DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2019 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.

The Problem of Being Human

 

By Djinn

 

 

Chapter 1: Ashes, Ashes We All Fall Down

 

Amanda sat in her study in the embassy, staring at her son, trying to take in his words. "You're doing what?"

 

"I am going to Vulcan—to Gol, Mother. To study the Kolinahr discipline." He could barely meet her eyes, as if he knew how absurd he sounded.

 

"Darling, if this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny."

 

"I am most serious. I feel that it is imperative that I undertake this study.

 

"This study—don't you mean this purge? Everything emotional. Everything human—and Vulcan—about you. To become some kind of..." She swallowed heavily. "Why would you ever do this? You've been happy aboard the ship. I saw how happy you were."

 

"That was some time ago."

 

There was something in his voice, in his eyes. Something broken. "And a captain ago? Kirk's been promoted, Spock. He's busy—that doesn't mean he's forsaken you."

 

"You have not heard, then?"

 

"Heard...?"

 

"He married a colleague in the admiralty. Lori Ciani." The way he said the name—the pain in his voice. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but he would no doubt push her away.

 

"Married? Are you sure?" It seemed so unlikely given the reputation Kirk had.

 

"Quite. They are both rising stars. The match is quite logical, when assessed without emotion."

 

"I see." This made no sense. Forget Kirk's reputation—she'd seen the devotion he had for her son. The humor, the warmth. She'd seen Spock fairly basking in it.

 

"He has not told me himself about this. I heard it from Doctor McCoy."

 

That bothered her even more. Since when couldn't the great James T. Kirk handle his own messy business? "That doesn't mean he's forgotten you."

 

"We have both been on Earth for sixty-seven days. We have barely spoken."

 

"Oh, Spock. He's probably just getting used to being one of the big brass. This is no reason to run off to Gol."

 

"It is every reason, Mother. You have no idea what I have endured these last years. The things I have done. The emotion I have...suffered."

 

She tried not to think that was a slap at her. "Your father has emotions as all Vulcans do. He simply finds a way to manage them."

 

"He has the luxury of being a full Vulcan."

 

This time the slap was unmistakable; did he think it was her fault he was facing this? How dare he? His human part was half of what made him so remarkable. "Sybok was a full Vulcan, but he embraced his goddamn emotions."

 

"Anger. So typical." His tone was full of the haughty condemnation she'd endured from T'Pau and others when she first took up with Sarek—while he was still bonded to Sybok's mother T'Mela. But Spock's eyes were all too human in the way they were pleading. As if he wanted her approval—to what? Forget he ever loved her? Throw everything good and human about himself away?

 

"Spock, please." She did get up, did try to hold him, but he stepped back. "My dearest, dearest boy, please talk to your father if I can't convince you. He's no advocate of Gol."

 

"I have already told him."

 

And Sarek hadn't told her? She might have stopped this before Spock had put too much emotion—too much intention—into this. But her husband hadn't even warned her.

 

"I do not think he thought I was serious, but you are right: he opposed my going."

 

Which would only make her obstinate son all the more determined to go. Damn Sarek for not telling her.

 

She pushed down her fear, her panic, and even her love, channeling every bit of logic she could draw on. "This is a drastic step, Spock. There are other ways. Retreats where you can refresh and meditate. Where you can move on without discarding everything you've worked for. It doesn't have to be all or nothing. There are others who would welcome a relationship with you. That nice Nurse Chapel, for instance. It was clear she cared for you."

 

A look she couldn't read crossed his face. "Christine is...a woman of fine character. But I do not—she is not..."

 

"Jim. She's not Jim. Did you tell him? Did you tell him how you feel?" She tried to cup his cheek, to let him feel her regret and her probably too-desperate love, but he jerked away.

 

"Yes, I took your advice. I told him. Just before he left. So he would have time to think without my presence influencing his decision. This, then, was his answer—to marry another. It is a rebuke, Mother. It is exactly that. And I was foolish to think it would be different. He has never... I have made overtures—subtle, but if he had wanted..."

 

"Then he's the fool, Spock, not you."

 

"That is not comforting. Not at all." He moved closer and touched her arm gently, but on the fabric of her robe, not her flesh. No feelings to overwhelm him. "Of all the emotions I have encountered, yours were the most pure. If I forget—if I cannot return them—it is not because I do not care for you now. I do. I will just...be different."

 

"Spock, please don't do this."

 

"I must, Mother. I must." He leaned in, laying his lips on her cheek the way he used to, when he was a child. "I love you."

 

Then he was gone.

 

She stood frozen for a moment, then pulled out her communicator, ordered one of the embassy's official flitters, and drew whatever dignity around her that she could before she hurried—in a way befitting the wife of the ambassador—out of their personal quarters and past Sarek's assistant.

 

The flitter was waiting outside and she told the onboard nav system, "Starfleet Command," then sat motionless on the ride over, afraid if she didn't contain her rage and panic and anguish with absolute stillness, it would overwhelm her.

 

She flashed her credentials at the guard, and could see his surprise, but she was on the approved visitor list from some prior meeting she'd attended with Sarek, and he finally waved her through. But once she got inside, she was lost.

 

Where the hell was James T. Kirk's office? She could feel herself panicking and fought for control. "Excuse me," she said to a passing woman.

 

The brunette turned and smiled. "Amanda?"

 

For a moment, Amanda didn't recognize her. Then she thanked whatever God looked out for desperate mothers. "Nurse Chapel—Christine, how wonderful that it's you. I need to find Captain—Admiral Kirk. It's really quite an emergency." She could hear the near hysteria in her voice and tried to dial it down.

 

"Okay, come on. I uh...I don't know where his office is exactly, but I know the general area, and we'll figure out the rest as we go." She was gentle as she touched Amanda's elbow, steering her in the opposite direction she'd been headed—gentle and wonderfully incapable of reading what she was feeling. "Can you tell me what's wrong? It's not Sarek, is it?"

 

"No, it's Spock. Darling, please, no more questions. Just help me." Why couldn't her son have fallen in love with this gentle woman instead of Kirk? He never would have had to wonder if he was cared for. "Am I taking you away from something important?"

 

"I was just grabbing some food for home. We residents live on take-out. No one wants to cook after a shift."

 

"Oh, you're a doctor now?"

 

"Yep. Newly minted."

 

"Congratulations." They stepped into a lift and she closed her eyes for a moment, then said, "He's leaving."

 

"Kirk is?"

 

"No, Spock. It's why I have to find Kirk. He can stop him. Only he can."

 

"Okayyy." Christine sounded confused, but led her quickly down a new hallway as soon as the doors opened.

 

The corridors were a maze, but Christine kept saying "Admiral Kirk?" at the officers they passed and following the direction they pointed. Finally one of the people she asked, a young man with a New England accent that reminded Amanda of home, said, "I'll take you. But I don't think he's here."

 

No. He had to be here.

 

Another officer shook her head at the young man when they finally made it to Jim's office. "He's on his honeymoon."

 

"His honeymoon?" Christine frowned. "Who the hell did he marry?"

 

"Admiral Ciani, Doctor. Not that it's any of your business." The woman looked at Amanda. "And you are?"

 

"Too late." She could barely breathe.

 

"Is she all right?" The woman was rising.

 

Christine motioned her back. "I've got it. Sorry to have bothered you." She asked Amanda softly, "Can anyone else help? I can take you to them."

 

"No," she said as she followed Christine and the young man who'd helped them out of the room. "It's all ruined."

 

"Ma'am, can I call someone for you?" The young man was as gentle as Christine. Such sweet people in this place that had destroyed her son. That killed the best parts of him: the parts that could feel, both human and Vulcan.

 

"I'll take her. It's fine. Thank you." Christine led her back to the lobby. "I don't understand anything except that you're hurting."

 

"So human of me to do that." Spock might blame her for his human tendencies, but it was as likely he'd have fallen in love with Kirk if he'd been a full Vulcan. After all, Sarek had fallen in love with her. She wondered if that was what Spock was thinking, that being human or Vulcan was a life sentence for the kind of pain that only loving someone could bring. So he would become neither. The Kolinahr masters, with their machine-like serenity, gave her the creeps and now her son would be one of them.

 

Christine sat with her. "How can I help?"

 

She gave a helpless shrug, then a nearly hysterical laugh started to come out of her. "Can you go seduce my son? I mean now, right now."

 

Christine turned red. "I'm sure I could try, but he doesn't want me. So it won't do any good." Her eyes were full of compassion. "Please, let me help you."

 

"I need to go back to the Embassy." But the idea of that—to have to hide how much pain she was in—undid her.

 

"I can go with you, if you want—make sure you get there, to Sarek."

 

"You don't have to." Shit, she was crying. She dashed the tears away, trying to make sure no one saw her breaking down. "And Sarek won't be available. He's in meetings. They last forever."

 

"Is there anyone else there who you can cry with? Because you're shaking and I think you need to let go."

 

"No. I'm the wife of the Vulcan ambassador. My behavior has to be above reproach. My...control." She could hear her voice, how distant she sounded. "My control—I hate it." She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing, trying to reach for the control she really did hate at this moment.

 

But it was useless. "I need a fucking drink. Now."

 

Christine laughed softly, a bittersweet note in the sound, as if she understood how close Amanda was to breaking down. "My place, then. I have lots to drink. And no one to judge."

 

"You don't have to. Sarek will worry once he gets out of his meetings and doesn't find me there."

 

"I'll comm him. He'll come."

 

How did this woman know that? Her husband would come—might already be feeling that she needed him—but most humans would never understand his love for her. How much he cared. The lengths he would go to make her happy.

 

Except for telling her that their son was throwing everything away. Had he really thought Spock was...joking? Being dramatic?

 

Damn him!

 

"Unless this is about the two of them," Christine said. "I remember he and Spock..."

 

She laughed. "For once Spock's actions have very little to do with his father." She sighed heavily. "I have a flitter. You won't have to walk."

 

"That's great but can you wait while I grab some food?"

 

"Of course." She looked, really looked at Christine. How tired she seemed. How this must be the time of day she looked forward to. No one at her, needing her. "Oh, darling, no. I can go back to the embassy. I'm ruining your—"

 

"Amanda, stop. You're coming back with me. All right?" She was fierce, her hand tight on her shoulder. So comforting, so free with her emotions.

 

"Yes, dear. Yes."

 

"I'll be right back. Do you want anything?"

 

"No." Amanda leaned back in the chair, exhausted now that nothing more could be done. "I'll just wait here. Take your time, my dear. There's no rush anymore."

 

No rush at all. She could sit here, heart breaking slowly with each passing minute, all goddamned night.

 

Her Spock was gone.

 

##

 

Sarek was trying and failing to focus on the status reports the members of his team were relaying because Amanda's distress was pounding at him through the bond. As soon as all sections were accounted for, he stood, and said, "We will table the rest until tomorrow."

 

It was unlike him to cut a meeting short, and the others looked surprised but not overly concerned. They would no doubt think he had been called to Federation Headquarters or had an important comm scheduled with Vulcan. It would never occur to them he might shirk his duty for purely personal reasons.

 

He found his assistant and said softly, "Where is my wife, T'Sanya?"

 

"She left, sir. Right after your son did."

 

"My son was here?" He held back a sigh. "Is he still here?"

 

"No, sir. He asked me to give you this."

 

It was written on the most simple of Vulcan papers, in script Spock had once struggled to master. I know you do not approve. Nevertheless I have proceeded and been accepted to petition for mastery of Kolinahr. I begin my journey now. Live long and prosper, Father.

 

Sarek again had to bite back a sigh. One born of both pain that his son had said goodbye to his mother in person but had not paid him the same courtesy, and of frustration that he had gone ahead with this. Always so obstinate.

 

Gol was no place for him, no solution for what ailed him. Sarek was no stranger to romantic discord—his first wife and he had enjoyed little peace. But seeking to purge his emotions over one man's defection—even if Spock had not couched it in that manner—was ill advised and impulsive.

 

Always he had been this way. Say to go right and he jumped left. Generally without looking.

 

Sarek had been a fool to think that telling him Gol was an inappropriate choice would be the end of it.

 

And he had not told Amanda what Spock had in mind. He could feel anger mixing with the distress. Anger that felt more like fury than simply aggravation.

 

He had not thought Spock would go through with it. So few Vulcans did. Why would his son be one of them?

 

But Spock was gone and he could do nothing more for him. Amanda, however, was a different matter.

 

"Do you know where my wife went?" he asked T'Sanya.

 

"She took a flitter." She pulled up the records. "Starfleet Command and now...it appears to be a residential building."

 

"The Visiting Officer's Quarters?" Perhaps she had gone after Spock. One last effort to change his mind. Amanda was nothing if not persistent.

 

"No, sir. And I can't get more for you—she's prevented it from being logged." There was disapproval in her voice.

 

It was not her place to pass judgment on his wife even if this was worrying. "Thank you," he said brusquely, as if he was unconcerned with his wife's actions.

 

Then he made his way to their quarters and pulled out his private communicator, hitting the key combo that would dial Amanda.

 

A moment later, a woman whose voice he did not recognize answered. "Hello?"

 

"Who is this? Why are you on my wife's communicator?"

 

"Ambassador, it's Christine Chapel. I'm not sure if you remember me. I served with your son on the Enterprise."

 

"And took most excellent care of me, Nurse Chapel." Why would Amanda be with her?

 

"I'm flattered you remember. And it's Doctor Chapel now, actually."

 

"Doctor." He felt a moment of panic that a doctor had been needed. "My wife—is she ill? Injured?"

 

"Not exactly. Can you come to my place?" An address appeared on the text screen. "I've set the outside door for you so you won't have to bother buzzing to get in."

 

"Can you not tell me what this is about?"

 

"A broken heart, I think. Please just come." She cut the connection with no further comment, a move that surprised him. It was so...Vulcan.

 

He walked back out to T'Sanya and said, "Please clear my calendar." It was a light day fortunately. "I do not know when I will be back."

 

"Do you wish me to order a flitter for you?"

 

"No, I will walk." Chapel's apartment was very close to the embassy. The walk took him no time and he passed several people who stared at him. The city was full of tourists who had probably never seen a Vulcan outside of photos or vids. And certainly not one hurrying as he was, his robe billowing slightly as he strode, his face set in a stern mask that said as clearly as he could without words: "Get out of my way."

 

He turned at Chapel's apartment, palmed his way into the building, then took the elevator to the third floor. The building was modest, no doorman, no concierge. He realized that even as a doctor she was still at best a lieutenant, and San Francisco was an expensive city for junior officers.

 

She was waiting at the door to her apartment, and he realized he must have triggered an alert of some sort when he palmed the door. She gestured for him to come in, and he did, walking slowly now, unsure what he would see.

 

He did not expect it to be his wife asleep on the couch, a light blanket covering her. He took in the empty wineglass and nearly empty bottle in front of her, another glass half full in front of a chair where Chapel had no doubt been sitting. "Please explain."

 

"I ran into her at Command. She was looking for Admiral Kirk. Something about Spock leaving. She...she didn't tell me much. But Kirk is out of town, and she was so upset, and she said she needed a drink, and well, that's a really tasty wine." She had the grace to look chagrined.

 

"Do you not have antitox?"

 

She met his eyes. "I do. But why disturb her? Let her have some peace. I can give her antitox when she wakes up."

 

He exhaled—loudly, to his dismay.

 

"Do you need a drink, Ambassador?"

 

"I do not." He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as if his son had once again made the footing under his feet less secure. It would no doubt shock Spock to know he had that much power over him. "Please, call me Sarek. It seems odd to stand on ceremony when my wife is not even on her feet."

 

Chapel laughed softly. "All right, Sarek. Would you like something less alcoholic to drink?"

 

"Tea perhaps—if you have it."

 

"I have lots of it. I spent time in the Far East when I was a kid. I learned to love tea. But I'm afraid most of mine has caffeine. No herbal tisanes in this kitchen."

 

He shrugged, not caring at this point.

 

"I have a lovely oolong. Very soothing. Please, sit. And you can call me Christine if you're comfortable being as informal as you said I could be." She went into the kitchen and he sat at the counter, glancing over at Amanda occasionally, who did look quite peaceful.

 

He expected efficiency, but Christine pulled out some kind of mesh basket that hooked over the side of the mug and put loose tea in it, then added water that was cooler than what he normally saw humans use, more the temperature of water for the Vulcan tea ceremony. "You take your tea quite seriously."

 

She laughed. "I do. You're lucky I didn't pull out the gongfu-cha set." The tea did not steep long and she handed it to him. "Baozhong. Used to be you could hardly find it outside Taiwan. It's one of my favorites."

 

"Most kind." He was not sure what more to say. He was used to commanding a negotiation; this...this he was not certain how to play.

 

She broke the silence. "Sarek, it's none of my business what's going on but...what's going on?"

 

He made a great show of taking in the aroma of the tea, which was lovely, as he decided how much he would tell her. Finally, he said, "My son has elected to pursue a Vulcan discipline that will purge him of all emotion. His mother and I are opposed to this course of action. I, for more intellectual reasons. She—she takes it more personally, as you have no doubt seen."

 

"And she needed Kirk to stop him?" She suddenly laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Well, I guess that old question is finally answered. Were they or weren't they?" She frowned. "And why is he now on his honeymoon? Or is that why Spock wants to ditch his emotions?"

 

He did not expect her to grasp the situation so fully. "I have perhaps already said too much."

 

"Maybe." She took a long breath and let it out slowly, as if she was releasing something. "Kinda makes me feel better. Who can compete with the golden boy?" She laughed—again a bitter puff of air rather than true amusement.

 

He was unsure how to follow that.

 

She finally asked, "You like the tea?"

 

He sipped it. "It is delicious. Thank you."

 

She yawned and he wondered how long she had been up—new doctors often worked punishing hours. "We are intruding. It is time for me to take my wife home."

 

Although this reprieve from her emotional distress was agreeable.

 

"I'll wake her for you." She walked to the couch, kneeling, her voice low and kind—he remembered that from his time in sickbay.

 

Amanda came awake slowly and didn't appear to notice him. "You're such a sweet girl. My son's an idiot to not want you." She grinned and cupped Christine's cheek, their faces very close. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

 

Christine seemed uncertain what to do, so Sarek said, "I am here, my wife."

 

Immediately he could feel the anger rise—strong enough to come through the connection they had from the bond. But she did not show the anger to Christine.

 

"So you are, my husband. He's a fine figure of a man, isn't he, darling? Striking, really. Especially that beautiful noble nose."

 

Chapel grinned at him in an apologetic way he found charming. "Yes, an excellent nose."

 

"Don't you think she's nice, darling? Shouldn't Spock have chosen her? Isn't our son an idiot?"

 

He did not think it wise to agree with anything except the first part of her declarations. "Christine is, indeed, most kind."

 

"Awww, you called her by her name. He must feel comfortable with you." Her words were light; the emotion he was feeling through the bond was anything but.

 

"I made him tea."

 

Amanda laughed. "I seriously doubt that's why he's comfortable with you, my darling." She sat up. "Okay, who's going to give me some antitox?"

 

"I am." Christine got up and pulled a bottle out of a desk drawer. A very large bottle. As his eyebrow went up, she glared at him and said, "What? Med school was stressful. Residency still is." Then she shook out a pill and handed it to Amanda. "Fast acting. Just put it under your tongue."

 

"You think I don't know how antitox works? I know it's hard to believe, but I've been a naughty girl once or twice in my life, haven't I, Sarek?"

 

He was debating whether to answer when her expression changed. The alcohol-induced good humor fell from her, and she was left where she had started: in grief. A grief that pounded at him far more than her anger had.

 

She closed her eyes, swaying a little, and Christine was quick to reach out and steady her.

 

"Go slow. It's okay."

 

Amanda clutched her for a moment, whispering something he could not make out. Christine looked at him almost helplessly.

 

"I will take her." He finished his tea—it was, indeed, delicious, and gave him a moment to compose himself before what would no doubt be an emotional barrage as soon as he touched his wife—and walked to her, taking her arm, easing her toward the door. "If you ever have need of me, Christine, I am at your service. Please forgive us for disturbing you."

 

"It was no bother, Sarek. Honestly, it was nice to be needed."

 

He met her eyes, struck by what a brilliant blue they were. "Your desire to help speaks volumes about your character."

 

Amanda turned to look at her. "I wouldn't have made it through the day without you. Maybe...we could have lunch sometime?"

 

"I don't really get much time off during the day." Her tone made it sound like the truth, not a polite evasion.

 

"Then dinner. I feel...close to you, Christine. You made me feel safe."

 

He knew his wife rarely admitted weakness. Clearly, Christine's assistance did mean much to her. "At the embassy, even," he said. "Perhaps you could bring more of that tea?"

 

She grinned. "I could do that. Happy to have made a convert." She yawned, then immediately apologized.

 

"Get some rest, darling. We've taken enough of your time." Amanda smiled gently, then pulled away from Sarek, somehow drawing the grace and serenity she always presented to the world around her despite the anguish and rage he could feel growing though the bond.

 

##

 

Amanda followed Sarek into the flitter she'd never sent back to the embassy, not looking at him as he told the nav system where to take them.

 

She stared out the window once he sat back, eased her hand away so there would be no skin-to-skin contact.

 

The silence was horrible, but she refused to be the one to break it. Blinking back tears, she tried to take her mind to some calm, blank spot.

 

But all she could see was Spock.

 

But perhaps he wouldn't be accepted. This was just the petitioning stage. Many were deemed unacceptable and turned away. It might kill Spock to be designated that way, but it would be the best thing—the right thing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that, on making it happen. Reject him. Reject him. Reject him.

 

Sarek's voice startled her out of the near trance she was in. "I am perplexed, my wife."

 

She didn't answer.

 

"Why go to Doctor Chapel's apartment? Why involve her in this?" He reached over, touching her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. "And why did you not involve me?"

 

"Oh, that's rich." She didn't try to hold back her anger and saw him recoil at the surge of rage that no doubt reached him through his fingers, through the bond, through the fact that they just knew each other too damn well for him not to feel it. "Sharing information would have been a great idea for you too. But no. Why in God's name wouldn't you have told me Spock was considering Gol? You know I hate those...automatons."

 

"That is precisely why I did not tell you. I did not believe he was serious and did not wish to spark a conflict between you and him based on how you view the practitioners of Kolinahr."

 

"So this is my fault?"

 

He actually sighed. "I did not say that, Amanda. It is no one's fault—except perhaps Spock's."

 

"No, it's that damned admiral's fault, that's whose it is. I hate Kirk. I hate him for not having the balls to just tell Spock he didn't want him. They served together for so long. Why couldn't he at least have talked to him?" She touched his hand. "Why couldn't he have loved our son?"

 

"I do not know." He squeezed her hand, his gaze so full of pain and compassion she wanted to pull him to her, but her anger kept her from doing it. "I regret I did not tell you. Perhaps—perhaps if I had, you could have stopped him."

 

"We'll never know now." She swallowed hard and went back to looking out the window. Taking up her silent chant—trying to make it a spell, even if she didn't believe in such things.

 

Reject him. Reject him. Reject him.

 

##

 

A few weeks after she'd helped Amanda, Chapel was in the officer's lounge with several other doctors, celebrating that they were all about to have a couple days off, when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

 

She turned and saw Kirk. "Oh, hello, sir."

 

"Call me Jim, Christine. Jeez." He sounded like he'd been drinking. He wasn't loudmouthed "Do something crazy" drunk but well past his first drink.

 

Then again she wasn't exactly sober herself, so who was she to judge? "Okay. Jim."

 

"Word is you were looking for me."

 

"Actually I wasnÕt. Amanda was."

 

His expression changed immediately and became less open. Wary, even. "Ah, so that's who the woman my aide couldn't recognize was."

 

She waited, not sure what to do with that.

 

Finally he leaned in, having to talk louder as a group two tables down got increasingly raucous. "So what did she want?"

 

"Can we go outside for a sec?" She gestured toward the balcony where it was quieter, and he nodded and followed her out.

 

"Congrats, by the way. On your M.D." He sounded sincere; he'd given her a great recommendation when she'd left the ship.

 

"Thank you." She led him toward a quiet spot and said, "It was about Spock."

 

"Well, I didn't think she came to ask me how I was." He sounded on edge, in a way Chapel hadn't seen before. Other than when he'd been split into two people. Snappy, almost vicious.

 

Or maybe she was just reading into it. It wasn't like she and this man were friends, despite how long she'd served with him.

 

"So how is Spock?" His tone was sarcastic "Let me guess—he's with you?"

 

"No, he's not with me. He's not with anyone. Do you not know?" She watched what seemed like honest bafflement play out on his face.

 

"Know what?"

 

"He's gone. He went to some place where Vulcans purge all emotions. The Spock we know..." She didn't understand any of this. Had pieced together what she could from what Amanda had told her—or more accurately mumbled while she was transitioning from drunk to passed out.

 

But she did know the rumors. How close this man and Spock were. How much they'd do for each other. The obvious bond.

 

And yet Kirk was married to some Admiral.

 

And Spock had...fled.

 

Was this man to blame for that? She'd seen how many women he'd been with over the years. Knew his reputation.

 

But she also knew a little of the real man. The guy who clearly...loved Spock.

 

Nothing made any sense, and she just wanted to go back to her group and finish celebrating and then go sleep for fifteen hours. "Maybe you should go see Amanda."

 

"Yeah." He turned.

 

"Maybe you should sober up first." She dug in her pocket, but he laughed bitterly and pulled out a container of antitox.

 

"Not fast enough, Doctor. And I need this way too often." He studied her. "But then you don't care how much I hate my life right now, do you?"

 

She had no idea how to answer that. "I'm sorry," she finally settled on saying.

 

"Yeah, you and me both." He slipped a tablet under his tongue then hurried off.

 

She stood a moment, watching him leave, then heard a voice behind her. "Do I want to know why my husband fled right after coming out here to be alone with you?" The words were accusatory, but the tone amused. "He tells me to meet him here then leaves before I can even say hello. Men."

 

Chapel turned and saw a petite brunette studying her. "Admiral Ciani?"

 

"Right in one. Buy that girl a drink." She sat in one of the deck chairs, crossed one leg over the other, and sipped her drink—something clear with a lime. "So... Where'd Jim go?"

 

Chapel was too tired to try to lie to this woman. "The Vulcan embassy. Something to do with the ambassador—his family."

 

"That's discretion of the first order. I like you." She laughed softly, her smile almost as charming as Kirk's could be. "You can call me Lori, and you are...?"

 

"Chapel. Doctor. Christine. I uh, I was a nurse on the Enterprise." She was stammering like some rank ensign. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

 

"Not so long you can't still lie with distinction. Or misdirect, rather. Did Jim go to see Spock? He is, after all, part of the ambassador's family."

 

"No. Spock's not there."

 

Lori's lips went up on one side. "Not lying to me now, are you? We both know Spock is far, far away. Jim doesn't, though." She took a deep breath. "He's going to be no fun to live with when he comes back. Have you ever deeply regretted a marriage, Christine?"

 

"No, but I've deeply regretted throwing my career away by chasing after a fiancŽ who turned out to be not what I thought."

 

Lori laughed again, a truly amused sound that made Chapel smile. "I really like you. Why has he never mentioned you to me? I hear about all his crew when he gets nostalgic drunk. But not you."

 

That didn't surprise her. "I left."

 

"Ah. Cardinal sin."

 

It was Chapel's turn to laugh. "It was for med school, not because I was unhappy. He understood."

 

"I'm sure he did. Probably gave you a glowing recommendation. Doesn't mean he'll ever forget you didn't want to stay." She leaned in. "He's a walking contradiction, our Jim. Wants to progress. Wants to stay on the ship. Thinks his crew should stay together. Wants them promoted despite them doing the same thing for fucking ever. And the amazing thing is so many of them are staying on for Decker." She seemed to be studying Chapel. "You know him?"

 

"I do. He's a good man."

 

"He is. We like him, up where the brass live." She smiled in a way Chapel couldn't read. "Can I buy you a drink?"

 

"Oh, my friends have—" She looked into the room. Her friends were gone and the table had been cleared. "Uh, yeah. I guess you can."

 

"I want to know all about you." Lori took her arm. "And I want to hear stories about Jim no one else knows."

 

Chapel laughed as if she was going to comply—she had a feeling no one ever told this woman "No" successfully—but she didn't think she was going to tell her anything she didn't already know about Kirk. She hadn't been that close to him, and she still felt loyalty to him, even if he had been her competition for Spock's heart.

 

##

 

Amanda steeled herself as she walked down the stairs and to her office. Normally, she would have invited Kirk into the salon Sarek and she used with personal friends and acquaintances where they could relax, but she didn't want Sarek to hear, or worse jump into this conversation. They might be united in thinking Spock had made a mistake in going to Gol, but that was about all they agreed on right now.

 

She didn't want him even knowing about it until she told him—just like she hadn't known about Spock.

 

She slowed her breath, trying to bite back the anger that seemed to fill her more and more. She could feel Sarek's aggravation through the bond. Their connection had been such a comfort to her before Spock left. Would it be again?

 

Did she care if it wouldn't—if her anger destroyed it?

 

Her office—all the offices—were extraordinarily well soundproofed to give embassy personnel privacy from each other's keen ears. She would be safe here. Safe to be as human as she wanted. She took a deep steadying breath, then opened the door.

 

Kirk stood when she entered. She decided not to tell him to sit—let him wait for her to get comfortable before he took his seat again. The rage—or maybe it was hatred at this point—she felt for this man was manageable only if she let it out in small ways, took petty victories. And for once she could take them out on him, not on her husband and those around her.

 

"What can I do for you, Admiral?" She sounded Vulcan. God knew she'd worked hard at that over the years.

 

"Spock."

 

She cocked her head and studied him. Did he really think one word—her lost son's name—would move her now?

 

Now that he was well and truly gone. He'd commed four days after she'd gone to Starfleet Command. He'd been accepted into the initial level of instruction, the first steps taken into the discipline. He'd already sounded so distant. He hadn't apologized, hadn't tried to make her feel better.

 

He wasn't Human—or Vulcan anymore really. He might as well be a computer. Inputs and outputs and logic with nothing to temper it.

 

Now this man wanted to...what? Fix it? Two weeks later? Spock still might be rejected during the process, but he would never leave of his own accord. She knew her son too well to hope that he might change his mind.

 

Kirk began to shift a little, and she felt a mean little thrill of victory at making the great captain uncomfortable. She finally asked, "What about Spock?"

 

"Christine said he was...gone? That you needed me—how can I help?" He leaned in, smiling gently, and she knew he was turning on his famous Kirk charm.

 

She used to feel warmed by it, by him. Now...now despite the white-hot rage that seemed to fill her all the time, she felt as if she were freezing inside. As if she, too, were at Gol. "He's gone, I understand I have you to thank for that."

 

The charm died, and he sat back and studied her the same way she had him. "You understand nothing."

 

"He loved you." She fairly spat it at him, her voice raised and she could see the surprise in his face. "This room is soundproofed. We can speak plainly, Admiral. He loved you and you—"

 

"And I loved him. He was like my brother. My best friend. My trusted second. My touchstone. But lover? He sprang that on me, Amanda. One moment he's my first officer and the next he's talking about forever. About...loving me. About plans he'd made—and I had no say. He got there in his solitary logical way and never thought to make it less...unilateral. To let me..." He sighed and shook his head as he trailed off. "He just sprang it on me."

 

She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but there was something in his voice. Lost and defeated. But not guilty. He believed what he said. "You couldn't have grown to love him? We both know Vulcans are impetuous at times. They process things outside of the partnership. It may seem sudden, but they've been considering options for some time."

 

"He was also adrift. No ship. No familiar crew. He didn't like his assignment—or his new boss. I wasn't sure how much was really about me and how much was him grabbing for something familiar because he was unhappy." He closed his eyes.

 

"So you went and married someone else just in case it was the latter?"

 

He leaned forward, took her hands, and she wished she was Vulcan, so she could read him. "My relationships haven't worked in the past. I have a son I'm not allowed to see because of that. His mother was a woman I considered my other half, my soulmate—physically and mentally. But it...ended. They all end. And the friendships end with the romance. Spock was too important to me to risk it. I thought if I just gave him time..."

 

She let her eyebrow go up in a perfect imitation of a Vulcan. "You mean your marriage isn't real?"

 

"It's...strategic. For both of us. But I doubt either of us will renew after the year is out."

 

"And they say romance is dead." She tried to stare at him the way Vulcans used to stare at her, as if she was lower than the bugs that crawled beneath their feet.

 

"I do miss him, Amanda. I just wanted to give us all time."

 

"You fool. You fucking fool."

 

He looked as shocked as she'd ever seen him. Did he think she didn't swear? In private, in her head, in her dreams even? "I did what I thought best." Now he sounded angry—but guilt did that. Sarek often sounded angry with her when he couldn't explain why he hadn't told her about Spock's plans and she wouldn't let it go.

 

"He's gone, Admiral. The man you love is gone. The son I love is gone. He's never coming back."

 

"I could go there."

 

"They won't let you in. They wouldn't even let me in, if I went. And what would you do if you did get in?"

 

"Try to explain. He never let me explain."

 

"Well, no, when the man you loves marries someone else after finding out the truth of your feelings, one tends not to stick around." She got up, suddenly unable to stay still, and frustrated because it had been easier to hate this man—to channel all her anger at him—before he came to talk to her.

 

Now she could see how much he cared.

 

Now she could see the panic growing in his eyes.

 

She walked to him and touched his cheek—his oh-so-human skin. "He's gone, Jim. He's not coming back. There's nothing any of us can do."

 

He shook his head. "He just needs time—we just needed time."

 

"Time's up." She turned on her heel and left him sitting there. He was a capable Starfleet officer; he could find his own damn way to the exit.

 

She pulled out her communicator, called for a flitter, and had it go to Christine's apartment, but she didn't answer the intercom.

 

"Instructions?" the flitter's nav system asked when she climbed back in.

 

"Golden Gate Park."

 

"More specificity is required. Please state desired activity so optimum disembarkation site may be calculated.

 

She closed her eyes. "Just take me to the fucking park."

 

There was no response as the nav system searched. "I do not understand that activity. Please restate."

 

She had to fight the urge to beat on the console. It would not do for the wife of the ambassador to be seen exercising undo emotion. She wanted to drink—to get rollicking drunk and have Christine take care of her again—but that wasn't going to happen. She could go to a bar, but someone might recognize her. It might be embarrassing for Sarek if she got too drunk, if she said something untoward. She hadn't felt this constricted since she'd first gone to live on Vulcan.

 

She had nowhere to turn. "Take me back to the embassy."

 

"Affirmative."

 

##

 

Sarek watched as Amanda moved things around on the dinner table. She seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at him.

 

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

 

"Why would I be nervous?" But she persisted in rearranging things that were arranged sufficiently to begin with. "Christine doesn't make me nervous."

 

It had taken three months to find a date that worked for both them and Christine, but finally they were repaying her kindness. And Sarek was relieved that it was happening now because he thought Amanda might need the additional support. They should be hearing soon whether Spock would be fully accepted in his pursuits of Kolinahr or if he would be designated unsuitable.

 

Sarek was not given to wishing for things that might not occur, but in this case he found himself hoping that Spock would wash out. Not just so their son could live what Sarek thought would be a better life, outside of that discipline. But for his own and Amanda's sake.

 

Things were tense. But the reactions, the angry retorts, the sarcasm that he liked less and less—all were highly variable. There were times he still felt as if his wife...liked him. Tonight, however, wasn't one of them.

 

There was a soft knock at the door, and Amanda rushed to get it. "Oh, darling. Finally."

 

"I come bearing the Malbec you liked." Christine walked in, dressed casually, and handed a bottle of wine to Amanda. Then she turned and offered the tea to him. "And also oolong."

 

"Bless you, my child."

 

He echoed his wife with "Most kind."

 

As Christine got settled, he studied her, seeing the woman his son rejected for a man who ran from him. She was kind and intelligent. Attractive and vital.

 

As always, he did not understand his son's choices.

 

Amanda poured glasses of wine for herself and Christine. She did not ask him if he wanted anything, and he thought that was not lost on their guest. Without comment, he rose and poured himself a glass of water, sipping it and letting Amanda guide the conversation.

 

A conversation that seemed designed to leave him out as she practically quizzed Christine on fashionable activities and media, clothing and makeup.

 

Christine glanced at him from time to time and he kept his eyes soft. She was clearly reading that something was wrong, but when he gave her the most gentle gaze he was capable of, she seemed to throw herself into the conversation with gusto.

 

It was good to see Amanda laugh. She no longer did around him. Not like this.

 

But the more the wine flowed, the more her laughter took on a brittle note. He was relieved when the food arrived and they could talk about other things.

 

"Christine, you were engaged, weren't you?" Amanda's tone was the kind that meant he would not like where she was going with the question.

 

"I was."

 

"What's your view on honesty?"

 

Christine glanced at him.

 

"I'm sorry. Do you need to look at my husband to answer the question?"

 

"No. It's just... It's good, I guess. Honesty." She exhaled raggedly. "Are you asking me what happened to Roger?" She appeared extremely uncomfortable.

 

And Amanda seemed to sense it as well. "Oh, goodness no, dear. I know. He was lost." She reached for Christine's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm so on edge." She glanced at Sarek. "I'm—we're waiting to hear if Spock has made it past a significant milestone in his studies. And it's killing me."

 

"The majority of candidates do not progress," he offered into the silence.

 

"I hope...I hope that he doesn't, then. It seems like that would be best for so many people." Then Christine looked down. "Except, maybe, him. I mean if this is what he wants...? I'm sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear."

 

"I believe we know where she stands on honesty, my wife."

 

"It's just...he tends to do things with his whole heart." Christine blushed. "Not his heart—so un-Vulcan, that idea. His energy, his focus."

 

"Sarek understood you. And my son's half human. I'm sure his 'heart' is one of his failings, isn't that so, my husband?"

 

"I have never considered it so." He tried to make his voice as tender as possible. "He is a fusion of both of us."

 

"Not if he continues. He'll be all Vulcan." She drained her glass. "Christine, I can open another bottle. I've got a lovely cabernet."

 

"Not for me."

 

"Let me guess. You want some of that tea you brought. I've never been much of a tea drinker. Another failing, no doubt. Give me a good strong cup of coffee." She looked at both of them as if she was daring them to comment.

 

"Coffee is life in my profession," Christine said with a graceful smile. "Have you tried the new bakery near Command? Their coffee is so good."

 

"I have."

 

As they began to name favorite pastries, he felt more at ease, grateful that Christine had steered them to less precarious conversational ground.

 

He relaxed, but not entirely. Amanda was unpredictable right now. He had expected time to make things better, not worse. In the past, when she had been aggravated with him, it had always passed.

 

But this time was different. If he was honest, he feared Christine was right and dreaded his wife's reaction once word reached them that Spock had been accepted for further study.

 

Fear and dread were not emotions he was accustomed to. His wife—their bond—had always been his sanctuary. He would give anything for that not to change. Unfortunately, this was not up to him.

 

##

 

Chapel was in the cafeteria, trying to select something to take home for dinner, when she heard, "You're here late."

 

She turned and saw Lori. "You too."

 

"The price of being indispensible to the head of Fleet Operations. Eat with me? I've earned a short break and company would be more than welcome."

 

She found herself unable to resist the openness of Lori's smile or the confident way she held herself. It'd be nice to have a friend who wasn't another doctor or a former crewmate—and one this high up? Well, that wouldn't be a bad thing either. "Sure."

 

She grabbed some noodle soup and a couple of cookies, then joined Lori at a table. The cafeteria was busier than she expected but nowhere near as crowded as during lunch.

 

"Great dinner choices, Chapel."

 

She laughed as she saw the much heartier meal Lori had chosen. "I want to go to sleep when I get home. Not be up trying to digest some big ass steak."

 

Lori bit into her steak and sighed happily. "I skipped lunch. Happens a lot."

 

"Not to be nosy, but how come your husband isn't here keeping you company?"

 

"Not to be nosy? You know that's the universal code for 'I'm going to be nosy as shit, so stand back and marvel,' right?" When Chapel laughed and nodded, she said, "And I have no idea where he is. And no desire to find out. His mood these days..." She shook her head.

 

"Sorry."

 

"Yeah, well. Marry in haste..."

 

"But a term marriage, right? So the repent part doesn't apply?"

 

"Thank all the deities." Lori studied her as if trying to figure out something important.

 

"What?"

 

"I don't know how close you and he really are. I don't know if I can open up to you or not. He's never mentioned you. That might mean you're not someone he thinks a lot of—or it might mean the opposite. He's tricky to figure out, and he doesn't always talk about the things that matter most."

 

"It's the former. Vent away." She concentrated on her soup when Lori didn't start talking, then asked, "Were you in love with him when you got married?"

 

"Hmmm, good question. Infatuated—mildly. And the sex was amazing. But mostly we offered each other access, you know? He was the golden boy when he came back. Everyone in the 'I got my way to Admiral by captaining a ship' club wanted a piece of him—dinners and parties. And I've got my own series of contacts—people who didn't necessarily come up that way. We doubled our reach—our exposure. It just made sense."

 

Chapel waited.

 

"He, uh. He never told me he was in love with someone else. He still hasn't." She seemed to shrug it off, as if it didn't matter or was happening to someone else.

 

"My fiancŽ had been engaged, way before I met him. She died in a lab accident. He never really talked about her—you're right that can be a sign of something significant. I didn't realize it back then. But later"—after she and Kirk had escaped the android version of her lover and she'd done some digging to finally look up the woman in his past: a woman named Andrea—"I discovered he'd never let her go. I felt...stupid."

 

"Not betrayed?"

 

"I tend to blame myself. I'm too open, sometimes. I believe people. Or I used to. I think I'm getting better at not."

 

"Yeah, hone that skill—detecting deception. It'll serve you well." She dug into her steak again and they ate in silence for a few minutes. "I don't lie, for whatever that's worth. I say what I mean."

 

"Okay."

 

"I could use a friend. Someone who's not...invested in where I am or where I'm going." She met her eyes. "You make me laugh. I don't laugh much anymore."

 

"Did you before Jim?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Meh. I ride it out for the rest of the year and then I'm free."

 

"Well, I'll be happy to be the gal pal who supports you while you ride it out. Unless I'm on shift. Or unconscious. Those seem to be my two ways of being these days."

 

"We'll always have the officer's club."

 

Chapel laughed. "And this cafeteria."

 

"There you go." She looked past Chapel, suddenly seemed to pull everything commanding and aloof around her.

 

A commander stopped at their table. "Admiral Ciani, I need to talk to you."

 

"Make an appointment, Styles."

 

"I did. I just saw you here and thought—"

 

"That you're more important than whatever Doctor Chapel needed from me?" She arched an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Spock, and Chapel suddenly wondered if that had been part of the attraction for Kirk.

 

"I'm sure the doctor wont mind if I just—"

 

Before she could say anything, Lori waved him away with a brusque, "We're done here."

 

As he walked away—maybe stomped away was more like it—Lori let out a sigh and said, "He's such an idiot. But he's connected and going places. It's criminal."

 

"I could fail him on a physical." She laughed as she said it and was glad to see Lori grin. "Prescribe something horrible."

 

"Whatever happened to 'First, do no harm?'"

 

"Well, when it's for a friend..." She laughed in a way that would tell Lori she was kidding.

 

"I really like you, Christine. I'm glad I was jealous of my husband talking to you—wouldn't have met you otherwise." She reached over and grabbed one of the cookies. "Friends share."

 

"Fine, but the next drink's on you."

 

##

 

Amanda heard her personal communicator ping and felt rising dread when she saw it was from the Kolinahr Institute. It was addressed to both her and Sarek, but he was in his office.

 

She could wait—or go to him. They could read it together. In the past, they would have. United to face whatever came.

 

In the past. When their son had still been the boy she loved.

 

She opened the message.

 

Let it be known that Spock, child of Sarek, child of Skon, child of Solkar, has been accepted to continue study of the discipline of Kolinahr. While we do not encourage pride, we do acknowledge the satisfaction you must derive from his advancement. Only 4.332 percent of petitioners progress to this stage. Peace and long life.

 

She sat down heavily in the closest chair and closed her eyes.

 

A moment later, Sarek hurried into their quarters but slowed as he approached her. "You read it?"

 

"They don't even count me in his lineage."

 

"They do not count any females. It is not because you are human."

 

"Yes, because that makes it so much better." She took a deep breath, trying to control the panic that was rising up. "I wanted him to be rejected."

 

"As did I, Amanda. I wanted it more than anything."

 

She met his eyes and saw that he wasn't lying, wasn't saying it just to make thing easier between them. "I don't know what to do. What do I do?"

 

"We will do whatever we must to get through this."

 

"It's like he's dead, Sarek. How the hell am I supposed to get through that?"

 

He knelt and pulled her to him and she didn't fight him, but she also didn't nestle against him the way she would have before all this. "My wife. I feel your pain. Can you not feel mine? We share this. We are together."

 

"Yes. We're together. God help us, we're together." She jerked away. "Chained together, Sarek."

 

She could feel his pain, but this was a new pain, almost fear. Would he say it? That he feared she'd leave him? Would he just speak his heart?

 

She started to cry and then forced herself to stop. It would not do. Not in this bastion of logic. Not in this place that thought she should derive satisfaction that her son would soon purge his ability to feel. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and she pulled him to her, rubbing his back, then stroking his hair. "IÕm sorry, Sarek. It just hurts so much."

 

"I know." He buried his face in her robes, holding tightly to her legs as he murmured over and over, "I know."

 

##

 

Sarek lay silently in bed, watching Amanda as she slept. He had expected her to process Spock's new situation by now. It had been a month. More than enough time for her to work through this and find a way to manage the new reality. He had been through it many times with her.

 

But this time she was not managing it. Instead, she had buried it and turned the anger onto him. She carried herself the way she had when she first came to Vulcan with him—as if everyone around her was judging her.

 

They were not, of course; back then perhaps they had been, but now she was known and respected.

 

Although he had caught looks lately from the Vulcans in the embassy, questioning, wondering. Probably because she appeared so tense, the easy smile he thought many of them enjoyed gone. The light she'd always brought to any room extinguished.

 

And she did not want his help. A meld might have soothed her, but she'd refused his offers. He could tell she was not interested in working off her dissatisfaction in a more physical way so he had not tried to initiate sex. And he missed it—he missed her.

 

She was crucial to him and now he was losing her because of what their son had done.

 

"Why are you staring at me?" Her tone was wary.

 

"Because I love you." It was an exceedingly human way to put it, but he thought she needed it. He reached out to stroke her hair.

 

"It's like a noose. Your love."

 

He jerked his hand back. "I do not mean for it to be." He tried to read her through the bond, but there was so much negativity, so much pain.

 

"I know. I'm sorry." She slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. He heard the shower running—was it to hide the sound of tears? Or was it to hide the fact that she was not crying?

 

He waited for her to finish, then showered and prepared for his day. By the time he joined her in the breakfast nook, she had clearly drunk two cups of coffee already if the level of the pot was any indication.

 

Before he could say anything, she rose and began to pace. The level of agitation battering him through the bond left him unable to settle—something he was not accustomed to.

 

Her emotions had always been present, but in a pleasant way. Never as such a hindrance. "My wife, please sit down."

 

"Don't. Don't 'my wife' me right now."

 

"Amanda, please. Sit down and talk to me."

 

She finally sat, poured yet another cup of coffee, and sipped furiously. "Talk? About what? About how our son is gone? About how you could never let up on him? Do you think he would have gone there if you had ever, just once even, made him feel supported? Appreciated? Valued?" She was glaring at him in a way that made him feel unsteady, and he gripped the edge of his chair to center himself. "Could you, for even one moment, have not tried to control him?"

 

He did not answer quickly. He did not want to fight with her. "In the past, he rebelled when I sought to direct his course. He is not rebelling. He is doing the opposite."

 

"Except, no, because you had to tell him that only Vulcans who can't master emotions on their own seek out Gol. You had to say that."

 

He should not have told her he said that. But they were honest with each other whenever possible. It was not in his nature to censor himself with her. "It was the truth."

 

"So what? It wasn't what he needed to hear. He needed a father, not a judge, not a teacher. But you can never just...love him, can you?"

 

And through the bond he felt a pang that felt much more personal than a fear he didn't care sufficiently for Spock—did she also think he did not love her? After all these years?

 

He tried to send her supportive energy through the bond and pitched his voice gently as he said, "Your emotions are understandable. You are grieving."

 

"For a son who's still here. Still living." She moved closer to him. "I imagine if T'Mela had lived to see Sybok exiled, this is how she would have felt."

 

He could hear and feel the spite of the words. "My wife..."

 

"I said don't do that. I'm not a possession. I'm not a thing that's yours. I'm a human—your partner, not your property."

 

"I am well aware of that." The way he said it, the lightness he tried to infuse, it should have made this an old joke between them.

 

But instead she turned on him. "I hate you right now."

 

And he felt something from her that did, in fact, feel precisely like enmity.

 

"Amanda." He reached for her, but she danced away.

 

She held her hand up to stop him, and he saw it was trembling. "I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back. It won't be today or tonight, though." And then she grabbed the bag she always carried and fled their quarters.

 

He knew going after her would be pointless. Early in their association, before he could bond with her, before T'Mela's death, she had been this volatile. She would leave the embassy or their house on Vulcan, sometimes taking Spock with her. Never for long but always with great emotion. But that had changed as she had grown used to her new home, to Vulcan customs, to living with a Vulcan. By the time they had bonded, they had forged a true understanding. He had never experienced this kind of unpredictability through the bond before, and it left him feeling almost ill.

 

Everything was wrong, and their son was to blame, and yet his wife was determined to make him pay for Spock's actions.

 

He knew illogical actions were to be expected from a human. But still...he was not sure how to make this better.

 

Or if he even could.

 

##

 

Chapel heard her chime go off and yelled "Enter," expecting it to be the delivery person with her groceries. "Just leave them on the counter," she said, as she came out of her bedroom.

 

"I'm afraid I come bearing no gifts, my dear." Amanda stood. "Unless you count croissants?"

 

"I do count them. But...?"

 

"Why oh why am I here, this early, with pastry?"

 

Chapel nodded, taking in the almost manic way Amanda was bumping the little container against her leg. "And are they going to survive before you put them down?"

 

Amanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm..." Her voice was shaky.

 

"Sit. You want coffee?"

 

"Well, since it's too early for wine, I guess so." Amanda stopped her as she tried to pass, taking her hand and holding it tightly—Chapel could feel her trembling. "You can't feel a damn thing from me, can you?"

 

"I have no psi abilities."

 

"And for that, I say thank God." She let Chapel go and slid the container onto the counter, then sat on one of the stools. She seemed to perch, a little bird, nervous and frail.

 

A little bird who was crying.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

"No. No, I'm not." Then she suddenly stood. "Oh, my dear. What am I doing here? You didn't ask for this. For me. Barging in on you." She seemed to realize she was crying and dashed the tears away. "I just...I just wanted a friendly face. A real smile, you know?"

 

"Sit down, Amanda." When she didn't, she said with more fierceness, "Now."

 

The chime rang again and she hurried to the door, taking the groceries and signing a nice tip as quickly as she could. She didn't want Amanda spooked. Not when she looked like she might break.

 

She made a show of unloading the groceries, saying, "Milk, I have milk—do you like milk?" Babbling a little, the way she'd done as a nurse. It always seemed to make people relax. The lack of judgment or urgency.

 

Not this time, though. Amanda stood, tears clearly falling, and walked to the sliding glass door, staring out at the view as if it was a better one than just several too-close buildings. "I don't know what to do."

 

Chapel dropped the happy harmless act. "About what?" she asked, loading her voice with the tones she was learning to use as a doctor. The kind that gave assurance that she knew what the hell she was doing.

 

"About anything." She turned. "I can't stand to be there—at the Embassy. With Sarek. I can't stand Vulcans right now. I've been so mean to him. I love him, but I just can't stand him right now."

 

Chapel wasn't sure what to say.

 

Amanda whirled, clearly heading for the door. Chapel debated for a second—let her leave and have her day but know she could have done something. Or help her.

 

She stepped in front of her and opened her arms. "Amanda. Stop. You're safe."

 

For a moment Amanda froze, breathing hard, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. "I've been so mean to him, Christine."

 

"It's okay." She moved toward her slowly, afraid that like a semi-wild kitten, Amanda might spook.

 

But she didn't. She let her hug her. She held on and cried for a very long time. When she finally pulled away, she whispered, "I must look a mess."

 

"You do and that's okay. But you're not okay, are you?"

 

Amanda shook her head, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

"How can I help?"

 

"I don't know what to do. I'm trap—" She turned as she bit off the word and walked to the sliding door. "This place must cost you a lot."

 

"Housing allowance helps."

 

"But you're hardly here, are you? Long hours for residents, I believe?"

 

"All true."

 

"Do you need a roommate? Someone to defray the cost for a while? You've got a spare room, don't you?"

 

"Uhhhh—"

 

And again Amanda was a whirl of motion. "Of course you don't want that. Of course you don't need a near-stranger coming in here and weeping in your arms and asking if she can cut off your private time and your fun."

 

"I didn't say no."

 

"But you should. If I have no human friends left, well, that's just my own damn fault, isn't it? I shouldn't have submerged myself in Sarek's life." She practically spit Sarek's name out, and her tears were causing her make-up to run even more.

 

Chapel understood how she felt—or part of it. She'd buried herself in Roger and had no friends left once he was gone. Not until the ship and Jan and Ny and the others. People who knew her for her, not for the man she'd become inextricably linked with.

 

"Please sit down. On the stool. Let's eat Danish and I'll make you some coffee—decaf—and then we can talk."

 

"No. Because you're kind and I'm taking advantage of that."

 

"And I'm okay with that. Now sit your ass down, Amanda." She put her hands on her hips, the way Ny did with her when she wanted her to stop arguing and start obeying directives.

 

It worked as well for her as it always did for Ny: Amanda sat.

 

"Okay. Now...start at the beginning."

 

##

 

Amanda woke the next day in Christine's guest bed, her head pounding because she'd forgotten to take the antitox that Christine had given her.

 

She took it and opened the door.

 

Christine was sitting at the counter, reading a padd. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said without turning around. "Towels are in the bathroom if you want to shower."

 

"Okay. And then I'll jut be on my way. Thank you for letting me stay here."

 

Christine turned, studying her, and Amanda wondered what she saw. "Were you serious about needing a place to stay?"

 

"I think, right now, I need some time away from the Vulcan embassy. But...nowhere that there's a record." She could feel her face turning red. "Sarek's a famous man and there are always reporters. They would eat this up if they knew I wasn't there. I can't do that to him—I won't. I'll go back there before I do that to him."

 

"It won't come to that. You can stay as long as you want. Like you said, I'm at Starfleet Medical half the time anyway."

 

"Well, I'm going to contribute."

 

"You don't need to."

 

"Nevertheless..."

 

Christine finally nodded. "Are you going to tell Sarek? He's sure to be worried."

 

"He is," she said, reaching deep inside, for the bond. The thing she'd waited so long for. Until a woman died. "Very. I can feel it."

 

"That must be so strange. But...nice?"

 

"Usually. Yes, usually it's a great comfort. Right now though..." She closed her eyes. "I feel so trapped. Like I'll never get away." A strangled sound escaped—had she said that? Admitted it?

 

"Do you need to get away—has he hurt you?"

 

"Oh, God, no. I mean, yes, sort of, but not like that. Just...by being Vulcan. There's just...it's just too much right now."

 

Christine looked at her with immense compassion. "I'm so sorry."

 

"This isn't your problem."

 

"I used to dream that Spock—and you and Sarek by extension—would be my problem. He never will be, but if I can help you, how can I not?" She walked over and pulled Amanda into a hug.

 

She resisted for a moment. She wasn't used to being touched by anyone except Sarek. But it felt so good—to feel arms that were human temperature around her. Christine's heart was under her cheek as she nestled in and she imagined the steady beat right where it should be, not down in the abdomen.

 

They stood like that for a long moment, then Christine said, "I have to go to work. But I put you on the door here and downstairs. You can come and go as you please—bring whatever you need over. The guest room is yours, and I cleared out some space in the bathroom."

 

She felt a surge of gratitude so strong it nearly leveled her. "Thank you."

 

"I'm working a double today. So I'll see you tomorrow."

 

And gratitude was replaced with disappointment. She hadn't come here to be left alone.

 

Then again, the poor woman standing in front of her, radiating welcome, hadn't asked her to come. So maybe this was what she deserved.

 

After Christine was gone, she took a shower then studied herself in the mirror. How long had it been since she'd gone shopping or had her hair done by someone who wasn't Vulcan?

 

But first, she had to talk to Sarek. The concern she was feeling through the bond was...distracting. Was this what she was to him, with the bond and his inherent telepathic abilities? A constant distraction?

 

A sometimes unwelcome one?

 

She saw there was a message from him on her communicator. A simple text. "Please tell me where you are and that you are safe."

 

She called rather than sending back a text.

 

"Amanda." Relief was apparent in his voice.

 

"Am I catching you at a bad time?" She hated how formal she sounded, how little warmth was in her voice—she loved him. She would always love him. But...he wasn't what she needed right now.

 

"I am about to go into a meeting. But it can wait if you need me." He was making his voice extra warm for her—trying. He was trying so hard.

 

But it wasn't going to be enough. Not right now.

 

"I'll be staying with Christine."

 

There was a silence she imagined was him trying to make sense of the statement.

 

"She's a kindred spirit, Sarek. And...human. I need that right now. But she's also gone much of the time. So I can think, without anyone judging me or telling me IÕm not Vulcan enough."

 

"No one tells you that, my wife." He sounded weary. As if he didn't understand but wasn't going to fight. "But if you need time away, I will not try to prevent that."

 

"I do need it. But I don't want to embarrass you. I'm not leaving you."

 

"But you have left me. You are now staying somewhere else."

 

"Well, not forever. Just long enough to...understand my feelings. I'm so angry and I'm taking it out on you but..."

 

"But it is not my fault?"

 

"I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth." She felt the anger that had been so near—that had finally subsided as she'd told Christine everything about Spock—rise back up. She'd also told Christine about how she'd met Sarek. About waiting for him. Told her too much probably, but she'd had too much to drink.

 

She wasn't used to being free to indulge without anyone judging her. She probably needed to watch that, but she'd worry about how much she was or wasn't drinking later.

 

When life didn't hurt so much.

 

"Whatever you need, I will honor it, Amanda." His voice—so warm. He was doing that for her. Making himself open, for her. She could feel his love through the bond.

 

She forced herself to ignore it. "I'm going to buy some things. I don't want the charges to be a surprise."

 

"You have clothes here, my wife."

 

Vulcan clothes for his Vulcan wife. "And you bringing me my clothes or me coming back to get them will raise questions. Feel free to say I'm having a girl's day."

 

"It is more than a day." Now he sounded morose, but it was a tone that worked well with her, and she knew he was not above using that to his advantage.

 

Then again, he might just be sad that his wife had lost her mind and moved in with the woman who'd had an unrequited crush on their son for years.

 

"Sarek, I just need some time. It's not forever." How could it be? With the bond?

 

"Of course. I...I miss you."

 

"And I..." But it was a lie to say it. Because at this moment, she didn't miss him. "I love you, Sarek. I'm sorry." Both of those were true.

 

And seemed to make him happy His voice had more energy as he said, "Call me whenever you desire. I will always make time to be available if it is in my power."

 

"Okay. I'm sorry. I wish...I wish I could be more Vulcan for you."

 

"I did not marry a Vulcan, Amanda. I married you."

 

"Always the right thing to say. Goodbye, my love." She hung up before she started to feel so warmly toward him she'd go back. Because the warmth would fade and she wasn't sure they could endure the sniping and ill will that her anger would bring.

 

This was necessary. Not just for her, but for them. It was logical, if he would just see it that way.

 

Before she could dwell on how logic could be used to hurt someone you love, she dressed and headed to one of her favorite stores, a place she usually wandered without buying anything because they weren't things she'd wear as the Vulcan ambassador's wife.

 

She soon had two shopping bags full and was wearing comfortable slacks and a sweater—her robe pushed into the bottom of one of the bags—when she saw a salon. She walked in before she could think too hard about it.

 

A beautiful young woman, with a simple bob, walked up. "How can I help you?"

 

Amanda touched the bun—a style she'd worn for years. "Make me look human."

 

"Ma'am?"

 

"Cut it off. Something like yours, if you don't mind doing that?"

 

The woman smiled. "My name is Elsa, and no, I don't mind doing that." She led her back to a chair and eased her hair out of the fastener. "Oh, your hair is thicker than I thought. Maybe some layers?"

 

"Yes. Those. Whatever's...fashionable."

 

Elsa laughed, a lovely sound that made Amanda smile. "Fashionable would be with some highlights. Do you trust me?"

 

"I do." She grinned, and it felt strange to do it, to be so...spontaneous. "What color highlights?"

 

"Blonde or auburn for more conservative women. Brighter colors—turquoise would look amazing on you—for bolder types."

 

"Turquoise it is." She grinned again and waved her fingers. "Can you do my nails too?"

 

As she beckoned another woman over, Elsa said, "I don't know your name."

 

"It's Amanda."

 

"And this fiery siren is Lamika. She does one of-a-kind nail colors."

 

Lamika had bright red and gold hair and nails that seemed to change color like fire.

 

Elsa leaned in, like she was sharing a secret with the other woman. "Amanda is a bold woman. Do something extraordinary for her, okay? We're giving her turquoise streaks so something that'll work with that."

 

"Fun." Lamika grinned as she began pulling out colors that looked like Cape Cod on a perfect summer day. "What's the occasion?"

 

Amanda took a deep breath. "Freedom."

 

"Well, here's to freedom, Amanda."

 

A young man came by as soon as she'd been shampooed, and Elsa and Lamika had started working on her. "Would you like some champagne? Or a mimosa maybe?"

 

"That sounds heavenly, darling." She smiled and gave herself over to the women.

 

It was going to be a very, very good day.

 

##

 

Sarek took the chance that Christine had not thought to take him off the door to her apartment and set his hand on the panel. The door buzzed and he pulled it open, then hurried to the elevator.

 

He knew his actions were illogical. His wife had said she needed time, and he had agreed. And yet here he was, not even two days gone, and he felt the need to see her.

 

Christine was not waiting for him at the door—had he not triggered an alert this time? He buzzed the apartment door, and she opened it. "Oh. Hi. How do you feel about turquoise?"

 

She had clearly been drinking. Her cheeks were flushed, she was unsteady, and she was leaning into him in a way he did not think she normally would.

 

"Darling, who is it? This wine's not going to drink itself."

 

He tried to see around Christine to his wife.

 

"Oh, did you want to come in?" Christine moved out of the way, murmuring, "I really hope you like turquoise."

 

He stopped as soon as he could see the couch. His wife—some version of her—was staring back. Even when they had met she had not looked so...

 

He was not sure how to describe it. Other than younger and fashionably human.

 

"He hates it. I told you he would, Christine."

 

"Say you like it," Christine barely vocalized. "For the love of God, say you like it."

 

"It is most inter—"

 

"Don't say interesting."

 

"Becoming."

 

He heard Christine exhale as if in relief. "See, he likes it." She dug into her pocket and brought out a packet of white tablets. "Let me just sober up—"

 

"No. Do not. If that is antitox. You are enjoying yourself, are you not?" He looked over at the woman he barely recognized as his wife. What color would one call the shifting shade on her fingernails? "And you are enjoying yourself as well?"

 

"Damned straight," Amanda said, meeting his eyes as if daring him to tell her not to swear.

 

He never did, not in the privacy of their chambers. Why would he? It was who she was.

 

"Do you want some tea?" Christine's voice was gentle. As if she knew how awkward this was. "And I can go into my room if you want privacy."

 

"Get him tea if you want, but you're not going anywhere. It's your place, Christine." Amanda met Sarek's eyes. "Why are you here? I asked for space. This is the opposite of space."

 

Christine sighed and fled to the kitchen. A moment later, he smelled the tea he had enjoyed before as it steeped.

 

"It was an emotional impulse."

 

"And you're admitting it?" Amanda grinned in a way that was more open than he was used to. The way she had when they had first met. Before she had learned to conform, to tone down who she was.

 

He found it pleasant to see that smile and openness again. "I am. I miss you. Life is very dull. Our bed very empty." That was the truth.

 

"And that was very sweet." Christine handed him the tea. "Now, would you like some privacy?"

 

"My wife deems it unnecessary. Who am I to correct her?"

 

"Really not the answer I wanted." But Christine sat in the chair, leaving him the couch next to his wife.

 

He sat and studied Amanda, deciding the hairstyle was appealing even if the colored streaks were not to his taste. "The transformation is startling. Is it permanent?"

 

She laughed. "Not necessarily. I just wanted to feel...different."

 

"Achieved that," Christine murmured with a laugh, and Sarek felt something lighten within him when his wife did not react negatively to the jibe, only grinned and said, "I sure did."

 

She was still capable of humor; he had not been sure if it had gone with Spock to Gol.

 

She put her wineglass down and began to crawl down the couch to him.

 

Desire he had despaired of feeling again from her was surging through the bond. "This is also not space, my wife," he said with mock severity.

 

"I find I no longer want space." She straddled him and he was conscious of how tight her pants were, how much lower this shirt was cut than her normal casual wear. "Can you imagine, my husband, if I did this in front of a Vulcan? The scandal?" She looked back at Christine. "But she doesn't care, do you?"

 

Christine looked decidedly uncomfortable. "It's a little weird." She met his eyes, hers unsure but...amused too.

 

His son would have done well to choose this woman. She seemed gently tolerant in a way he thought Spock would have appreciated.

 

If his son had not already chosen his mate; a man who did not want that from him. Or did not want it until it was too late.

 

Anger rose up and Amanda pulled back, clearly feeling what he was. "Is that at me?"

 

"No. At Kirk."

 

"Oh, well yeah, that's okay. He's a shithead."

 

"Admiral Shithead," Christine said with a laugh, reaching over and pouring herself another glass of wine. "Now watch me say that sometime in public."

 

"That would be hilarious. Well, until he busted you down to whatever rank one gets demoted to after insulting a superior officer." Amanda ground slightly on him. "But enough of Kirk. What about you, my husband? Do you want me?" she whispered. Her smile grew mischievous and she touched his temples. "I can tell you do."

 

"Are you sure I can't give you the room?" Chapel asked softly.

 

"I want to make love to him in front of you."

 

"And I'm out. You two have a lovely evening." Christine was as good as her word, taking the glass and a padd and leaving them alone.

 

"We embarrassed her. Us. An old married couple."

 

"I do not think I had a hand in that, my wife." He ran his fingers through her hair; it was silkier than he remembered.

 

"They cut all the dry spots off. I wish all the bad parts inside me could be taken off that easily. I'm so..."

 

"Angry. I know." He pulled her to him and kissed her gently. "I regret if my actions in the past contributed to Spock's decision. I regret I did not tell you what he was considering. I regret that you are in pain." He traced her cheek. "I regret that I cannot be human for you right now." He tried to send her that through the bond, to let her know he too was affected by their son's decision.

 

"You do, don't you." She cuddled into him. "I like it here. For now, I mean. It's...I'm free."

 

"Yes. I realize you are." He eased her off him. "I must go. I have an early meeting. It was an emotional break to come here."

 

She smiled up at him. "I know. I love it."

 

"Tell Christine the tea was delicious."

 

"You didn't drink any of it. I didn't give you a chance."

 

"Nevertheless. It was kind of her."

 

"She is kind. I like her so much. Our son's a moron."

 

"I believe you are correct." He felt her amusement and had to bite back the urge to smile.

 

"Thank you for not fighting me on this, Sarek."

 

"I want you to be happy. You were not happy at the embassy."

 

She stroked his cheek. "It wasn't you. It was me. Maybe you should run away from the embassy too?" She laughed at the idea.

 

"T'Pau would have an opinion on that."

 

"And then some." She walked him to the door and kissed him very gently. "I love you. But next time comm before you show up."

 

"Yes, my wife," he said, eager to please her now that her anger did not stand between them.

 

He left, even though the idea of running away held some appeal. He was not opposed to her setting out on this retreat from things Vulcan–especially when he could feel the love she felt for him through the bond more clearly than he had since Spock left—but it would not do for him to indulge in such a thing.

 

-- Continue to Part 2 –