Title: Joy Unspeakable
Archive: E-me for permission
Summary: Sarek asks Amanda a question.
Disclaimer: Amanda and Sarek belong to one another, and to Paramount. None of these characters belong to me. Comments and criticism can be directed to ebonbird [SQUIGGLY AT SIGN] gmail [DOT] com.
Head bowed over the swirl-patterned fabric draping her knee, her neck slimming up and out of the many folded drape of her cowl, Amanda Grayson waited for the ambassador's response.
The fingers against her skin warmed like the heat of the sun focused through a magnifying glass, and she was nervous (so nervous) and cool in her nervousness.
Embarrassment fizzed through the clear depths of her mind to the surface of her thoughts, making the receptor of her thoughts almost (and for him, this oddly) light-headed.
Ambassador Sarek's fingers touched off from their contact points on her face. The feeling of extreme, heat-induced light-headedness evaporated, leaving her a different kind of dizzy. She kept her head bowed but saw from the position of his hand that his fingers were curled towards his chest.
"Amanda," he said, and his voice, low, resonant, strummed across her consciousness much like his thought had.
"Sarek?" she asked her eyes downcast. Then flustered as she remembered the status and origins of the person she addressed, "Ambassador Sarek?"
The crooked index finger of his furled hand straightened a fraction. "What is," his littlest finger jerked, "the logic of emotion?"
She could feel her shortness of breath in her torso as her stomach, constrained by her thighs, struggled to expand. Her sides pulsed as her lungs pumped for air. She felt tight, so tight within her skin, and the after effect of his fingers on her face went deep into her cheek, thickening her tongue.
"You are kind," she murmured. His hearing was acute. He would hear her, no matter how softly spoke, but she said it again, illogically wasting words, but she did not care. "You are kind," and wanted to add My lord.
She did not see his look of concentration intensify. She did not see that he almost frowned. Her gaze trained on the floor in front of his feet, she did not see his fingers rest upon his side.
"What you call kindness," he paused, and then he did frown. "Logic governs the behavior of all Vulcanians. Humans are, in many ways,
admirable. It is logical then, Amanda," (his voice was so gentle, disappointingly gentle), "for me to respect humans in general and you,
due to your talents and accomplishments in par-- specifically."
"Logic dictates courtesy as a manifestation of respect for the other, yes," she replied, watching the toe of his shoe beneath the hem of his
trousers for some clue of his reaction to her only too human paraphrase. When he said nothing she went on, her voice surprising her in its steadiness, "Yet, of your delegation only you seem to find it
unnecessary--" She sighed unhappily and rolled her eyes at herself. At the top of her eyes' arc Sarek's gaze speared hers.
"Yes," he prompted.
The words drifted out of her mouth, "To forgive our humanity."
He did not speak for several long moments. "We are in error."
There was heat in Amanda's voice, a logical anger she believed and did not wonder if she were embarrassing herself further, "Not you, Ambassador. You, on the other hand, you are more than courteous. You go beyond mere civility." It was hard for her to breathe again, his eyes would not let hers go. She blushed, "You are gracious."
The severity of Sarek's features could be said to have relaxed in disappointment.
"And you do not--" She must not say merely, "You are not civil because we humans 'do not know better'. I believe that Y-you go beyond Surak's compromise and in doing so more than uphold the law."
The hand she could see utterly stilled.
"And for this reason you love me?"
"You are kind, My Lord."
His expression softened. "Everyone is kind to you, Amanda."
Her eyes closed. Her mouth thinned in a resigned smile. Her voice much softer, wistful, "You are so very, very kind."
He extended his arm. The crumpled length of cloth clothing his side and arm spanned the distance between his wrist and waist. His fingers spread, curved lightly, not to touch, but to promise.
"Amanda," he said, holding his hand before her. Index and middle-- How fantastic that Vulcanian's have four fingers and one thumb, Amanda thought-- pressed against one another, fourth and ring curved against one another, the ball of his thumb pressed against the fat of his palm in what she took to be an invitation. Craning her neck to look up at him, she did not feel comfortable. His face was terrible in utter expressionlessness but he said, "It is meet to please you."
And Amanda Grayson rose to her feet and found that her palm rested easily against his.
Notes: I wrote this a while back, fiddled, diddled, and put it under my hat and sit upon before deciding that I should fiddle, diddle and edit some more.
Thanks to BeckyD for faith, and WC for companionship. I've learned much from being allowed to beta from thee.
Regarding the story: I have always found Amanda and Sarek fascinating, and thought to write this as the beginning of the happily ever after for them both. I use the term Vulcanian because Mr. and Mrs. Sarek (to borrow a misnomer from the wonderful doctor McCoy) showed up early in
the series, and I chose to think that Vulcanian was more in use than 'Vulcan' when they were working out the beginning of their togetherness.
Please, send comments, extensive, critical, short, sweet, any comment, as long as they're courteous (and I do believe in courteous flames), to me at email@example.com. I will respond.