A Friend in Need

Chapel was working at one of the comm stations, sitting in the big room rather than her cushy office because she liked to feel the energy of the main ops space. If anyone seemed to mind, she would stay in her office, but she was an ops lifer and that counted for something around here. She could sit anywhere she liked without people freezing up in an annoying "the boss is around" way.

Montenegro and Cassat walked in, fresh off a mission that should have been fairly standard. She stood and gestured for them to meet her in her office for a quick debrief.

As they stood, she leaned against her desk and asked "Anything I should know?"

Montenegro was the more senior of the two, and she took the lead. "Pretty much textbook, which is what we all expected."

Chapel nodded. How often did textbook stay that way? She could tell Montenegro was glad it had.

Cassat had a strange look on his face, so Chapel said softly, "Something you want to add, Rick?"

"Diplomatic was strange."

"Diplomatic is always strange. They are a world unto themselves." Chapel pushed herself off the desk. "Who was leading the delegation?"

"Ambassador Sarek," Montenegro said. "He was somewhat erratic toward the end of our stay."

"Erratic? Erratic how?" Chapel wanted to close her eyes and take a deep breath: she'd been expecting this. Amanda had told her Sarek should be close to his next Pon Farr. She'd told Chapel this on her deathbed, had wanted to make sure Chapel would "take care of him."

Which she would—she'd promised a friend, after all. But it was entirely possible Sarek had his own arrangements made for the Pon Farr.

Cassat met her eyes. "He seemed...out of sorts, for a Vulcan anyway. He actually had a little bit of a hissy fit when the catering he'd ordered didn't have enough entrees the Nairdlikins would enjoy.

"A hissy fit?" Chapel knew her expression was amused.

"Well, for a Vulcan, I mean. For a human, maybe not."

"Look, even Vulcans have bad days. Go home and get some sleep. I'll see you back here in a couple of days."

They nodded and hurried out. One of the best things about being done with an ops mission were the days off you got once you were home. Sleeping with no threat of disease or natural disasters or war interrupting your rest: it was damn near heaven, unless you had bad dreams about what you'd just been through. Nightmares kind of came with the territory.

She remembered those days, even if she didn't live them anymore. Being in charge meant being on Earth, which she didn't mind. She'd had enough travelling—seen enough carnage and death—to last a lifetime.

She went back to the post she'd taken outside, continuing to read her comms until it was time to go. She went home, took a quick shower and changed into civilian clothes, then commed the Vulcan embassy. "This is Captain Chapel. Is Ambassador Sarek available?"

She was transferred to Semek, Sarek's personal assistant who had always been very accommodating to her when she'd visited Amanda and Sarek, who said, "The ambassador is in. Did you wish to be put through?"

"I'd rather come see him. If he's free in, say, half an hour?"

Semek glanced away, no doubt at a scheduling screen. "He has a meeting in ten minutes. Then he is free for the next hour. After that he will be away on personal time for several days."

Several: remarkably unspecific for a Vulcan—maybe Sarek had made his own arrangements and this would all be moot. "Fine. I'll be by then. Thank you."

He nodded and signed off.

Chapel sat down and caught up with personal correspondence until it was time to leave, then walked quickly to the embassy. The guards waved her in and Semek saw her and pointed upstairs with a look she couldn't read—although that was sort of the point with most Vulcans.

She was being sent to Sarek's private chambers, the ones he used to share with Amanda. Which was probably more fitting for the conversation Chapel was going to have with him than in an office with Semek sitting right outside. She knocked gently on the door, heard heavy footsteps coming toward her—was he stomping? He usually walked so softly.

He opened the door, his face composed, but in his eyes she saw an energy that normally didn't show through his perfect Vulcan demeanor. "Christine."

"Sarek." She smiled slowly. "May I come in?"

"Of course." He moved away, then shut the door, standing facing away for a long moment before he turned to her. "What can I do for you?"

"I think the question might be more what I can do for you."

His face changed—was that anger she was seeing? "I am not sure what you mean."

She took a slow, steadying breath and took a step toward him. "Amanda told me your time was close."

"My wife would not normally speak of such things."

"You're right. But she was dying. And she wanted to make sure that you were...taken care of."

His eyebrow rose, so much like Spock's. "I see. And you are offering to assist me?" There was something in his voice she couldn't identify, but she didn't like it.

"Look, if you've made other arrangements, we can pretend this conversation never happened. But I made her a promise, so I had to come see you after I heard you were a bit...erratic on your last mission."

Again the anger in his face. "So you will take care of me in my time of need?" He moved closer, his expression turning hard. "Just as you have no doubt taken care of my son?"

"Whoa." She actually had to put a hand out to stop his progress, his skin was hot, even just touching the robe she could feel how he was burning. "I never. Not with Spock." Not that she hadn't offered, but he'd never wanted her.

"Are you lying to me, Christine?"

"You know what, Sarek. Screw you." She turned and this time he moved lightly because his hand was on her before she heard him take a step.

"Are you my son's lover?"

"No. I'm not." She tried to shake off his hand, failed and felt the first inkling of fear.

He seemed to read her fear, for his expression changed, and he dropped his hand. "I beg pardon. I am not myself."

"I know." She took a deep breath and was dismayed to hear how shaky it was. "Sarek, just tell me you've made alternate arrangements, and I'll get the hell out of here."

He closed his eyes. "I have not."

"What were you going to do?" She saw his expression change, from anger to something sadder, something lost. How much was he missing Amanda? He'd been off world so much—had he been burying himself in work? Chapel felt guilty; she should have checked on him earlier. Amanda had expected her to be there for him and she very nearly hadn't. "Were you going to let yourself die?"

"I am unsure." He turned away and walked to the window, clutching the sides of his robe as if that would somehow steady him. "I miss my wife, Christine."

"I know you do. I do, too." She wasn't sure what to do, whether to turn and leave him to his fate, as he seemed to prefer—but she knew was a plan Amanda would not approve of—or to walk over to him and do what she did best: deal with an emergency. Finally she settled for saying, "If Amanda had wanted you to die, she wouldn't have told me to come."

"Logical." There was a note of resignation in his voice, surrender, even. "Do you wish this? Do you have feelings for me?"

"You're my friend. And so was Amanda. I wouldn't let myself have feelings for you when she was alive. And now..." She sighed and he turned, his eyes burning into her.

"You still love my son."

"Don't say it like that. Like in all these years I'm not smart enough to realize that I'll never have him—or that his heart wasn't given to Jim Kirk. I used to be in love with your son. But I never knew him and I still don't, not to the degree one would expect from a friend, much less a lover." She folded her arms across her chest, protecting herself, she knew, but was willing to give that to him, knowing he'd read her body language perfectly. "Everyone thinks I can't give up, but I can. I have."

"Would you be here if my wife had not asked you to be?" He moved closer to her.

"I'm not sure I would have realized what you were going through if she hadn't told me it was close."

"But if you had, and she had not asked, would you have come?"

He seemed to want honesty from her, so she closed her eyes and murmured, "I don't know."

"I release you from the promise my wife forced upon you. It was not fair of her...not right." He seemed to be clutching his robe even tighter. "You may go."

"I don't want you to die."

He nodded in a way that could mean anything.

She reached down and pried his fingers from his robe, holding his hands in hers, feeling the heat pouring off him before she let go of him. "Let me help you."

He took a shuddering breath. "I will look for her, Christine. If we are together, I will look for her in you—in your mind when we meld. She was my wife, my mate, my—"

"Your life. I know. But the Federation needs you, Sarek. So if you call out for her, if you look for her in me, then so be it." She moved closer, ran her hand down his cheek, then dropped down to his chest, then lower.

He moaned—a sound she hadn't expected him to make.

"How close are you?"

"Imminent."

"Let me arrange some leave. I have lots. How many days will I need?"

"Two—three to be safe." He spoke softly, no longer arguing, apparently. Resigned to this—to her. He went back to the window and resumed his study of whatever was so interesting on the other side, while she called work and took four days off, adding an extra day in case she needed time to recover. Fortunately, while emergencies might never take time off, it was a slow week for her as far as meetings and special briefings were concerned.

She studied Sarek, then eased to the door. "I'm going to my apartment. It's not far. I need a few things."

His head shot up, and he looked at her with an intensity that almost unnerved her, then he said softly, "Perhaps we both should go? It would give us more privacy then here."

She nodded, knowing that Vulcans usually retreated to places marked by ritual for the Pon Farr, also knowing that the Vulcan embassy would not be such a place. Most Vulcans as far gone as Sarek seemed would have already been on their way to Vulcan.

What had he been planning to do? Hike out into the Mojave and let the elements and his own biological imperative do the rest?

He followed her, but once they were out of the embassy, he seemed to be trying to get into the lead, with her half a step behind her. She'd seen Amanda follow him in just this way, but it ticked her off, so she stopped. Abruptly. He had taken quite a few steps before he seemed to realize she was not with him, that she was standing, arms across her chest, foot tapping.

It was not really a statement of principle: he had been walking the wrong way, toward her old apartment. Apparently Amanda had never told him Chapel had moved.

He strode back to her. "Why have you stopped?"

"A. I don't feel like heeling today. B. My apartment is this way."

He didn't look chagrinned until she hit point B, which did not surprise her. Vulcans might be equal opportunity when it came to gender roles in the professional arena, but they weren't exactly liberated when domestic arrangements came into play.

He took a deep breath. "It is not wise to goad me at this time."

"Not what I'm doing. Forget about who's in front. Move on to part B of my statement. Do you even know where I live?"

"You have always lived close to headquarters—presumably because of the unpredictable hours of ops." He gestured in the direction he had been going. "It is just this way."

She made the buzzer sound for "Wrong answer."

He did not look amused.

"Come on." She turned and led him across the street and down the hill to the high-rise she'd moved to a few months ago when she'd made captain. It had an amazing view of the water. "Home sweet home," she murmured as she led him into the building.

He seemed to stay very far away from her in the elevator, followed her almost obediently down the hallway. Once they got inside, he moved toward her, but she held her hand up.

"Let me change. I know it's stupid if you're just going to be taking my clothes off me, but I don't want to do this in a uniform. And I want to get a few things—medical things—to have on hand." Thank God she'd always kept a regenerator and scanner—not to mention a few handy meds—perpetually signed out in her name.

Sarek nodded and went to her window. He did not comment on the view, and she disappeared into her bedroom, hurriedly making the bed since she thought he would prefer that to the unmade mess she'd left as she'd run in to work. Then she got out of her uniform and into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—no way she was putting on one of the many slinky nightgowns she'd bought over the years. For men friends who never amounted to much, and truth to tell, for herself, because she liked how pretty things made her feel.

But she didn't want to feel that way now. This wasn't about romance or even lust. At least not lust specifically for her. It was lust, though, in its most basic form.

And she was afraid. She held up her hand, saw it was shaking, and shot a little anti-anxiety med into her arm. Then, not sure how much Sarek was going to warm her up once they started this, she took advantage of some more intimate preparations to get her ready for whatever came.

She was going to have sex with Sarek. Because his dead wife had asked her to.

She'd never felt less sexy. Or more afraid before the act, and she'd had a point in her life when she'd been into men who liked it a little rough. But they'd always been capable of control.

She was potentially in for something that fell more in the category of mindless and violent. She walked out to where Sarek was, silently cursing all the privacy-obsessed Vulcans who had kept any useful information about the Pon Farr from the medical archives. She deserved to know what she was in for, and Amanda had not told her—Chapel suspected it was because Amanda had not wanted to scare her off.

"I'm ready," she murmured, causing Sarek to turn.

His eyes as he took her in were impossible to read. She imagined him comparing her to Amanda. The other woman had been so petite and elegant. Chapel was neither of those things. Would he care?

His expression changed, and she thought she was witnessing him giving up control. He reached for her and she went to him, wondering if he would kiss her, if it even mattered.

This was her friend. Nothing more. She was doing this for a friend.

He did kiss her, pulling her in close, hiking her up against the wall and grinding into her. "As you said, your clothing is unnecessary as I am going to remove it." He let her down, took her hand, pulled her into the bedroom, and quickly did just that. Then he stared at her until she felt too exposed and tried to cover her breasts with her arms.

"Do not do that," he said, his voice husky and low.

She dropped her arms, unsure if she should undress him or just wait. Finally, she moved closer, carefully, watching him to make sure what she was doing wasn't wrong.

Really, couldn't Amanda have briefed her just a little on this?

She began to unfasten the robe he wore, then took off the undergarments, watching his eyes for clues. They were fastened on her, his breathing louder, his mouth parted.

She decided to try to be some sort of partner in this, not just a blow-up doll, so she moved closer, rubbing against him gently before leaning in and kissing him. He opened his mouth to hers and pushed her backwards, until she hit the bed and fell back. He followed her down.

And then his fingers were on the meld points, and he was in her mind, and she felt him pushing her away, but not in a cruel way. She thought he was trying to spare her from whatever he feared he'd do to her—as he sought his true mate and found Amanda truly gone. Maybe for the first time accepting it in his heart even if logic had told him his wife was gone long before.

"Thank you," he said, to her mind or with his voice, she wasn't sure, but then all she felt was sensation, his, hers, him thrusting, calling out that she was his, his, his, but never by name, and she thought he didn't mean her at all.

But it felt so good, the way he was moving, the way he touched her, the way he made her come over and over, that her fear melted away as she gave herself over to whatever he wanted to do.

She lost track of time, had no idea how long they had been in bed when he, lost deeply to the rut, began to look for Amanda. It hurt less than she thought it would, this sense of not being the right person even as she lay underneath him. She'd feared it would be worse, a sense of lacking, of failure, and if it had been Spock looking for his lost Jim, she no doubt would have felt this far less clinically. But this wasn't Spock: this was her friend.

A friend who finally stopped calling for his dead wife and fell asleep in her arms. She lay still and took a shuddering breath, reaching for the scanner and regenerator, moving carefully so she wouldn't wake him. He'd been rough but never mean, and she pushed aside that she was working on herself and just let herself become the doctor she used to be.

On balance, it could have been so much worse.

She put the scanner and regenerator back on the nightstand, grabbed a hypo full of restoratives and the one with the anti-anxiety meds from before, and dosed herself, then cuddled in next to him and fell asleep.

She woke as he eased out of the bed—from the set of his shoulders, he was trying to do it without waking her. She touched his arm, saw him jerk then look back at her.

She smiled as gently as she could "There are clean towels in the bathroom. If you want to shower."

"Most kind."

The formality seemed silly, but she thought he needed it. "Least I could do."

His expression changed, became concerned. "I did not hurt you, did I?"

She pointed to the nightstand. "Nothing I couldn't fix." She knew joking was wrong when his look grew more concerned. "Sarek, no. You didn't hurt me. Two days of sex did."

"Ah. Yes. A wise way to look at it." He seemed unsure what more to say.

"Go shower. Do you want breakfast or would you rather get the hell out of here as fast as you possibly can?"

By his expression, she could tell it was the latter. She rubbed his arm gently, knowing he could read what she was feeling, that she was all right with this, that she expected nothing from him.

He seemed to relax. "I am deeply appreciative."

"I know." She let go of him, and lay back down in the bed, closing her eyes. "I'll see you around."

"Indeed." He seemed uncertain still, despite her attempt to give him an easy out.

"That's your cue to get in the shower, get dressed, make a hasty, if thankful, exit, and not worry about me. And promise me we'll still be friends after this, okay?"

"Open your eyes."

She did.

He reached over and touched her cheek. His lips almost turned up and his eyes were incredibly gentle. "We will still be friends." Then he got up and walked into the bathroom.

She heard the shower go on and reached over to the night table, scanning herself and seeing she could use another shot of restoratives. She pressed the hypo against her neck, lay back, closed her eyes, and was lost to a deep, dreamless sleep in no time.

As she expected, he was gone when she woke up. Other than his scent lingering in her bed and the damp towel and washcloth thrown over the shower curtain rod, there was no sign he had ever been there.

##

She saw Sarek a few times in the hallways of Command, and each time he was the soul of courtesy, nodding graciously and saying hello but clearly with somewhere—anywhere—else to be if you knew what to look for. And she'd made a career out of reading Vulcans who wanted to get away from her.

It was what Amanda had wanted. She kept telling herself that. And she knew that the weirdness between Sarek and her would go away. Someday. Please God.

"Captain?"

She looked up from her terminal, saw it was Montenegro at the door, and waved her in. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You took leave and it was sudden."

Chapel smiled, loving that this lieutenant she'd taken under her wing when she'd first started in ops as an eager but very green ensign, was now trying to take care of her. "I'm fine, Emilia. It was a family emergency. But...not anyone close." Did that even make sense? Why would she take leave for someone she wasn't close to. "I was his only family and there were arrangements to be made." She decided to stop talking. For someone adept at going with the flow during an emergency, she wasn't doing as well as she usually did. But she hadn't really thought anyone would ask her about her time off.

Crap. Did she really not have anyone who would notice she was suddenly gone for several days? Jan was out on the Excelsior and they only spoke a few times a month lately. Ny was first officer on the Quebec and stressed as hell every time Chapel commed her. Chapel had mostly lost touch with Len—they usually only commed each other when one or the other had been drinking and got nostalgic, or if he was in town planning a get-together of the old guard.

"If you need anything...?"

"We should do a happy hour. How long has it been since we took over a bar?"

Montenegro laughed. "Two weeks."

"We're definitely underachieving. We have a reputation to maintain. Work hard, party hard—"

"And get up to do it all again the next morning." Montenegro laughed as she finished the Ops creed. One of them, anyway. There was generally one to fit any situation that involved booze. "You want me to plan it?"

"Would you?"

"Any spot in particular?"

Chapel laughed. "Smitty letting us back in yet?"

"Nope. Old Man Panellini didn't kick Rick and me out the last time we dropped in."

"Good sign. We'll start there and if that's a no go, we'll find a new place to close down."

"Aye aye, ma'am." She got up and walked to the door, then she turned. "I did mean that, though. If you need anything. I feel like I owe you. You kept me sane and it wasn't your job to do that—not when you have all the other stuff to do."

"I see potential: I nurse potential." She leaned back. "Used to be a nurse. Did you know that?"

Montenegro shook her head. "I knew you were a doctor."

"And a scientist. I used to wait tables when I was in college before I got my first internship." She smiled. "Quite the diverse resume." She shook herself. Why this walk down memory lane? "Thank you for your concern. Plan the happy hour—that's all the help I need right now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chapel watched her walk out. Young and bright and pretty—her whole life ahead of her. She'd been like that once. She still felt like that girl until her body reminded her she was a long way from her twenties.

With a sigh, she put thoughts of her youth behind her and turned back to the terminal. The comms stacking up couldn't give a shit how young and pretty she used to be.

##

Chapel walked down the snow-covered path outside the residence the Federation had been given on Nethreven, enjoying the night air and the chance to be alone after a full day of talks. She was here because the new leader of the planet was a man she'd worked with five years earlier after massive quakes had leveled three cities on the planet. Dallihar had asked for her specifically to be part of the delegation opening trade talks. Nethreven was rich with dilithium and other key minerals.

"Christine?"

She turned, surprised to see Sarek out in the cold. "Not your natural environment."

"May I join you?"

She nodded, and they fell into step. "Talks are going well." In fact, so well she was bored shitless. She really had no reason to be here other than the Federation wanted to make Dallihar happy.

"Dallihar seems quite taken with you."

She snuck a peek, trying to assess the mood Sarek was in. Impossible to tell. "He is. He's asked me to marry him four times this visit."

"I take it he's asked you that before as well?"

She laughed. "Every time he sees me."

"You do not desire to be the wife of the leader of a rich planet?" This time there was definitely humor in Sarek's voice.

"Yes, please, let me join his twenty other wives, fourteen husbands and too-many-to-count concubines." She peeked again and saw Sarek's lips quirk up ever so slightly. "So, you're not in a robe, you've actually got snow boots on and a cap. Wow."

"Amanda enjoyed vacationing in Colorado. She spent a great deal of time finding me cold-weather gear. Hats, particularly. They were..."

"Silly?"

"I think ridiculous is more apt."

She laughed, and realized that he sounded different when he talked about Amanda. Like it wasn't such a raw wound. Like he could mention her name with love and affection and even this sweet humor instead of just sorrow. "Did she ski?"

"Yes, when she was younger."

"Did you?"

He shot her a bland look that she read perfectly.

"Yeah, me neither. I always envied the skiers though. They looked so free." She smiled, remembering watching a friend glide down the slopes. Chapel had water-skied but that was different: you needed something to pull you. Snow skiers seemed to almost fly.

"I as well."

They came to a fork in the path, one led back to the residence and another went around it, exiting the woods at the back entrance to the building. Chapel took the longer trail and Sarek stayed with her.

"Did you ever wear the ridiculous hats?"

"In public, no. But when we were alone, sometimes. It pleased her."

"I bet it did." She smiled, imagining him in a goofy ski cap. "How ridiculous?"

"Generally there were ears of some kind. Or a ball on top."

"Pom-poms are a classic."

"Not on Vulcan."

She grinned and met his eyes—his were gentle, his face relaxed. "We haven't really talked."

"No, we have not. I was..."

"Weirded out?"

Again his lips quirked up ever so slightly. "A bit uncomfortable."

"Well, you seem fine now."

"I am. As are you. You also seemed on edge around me."

"Well, it was a little strange. I never expected..." She laughed, unsure where she was going with this. "Finding a new normal is good, though."

"Indeed."

They walked in silence for a bit, then he said very softly, "Dallihar has excellent taste."

She laughed. "That he likes me? Or are you talking about one of his current spouses?"

"I was referring to you."

"Ambassador, are you flirting?"

"I was paying you a compliment. They are not the same thing." He didn't sound very stern when he said it. In fact, he sounded like he dared her to tell him he was wrong.

"Could've fooled me."

"It has been my experience that it is difficult to fool you, Christine."

"Maybe so." Probably so, actually. After Roger the Android had fooled her to very nearly disastrous consequences, she'd become a lot more suspicious, a lot less soft. Ops had finished the job.

They arrived at another fork in the trail, and Sarek slowed. "I am cold. I believe I will go in."

"I'm going to stay out for a while." She smiled at him, letting him know they were fine, that this was fine, him staying for a while and now going back in.

His expression was easy and open, serene in a different way than his norm. He reached out and touched her arm, his gloved hand on her jacket. "Goodnight, then."

She put her hand over his and squeezed gently, then let him go. "Goodnight, Sarek."

##

Chapel boarded the shuttle that would take them from Nethreven to Earth, eying the general cabin with dismay: it was full and she'd hoped to be able to snag one of the loungers and sleep her way through the journey.

"I have a private compartment," Sarek said very softly; he was standing quite close behind her. "If you would care to join me?"

She glanced back at him.

"I can see the disappointment in your expression, Christine, at how full this room is." He moved aside to let some of the aides find seats. "I would welcome your company."

She smiled and followed him through the main seating area to the private compartments. "Fancy," she said, as she took in the cushy seats and the food and drinks stocked. The room wasn't big but they crammed a lot of things in. Including a bed. She tried to ignore that, figured he would, too. "All this for a ten-hour trip?"

He huffed softly, a sound she'd always considered his laugh, a laugh that could signify true amusement or its more bitter cousin. "The embassy makes my travel arrangements. Amanda preferred private compartments after a mission. She enjoyed the luxury and I the privacy. It was a meeting of needs."

"I'm not judging." She nodded toward the drinks. "That's for us—well, you?"

"Have whatever you like." He sat and stretched his legs out, and she realized he was letting her see him really relax.

"Do you want something?"

"Water is fine."

She poured his water and handed it to him, then took her time picking the wine and pouring herself a glass before sitting across from him. "These missions must be a constant barrage for you, Sarek. Emotions, pressing flesh, so...not Vulcan."

"It is true. It is why I relish this small privacy. Why I do not forego the luxury."

"Well, I'm happy to share it with you." She lifted her glass. "To a successful trade negotiation."

His eyes were very light as lifted his water and said, "And to you not becoming wife twenty-one."

She laughed. "Hear hear." The wine was excellent and she took a few seconds to just enjoy it. "Do you think those twenty wives and fourteen husbands only get to sleep with Dallihar or is it more of a free-for-all?" She chuckled at his expression. "The look on your face is priceless. I think he must keep them separate. Otherwise, they might end up preferring each other to him."

He nodded.

"You agree?"

"I had occasion to consider his domestic arrangement and wonder the same thing. I arrived at the same conclusion"

"No. You?"

"Like you, I am often uninterested during the discussion. Unlike you, I do not wear that fact for all to see."

"And to think I'm known for my poker face." She stretched out, enjoying the way the chair moved with her, always comfortable no matter how she sat. "I actually am known for that. Did I really look bored?"

"To me, yes. To the casual observer, probably not."

"Good." She studied him. "You do know me, don't you?"

"We have known each other for many years. Not just you as a friend of Amanda and mine, but we have worked together before."

"So you and I—we're friends? It didn't just work with Amanda there, me and the two of you as a couple?"

"I believe we are friends as individuals. Do you not agree?"

She closed her eyes. "I do. But...sometimes I misread things."

"Are you referring to my son and his inability to see that you would be an excellent match for him?"

She laughed. "Wow, have I got you snookered. Actually, I think I'm not an excellent match for him. I've had time to consider that, and I'm not sure we'd really have much in common. God knows he's never wanted to get close enough to find out. Even if it took me way too long to figure out I basically had cooties as far as he was concerned."

Another huff.

"You understand cooties?"

"Amanda often used the term."

"I miss her, Sarek."

"As do I." He turned to the viewport. "It has taken me time to grow accustomed to being alone."

"I'm sure it has. You were together so long."

"I do not like being alone, Christine."

She smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile and he didn't notice it, still staring out at the stars. Amanda had once told her that she knew Sarek would remarry if she died, that he was not a man who would do well alone.

He turned and seemed to be studying her. "You have been alone for many years."

"I have friends, Sarek. Friends with...options."

"Lovers, you mean."

She considered that. "No, I think I said it right. They're just friends. Roger was a lover."

"Is it my son that you are waiting for?" Sarek leaned forward. "Kirk is gone now."

"Jim has been gone for some time. And Spock has not shown up at my door." She shook her head slowly. "The thing I had with Roger—the reason I threw everything important away and went looking for him—it was more than just lust or love or respect alone. It was all three. I...liked him. I loved working with him. He challenged me and he thought I was smart, too. I guess I want that again. He and I...zinged. I don't know how else to say it. I felt alive when I was with him."

"And my son does not make you feel that way?"

She laughed and this time it was the same bitter huff he often made. "Sarek, I feel invisible when I'm around Spock."

"I regret that."

"Don't. Spock doesn't owe me anything. I mean I've had admirers that I didn't want. How can I hold that against him?"

"A most logical attitude." He seemed about to say something, then turned back to the viewport.

She got up to refill her wine and grab some food. As she was loading up a plate, she said, "You were about to say something."

"I was."

"So say it."

"It was a question. I am not sure why I ask it, though."

She waited, then turned to him with a smile. "You haven't asked it."

"I am aware of that. I am waiting for you to sit down."

She put the plate on the table between them, making the general motion people did when they meant "have some," and leaned back in her chair. "I'm sitting."

"Did I make you feel invisible during the Pon Farr?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Explain."

"Well, for one thing, there were some very nice moments for me during that. Just so you know—I'm not entirely sure how much you remember of what happened."

"I remember all of it."

"Okay, then, so you know that you got me there. Quite a few times." She took a sip of wine, couldn't help but notice that he had a bit of a self-satisfied look. It was a good thing to be proud of, so she wasn't going to bitch at him for enjoying his prowess. "But when you started to look for Amanda, if you hadn't warned me, if I didn't know how much you loved her, and if I hadn't been there because she asked me to, then yes, I probably would have been devastated. But I did know all that. So I wasn't crushed. I wasn't there because I had seduced you. I was there because I loved her and I love you. And I'd do anything for her—and for you."

He looked so relieved that she reached across and took his hand. He put his own over it, much as she had when they were out in the snow.

"So, see, you didn't have to subject yourself to ten hours with me in here. You could have let me rot in steerage."

He shook his head, but it was a fond gesture. "I wanted you here. With me."

"You did?"

He nodded. "When we get home, would you have dinner with me?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"A Vulcan would not couch it in such terms." His eyebrow went up and she knew it was to tease her.

"You realize you're doing it all backwards. Generally a man buys a gal dinner and then she has sex with him." She laughed, a little unsure how he would take the joke.

She didn't need to worry. She heard the small huff, saw his eyes crinkle slightly. Amanda had obviously broken him in well to human humor.

"I should perhaps work on my approach for the next woman?"

"I think so." She let go of his hand. "She's not coming around anytime soon, is she? The next woman? Because, yes, I would like to have dinner with you."

"In that case, I think her presence would be superfluous."

"And that right there is what separates Vulcans males from human men. A human would definitely think two women better than one." Especially if there was some hot girl-on-girl action they could horn in on.

"Then it is fortunate for you that I am not human."

"I will drink to that." She yawned suddenly, the wine and having to stay awake during those damned meetings catching up with her.

"I am going to work on reports. If you are tired, use the bed. I will not disturb you."

"What if I want you to?" She met his eyes, smiled to make what she said less serious but did not look away.

"I am gratified to hear that you might want that. But there is no rush."

It could have felt like a rebuke, like she was promiscuous, going too fast. But it didn't. The tenderness in his voice, the gentle way his eyes shone, the way he was leaning in: it sounded like a promise instead.

"I am tired, Sarek." And she felt safe in here. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe.

"Then sleep." He helped himself to a piece of cheese from her plate, seemed to lose himself in the tasting of it.

She laughed softly. "Just the privacy, my ass. You also love the luxury."

"As you say." That seemed to be his only rejoinder, other than to take another piece of cheese.

She grabbed a piece for herself, then slipped out of the chair and made for the bed. She was out for the rest of the trip. Sarek woke her just before spacedock, allowing her time to get into the head and make herself presentable—clearly Amanda had him very well trained.

Chapel wondered suddenly if Amanda had foreseen this when she'd asked her to take care of Sarek. Had she also wanted Sarek to take care of her? Chapel wouldn't put it past her.

Sarek was standing at the viewport, watching the docking. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Barring a last-minute meeting or emergency I am."

"Then, dinner?"

She stood next to him, watched as the automatic mooring clamps took hold. "Just tell me where."

"Lavellier, but I can pick you up in the embassy flitter."

"Wow, that place? Way to impress a girl. I've heard it's impossible to get a table there." She saw his face change. "Unless you're the Vulcan ambassador. I think there are a hell of a lot of perks you get that no one is aware of."

"Very possibly." He leaned into her, his arm pressing against hers. "I enjoy the food. But I also wish to...pamper you."

"Pamper? Is that a term a Vulcan would use?"

"I was married to a human woman for many years. I adapted."

She laughed. "I've never been to that restaurant and have always wanted to try it, so I'll be looking forward to it."

"As will I." He eased away from her and walked to the door, picking up the satchel with his padds as he went.

He didn't hold the door for her—went through it first, in fact. She laughed to herself: he hadn't totally adapted. But that was okay. She'd rather be pampered and not have him hold the door for her than the reverse.

##

Chapel stared at her closet and realized she had no idea what to wear to dinner. It wasn't that she lacked pretty dresses. She went to plenty of functions where uniforms were discouraged. She had a lot of dresses. Some sexy and some downright prudish: it all depended on the norms of the various planets. But what would Sarek want from her?

She'd never seen Amanda in anything but Vulcan robes. Which definitely ran on the side of prudish. But she wasn't Amanda and she didn't envision a robe in her future unless it was meant to be worn over a negligee—or an old t'shirt.

She finally decided to wear the dress she felt the prettiest in. Not the sexiest—she had several very low cut dresses that clung in the right places that fit that bill. This was draped and forgiving, a dark plum that went well with her coloring, cut just low enough to bring her assets into prominence without shouting, "look at my breasts." Three quarter sleeves and a knee length hem made it a winner on most worlds unless the natives were very phobic about seeing a woman's skin. She slipped on some heels that were comfortable enough to walk in but still flattering, and dug around in her jewelry box for the heavy silver necklace she normally wore with the dress.

Her make-up was moderate—her days of wild eyes were behind her—and she'd let her hair dry wavy.

Why was she obsessing over this? The man had seen her naked. For two days. This was all quite unnecessary.

She was saved from any further dithering by the sound of her chime. She grabbed a wrap and opened the door. Sarek was in a robe—no surprise there—but it was a nice one.

"No last-minute emergencies," she said with a grin.

"For which I am very grateful." He moved aside and she let the door close and lock behind her. "I have not seen that dress before."

"I have a lot of dresses you haven't seen." She realized he wasn't saying if he liked it or not. Stupid Vulcans.

"I look forward to seeing them."

"All of them?"

"Yes." He followed her onto the elevator and met her eyes, his were intense.

"Some of them are just this side of scandalous."

He let an eyebrow be her answer. What the hell did that mean? "Is that the eyebrow of 'I can't wait to see that' or 'I wonder if I will have to burn it for being unseemly'?"

"The former."

She laughed. Maybe Vulcans weren't so stupid after all. "I said scandalous."

"You indicated slightly less than. I do listen to you."

"So I'm getting." She cocked her head. "So do you like this dress?"

"I do. Very much." The door opened and he was off.

She started to laugh. This might take some getting used to. Be direct and keep up seemed to be the rule.

Then he turned back to look at her, his expression changing, turning tender. Oh hell, she could get used to anything if he gave her that look a few hundred times a day.

She grinned at him, saw his eyes lighten, the slight quirk of his lips. She caught up with him, murmured, "Have I told you that you look very handsome tonight?"

"You have not. Does that mean I look more handsome than I usually do or that normally you do not find me handsome?" The way he cocked his eyebrow told her he was playing with her.

"What do you think?"

"Amanda often told me I was a fine figure of a man. But taste is relative. You may disagree."

She followed him into the flitter, laughing as she slid in next to him. "I do not disagree. Amanda generally had exquisite taste."

"I, too, have exquisite taste." He reached down and laid his hand over hers, then told the flitter their destination.

She relaxed, leaning back and crossing her legs. He watched her legs as she did it; she wasn't sure he was aware he was doing it. His hand on top of hers felt warm and comforting, and she turned her hand, opening her fingers, then waited to see if he would twine his fingers with hers.

He did, tightening his grasp on her slowly. She wasn't sure how he did it, but suddenly she was aroused, ever little movement of the flitter seemed to be translated in the way they were touching.

She realized she was breathing a little heavier and turned to look at him. "Is this just me?"

He didn't ask what she meant, just tightened his grip on her hand and said, "No."

"Good."

He gently let go of her. "As much as I am enjoying it, we do need to get through dinner with some modicum of dignity."

She laughed softly. "And you were in danger of not? I know I was getting ready to tell the flitter to take us back to my place."

"Indeed," he said, as he looked out he window, and she thought he was doing whatever Vulcan men did to get rid of an erection.

She glanced down—impossible to tell the way his robe was sitting. Had he arranged it that way on purpose?

She realized he was looking at her and started to laugh. "Sorry, I'm just—this is new. And fun. Finding out things about you."

"And you."

"Right. Only those aren't as fun for me." She laughed at his expression. So accommodating. So at ease. "I didn't expect this. That trifecta I talked about with Roger...?"

He nodded.

"Well, love and respect you and I already have. I guess I wasn't so sure about lust."

"Until now?"

"Boy howdy."

His puff of amusement was louder than usual, and his lips did turn up—it was miniscule but it was a smile. She wanted to take a snap so she'd have proof she could make him smile if she took him by surprise.

"I understand what you are saying and agree," he said, his voice gentle but husky—and so damn sexy. Could they really not turn this damn flitter around? After dinner they'd be full and sex wasn't as fun when your stomach was stuffed.

Then again, he'd said there was no rush. It was possible this was his idea of foreplay. Holy God, if that's what he could do just holding her hand, she was not going to survive this.

"What are you thinking?" His amusement was evident.

"I'm just wondering how long we're going to wait."

"That will be up to us."

"A true diplomat. The most vague yet optimistic answer possible." She studied him. "Fine. It'll happen when it happens. Can we go back to holding hands?"

He turned away, but not before she saw his eyes crinkle slightly. "You are a seasoned professional in handling emergencies. I have seen you exercise great patience when the situation called for it."

"You're right. What was I thinking? Bring on dinner. We can wait forever." She pretended to be offended, crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window.

"I find forever to be unsatisfactory."

"Well, me too, but I'm trying to be dramatic, so just go with it."

"Ah. Proceed, then."

"Oh, I was done. That's as dramatic as I get." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "What are you going to order?"

"What makes you think I have my meal already selected?"

"Because you're you. You leave nothing to chance, Sarek. So what are you going to have?"

"The ratatouille. I quite enjoy the way they prepare it."

"Not my fav. Do I have to go vegetarian?"

"You can eat whatever pleases you. I have seen far worse than anything you might order tonight."

"Including sweetbreads?" She glanced up to see his expression.

He looked slightly sickened. "Including those."

"Don't worry. I hate those."

He looked relieved. She was just glad that he didn't expect her to give up her carnivorous ways.

The flitter arrived at the restaurant before she could ask him what he was having for an appetizer. She'd been out enough with Amanda and him to know he had a hearty appetite—except for dessert. That was all right with her: she'd never had much of a sweet tooth.

He preceded her into Lavellier, but only by a few steps: it was clear she was with him. It didn't tick her off the way it had when he'd charged off the wrong direction to her apartment. It was his way—the Vulcan way—and she wasn't going to get him to change it for her, so she decided to ignore it and think instead about the yummy feelings his fingers touching her had induced.

The maître d' fawned all over them. So did the waiters. And the sommelier, who seemed to realize he had an audience of one when it came to wine but that Sarek would spring for anything. She ended up ordering a half bottle of a very expensive white Bordeaux, but only after Sarek told her it was one Amanda had liked. He really didn't seem to care if she drank—and that was probably why the shuttle had stocked booze for a Vulcan, because his wife had always wanted it and the embassy hadn't told them any different this time.

They shared several vegetarian appetizers and a salad, and talked about easy things, no uncomfortable silences marring their conversation. She ended up ordering scallops in a beurre blanc sauce with country potatoes. Sarek seemed to find scallops completely unobjectionable. They really did look more like water chestnuts than meat. Good news for her: they were one of her favorites.

When the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, she was happy to shake her head. Sarek paid and they left, the maître d' seeing them out to the flitter he had apparently called for them while Sarek was settling the bill.

She slid into the flitter seat and collapsed against Sarek once the door closed. "Okay that was so good. You are never going to top that."

"I believe you are wrong." He sounded both amused and competitive. Never dare him: good to know.

"Well, maybe so, but that was amazing. Thank you."

He leaned his head against hers—a charmingly sweet and familiar thing to do. "You are most welcome."

When they got to her apartment, he did not come in. She could tell by looking at him that it wasn't because he was too rude or too Vulcan to walk her to her door: it was because he didn't want to rush and if he came upstairs, he would not be coming back down until morning.

She turned just before she got to the door to the building. He was watching her, and he raised his hand. She grinned, knowing he could have just told the flitter to go but had wanted to watch her. "Good night," she called, not too loud: he'd hear her.

And he did. He nodded and finally told the flitter to move.

She rode the elevator up to her apartment thinking about the great food she might be in for: she hoped Sarek didn't mind his ladies with some flesh on their bones. Because she did not have Amanda's "I eat and eat and never gain a pound" metabolism.

Then again she skipped lunch half the time at work, so it would probably even out. Especially once they started having sex—very athletic sex if the Pon Farr was any indication.

She had a moment's worry that maybe Vulcans weren't like that at any other time, but then she remembered how it had felt when he held her hand, how he'd had to look away, how his head felt pressed against hers.

This was going to be good. She knew it. She didn't think Amanda would have stuck with him if it hadn't been good for her. Her friend had a backbone of steel hidden in that seemingly delicate body—and an appetite for life.

And a wonderfully giving heart. It was harder and harder for Chapel to not think that Amanda had set this whole thing up.