A/n: I'm back! Thank you everyone for your reviews and kind messages. I'm in a much better headspace and happy to be back writing. I did change the rating of this story to M, since we are talking about some adult content here. Just a heads up! Hope you guys enjoy! :D

Chapter 6

You Remember What He Said Before, Right Guys? It's not kidnapping if she's not a goat….

Sarek set Amanda's unconscious form carefully on his bed and set her book bag (24.315 percent too heavy for a Terran of average size to carry easily, let alone his petite wife) against the far wall out of her immediate reach. His wife needed rest.

He dimmed the lighting in the room by 37.514 percent so as to not strain her inferior Terran eyes upon waking. Eyeing her unconscious form critically, he removed her shoes. Bizarre contraptions that appeared to be originally white, but were littered with scuffs, and Terran symbols in multicolored ink. The laces holding them closed were different colored; green on the left foot, purple on the right. The right laces were frayed and worn. Once her shoes were removed, Amanda pulled her knees closer to her chest, curling into a crouched position and rolling over into her side. A soft, rasping noise escaped her throat as she nuzzled against his blanket.

He calculated at 72.154 percent chance that he would need to replace the standard issue sheets with material softer and more suited to his wife's delicate Terran skin. The remaining 27.846 percent of his focus was satisfied by Amanda's comfort in his quarters. If her burrowing was indicative of satisfaction in her surroundings (and Sarek calculated a 45.627 percent chance that it did) than his wife's favorable response to his scent confirmed his hypothesis that it was only her waking mind struggling with confusion and exhaustion while her Terran instincts already accepted him as a worthy mate.

As if to respond, Amanda let out a small huff and used one small hand to drag his pillow into her arms, pressing her cheek agains the side of it.

His katra swirled within him, soothed by her presence while his suppressed instinct felt a distinct jolt of jealousy that would have turned the Vulcan a distinct shade of veridian were Sarek not a copper based lifeform. It should be him that his wife clung to, not his pillow. Illogical as her human need for contact was, if she felt the need to embrace something, than he, her husband, should be the recipient of such affections. Sarek took a 12.314 percent deeper breath than usual and suppressed the instinct to carefully ease the pillow from Amanda's weak hold, shred the inferior mass of fabric into assorted and unusable shreds.

Sleep, wife. I will take care of you

Illogical as it was, he still attempted to communicate with her through the bond, despite knowing that humans were psi-null. He sat back on his heels before standing and leaning over to pull a blanket from the foot of the bed, draping it over her petite shoulders. Throughout the course of his research, he discovered that it was common for Terran couples to share not only living quarters, but sleeping space as well. The idea was appalling in its assumed intimacy. Carrying her to his current lodging, while the most expedient solution to her panic, was already pushing the bounds of propriety. The feel of her cool human flesh, even through her clothes, flooded his system with hormones that even his superior Vulcan physiology struggled to filter. Most Vulcan couples kept separate bedrooms, if not residences, drawing together rarely physically while the mental bond was much stronger between them.

Over the course of the last 4.517 standard Terran days, his wife had mentioned her "lack of sleep" due to "crazy Vulcans" eleven times. He gathered this was another Terran custom that he neglected that was causing her distress.

They would need to discuss the parameters of Amanda's expectations of physical intimacy, he calculated a 57.614 percent chance such a discussion would reduce miscommunications in the future and solidify his assertion that their bonding was not unsuitable and instill her with confidence in his devotion.

He crossed the sleeping quarters, pausing only once to look over his shoulder, to ensure that her slumber was undisturbed.

The stress hormone circulating through his system reduced by 34.312 percent as she nuzzled deeper into his bed. He stepped into the living room, enough to allow Amanda to rest, but not so far that his superior Vulcan hearing would not be able to discern any sound of distress. He pulled a PADD into his hands and pulled up the nutrition requirements the medical officer had forwarded to him. 18.625 Terran minutes before his wife's sudden panic.

He would ensure that Amanda consumed a nourishing meal, after a period of adequate rest. He selected a variety of dishes, calculating the likelihood of familiar vegetation to stimulate his wife's appetite.

Afterwards, they would discuss the lack of contact that was causing her distress.

While prolonged and frequent physical contact was not common or encouraged among Vulcan couples, it seemed to be necessary in Terran relations. He would compile a list of Terran forms of physical interactions and discuss with Amanda what she sought.

It would appear that searching for "Terran Mating Customs" led to explicit imagery and loud holovids detailing the mechanics. Sarek turned down the volume and narrowed search results until he found a database explaining the benefits of different positions and techniques.

"Guaranteed Ways to Keep Her Satisfied" appeared to be promising research material as his wife's happiness and satisfaction was paramount to his own.

Sarek felt his eyes widen 1.213 percent as he absorbed the presented anecdotal evidence which was then backed up with scientific theory and evidence. The Terran custom of connecting mouths through kissing was of greater importance than previously calculated. According to this document, it was also not limited to mouth to mouth contact.

This would need to be discussed with Amanda. It would appear that Sarek was very neglectful of his mate's needs.

He would correct this oversight.

Meanwhile, with our thankfully, blissfully unaware human…..

I was comfortable. It was warm, the blanket was soft and the pillow smelled amazing. It was slightly spicy, like the incense they burned on Vulcan.

My eyes snapped open.

Vulcan.

I shot up, immediately grabbing my shirt and then my jeans.

Okay, they were both there. But where was I?

Swearing under my breath, I untangled myself from the blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My shoes were missing.

I stared at my striped socks in dismay.

Alien bastard, he took my-a flash of green drew my eye. Oh, there they were.

I pulled them on quietly. I didn't hear him, maybe he was gone? How long were those nerve pinch thingies supposed to last, anyway. And, weren't they supposed to hurt? I rolled my shoulder, no pain. In fact, I felt great. Not even the grogginess that normally clung to my eyes and limbs when I normally woke.

I stood up, trying not to make a sound as I crept across the room and carefully slid the door open. I was hoping it wasn't another meditation closet.

It wasn't. Great!

I stepped out into the den slash living room where Sarek and I worked on my paper (got an A on that, I thought professor Green was about to have a stroke. Or report me to the plagiarism committee). I didn't see him.

I looked both ways, like a really bad secret agent, or preparing to cross a busy intersection. No Vulcan in sight.

There's the door. I can just leave.

I'll get out, I'll run to the campus police and then Wynona. He's clearly unstable, he assaulted me for fuck's sake!

I sprinted to the door, barely managing two leaps before-

"Wife, based on your sudden, rapid movement, I calculate a 24.516 percent increase in your energy levels, however, based on your trajectory towards the door, I assume that you are still operating under the effects of your fatigue and confusion. I calculate a 65.421 percent chance that the consumption of a nutrient dense meal will assist your continued recovery."

"Where the hell did you come from?!"

"I request clarification. I originate from Vulcan. If your exclamation was in reference to my entering this room from the kitchen .423 Terran standard minutes ago, I shall endeavor to create more noise to signal my arrival in deference to your inferior senses."

How does he do it? How can he just sound like-talk like-argh!

"Argh!" I pulled on my hair again, wincing at the sharp tugging. "Quit it!"

"I request-"

"Let me out of here! I need to go home. And you're lucky if I don't call the police telling them you kidnapped me."

"As I state 2.141 Terran hours ago, your use of the term 'kidnap' is both incorrect and imprecise. You are not a juvenile goat and my insistence upon your rest and welfare is inconsistent with an abduction."

I literally felt my eye twitch in aggravation. There was no reasoning with him. It was impossible. "You'd catch me if I decided to bolt, wouldn't you?"

"Affirmative."

Crap, I couldn't out run him. I fidgeted near the door, all but midstep.

Should I try anyway? Would he put me back under?

Was there a potential adverse reaction to being nerve pinched twice in a row? Would I go into a coma or something?

I groaned and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Okay, okay."

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

Think, Amanda, think!

"Come, wife. It is detrimental to your inferior Terran health to consume nutrients below their optimal temperature."

"Stop calling me 'wife'!" I snapped, glaring at him.

He watched me impassively, but his stance seemed stubborn. I'm not sure when I started to be able to read his body language.

I fidgeted, my legs almost twitching with the need to run again. Unusual for my body to desire any form of exercise. Maybe there was something to this fight or flight thing.

"Amanda."

"How do I know you didn't drug it?"

Maybe that was his plan. Just keep me unconscious?

Would he take me back to Vulcan?

Would he knock me up?

A chubby, pointy-eared baby toddling after me mumbling 'I request clarification' flashed before my eyes.

You know, that's kinda cu-

I shook my head either to clear my head or in denial, I wasn't sure.

"That would be illogical. You are my wife, it is erroneous to assume that I would seek to harm you in any fashion. I calculate a 57.618% chance that your incorrect conclusion is another symptom of your mental fatigue."

"Quit calling me crazy!" He opened his mouth again, and I held up a hand. "Okay, okay," I took a deep breath and let it out in degrees. "You aren't going to let me go anywhere without eating, are you?"

"It is of utmost importance that you return to full operating capacity. As your mate, you're well being is my responsibility."

"You're NOT my-" I bit my tongue and swallowed hard. Pick your battles Amanda, pick your battles. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll stay and eat dinner, but I want to make my own meal out of the replicator."

Just in case he'd doped it with some sort of Vulcan love potion or something. "The replicator located within my residence is Vulcan. I calculate a 31.662 percent chance that you possess the required comprehension skills to operate the machine based upon your previous Vulcan illiteracy. Logically, you would not be able to operate the replicator without my assistance."

I glowered and followed him into the dining room after a last longing look at the door. Not trusting him, I stepped over to the replicator. "How did you get a Vulcan replicator on Terra?"

Seemed like a lot of work for just one person, who wasn't even supposed to be here. I scowled at the simultaneously unfamiliar and familiar characters that made up Vulcan words. Ugh.

Even if he made another meal, I had no way of knowing if there was some kind of 'alien poison button.' And he was right, I couldn't read it enough to even make my own meal.

I turned around to face the table and blinked.

Were those...candles?

There were two place settings. Sarek was standing behind one of the chairs, he'd pulled it out. "What are you doing now?"

"Take your seat, Amanda. I shall push in your chair, in accordance with Terran custom."

Where was he finding his information? Holding out someone's chair for them was outdated. It went out of style when my grandparents were probably dating.

Whatever.

Just get through dinner Amanda. You can't outrun him.

I gingerly took the seat and let the crazy alien push me towards the table.

My plate was set and this time it was recognizable.

There was a spinach salad with tomatoes and cucumbers,lightly drizzled with some kind of vinaigrette. The main course looked like stuffed mushrooms, each one the size of my fist. My glass was filled with orange juice.

It smelled amazing and my stomach growled.

Okay, forget it. Who cares if he drugged it. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a hot meal. Other than the soup he'd prepared for me the last time I was here. He didn't drug that.

"Okay, I"m going to eat this. Then I'm going to leave. If you drug me or poison me, my ghost will haunt you!"

"It is satisfactory that you see the logic in consuming necessary nutrients. Drugging you would be illogical. I am your mate, your safety and wellbeing is more important than any other. Ghosts are a figment of Terran imagination, which is illogical, but considering your Terran lifespan is insufficient compared to a Vulcan's, it is acceptable that you believe your spirit shall accompany me after your death."

How could a physicist from a species famous for their logic and reasoning, be such a complete nutcase? I stared at the plate in front of me and briefly wondered how hard I'd have to slam my head into the portobello's in order to knock myself unconscious.

"That's not-I just-whatever, I'm hungry."

I picked up my fork, which seemed heavier than a normal fork for some reason, and started on the salad. The vinaigrette was bright and citrusy, and there were chopped walnuts mixed in; I hadn't eaten non processed vegetables in a few days, just taking the lazy route of packaged soups or sandwiches. Okay, fine. My diet consisted mostly of tea and junkfood.

Long story short, my body was thrilled at the chance to absorb actual nutrients, and I quickly finished the salad, then dug into the first mushroom cap. It was delicious, filled with goat cheese and pesto, topped with breadcrumbs and parmesan. This was a high class replicator, restaurant quality.

That was probably the hunger talking.

I made a strangled moan around my mouthful, then felt myself flush as I reached for my glass of orange juice.

It tasted fresh squeezed.

"Um, this is really good."

Sarek blinked, looking up from his own plate. "That is satisfactory."

He took all this trouble to prepare dinner, pull out my chair, there were even candles on the table. Not to mention kidnapping me, but all of a sudden he was mute.

Swallowing another bite of mushroom, I tried again. "Why did you have Terran food?"

He looked at me.

"I, uh, was expecting Vulcan food."

"I prepared Terran cuisine in deference to your compromised Terran system. While Vulcan food is nontoxic to Terrans, I calculated a 67.514 percent chance that you would willingly consume more familiar foods."

I finished my last bite of food and pushed my plate back, comfortably full. "Okay, I ate. I slept. You did your 'job' as my-"

I trailed off. He wouldn't like being called captor…

"Husband," he supplied.

"No," I answered.

"I request clarification."

"I'm not calling you that." Ever.

"That is illogical, considering that we are married."

"Okay, I'll call you by your name. Okay? You call me by my name, and I'll call you by yours. It's Sarek, right?"

"Affirmative."

A flush of foreign pleasure bloomed in my chest. I realized it was the first time I'd said his name. Apparently, he liked it.

"Okay, Sarek. Can I go home?"

"Negative. It is imperative that we discuss our miscommunication."

I perked up. This was more like it!

"Now, that we can agree on."

"Come, we shall discuss this in the living room where I have prepared resources for us to examine."

"Um, okay."

Did that mean, like a list of lawyers for an annulment.

Not likely.

With my luck, it was probably a Vulcan form of marriage counseling. Or, he'd want to renew our vows or something.

Wary, I followed him.

Just play along, Amanda. He has to let you go at some point.

His PADD was sitting on his coffee table. "Be seated, Amanda."

Instead of indicating one of the chairs, he gestured to the sofa. I gingerly perched on the edge and then flinched when he sat next to me.

"I calculate a 78.412 percent chance that in addition to your negligence regarding your own welfare, there is a misunderstanding of Vulcan and Terran customs. My previous research was imprecise."

Okay, so far so good. "I definitely agree with that."

"I therefore conclude that, in order to clarify our expectations for the success of our bonding, we should discuss which Terran customs you deem lacking from our interaction."

…..And now he's lost me again. "What are you talking about?"

"You will observe this list of compiled Terran practices between bonded couples and relay which actions you consider acceptable and necessary."

He handed me the PADD which I accepted. "I still don't understand wha-"

My voice choked.

It was- was this?

What the hell?

Ignoring my sputtering, Sarek continued, as though he were presenting a case before a board or directors or a jury. "In my research, I observed that the Terran method of kissing, while more vulgar than the Vulcan method of ozh'esta, is deemed a necessary and intrinsic ritual within Terran relationships. I am amenable to ensuring your satisfaction in this manner, provided we do so in private, in accordance with Vulcan modesty."

I felt myself flush from the roots of my hair down. My face hurt. "I- what the-"

I stood up, dropping the PADD onto the seat of the sofa. "You are COMPLETELY insane! You just- hand me- and then you want to kiss me?"

The PADD was displaying a list of….positions. Compiled into a database divided by levels of flexibility.

"Affirmative. I calculate an 86.542 percent chance that your denial of our bond is due to the lack of incorporation of the Terran proclivity for physical contact. I have neglected your needs."

Sarek stood and I realized yet again, how tall he was and for the first time what he was wearing. His uniform jacket was missing, a long sleeved, round necked tunic was in its place. It was probably due to just seeing explicit images, but the sight of his bare throat felt obscene for some reason. I'd never seen it before. His eyes were impossibly dark, but soft, and there was a very faint green flush across his high cheekbones.

"I will correct my error. You are valued, Amanda. You will not lack for attention again."

He took a step closer to me and I stepped back. He paused and looked like he was on the verge of requesting clarification again.

"You-you think a kiss is going to solve all our problems? Who do you think you are, Prince Charming?"

"I request clarification. It has been many years since Vulcan operated under a monarchy, I am not a Prince, though my mother serves on the Council of Elders. Your assumption is incorrect, I hypothesize that implementing the Terran form of kissing will repair our damaged bond in addition to your return to full health. I am prepared to repeat any of the compiled actions as many times as necessary to ensure your complete satisfaction. If there is a different form of copulation you prefer, I am prepared to explore that also."

I didn't even know what to, what kind of-

My voice came out much smaller than I intended. "I don't understand."

I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "Okay, okay. You're more confused than I thought. We're not going to have sex tonight. If you try, I'll scream."

"According to my research, elevated vocalization is an indication of successful performance."

My cheeks hurt from how hard I was blushing. "That's not, we're not even going to discuss that."

"I request-"

"No, I request clarification!" I was shouting, but this was ridiculous. No, scratch that, this had passed ridiculous a long time ago. "Nothing about this makes any sense. We aren't compatible! I don't want this! We're too different!"

"Incorrect. We are compatible, my research was thorough. Vulcans and humans are also compatible physically, though our offspring will be taxing for you to carry, if you desire them in the future. Humans and Vulcans do differ ideologically and behaviorally, that is why compromise and research is necessary for a successful marriage. Human relationships value communication and compromise, correct?"

I sank back down onto the sofa feeling like I was at the end of my rope. "What is it going to take, for you to give up?"

The sofa sank under his weight as Sarek folded himself next to me. "I will not. You are she-who-is-my-wife."

I huffed, it sounded like a laugh, though this was anything but funny unless you counted a cosmic joke. "Apparently."

Error 404: Terran Temporarily Out of Order.

This was not going according to his plan.

He calculated a 76.541 percent chance of Amanda's positive reaction to his research. To be pleased with his initiative and research.

He expected her to provide feedback or input, perhaps remark on the thoroughness of his research. He calculated a 45.314 percent chance of his wife expressing an interest or insight into Terran mating habits and directing the evenings exploration.

He had heard her moan, his research informed him that such a sound was a Terran indicator of pleasure, during the evening meal, 12.751 standards minutes previous. His mind was creating hypotheses and scenarios to discern what other activities could incite such vocalizations.

Sarek calculated that he would need to increase his nightly meditation time by 7.815 minutes to subdue and flush the excess hormone flooding his system.

His wife was once again distressed. It would appear that one nap of 2.142 standard hours followed by a nutrient dense meal was not enough to resolve her confusion nor was the offer of pursuing an avenue of Terran bonding activity.

In 27 of the 30 Terran documents, he consulted, the importance of communication was stressed as a requirement for healthy relationships. Particularly in how open communication led to more satisfying physical interactions. Also, the importance of understanding consent was mentioned in 19 of the articles, stating that if one partner felt pressured to meet the demands of the other partner, that would deteriorate the bond. It was important that Sarek and his wife avoid this outcome. Perhaps Amanda worried that his Vulcan reserve would not be able to properly discuss her concerns or respond to her needs. Or, he calculated a 57.615 percent chance that his sensitive mate was concerned that her Terran emotions would be offensive to his alien sensibilities.

This miscommunication could not be allowed to continue. He read in an article "Steps for a Successful Relationship" about a term known as "Relation Probation". Perhaps this would be the best course of action.

"Amanda."

She looked at him. Her bright green eyes were red rimmed with exhaustion. She needed more sleep, perhaps she would see the benefits in joining him in meditation?

"I observe from your behavior that you are concerned that your interspecies relationship will prove unsatisfactory for the both of us."

She nodded, a lock of hair falling across her forehead. He calculated at 67.431 percent chance that the texture of her hair would be pleasing to the touch.

"I therefore propose a compromise, in accordance with the practices common to Terran relationships."

She groaned low in her throat, the sound sending a .857 percent spike of hormone through his system. "What now?"

"Probation. I suggest that your erroneous conclusion of our incompatibility is due to a lack of interaction and insufficient time spent together."

She was staring at him again. Her eyes were a lush shade of green, native to Terran foliage, ringed with pale gold around the pupil. "Probation?"

And now for something completely different

"Probation?"

I repeated, making sure I'd heard him correctly.

Probation? Like a trial run?

Oh god, was this another sex thing?

Wait, he was still talking. "-after a period of time in proximity, you can readjust your conclusion."

"Wait, wait. I request clarification. I wasn't listening."

He raised an eyebrow. "As I previously stated. I propose a new experiment. Your current conclusion that our union will not be successful is due to insufficient data. Our marriage has lasted for 6.431 Terran months, yet our total interactions total only 31.753 standard hours. I propose a new experiment where we spend an adequate amount of time in proximity and focus on constructing a healthy bond. After this period of time together, with sufficient observed evidence of our compatibility, you will be able to adjust your conclusion."

I suppressed my aggravation and focused on what he was saying. "Okay, so what if, after we spend time together, I still don't feel the same way?"

Because I wouldn't.

This was nuts.

But he was offering me potential out. I think.

The skin around his eyes tightened slightly. "Then, logically. Our association shall reach its end."

A tendril of hope bloomed in my chest, not even the foreign twinge of displeasure was enough to suppress it. "That sounds...acceptable. So, how long are we talking?"

"I request clarification. Our discussion has lasted 13.457 standard minutes."

I waved him off. "Bad phrasing on my part, what I meant is 'how long does probation last?'"

How long until you're out of my hair?

"In order for the experiment to be successful, it is important to match the control aspect. I suggest that logically, the probation period should last an equivalent amount of time. 6.214 Terran months, spending as much time in proximity as we previously did in separation."

And it's back to being unreasonable. "Six months! No way! One month."

"Illogical, that is an insufficient time for your inferior Terran mind to reach an accurate conclusion and unequal times would affect the integrity of the experiment."

I started to talk, then stopped. I need to think about this. I didn't want to spend more time with him, but I didn't think he would just vanish into mist like a bad nightmare. Since he was Vulcan, it would have to be something more 'logical', like I don't know chalkboard dust after wiping away an equation or something.

I stood up and started to pace.

Okay, pros and cons.

Pros: He stopped stalking me, and there was a definite time limit on how much time we spent together. It was my only out.

Cons: He was nuts. I didn't want to be here. With three months of contact, he'd probably try to abduct me to his home planet. He also seemed to be laboring under the delusion that I was some kind of nymphomaniac, sulking because we weren't having sex.

Could we even have sex?

No, not even imagining that. Quit. Stop.

I shook my head, willing my scumbag brain to quit picturing Sarek as one of the actors in the holo porn.

Would his expression change? Wait, no! Dammit!

"Ugh!"

I had to be through with this. One way or another.

I'm just going to agree to whatever this is. NOT SEX. And see what Wynona thinks. She'll know what to do.

Okay. Best plan I have so far.

I turned back to face the sofa where my, not-husband sat with posture perfect enough to make any Starfleet junkie proud. I blew out a breath. Here goes nothing. "Um, okay. Can we meet in the middle? And say three months? I'm sure that will be long enough for me to figure something out. That way I'm not wasting your time, which would be illogical. Can we compromise?"

He paused for a moment, I could almost hear his Vulcan brain whirring. "That is acceptable. I conclude from your agreement to my proposal that you see the logic in investing more effort and time into our relationship. Therefore, my original proposition of exploring the Terran concept of kissing-"

For fuck's sake, was he still on that?

"I'm not kissing you."

"I request clarification."

This was going to be a long three months.