He heard footfall padding toward him but continued to watch the cityscape of Shi'Kahr from the lobby. He was on the ground floor but the building was set atop a high ridge that offered an excellent view.

The footsteps grew louder and stopped directly to his left side. He turned his head to see Amanda standing next to him, modestly clothed in the style of a Vulcan lady. It suited her in an understated way.

"You look lovely," he said, giving her a long, objective glance.

"Yeah, my doctor, T'Vara, she was nice enough to let me have these clothes," she mumbled, looking down at a satchel she was carrying.

"I spoke with a man from the Terran consulate 40 minutes ago regarding arrangements for your accommodations and he said he had not yet made any," he explained. "When I called the hospital to inquire about visitation later today, they informed me you were being released within the hour. If you do not think it is too forward, I would like to offer to host you for the remainder of your visit on Vulcan."

"I would make a lot of comments about how generous that is of you, and how you shouldn't go to all the trouble, but I'm beginning to think that would be a waste of time," she replied, clearly trying to force down a grin.

"Logical."

"Besides, even if I didn't want to, where else am I going to go?"

He could see the smile inside of her threatening to burst onto her face. He wouldn't have minded, yet they were in public and he appreciated her attempts to restrain herself.

"Shall we go then?" he asked.

"Lead the way," she replied.

They emerged from the hospital under a carriage porch. Her skin flushed and he asked, "Are you feeling well enough?"

"Yeah, they gave me something to help me adjust to the climate, but it's still hot," she croaked.

The car pulled up to the curb and the valet turned the vehicle over to him. He moved to the opposite door and opened it for her. She seemed intrigued as she got into the passenger seat and tucked her bag neatly by her legs. He moved around the front of the hovercar and got into the driver's seat.

"Oh, you're driving," she exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes," he answered, releasing the magnetic dampener.

The vehicle lifted slightly and inched forward. She seemed on the verge of saying something else when he accelerated the vehicle forward and emerged into the blazing midday sun that bathed Shi'Khar. She made a move to shield her eyes from the brilliant light and he quickly adjusted the holographic tint on the windows.

She stared from the passenger side window with sparkling eyes and an open-mouthed smile. Her child-like wonder reminded Sarek of the first time they met at the aquarium in Palo Alto. She remained quiet for a long time and Sarek found himself continually glancing at her from the corners of his eyes.

As they left the heart of the medical complex and traveled down a more remote avenue to his house overlooking the ridge on the outskirts of Shi'Kahr, she looked across him to see the city's expanse. When she noticed him looking at her, she blushed and smiled warmly. Her eyes lingered in a way that elicited a disconcerting physical response in him. She seemed to intuitively detect it, because she asked if anything was the matter.

"No," he replied. "How do you find Shi'Khar, Miss Grayson?"

"It's big – bigger than any city I've ever been to. But I guess I haven't been to many places either," she mused, balling her small hands into fists and placing them in her lap. "Is this where you're from?"

"My family's home is here, yes."

"Will I meet them?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"There are no immediate relations for you to meet. My parents are deceased and I have not spoken with my brother for more than nine Earth years."

"Oh," she replied, making a face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"Your thirteenth unique illogical apology," he replied.

"You're still counting?" she chortled.

He analyzed her face and thought her expression appeared playful. Human teasing was a specific area he had always had difficulty with and he was beginning to realize the more he thought he knew Amanda Grayson, the less he really understood her.

He turned his eyes back to the task of driving and turned the vehicle along an isolated road to began the steep climb to his family home. At the top of the ridge he pulled along the gradual circular driveway.

"This… this is your house?" she stammered.

"It is my family's home, and as I am the senior member of my family, I suppose it is not incorrect to refer to it as 'mine,'" he replied.

"It's very nice."

He pulled around the driveway, drove past the front entrance, and went down into the subterranean garage. After exiting the vehicle they alighted the stairs to the main level of his house and emerged into a wide hallway that fed into the large atrium at the center of the house. Her bag was clutched to her chest and her face was again full of awe.

"I shall show you to your room," he said, walking ahead of her down another large hallway to the left. "I did not have time to adequately prepare for your arrival, but the house is well-maintained in my absence. I trust you will find it satisfactory."

He opened the door to the smaller guest room across from his own and noticed her eyes grow slightly wider.

"This is more than satisfactory," she mumbled. "This is nicer than anywhere I've ever stayed."

"Perhaps you would like to settle your things and then take a midday meal?"

"Uh, sure," she said and she lowered the bag from her chest and slinked into the spacious room.

"If you will meet me in the kitchen when you are ready, it is further down this hallway and to the right," he explained, motioning with both hands.

"Right," she said, turning to him. "Ambassador Sarek? I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for letting me stay here with you."

He nodded and left her to unpack. He entered the high-ceilinged kitchen and set to preparing a lunch for them both. Like most Vulcans, he had a respectable talent for cooking, as it was merely the practical exercise of chemistry and thermodynamics. He removed a large bowl of leftover mia-zed he had prepared the night before, along with a loaf of dense bread and a jar of tolik preserves from the stasis pantry.

He set the necessary dishes and utensils upon the small stone table in the kitchen and deliberated before pouring her a glass of cold water. He had nearly made her a cup of t'hgara tea after recalling his initial visit to her residence and her affinity for hot tea, yet he decided a hot beverage would not add to her comfort on a planet that already had a climate with an average temperature 25 degrees warmer than she was accustomed to.

He sat and waited for her to arrive and considered what he should do. He had considered it all through the night: he hadn't slept since his release from the hospital and his meditation sessions had done little to help ease his mind. He shared a bond with Miss Grayson: that much was evident. She had said she loved him. And through all his meditation, reflection, and emotional purging, he was becoming aware that he likely returned her affections.

He relaxed his thoughts and breathed long, slow breaths and tried to restore appropriate rhythm to the beating of his heart. The healer said the palpitations would be recurrent for the remainder of his life. He would have to accept that.

When she hadn't joined him after 15 minutes, he returned to her room and found the door cracked. He knocked and received no answer. Even though this was his house, it would be grossly improper to enter a female's private quarters without permission. He knocked more loudly and still heard nothing.

He considered her physical state. She had suffered grave injuries and was recovering on a planet with an atmosphere she was ill adjusted to. Logic dictated a breach of social etiquette and he gently pushed the door open to find her curled up at the foot of the large central bed in a position reminiscent of a child in its mother's womb.

His sensitive ears could just barely detect the inhalation and exhalation of her breaths. It seemed reasonable that she should be fatigued, yet he could not escape a nagging sense of worry. He debated the necessity waking her: he was not a healer and he knew little of human physiology.

He stood in the doorway for several more minutes, watching her sleep until she rolled slightly onto her back and he judged she was likely not in medical distress. He returned to the kitchen, ate the light meal, and packed the rest of it away and retired to the meditation chamber.

He lit the candles and knelt on the floor mechanically as he had done thousands of times before and worked to restore his emotional center. The breaths came in and out methodically but did little to clear his mind. He redoubled his efforts, but each time he came close to quietude, Amanda forced her way into the forefront of his thoughts.

He thought of her smile, her frequent expressions of joyful wonder, the first time he had noticed the sweet smell of her hair during their outing to the hanging gardens, her quick mind, her gentleness, her innocence… Yet mixed in with the pleasanter thoughts were those of the tears she had shed on her kitchen floor, the look on her face just before her abduction from his residence on Earth, and the determined rage she had projected during their struggle on the Romulan ship.

There were other thoughts that he found even more difficult to repress. He recalled the length of her legs when she had emerged fresh from bathing to unexpectedly find him at her door. He remembered with some embarrassment the gentle slope of the top of her small breasts, which he had inadvertently seen through the wide neck of her oversized shirt when he knelt over her in her kitchen while trying to treat her injuries. Immediately before they'd kissed.

He stood in frustration and paced the room. After a minute he resumed meditating but continued to find it difficult to attain any meaningful level of clarity. He continued in that way for hours, well into the night, checking on Amanda periodically and each time discovering that she had moved slightly or was snoring softly.

When the candles burned down and finally extinguished, he gave up his efforts. He wandered into the atrium in the center of the house and gazed up at the night sky. He made out Earth's nearby star rising diagonally from the northeast across the horizon. He had never felt at home on Earth, though he had spent much of his adult life there. Now he considered it in a new light and found he actually looked forward to returning there. He was considering checking on Amanda for the ninth time when he heard the faint sound of her yelling.

As he rushed back through the wide corridor he could hear the sounds of her cries growing louder and his heart began beating discordantly as he broke into a run. The healers had warned him against physical exertion, especially during the upcoming months as his heart continued to stabilize. He burst through the door into her room to find her strangely still asleep but yelling all the same.

"No… please…don't…"

He breathed and approached her apprehensively. He brushed her arm but she didn't wake. He shook her shoulder gently and she yelped and bolted upright. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were glazed over but rapidly snapped into focus. She was trembling. She was breathing heavily and looked around the dark room and fixed her eyes on the window.

"I'm going to guess I slept through lunch," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"That is number 14," he mused.

"Huh?"

"A fourteenth illogical apology. You are still recovering from substantial injuries and arrived in my home during the hottest time of the day during the hottest part of the year in one of the hottest regions on the planet. It is understandable that you should be easily tired."

"Can I start collecting some kind of bonus points when I've made like 50 or a hundred of these so-called 'illogical apologies?'"

He couldn't derive her meaning and waited for her to explain, but instead she just smiled faintly and stood.

"Are you hungry, Miss Grayson?"

She bit her lip and looked at the wall, which caused him to add, "It would be no inconvenience to arrange a meal for you."

They moved to the kitchen and he set out the remainder of the food he had prepared to serve her for lunch. He placed dishes for her on the stone table in the kitchen and sat across from her while she ate.

"I thought you said Vulcans don't take their evening meals in the kitchen," she said, clearing attempting to break the silence.

"They do not, however, it is now closer to the morning's meal, so I do not believe you are in breach of protocols."

She scoffed but her expression brightened when she spooned a bite of mia-zed into her mouth. He found it strange that her blatant emotional displays often had the effect of pleasing him.

"You made this?" she asked, pointing down to the thick, savory stew with her spoon.

"You seem surprised," he replied.

"Well, no, I guess not surprised. It's delicious," she answered. "I'm impressed that you're such a good cook."

"Thank you," he said. "Though cooking is simply the careful execution of a detailed list of instructions based on a number of scientific principles."

She stared at him and ate another bite before commenting, "Oh, Ambassador Sarek… you're a master at humility and understatement."

"May I ask a personal query, Miss Grayson?"

She ate another bite and nodded her head.

"You seemed to be yelling in your sleep and appeared frightened when you initially woke. What was the source of such anxiety?"

"I was... having a bad dream," she muttered, pursing her lips and taking another bite of her food.

A full minute passed without either of them speaking before she said, "I wish I were more like you. You know, able to shut off parts of my brain and feelings. I'm going to guess you don't suffer from nightmares."

"On the contrary," he disagreed. "Dreams are a part of the subconscious, a region of the mind Vulcans also possess. It is simply a matter of separating dreams from reality."

She was obviously surprised by his confession and took another bite before adding, "I guess waking up from bad dreams it must sound kind of pathetic to you."

He was uncertain of how to respond, but eventually explained, "You are a great many things, Miss Grayson. I would not count 'pathetic' among them."

Her eyes widened and her left eyebrow rose.

"When I first made your acquaintance, I believed you to be in possession of a number of remarkable qualities. The events of the past week have shown me that I have grossly underestimated you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, setting her spoon down in the empty bowl.

"I initially knew you as a schoolteacher who was frightened of geese and once lamented that being punched in the face was the worst thing that could happen to her," he began. "Yet you found yourself able to withstand torture, you negotiated with an understandably angry Romulan to avert an interplanetary war, and coped with injuries that very nearly proved fatal. In addition to that, you saved my life, and I am deeply indebted to you."

She blushed. "You saved my life too. If you're keeping tabs, we're probably even. Actually, you're probably a little bit ahead. In fact, I feel really bad that I dragged you into all of this."

"You could not have foreseen the events which were to occur," he argued.

She stood awkwardly and placed her dishes in the sink and activated the particulate recycler to clean them before replacing them in the cupboard.

"Anyway, no matter how well you think of me – it hasn't stopped me from having nightmares about what happened to us," she added after a time, locking her elbows as she leaned on the counter and gazed at the opposite wall.

"Have you ever attempted meditation?" he asked.

"The closest I've ever come to meditating was probably the disastrous yoga class my Aunt Janet dragged me to when I first started grad school," she laughed, catching his glance.

"Would you allow me to instruct you in some basic techniques?"

"As long as it doesn't include standing on one leg with my arms over my head and panting loudly," she joked, catching his eye. "Nevermind. I guess you don't have an Aunt Janet who makes you do yoga."

Rather than take her into the formal meditation room, he escorted her to the front sitting room and sat on the wide divan facing the front entryway. She sat a comfortable distance from him and looked at him with rapt attention.

He asked her to take five deep breaths and hold them for as long as she could, but simply inhaling caused her to wince.

"Sorry, my ribs still hurt from where I broke them. Yeah, I know, that's number 15," she moaned, rolling her eyes.

He dismissed her sarcasm and said, "Will you permit me to do something?"

"I guess?"

"Will you turn away from me?"

She complied with his request and he asked, "May I touch your back?"

"Uh, sure?"

He ran the knuckle of his middle finger down the course of her spine and considered the placement of his hands. She only had twelve ribs instead of the thirteen that Vulcans possessed, but he judged by the similar arrangement of the vertebrae and musculature that it would be easy enough with very minor adjustments. He used his forefinger and middle finger to press hard into her pressure point, compressing a specific muscle in her back into the fifth intercostal space of her ribcage. She howled.

"What the hell?" she hissed, glaring back at him.

"Has it helped the pain in your ribs?"

She blinked at him and rubbed her hand along her spine. Her expression softened. "Yeah, actually," she sniffed. "What did you do?"

"It is just one of many techniques that comprise the field of neuropressure," he explained.

He performed several more adjustments that he believed could be helpful in relieving the pain in her shoulder and neck, though he stopped short of providing assistance with her hip for personal reasons.

He continued to walk her through simpler meditative techniques and presumed they were working until he realized she was simply on the verge of falling asleep again. Soon her head was nestled on his arm and he was uncertain of how to extricate himself from underneath her small frame without disturbing her.

He settled for listening to the sounds of her slow and rhythmic breathing. He laid his head against the wall behind him and observed her. He was struck by the realization that he didn't want to be parted from her, not only in this moment, but ever.

He slept soundly for the first time since his release from the hospital, sitting upright with Amanda resting peacefully by side.

The sun breached the top of the distant L-langon Mountains and spread light over Amanda's face. She sat up and stretched. Her body felt stiff and she was wearing the same clothes from the night before. She was in the guest bedroom.

The memories of the previous night faded back into her consciousness and the last thing she remembered was practicing meditation techniques in Sarek's living room. How had she gotten here? She cringed at the obvious probability that he had carried her back to her room like an overtired toddler.

She went to the large adjacent bathroom with the small hygiene bag from the hospital and brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She wished she had something to tie it back with, but resigned herself to letting her hair fall loosely down her back.

She left the room quietly and closed the door gently behind her and trod barefoot down the hallway. The delicious aroma of something starchy and sugary hung in the air and she followed it all the way down to the kitchen where she found Sarek with his back turned toward her, working at something at the opposite counter.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Miss Grayson."

She approached him carefully and found him cleaning something that appeared to be a pinkish yellow fruit under an ultraviolent cleansing beam. "Can I help you?"

"If you wish," he responded.

She sanitized her hands and in the sink next to him and he set her to work slicing the fruit that he had called "gespar."

"It is not a good time of year for gespar," he remarked. "They are sweeter when harvested in the early annual equinox."

She held the flesh of the fruit up to her nose and thought it smelled like a mix between a light citrus fruit and honeydew melon.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said, carefully edging the knife around what appeared to be a hard central seed. "It smells nice enough."

"Were you spared from further unfortunate dreams?" he inquired.

"Oh, yeah, thanks," she started to say, until somewhere in the corner of her mind images of the dreams she'd had resurfaced and she started to blush.

The snippets she could remember hadn't been bad at all. They had featured his hands on her body, just as they had been the night before when he was performing neuropressure on her. She exhaled quietly and went back to slicing fruit.

He opened the cooking unit door to his left and removed a small pan with a loaf of bread dark brown bread that smelled delightful.

"Thank you for making breakfast," she murmured.

"You are welcome," he replied, setting the hot pan under a cooling hood. "Thought it is widely customary for guests to prepare the morning meal in Vulcan homes."

"Oh, well, I guess lucky for you I didn't know that, because I doubt I stood much of a chance of producing something that probably tastes half so wonderful as that probably will," she responded, biting her lip and craning her neck to examine the loaf of bread.

"I did not intend to imply you have failed in some duty," he said, turning to face her in a perfunctory way. "I do not wish for you to be my guest."

She looked up from the fruit she was slicing to stare at him. Had she done something so wrong he wanted to kick her out?

"I have spoken imprecisely. Allow me to clarify," he continued. "I do not wish to treat you as a guest."

"Then… what?" she asked, stepping back from the counter to face him, the knife still in her right hand.

"It is my hope that you would consent to be my bondmate," he said, a slight, uncharacteristic note of apprehension in his voice.

She blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"I believe in your culture it would be more appropriate to say that I am proposing that we marry."

She stared at him open mouthed for what felt like hours until she noticed the knife was trembling in her hand. She put it on the cutting board and dried her hands on a nearby towel.

"Your silence suggests you are deliberating, either your decision or your chosen method of refusal."

"No," she breathed. "I mean, not 'no' but…"

"I do not understand," he said. "What is your answer?"

"I don't know how to answer your question," she stammered.

"The question is binary with only two ultimate responses."

She huffed. Leave it to him to make a marriage proposal sound like a technical manual. "I just- I feel like- I would disappoint you," she said, feeling ridiculous as tears started to well in her eyes.

"Why should you draw such a conclusion?"

"I don't know how to be the wife of a Vulcan ambassador. I'm sure I would end up saying and doing the wrong things. I didn't even know I was supposed to wake up this morning and cook you breakfast."

"How can one know how to do anything until they do?"

Her first tears began to fall and Sarek approached her tentatively.

"I did not intend to upset you. I shall withdraw my-"

"No," she snapped.

"Very well," he said, seeming to hold his breath. "I accept your-"

"No," she snapped. "I'm not saying 'no,' I'm just wondering if you've really thought this through. Now that I said that, I feel stupid. Of course you've thought this through. You're Vulcan. You think everything through."

He folded his hands in front of him and peered curiously at her. She fought to find something coherent to say. Eventually he remarked, "You seem conflicted."

"Not about you," she exclaimed, surprising herself.

"Then what is the source of your conflict?"

She clasped her hands together and held them to her forehead. "I'm falling in love with you and I barely know you and that scares me."

"Is there additional information about me that you require before you make your decision?"

"Well, yeah! Isn't there anything you want to know about me?" she insisted.

"I know enough about you to know that whatever I do not know is irrelevant to my desire to be your mate," he replied.

"But wouldn't it be more logical to spend some time together and find out if we both want the same things in life?"

"Choosing a mate is not done logically."

"That makes no sense," she argued. "How can logic dictate every facet of your life except your love life?"

"Your question is one with a complex answer," he answered.

"No, your question is one with a complex answer," she retorted. "You're asking me to marry you, but we haven't spent much time alone together."

"Is this a ritual among humans prior to marriage?"

"Um, yes, I suppose it is," she said, blushing furiously. "I mean, I want to know more about your culture, your life, your expectations, your likes, your dislikes, your goals… you know? I don't even know what your favorite color is."

"Why should one have a preferred color? They all have relevance in visual processing. Furthermore, why should a preference for a color be a criterion for selecting a mate?"

She barked a high-pitched laugh and clasped her hand over her mouth in a horrible attempt to hide it.

"I do not have a wide degree of familiarity with human courtship rituals," he added, subtle frustration creeping into his voice.

"I can't say I'm well acquainted with rules of becoming a Vulcan's bondmate either," she replied, now fighting back giggles through her tears.

"I shall attempt honor your customs if that is what you ask of me."

"There aren't really any hard, fixed customs," she replied, moving closer to him. "You just learn about each other and figure out what you want for your relationship."

"I want to be your mate," he explained.

"Well, of course. But where will we live? How many children do you want? Do you want children? Do I want children?" she asked, before adding, "Can we even have children?"

"Though not common, there have been successful matings between our species."

"Oh," she said, blushing. She stared at the floor and tried to collect her thoughts.

"How do you wish to proceed, Miss Grayson?"

"You could probably start by calling me 'Amanda.'"

"How do you wish to proceed… Amanda?"

She reached for his hand and he extended his two forefingers to her and she felt the comforting calm of his consciousness mingling with her own. She smiled.

"My heart is telling me that I probably love you and none of the rest of it matters," she said. "But the rational side of my brain wants to know if you need an answer right now. Can we wait a few months and get to know each other better?"

"Under what conditions?"

"Conditions?" she retorted.

"Yes, how long of a period do you require? What defines 'knowing each other'?"

She balked and smiled at his clarified question and murmured, "First you go from asking me to marry you on a whim and say there's no logic attached. Now you're treating this like a science experiment."

"I only seek to understand the parameters-"

"Yes… Sarek," she said, testing their boundaries with the informal use of his given name, "I'll marry you. I'll be your bondmate. In... six months. If you can still stand to be around me."

"Your parameters seem arbitrary."

"That's because they are," she said in exasperation. "I don't know how long it takes to get to know someone before being comfortable enough to marry them."

"Very well. By what timescale are you measuring? The Federation Standard units of months or the slightly shorter-"

"You're killing me," she interrupted in laughing exasperation.

"I presume you are demonstrating the frequent human propensity toward hyperbole," he said, folding his arms behind his back.

"Will you kiss me?" she exclaimed.

"Right now?"

"Yes, it's customary to end a successful marriage proposal with some sort of display of affection," she said, trying to reign in her laughter.

"I see," he said, moving uncertainly toward her.

She looked down at his hands and took them gently, leaned herself forward, and stood on the tips of her toes to meet their lips together.

What began as a rather chaste kiss quickly became more passionate. They released each other's hands and Sarek grabbed her waist and she cupped her hands around his neck. Their hands trailed upwards, his along her ribcage and hers up toward his jaw until his hands lightly brushed her breasts and her hands met his cheeks. They both instantly recoiled. They broke apart and Amanda was shocked by not only how unexpectedly bold he had been, but by the look of obvious shock apparent on his face.

"Did you just feel me up?" she laughed, her voice sharp and unnatural.

His face twisted in confusion and he said, "Is that a euphemism?"

"Uh, no, I guess when I think about the words, it's pretty literal," she said, her face growing red. "Touching my… it's just… intimate. It was… anyway, I don't mind – I was just surprised."

"I shall admit your attempt to meld with me was also unnerving," he admitted.

She furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"I do not believe you did it intentionally, but touching another's face with your hands is… as you say... intimate," he explained.

"Oh," she stammered, her face now burning furiously hot. "But you did it with me…"

"That was different," he argued. "It was consensual and not done as a means of bonding. As you just stated, I am not opposed to the idea, I was merely taken aback."

She let out a low sigh and stared at him. "See what I mean? Our relationship is probably doomed to awkward disaster."

"It will no doubt require adjustment and education," he argued. "But I think it is premature to declare it a disaster."

She smiled and closed her eyes and leaned forward again to kiss him, gentler this time. When she pulled away, she could see an intriguing alertness to his gaze.

"What a wonderful bit of serendipity," she breathed.

"That is the third time in as many months I have heard that term, yet I do not know its meaning," he stated.

"I don't think it would translate well into Vuhlkansu," she smiled. "It means something along the lines of making happy discoveries by accident."

"Your definition seems paradoxical," he replied.

"How so?"

"Happiness is subjective, therefore the discovery of happiness is guaranteed for nearly any outcome for some individual, so long as it is relational to-"

She put her finger to his lips and he canted his head and raised his eyebrows in surprise at being silenced.

She kissed him again and said, "I love you, Sarek."

He leaned forward and rested his forehead on hers. He loved her too.

Author's Note: The end. Sort of. There's a sequel to this work titled, How to Date a Vulcan and Protocols for Human Courtship.