up on the Federation front, that was probably classified and that he could not speak of to her. Yet.

“I see.”

“It has been developing for some time. But you need not be overly concerned. I do not think we will be getting…marching orders in the near future,” he used her term for the assignments that sent him, and by default them, to one diplomatic function after another. “You will mostly likely be able to teach out the term, unless events deteriorate significantly. But it will delay me this evening. I …regret…that. I would have liked to hear of your day.”

“It was fine. I’m fine,” she assured him.

“Good. I will probably be late, Amanda. And I can not estimate how long I shall be. So do not try to wait up for me,” he stressed the latter with the emphatic inflection. “You need your rest.”

She realized then how much she’d been looking forward to having him home. To holding him, to being held, while she slept. Here was another difference from her life as chattel. Then he had come home, often early, never late, every evening. Compulsively checking on her. Keeping her close. Holding her, for his own reasons. No doubt he’d been sacrificing his work to some extent, though she’d never thought of that. She wondered now how he’d managed it. And now work was reaching out to reclaim him, even as hers had. But she realized that as chattel, she’d gotten a little spoiled having a husband who was always home at the end of the day. Even if then it had been partly to hold her uncompromisingly to her chattel status, she was still going to miss him holding her now. Another habit to break. She nodded unhappily, trying to keep her expression neutral.

“Amanda?”

She blinked at him, trying to force her mind back to more immediate concerns. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Yes means yes, my wife,” Sarek said, looking at her with mild, almost amused exasperation, but raising a demanding brow.

She shook her head, not in refusal, but in rueful acknowledgement herself of her failure to respond to his tacit demand. That she’d forced him to respond in turn with this code phrase from the first days of their marriage when she missed or failed to note his use of the emphatic mode. Which signified an issue, an area where he expected her immediate acquiescence or her acknowledgment to do so, as in the case when it was a future act. She still didn’t always recognize the emphatic mode. It required a subtle change in inflection her human ears had required practice to catch. And still sometimes failed to catch, if she was distracted. Though Sarek had once teased her that she had selective deafness in that regard. Perhaps at some subconscious level that was true for her. And when she failed to hear it, or failed to remember what it meant, he followed it up with the above reminder. Sometimes she needed the reminder simply because he rarely made such demands, and she just… forgot that he could, or would. But when he did, he was quite serious about whatever he was asking. Ordering, really. She’d never pushed the limits of that that emphatic inflection required of her, or rather, how much wiggle room she had to get around it. He used it rarely enough. And usually just in instances where she considered he was being Vulcan.

In a marriage like theirs, there were times when it was just easier to accept they had species behavior traits that weren’t likely to change. Just as he acknowledged there were times when she was going to be overly emotional, and he just had to deal with it. That she’d pull her hair back from her round human ears and ask him “Just who do you think you married here?” She had to also recognize that his culture and biology meant he was going to give orders at times, and expect to be obeyed. And she just treated it like the order he obviously meant it to be. Part of the compromise that was their marriage, it also meant that they tended to only…fight…about the big issues. She certainly wasn’t going to fight about something as trivial as this, even if she could conceive of daring to joggle his control about it when he was barely out of vrie. “Yes. I won’t wait up.”

“Then you will see me in the morning, Amanda. Until then.” He cut the connection.

***

Working late as well, T’Pau came into Sarek’s office, her brow furrowing with concern.

“This Federation session. Will you be required to attend?” she asked.

“Yes. But I expect many delays.”

“Significant delays?”

“Months, at least. The Tellurites are arguing for it to take place on their home world. It will not, of course, but they will argue. And the delay will be considerable.”

T'Pau nodded. “Good. I would prefer you here for the opening of the Council.”

“That is not in question.” Sarek tilted his head. “Why?”

T’Pau shifted her gaze to her son. “Because what you predicted long ago has come to pass.”

For a moment, Sarek looked puzzled, then he gave her a sharp look. “Indeed.”

“Surely you were expecting it?”

“I have had…other pressing considerations.”

“You are…well, my son?”

“Quite.”

“And Amanda?”

Sarek gave himself a moment to relish the sound of his mother, saying his wife’s name. After watching Amanda be resolutely shunned for twenty years, he felt entitled to that much. “You have not seen her since her release?”

“I had no wish to be deemed…interfering. The child has had enough to do. And her next attendance is in two days. Soon enough. I trust, however, that she is well.”

Sarek hesitated. “It will necessarily take her some time to adjust to her changed circumstances.”

“Indeed. More changes than just returning from chattel status.”

“Nothing that should not have occurred years ago,” he said, not without some irony.

T’Pau eyed him, giving herself a moment to relish the sight of her son, calm, controlled, healed. “You have considered the need for proper dress?”

Sarek blinked at this unexpected question. “For dress?”

“For T’Amanda. For Council.”

“Negative.” Sarek allowed a slight exasperation to color his tone. “It is hardly the first thing that would occur to me, Mother.”

“So I assumed. Yet Council reconvenes in three days. And it is a necessary detail – and one I have suspected neither of you would consider, given your wife’s consistent disregard for proper formalities of dress relative to her position in the clan.”

“Until recent events, given her lack of status, her disregard was proper,” Sarek said, slightly nettled. “She had no position.” Over the years, T’Pau had kept her uncompromising attitude toward Amanda, and had never granted her any other title than the lesser title of consort. Even years of seeing Amanda disprove all T’Pau’s initial concerns and fulfill all the duties of wife that T’Pau had doubted she could or would, after serving him through myriad Pon Fars and bearing him a recognized and sealed clan heir, his mother had never relented or relaxed his wife’s outcast status. There was thus a trace of indignation in his tone when he pointed out: “Given your refusal to accept her as daughter, it would have been improper for her to assume them.”

“Yet this is no longer the case. Has not been the case for some time.”

Sarek ignored the fact that most of that time, Amanda had been chattel and not entitled to wear any formal dress. “Perhaps you now regret your original position regarding outworlders.”

T’Pau hesitated, eyeing her son. After these recent trials and troubles her thoughts were mixed on that. If Sarek had succumbed to vrie with a Vulcan wife, logic would have dictated that she challenge, and his survival would have been exceedingly slim, for chances are he would have died from vrie even if he’d survived the challenge. Yet Amanda had …loved her husband too much to leave him to near certain death and that had saved him. Nor was the passion with which her son regarded his human wife unVulcan, or without precedent in their line. But still he had not felt it for any of the eligible Vulcan women he might have married. Perhaps with one of those, he would never have succumbed. No one could say.

All that was known was that the direct line of Xtmprszqzntwlfb was known to be overly passionate in marriage, even for Vulcans, and the risk was there. And as much as she honored her daughter for accepting chattel status, she had been forced – had forced herself – to watch the human suffer through it. And suffer she had, and T’Pau had suffered with her. Visiting Amanda week after week, watching her spirit, which had been unbowed after twenty years of outcast status, falter and dim under the constraints of her chattel state. If such a state was something no Vulcan would accept in all logic, it followed that no human should have been required to endure the emotional distress of that particularly, painful, Vulcan reality. No. She still did not believe the ancient trials of Vulcan biology, and their consequences, should be visited on outworlders. But it would serve no purpose to tell her son this. “I acknowledge that Amanda has proved herself a worthy daughter.” And she sought to distract him. “That being so, she must be provided with the outward accoutrements of such.”

Sarek gave her an impatient glance. “Amanda, like myself, has had duties more immediately pressing than assembling a clan wardrobe..”

“Indeed. Such disinterest can have its charms, but this is a time when formalities are necessary.” Seeing Sarek appeared less than impressed by the necessity, she shook her head. “Thee has not even attendants to task to it. Very well. I will see to it.” She had intended to all along, a gift she had meant to make for her daughter, and her son, to show her true approbation. But she had not been sure that her son might not have cared to do this himself, and she would not have denied him that, if it had been his wish. She had certainly long ago forfeited any outright claim to that privilege.

“That would be more appropriate,” Sarek agreed, glad to be relieved of a tedious chore, one he was no more interested in than his wife. And it was traditional, in their clan, for the matriarch to so robe her daughter in marriage. Twenty years after the fact, and with T’Pau’s history of disapprobation of his choice, he had not thought to consider she might do so.

She looked at him, exasperated in turn, though it was no more than she expected. But could not help feasting her eyes on him, her true son, back again in all his ways and manners, and in spite of his occasionally exasperating views, at his core, calm, controlled, and at peace. There was no gift she could give T’Amanda for the gift she had been given, but she would robe her outwardly in a way that signaled to all her true approbation. “I will look forward to seeing you both at the opening ceremonies.”

He looked up at that, his eyes meeting hers, and she saw he was not unmoved by her declaration. “I am honored.”

She could not kiss him in gratitude, as she had done for his wife. It was not their way. But she did reach out and take his hand in hers a moment, slightly improper, but not excessively so, given the circumstances. And let her touch say what could not be expressed in their language.

And then before she really disgraced herself, she took her leave.

***

Back at her palace, T’Pau summoned her chief attendant. “T’Lean.”

“Matriarch.”

“There are some tasks I would have you do before the coming Council session. Tasks particularly fitting for you.”

Hope surged within T’Lean. “Of course.” She’d been excessively careful to redeem herself in T’Pau’s eyes, to stay in her good graces. T’Pau had forgiven, nearly forgotten, her slip from months past. The matriarch had come to regard it as a true slip, an unfortunate occurrence during a time when everyone had been emotional and tempers had been flaring.

And T’Lean had been well aware that Sarek was recovering. And that he would need a wife. And as T’Pau forgot her minor slip in the face of such major issues, her hopes had not died either.

The Matriarch spoke often of Amanda. Her weekly visits to the chattel made that inevitable. Time and time again, she had ordered T’Lean to assemble the guard to take her to visit her honored daughter. Honored Daughter. In this, T’Lean felt the old woman was doddering. Not that she showed sign of it in any other aspect of her life, but T’Pau’s relief that her son still lived had clearly turned her head.

For the human was chattel. No chattel could be an honored daughter. She understood Matriarch had a …fondness…for the human who had spared her son’s life by not challenging. For Sarek was a proud man and a brave one, but he would have been no match for one of the hulking professional challengers, who trained daily in combat. Xtmprszqzntwlfb were great men and of an ancient warrior line, but their qualities were of leadership, intelligence and strength of will, not sheer animal hulk. T’Lean was even willing to acknowledge that though the human’s decision not to challenge had been foolhardy, it did display a loyalty deserving of some regard.

In her rival’s walled away absence, she had come to believe that the human was rather like a sehlat in that respect. Lacking in intelligence and foresight, and over emotional But such loyalty even in an animal could be touching. And Sarek had always had a fondness for …pets, particularly those with sehlat-like qualities. He had been young when he had first taken the human. Far from home. And no doubt the human had some …animal like charms. He could be forgiven for a lack of sophistication in his first choice. T’Lean was willing to grant herself that perhaps there was no real harm in his chattel. T’Lean would even consider being…kind…to the stupid little beast, provided she did not forget her station. Who could fail to be kind to a well trained pet? Provided she kept to her station, low as it was.

In the months that Amanda had been reduced to chattel status, T’Lean had come to some sort of peace in her own mind with her, had ceased to regard her as a rival. Could not regard her as such. For though the Matriarch touched much on honor in referring to her, honor was an abstract concept in her case. She was only chattel. Chattel had no inherent honor. Most – all -- chattel became chattel by challenging, and either having their husbands win the challenge or in choosing a champion who did not free them after the combat – in either case making a foolish choice in regards to the selected challenger. While the law allowed for a wife to challenge as her only means of freeing herself from an undesired marriage, social customs did not approve of such. But such divorce challenges were sealed, attended only by the parties involved. If the husband lost, he was considered merely a casualty of Pon Far. Men did occasionally die in the Time, even as women sometimes did as a consequence of it. It was rare, but it happened. It even had a euphemism in the press, was reported as an “unspecified fever.” So a female who challenged, and was released by her challenger, returned to society unmarked by her action – at least officially -- she bore no shame, no scandal. But if her champion lost, or if her challenger refused to release her and she remained chattel, that was entirely different. Chattel were considered treacherous, murderous outcasts, fit only for the most demeaning of existences. Chattel were never seen, never heard from again. When they died, they went unnoticed, unmourned. Essentially they died on becoming chattel, which in itself was a death, a death of all past life, past status.

It was true, to choose chattel status to heal vrie was supposedly an honor of legend, but that was all it was, an ancient legend. Who knew a legend? Or spoke to one, or spoke of them, or dealt with them. The reality of a chattel’s truly humbled existence was far more factual than some archaic myth of sacrificial legend.

T’Lean had thought much herself on challenge. She had planned carefully for it, knowing she would be chattel, however briefly, afterward. She, who had considered it much, would not be so foolish as to think it had any real honor under any circumstance – or be so trusting as to risk even five minutes in that state, to one whom she might choose as champion, without sufficient leverage as to gain freedom. She had already put aside much wealth in trust for the challenger she would select – who would receive it only upon releasing her to freedom. And had hired the best legal councilors to carefully draft the trust document. She had no qualms about her anticipated future challenge. Her husband was old, his presumed death in Pon Far would be regarded as quite natural. Her challenge and divorce would be sealed, unnoticed and unremarked. She had indeed chosen well, quite deliberately so, in that respect. Her status on divorce would be undiminished from what it was before.

For there was honor outside of the chattel state, but only shame and subservience within it. No matter what tales of history T’Pau dwelt on. And the human had been months in her chattel state. No modern Vulcan woman had ever been released from chattel state after more than a few minutes. One was either released immediately by a champion, or one stayed chattel, outcast, property, slave. Forever disappearing from honorable society. It was the gamble one took when one challenged. There had to be some risk, in fairness to the male’s risk of his life. And if one lost, if the champion died or proved false and did not release as promised, then the challenging wife disappeared, too. As if dead, or at least, forever removed from society. As Amanda had disappeared.

She considered Amanda gone as if dead. No one came back from the dead. No one ever returned from chattel status. It simply never happened. At least, outside of legend. And no human was worthy of a Vulcan legend. She was gone.

T’Lean had come to realize and relish the truth. The human still lived. Sarek had not killed her. But she lived as chattel, and chattel she would forever remain.

And as Sarek survived and even thrived, coming back to his old manner, the light of sanity now present in him, she had come to hope again. She had been intended for Sarek, and his choice of the human had been disconcerting, but she had never expected it to last. T’Pau had not expected it to last. She had known that someday the human would leave, or die, or otherwise fail Sarek. And she would be there, as had been intended from the first. It was her place. When she herself had been required to marry, she’d married an older widower who could be easily defeated in challenge. She’d planned all her life for this. It was difficult not to return to those plans on seeing the human so removed from decent society, to watch Sarek and not think that her place might still be as his wife. He would need a wife. To her eyes, he had recovered. He kept the human as chattel still. But that was fitting.

T’Lean had stayed in her position, sought to redeem herself with T’Pau, only for this. To stay close inside clan circles, so that when Sarek recovered fully, and sought a true wife, he would know who had been loyal all this time. The true loyalty of a Vulcan woman. Animal-like devotion might be touching but she could not believe a Vulcan could wish it in a wife. Not a silly sehlat like human animal who ought to be kenneled in the garden with the other animals rather than sleeping in her master’s bed.

So she hoped and her hope surged upward. Of course, with the upcoming Council opening, Sarek would think of a wife. Must think of a wife, for it was traditional that the clan leaders be present. For too long Sarek had stood alone with T’Pau at the yearly ceremony, no wife at his side. It was unsuitable, and with the return of his sanity, he must see that. But then that human had been wife, unrecognized as such in the clan, but wife. She knew T’Pau had hated that, hated the human for it. But the human was wife no longer. Perhaps Sarek had come to realize himself with the return of his sanity, perhaps the human’s very act had made him realize that she could be no more than a chattel. Perhaps he had recovered all his sanity on that issue as well. It was long past time he had.

So T’Lean hoped.. And T’Pau’s next words seem to confirm it.

“I wish you to go to the Vaults, to select a suitable gown for the Council opening.”

“Yes, Matriarch,” she said, outwardly calm, inwardly exulting.

“We must see to ornaments as well.” T’Pau said. “I think in this case T’Ianye’s, both gown and jewels, would be most suitable.”

“Yes, most suitable, for the wife of the clan leader,” T’Lean agreed, feeling as if her heart would burst for joy. At last, at last. And to wear the gown she had long coveted, long planned for. Finally, her dreams, her ambitions, her plans, all fulfilled.

“I thought you would be a good choice for these duties.” T’Pau grimaced slightly. “My son cares little for such formalities. He would never see to it properly.”

“He has many other duties,” T’Lean said. “Leave all the preparations to me, Matriarch.” She savored the title, thinking only too soon how she would relinquish it, to Mother.

“Yes, and T’Amanda knows nothing of them, and is otherwise tasked. She is teaching overmuch, when it would be prudent to grant time to allow her to readjust to her release.”

“Release.” T’Lean repeated the word, as if saying it could bring meaning to it. “She has …she has been released?”

T’Pau gave her an impatient look. “You are inattentive, T’Lean. She could hardly be teaching, otherwise.”

‘I beg forgiveness, Matriarch,” T’Lean whispered.

“I think T’Ianye’s gown and jewels will do well. My Honored Daughter is small, but the dress should fit well enough, and they will give her stature. Not that she requires such, her honor gives her that alone.”

T’Lean did not hear the old women almost prattle on, her own mind was numb. From exultation to ashes. T’Ianye’s gown and jewels. The precious clan jewels of the wife of Surak. Taken out only for state occasions. The last had been for T’Pau’s own wedding. And never worn since. The dress T’Lean had planned to wear at her own now never to be wedding, given to …to an animal! T’Lean bowed her head trying to force acceptance, but she could not stop herself from interrupting T’Pau, from saying the words. “Matriarch, would you trust such…precious clan artifacts…to a human?”

T’Pau gazed at her imperiously, in astonishment. “Thy concern for the clan artifacts is appropriate. It is why I have chosen you to handle this task. As for trusting T’Amanda also -- I have trusted her with my son’s life. There is no higher trust.”

“Yes, Matriarch,” she whispered. Seeing all her dreams in ashes.

“See to it at once.”

***

After Sarek’s call, Amanda worked in her office for a while, though the sense of unease lingered. She realized she missed him. She told herself it was only logical – she hadn’t been apart from him so much in six months. She was used to having him around.

She went to bed alone, also for the first time in months. She would have read herself to sleep, but with her memories of chattel restrictions still plaguing her, she didn’t feel comfortable doing it. She knew she could do it. She just didn’t feel comfortable. It was another freedom she had to get used to, and she had too many other, more pressing ones that duty required her to master before she could worry about those of pleasure. She wasn’t about to push herself. So she left her books on their shelves as she had since that last terrible night when she dared to read for pleasure and finally drifted off from weariness more than relaxation.

Something woke her, though she didn’t know what it was. She was alone in her bed, and she wondered where Sarek was. She remembered, then, something about him working late. But he never worked late any more.

She started to sit up, then remembered the last time she’d gotten out of bed in the middle of the night. When she’d been reading. How angry he’d been. How frightened she had been. But that had been before. She was free now.

Was she? Free to do whatever she wanted? There was no book at her side now, even though her husband was gone.

She blinked in the warm darkness, trying to reconcile reality and dream, to remember when she was. She thought she was free. She thought…

But it was hard to tell. Hard to tell, when you woke in the dark, what was dream and what was reality, like sitting in a train, and watching another train opposite, and not knowing which was moving. She wasn’t sure what was the dream now. As if she were sitting in a train, she searched for reference points.

She hadn’t worn a gown to bed since the first days of her marriage. So she had no clothes to differentiate. Her hair, as always in her bedroom, was unbound. No difference there. For a moment she doubted. Was it possible…that her freedom had been a dream? A silly, wish fulfillment dream. Even the idea of her going back to teaching. To work. As if a chattel, as if she could ever teach before a class again, when she couldn’t even push her hair back, much less read. She couldn’t read.

Her breath came fast and she started to tremble. Part of her panicked, denied it. She hadn’t dreamed her freedom. It was real. But her anxiety alone gave her pause. If she really were free, would she be so …frightened? Wouldn’t she know, for sure? Her fear demanded some proof and she couldn’t think of any substantive proof, at least not where she lay. And she couldn’t get out of bed if she didn’t know for sure that she was free. A quandary.

But then she remembered. The picture frame. Sarek had put his list, like hers into a frame. How wonderful of him, to think of such a thing. So if it hadn’t been a dream, there would be two frames by her bed. And if not, only one.

She didn’t dare sit up, but she shifted, slowly carefully to the edge of the bed, straining to see in the moonless night, in the utter dark of the room. It was all so black. She could only see the vague shape of one frame. One. Her breath caught in her throat. She was still a prisoner. She stifled a sob, rising unbidden.

No, it couldn’t be. It was just that the frames were so close together, and at this angle superimposed in shadow, in profile, one upon the other. With a little more light, or if she could get closer, a slightly different angle, she could see, it would be true.

She edged closer to the nightstand, and straining to see. And couldn’t see but one at that angle.

Oh, this is ridiculous, she thought. I am not dreaming. I am free. There must be two frames there. How else would I know there should be two.

So get up, you coward. Get up, and prove it.

And she couldn’t.

Where is he? she wondered. And felt an unreasoning surge of anger. Where the hell is he when he’s supposed to be here, with me?

He is working late. Don’t you remember? He called.

But what she remembered was her answering the comm. That was forbidden. She’d catch it for that.

He called you. He wanted you to answer it.

But her mind seemed to be trapped in furious circles. Torn between the chattel she’d only recently eschewed and the real Amanda, who’d been absent for months. She was having trouble reconciling the two. Both fighting for primacy in her mind.

Damn it! Where was that other frame? Or where was her husband? If he was going to keep her locked up, the least he could do was hang around as jailor. That was only fair trade.

She reached out, blindly in the dark, looking for the other frame. And knocked something over with a crash. She yelped in sheer startlement The bed table was empty. Now nothing was on it. She had only seen one in the dark and there must have only been one and she’d been dreaming of freedom all along and --

The door opened and Sarek stood there, tall and dark and she shrank back against the headboard. Wondering if he thought she’d gotten out of bed. Even though he wasn’t in bed. Surely the rule still applied. She’d get punished for this, and she wondered how long the restrictions would last.

He was working, he was working, she told herself. You weren’t dreaming. But she was still inexplicably frightened.

“Amanda? Are you all right?”

He advanced a pace into the room, and she shrank back fractionally against the headboard, though she really had no place to go, no place she could go. She was trapped.

I cannot get out, the starling said.

Her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. Only a whimper escaped. She couldn’t help it, her heart was pounding so fast she felt her head swim.

“Amanda?” Sarek hesitated, then turned on a light.

And then she saw, even through the blurred vision of sheer panic, there on the floor beside the bed, the two frames, one on top of the other. Two. There were two.

She was free.

And she sobbed, once, before catching herself.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Sarek bent down and picked up the frames, automatically, unthinkingly, the kind of reflexive picking up he often did because being Vulcan, he was neat, neat, neat. He put them on the table again, but his eyes were fixed on her, and he sat down beside her. “Amanda. Are you ill?”

She shook her head, once.

“Did you have…” he searched his memory for the word. She rarely had bad dreams and Vulcans apparently did not dream at all or if they did, did so rarely, “a nightmare?”

She found her voice. “No.”

“What then? I heard you cry out.”

“I was just…I couldn’t see in the dark.”

Sarek was puzzled. “You are not afraid of the dark.”

She wasn’t actually. Never had been. He understood that peculiarly human phenomenon only because Spock had gone through a brief stage when he had been convinced there was a monster under his bed. There was no monster under her bed. But she couldn’t tell him it wasn’t that which had frightened her.

Sarek looked around the room, then rose and went checking through it, came to study the open windows, the far flung balcony doors, gaping into Vulcan’s moonless night. Walked through onto the balcony, checking it before returning, shutting the balcony doors, and setting the window shields, which they seldom did, because Sarek complained he could hear an infinitesimal hum when the screens were activated. They usually only set them during sandstorms. “Perhaps it was a night bird,” he suggested. “Or even a litka, though they seldom climb so high.”

She looked at him.

“That wakened you. That frightened you.” He crossed back and sat down beside her. “Did they knock over the items on your table too?”

“I did that.”

He nodded his head as if that settled it. “No doubt that frightened it away.”

She looked at him, so calm, so concerned, so …normal. “Oh Sarek,” and she flung her arms around his neck

He gathered her close, and drew a little back from her. “It is all right, Amanda. It could not have been anything dangerous.” He was right about that. It would take some doing to get through the fortress’ shields. They were designed with a respectable shock charge.

Lematya did prowl near the fortress, which, built for ancient war, backed up for defense against stark cliffs in the foothills of the mountains. The mountains were full of game, a great hunting preserve for Lematya, but they also liked to peer down over the hills and cliffs into the fortress grounds and gardens. And small game had over the centuries learned those gardens were a safe refuge. Lematya were cunning and fearless, and she’d been warned more than once never to tempt them by even the briefest walk outside the walled gardens at night. It wasn’t uncommon for them to periodically test the forcefields, and shatter the night with a frustrated scream of outrage when some animal they’d been hunting scurried through to a safety the lematya couldn’t breach. When she’d first come to Vulcan, those hunting screams had often woken her, and were sometimes so close, or they sounded so close, they had frightened her.

Sarek had assured her nothing over a certain size could get through. She knew that, because when she’d only been on Vulcan a few days, she’d come across a pair of just weaned cubs gamboling in one of the gardens. They’d loped up to her playfully, and she’d played with them in turn. When she’d left the garden, they’d followed, and she’d unthinkingly brought them home. I-Chiya had come roaring out, every hackle and hair bristling, fangs barred, frightening her, and bringing Sarek on the run, quickly followed by some of the guard Who’d all been nearly as horrified and violent in their reaction as the sehlat. The guard had shot the cubs -- with a tranquilizer dart -- though at that moment, she’d only known they’d shot her new friends on sight. While Sarek had snapped at his bellowing pet, and pulled her away from the cubs so violently she’d had bruises. The scene she’d caused, I-Chiya in battle mode, the guard with weapons drawn, the shooting of her playful acquaintances had been shocking and terrifying to her. The cubs had been not much bigger than a mid-size dog, fifty or sixty Terran pounds, and had not yet developed their poison, but Sarek said they would have in a few days more, perhaps only a few hours more. She had never seen him so terrified before or since. And had earned herself a long, long tedious lecture on the dangerous flora and fauna of Vulcan. She hadn’t been the only one to suffer either. Sarek had taken the fortress guard, who were responsible for maintaining perimeter security, severely to task and a few heads had rolled over that one. It had been hard for her to realize that the cute cubs lying as if dead at her feet, once so playful and amusing, had been potentially more dangerous than her husband’s huge saber-toothed sehlat, who even subdued by her husband’s command had been bristling and furious. But sehlats had long been domesticated on Vulcan.

Lematyas, as Sarek warned her, were considered untamable, and their venom made the slightest bite or scratch potentially fatal, unless immediate medical attention was at hand. And even with it, many died. No one knew if anti-venom would even work on humans -- at the time.

She’d just been shaken and frightened by the scene she’d inadvertently caused. Sarek had been almost as shaken as she, shocked, horrified that she’d come so close to death, if the cubs had developed their poison, if they’d scratched or bitten her, if the antidote didn’t work on humans, if it was poison itself to her and no other could be found. If, if, if. She would have died after only a few days on his world. It had haunted him – made him check on her compulsively for a while. And he had never fully trusted her around Vulcan wildlife since. In some respects he’d never trusted her on Vulcan, without his beneficent guardianship. One of the reasons he was still so possessive and protective of her on his world. Another instance of cultural blindness – it was hard for him to conceive that she had been completely ignorant of the lessons every Vulcan child learned at three or four. She’d learned some of those lessons since, but mostly simply avoided situations where she’d encounter the rest of the dangerous wildlife. But still – years later, they were still hitting these cultural snags. How little she had really known, then, or since, about the dangers of life on Vulcan for her. And not just from wild animals. How little they had known. How little.

She buried her face in his neck, sobbing a little. In relief. And in lingering fear. And held him even tighter, for he couldn’t know why she was really so upset.

“Amanda.” He drew her up into his arms. “Whatever frightened you is gone. It’s gone. You’re safe now.”

“I know,” she said, trying not to cry, and failing miserably. She wasn’t speaking of a non-existent animal. She couldn’t tell him that, either.

“Amanda, shhh,” Sarek said. “It is all right.” He picked her up, handling her, as always, as if she weighed nothing at all, settling her against him. The Sarek she knew best. Calm, concerned, kind. “It is gone, and I am here.”

She held her real husband tighter. He didn’t know how true a saying. His presence didn’t banish the one of her nightmares, but it helped. “I know. I know.”

But her eyes fell on the two frames on her bed table. And she couldn’t seem to stop crying.

***

She woke the next morning to the sound of dawn birds, and the sound of male voices in the courtyard below. She sat up, realizing she was again alone in bed. Her eyes fell on the picture frames and tentatively, she reached out and nudged them with a fingertip, so that even in the dark, she’d clearly see there were two of them.