T'Pring Two

Sunlight woke T'Pring. It was an experience she hadn't had in some time. The early morning light came over the mountains at the edge of the Forge and into the Beige room for just the first ten minutes after dawn. When she had slept regularly in the room, had always closed the drapes, but she hadn't remembered the night before. She stretched and got out of bed, finding a robe left in the wardrobe long before.

It was a short walk to the kitchen, where she found Spock already sipping a cup of coffee. He met her gaze as she entered the room. She inclined her head slightly, indicating the coffee, something she knew he once despised. "I see you have awoken," Spock remarked. "Would you like a cup? I'm afraid that too many late nights in the Science Lab on the Enterprise have lead me to pick up the habit. I have at least managed to improve the quality of the brew." T'Pring nodded her acceptance. The terran drink seemed to infect any profession likely to spend long hours. Despite it's somewhat bitter taste to Vulcans, it was particularly effective for them.

Just the steam rising from the hot coffee where enough to wake her up fully. T'Pring sipped from the cup, sitting across from Spock. After a few minutes of silence, she gathered her courage and spoke, "We did not talk about it last night, so I must now. What are to be my duties as resident of thy house?"

Spock reached across the island and lifted up her chin, so he could meet her eyes. "I had thought that you might manage the household, perhaps even implement some of the decorative touches that you brought up regarding the public spaces. While this was my parents house before my Great-Grandfather's passing, and as such the Vulcan residence of the Ambassador to Earth, it was appropriate that it show many works from there. However, as it is now my house by grace and favor, I find some of it lacking taste. I may be part human, but I do not share my mother's preference for Impressionist Painters."

"I think I can do that," T'Pring replied, as Spock's hand finally left her chin. Her gaze stayed where he'd directed it. "Do you still want that painting of the terran King Henry VIII removed from the study?" She knew that the way the eyes on that painting followed you had always disturbed Spock.

"Most certainly," Spock replied, as T'Pring began recalling each room and what she'd wanted to see in them. "I also expect you to keep the kitchen stocked and the house in order. In general, I wish you to be Mistress of the House."

Mistress of the House ... the use of the term stopped T'Pring's train of thought so suddenly that she barely stopped her head from doing a sudden jerk of surprise. It was a formal title, one generally only given to one's wife, or bond-mate-to-be. His gaze had slipped away from her. Spock seemed to be focused on the clock she knew was above her head on the wall behind her. Could his comment be accidental, or maybe, might he actually still want her.

"Of course, I do not expect ..." as Spock spoke again, T'Pring felt her world starting to collapse under her again, "that you will let such duties interfere with caring for your daughter." Her breath caught again. "I would not do that to you. Such behavior would be illogical, and not fitting for our House of Surak." Could he want her and her daughter. "With your consent, I wish to restore you to your place in our house, per clause forty-two."

T'Pring tried to prevent her hopes from rising, but she knew clause forty-two. After all of the trouble she'd caused Spock, he had just offered to take her back, take Stonn's daughter as his own, and even restore their betrothal. She'd once overheard a human say they needed to pinch themselves to see if they were dreaming, and today, that was a recommendation that she took. She wasn't. There was only one response, but with the emotions swirling around her, she barely managed to keep it in the proper tone. "I do so consent to restore our bond."

Spock reached across the table, and with an expert's touch, the comforting presences that she had not realized she'd missed was restored. Stonn's bond had been firm, unyielding, and strong. Spock's was soft, comforting, and flowing. He gently linked their minds, going from nothing to a deep betrothal bond so smoothly that T'Pring only realized he'd done it when his hand pulled away, and he said, "my beloved."

The term was not a Vulcan one, but then Spock was not just Vulcan. She could feel his emotion, his love, his respect, his pleasure, through the bond now. They pulled at her, they comforted her, and they drove her to drop her own hardened barriers. The love she had felt from Spock, T'Pring returned with her own, as she echoed him, "my beloved."

The coffee was cold by the time the chimes interrupted there bonding induced pleasure. The Westminster chimes announced that someone was at the door. Spock stood. "That should be our daughter arriving."

The rest of the day was a blur to T'Pring.

...

Author's Note:

Originally there was another scene after this, but I've decided that it didn't fit. So I'm trashing that scene for now. Instead I'm in the process of creating a pair of new scenes. Reviews stating that you think is missing, or should happen may influence these scenes.