DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and all the characters belong to Paramount, Viacom and whoever else had a finger in Roddenberry's pie. The story is mine. This story is rated PG13.

A Logical Reaction

Joanne K. Seward

It was late when Sarek stumbled into the bedchamber he shared with his wife of many years. His body trembling with the cold of exhaustion, he stood, supported by the door frame.

He lives.

Oh, thank God, Amanda, whispered.

I requested fal-tor-pan -- the refusion.

Amanda's eyes opened wide. Refusion... It was more legend than fact.

His body was in life. McCoy bore his katra -- it was logical.


He is not himself, Sarek warned, but he lives. The healers -- the healers have hopes-- He broke off, the tremors passing through his body making speech impossible.

Thank God, Amanda repeated. Crossing the room, she embraced her shuddering husband and his thoughts exploded into her mind.

Want-- Need-- I must-- he thought, then he was on her, pushing her back roughly onto the mattress, covering her body with his own.

Sarek! she exclaimed aloud, then silently, she repeated the name, Sarek -- what is it?

His thoughts were a jumble as he thrust at her with the clumsy focus of a much younger man in the heat of his first pon farr, the robes he'd worn at Seleya tangling about his legs-- Must -- need -- I want -- Spock -- illogical -- sorry, so sorry, beloved -- I am hurting you -- cannot control--

No, no, there's nothing to be sorry about, she thought to him. I understand. It IS logical, husband. You thought our son dead, his katra lost. Now he lives.

Yes--YES--he thought to her. But--

No buts, she thought, sending calming images as she had learned to do years ago. Gently but firmly she pushed him off her far enough that she could relieve him of his robes and remove her own gown. Come, husband, come to me. Cool yourself in my body. Let me quench the flames that burn in you.

Yes. YES! he thought again, thrusting into her. I thought him lost and I could not bear it.

Of course not, she responded still thinking those calming images -- a lake on Earth, the coolness of a midnight meal under the light of T'Kuht in the early spring, the first snow at her aunt's cabin in the Rockies. The loss of a child is more than any parent should have to bear.

But Kirk -- he lost his son, Amanda, he thought, not so much to her as at her, thrusting now as he had all those years ago when Spock had been conceived. His son -- his ship -- his SON!!! How will he bear it? HOW-- The nearly incoherent thoughts tore into her mind as Sarek's body thrust into hers then he was at the brink, shuddering, gasping, his burning semen flooding into her body, his hot, salty tears falling onto her bare skin.

How will he BEAR it, he repeated, as the shudders slowly calmed and grew less wrenching. How, Amanda?

As you would, Husband. With dignity. With logic. With love. Spock will help him. Now, Spock will be there for him.

There is no way of knowing if Spock will ever be himself again, Amanda.

She smiled and he saw her with his eyes and his mind. He will, Sarek. I'm sure of it.

? he thought.

She smiled again and pressed a kiss onto his disheveled hair. Just put it down to Human intuition, Sarek. Adjusting her position, she said aloud, "Now -- sleep, Husband!"

But he was asleep before she finished the words, his breath slowing, his heart no longer exploding against his side. She looked down at his relaxed features, the lines that had appeared there at the news of Spock's death already eased. There was no saying, truly, what Spock's condition would be, she knew that. The refusion was an unknown quantity. But where there was love -- and Sarek DID love his son, he'd made that abundantly clear -- anything was possible.