Her mind both imploded and exploded, combusting into hot, green flame. Her soul was in fragments, small enough that any possibility to rebuild it would surely be futile. Her heart pounded in her chest, increasing the pain in her ribs as her breathing increased. Hot sweat beaded on her forehead and in the small of her back as her knees gave way, her behind landing noisily on the metallic floor. Sarek. Sarek was gone. This was worse than when he had nearly been sold by Orions. Not only was their bond blocked, but it was broken, frayed, smashed like glass. Someone rushed to her side, trying to get her attention. Couldn’t they see that she wasn’t listening, didn’t want to listen? How could anyone be able to speak with Sarek gone? Sarek, who was her rock when she was in trouble, who was always there to offer the logical solution. Torn from her. How could the world carry on with this catastrophe ruining her entire existence? Her katra cried out for that which it had lost, but it cried in vain. Something wet hit her cheek. Tears? But she wasn’t crying. The pain was too deep, too soul-wrenching for tears. Who, then, could be crying?
/ / / / / / / /
Panic showing in his young eyes, Spock knelt next to his mother. “Ko-mekh? Can you hear me?” Something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t discover what it was. His mother’s face had gone from delighted and love-struck to pained and heart-broken in the space of seconds. His sa-mekh had been right, humans are highly illogical. His mother didn’t respond, and he could tell through their tenuous familiar link that her mind was shrivelling up, as if it had lost its primary life source. He nudged the link nervously, wary of breaking the privacy laws. There was no response. As he felt his mother draw away from him and into herself, Spock’s highly intelligent, Vulcan mind came up with the only logical answer. Her mind was being starved of its primary life source, his father. Tears welled up in his all too human eyes, and he wept uncontrollably for his sa-mekh and the grief of his ko-mekh.
/ / / / / / / /
Spock awoke in his bed, with the harsh sunlight of Vulcan streaming though the gap between the two curtains, and a pounding headache. He pondered the reasons behind both of these phenomena, as every night he was sure to bring the curtains together so that no illumination made its way into his room. Headaches were an almost unheard of occurrence on Vulcan, excepting those who had recently lost a bond-mate. Tears threatened again as he remembered why he had this dehydration-induced headache. Sarek was dead. Amanda would be distraught. He would have to meditate immediately in order to ‘remain strong’ for her benefit, as she did not have the ability to supress her emotions as he could. He slipped out of bed and onto his meditation matt, inhaling deeply the incense that permeated the air.
/ / / / / / / /
Unaccounted-for days passed as she lay in her bed, to large now for just her, and thought of Sarek. She remembered his not-smile, the way his love for her came out in his eyes, the eyes which Spock had inherited. She recalled his barely contained glee at having conceived Spock, and his carefully maintained supportiveness throughout the pregnancy and the birth. It hadn’t been easy, having a half-Vulcan half-Human hybrid inside of her. She had needed to take copper supplements, as Spock’s blood was green and copper-based, like Sarek’s. The baby’s superior strength which had bruised a rib more than once had proved a constant worry her her over-protective sa-telsu.
Her cheeks began to hollow as she stopped eating, having lost her appetite along with her soul. Her skin changed from its previous graceful pallor to a sickly yellow, feeling almost papery beneath her fingers. Nobody said grieving was good for the body, only the mind. Premature wrinkles began to spread over her face, frown-lines creasing her brow. She had not yet cried. There was no reason to cry. Countless times her body had been racked by dry sobs, yet no tears had come. They would come soon enough, she was sure of it. Just as soon as the shell-shock wore off, the tears would come like rain, flowing until there were none left to fall. Her fingers trembled slightly as she thought about what she would have to do next. When Spock had fallen asleep, exhausted by his grief, she had mustered just enough energy to put her pre-pubescent child into bed and shuffle into her own bedroom. Her hands shook as the idea of years without her soul-mate loomed over her. She would have to decide what to do with Spock, the only thing she had left of her sa-telsu. She had two paths that she could go down, the Vulcan way, or the Human. There were merits to both, but there were also problems. It seemed however, that one would have to prevail over the other, as they could not easily co-exist, not for the long-term anyhow. It was a shame for Spock that his two sides seemed to clash so impossibly. The Human way of embracing emotion, positive or negative, was directly at odds with the Vulcan method of suppression and control. Suddenly, a new, nerve-wracking prospect made itself known. Spock was now the direct heir to the House of Surak, the highest house on Vulcan, founded by the master and saviour of the Vulcan people. This would weigh more on his shoulders as he would be expected to govern over the prestigious house in years to come, settling disputes and making decisions. He would be the Solomon for Vulcan. Bringing their son up the Vulcan way was the way that Sarek had intended, and it would honour and preserve his memory. But could Amanda cope with a child that was so like his father, despite her influences? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t let Spock know of her inner conflict, and she needed to be able to love her son in the manner he deserved, and not allow the memory of his sa-mekh to get in the way.
Where would they live? Could they stay on Vulcan, or would it be better to move back to Earth, or even to a colony somewhere? She had to stay with her son, wherever they lived, she would not send him off to a boarding school or anything like that. She had to overcome her emotional distress and show Spock how she loved him, regardless of anything he may do. She could not afford for her son to fear to talk to her or to believe that his father’s memory hindered the relationship between them. As the only thing she had left of Sarek, she would cherish Spock.
She settled down into the bed, allowing the thoughts of loving Spock to overtake the anguish at losing Sarek. Slowly, she slipped into the blissful realms of a dreamless sleep.
/ / / / / / / /
Spock’s eyes fluttered open, the smell of cinnamon toast warming him, a fuzzy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. He sat up in bed, seeing the face of his ko-mekh in the doorway. He smiled with his eyes, “Good morning ko-mekh,” he said, expressing the unsaid words in his chocolate-brown eyes. A small but meaningful smile broke the pain-ridden face as she entered his room, laying on his lap the tray which held a plate full of cinnamon toast. She sat down tentatively as her son took to the task of devouring the home-made breakfast. “Spock honey,” she spoke softly, as if afraid she would break her vocal chords, “I have been thinking about what we should do next, after…” there was an audible tremor in her voice as she quickly changed the subject. “Would it be possible to have a logical input for my overly illogical ideas?” Spock’s expression changed. It was slight, but it was there, and it instilled a confidence in Amanda which she had thought she had lost. Small tears appeared in the corners of her eyes for the first time in weeks. “Of course, mother, how can I be of assistance?” She was quiet for a time, considering her words carefully, debating the best way to approach the subject. “Spock, due to your Father’s… umm…” she struggled to find the correct sentence, but Spock was there. Spock understood. “You have been thinking about my upbringing and our future planet of residence, have you not Mother?” Her clouded eyes cleared in the knowledge that her son understood her so well. The change did not go unnoticed by Spock, and neither did the twitch of the corners of his mouth to his mother. “Mother,” Spock began, “I will support you in whichever direction you go, and I will endeavour to help you in areas in which you are lacking.” The subtle way in which her son had referenced the death of her husband brought yet more tears to her eyes. She sighed at the selfless support that her broken son was giving her, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She should be there for her son, not the other way around. “Spock,” she breathed deeply, gathering herself, “I believe I would like to move to Earth. Permanently.” Spock placed his hand on Amanda’s, a silent pledge of aid. She kept going, “And I think I want to bring you up both able to show emotions, and to control dangerous ones.” She closed her eyes, praying for him to be able to cope with the drastic change in situation. “Mother,” he stopped. “Mummy?” He corrected himself hesitantly, wondering whether he had understood her meaning and used the term correctly. Her eyes opened, full of shock, appreciation and gratitude, “Spock!” she exclaimed, and hugged him tight, stroking his blue-black hair.