A loud crash echoed down the hallway. Sarek's eyes drifted open and he rose to his feet, training his ears for the source of the calamity. He heard irritated grunting and a series of clattering and scraping noises and traced them to his bedroom.

A large black trunk and a number of antiquated books lay overturned halfway in the closet and he could hear Amanda rustling around inside. "Are you injured?"

"No," she snapped. "I just wish I were taller."

Sarek waded gingerly through the heaps of books and found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, scooping up dusty tomes and stacking them into piles near the base of a small stepping stool. "Why did you not request assistance?"

"You were meditating; I didn't want to bother you."

"And procuring these obsolete reading materials was a matter of such great import that you were unable to wait for me to complete my meditations?"

Amanda sighed and bit her tongue between her teeth. "I didn't realize the trunk was so heavy. I thought I could get it on my own."

It would be illogical to continue the discussion. Amanda preferred independence and disliked relying on others for help, and it would not alter the fact that there were dozens of books littering the floor. He stooped to join her organizational efforts.

He did not understand his mate's affinity for books. Sarek devoted two hours a day to reading – scientific journals and political newspapers were his preference – but Amanda enjoyed fiction. Sarek appreciated poetry for its artistic use of rhyme and meter, but prose for the simple sake of entertainment seemed wasteful.

"I love Flowers for Algernon!"

"I do not understand," Sarek replied. He glanced down and realized he'd spoken too soon. Flowers for Algernon was the title of the work in his hands, a slim volume coated in a fine layer of dust and depicting a white, Terran rodent on its cover.

"It's really sad, actually," Amanda said, holding out her hand to take it from him.

She lovingly caressed the cover as Sarek continued to stack more of the antiquated volumes into neat stacks. "What do you intend to do with these books?"

"Wow, it's not often my husband asks an illogical question," she teased.

Sarek glanced at her and she laughed. "They're books. I'm going to read them."

Sarek uttered a gentle sigh. "Surely these works are available in numerous databases. Why do you persist in maintaining tangible copies?"

"Because maybe sometimes I just want to curl up with a book," she shrugged. "Feel the pages on my fingertips. The smell of the paper. Some of these books are nearly a hundred years old. It makes me feel connected to history, in a way. I know it isn't logical…"

"No, it is not," Sarek agreed, placing the last of two heavy language reference manuals on the top of a pile.

"Just like you think fiction isn't logical," she added, turning over the small book in her hands.

"There is some logic to fiction. I understand many fictional works contain latent scientific or historical information. Fiction is simply not to my liking."

"Have you never read a story?"

"I read excerpts of a number of epic poems, and poetry can be a form of storytelling," he replied. "The Andorian classic, Saal's Cry, the human epic, The Odyssey, as well as-"

"No, I mean just a plain, old book."

"No."

Amanda feigned a look of horror – or perhaps it was genuine, Sarek couldn't be certain – and gazed down at the novel with the unusual title. "Why don't you read this one?"

"I wish to employ my time in more practical pursuits."

"Sarek, it's short; it's not even a hundred pages."

"You believe this novel has value?"

"It's more of a short story, really, but yes."

"Defend."

Amanda's eyes flashed a hint of annoyance and he could sense her mentally steeling herself to engage him in debate. Sarek enjoyed sparring with Amanda's mind, though he knew she did not return the sentiment, believing he was too rigid in his application of logic.

She took a deep breath and said, "You once told me that marrying a human gave you insights into humanity and made you a better diplomat. Fiction is a window to the human soul. This story in particular is about the conflict between intellect and emotion and how sometimes we think that gaining things will make us happy when really the opposite may be true. It also deals with ethics and several interesting moral themes."

"Fascinating."

She smirked and tossed the book at him but he had quick reflexes and caught it with his left hand. He considered the faded exterior, noting it lacked a summary page. His only clue to the plot was the title and the white mouse that graced the cover. "What is Algernon?"

"Not what. Who."

"Very well, who is Algernon?"

"A mouse."

"This is the story of a mouse?"

"Read it and find out," Amanda grinned.

Sarek stole one last look at the slender book and nodded. "I shall."

"Really?" Her eyes widened and her mouth drifted open.

"You have made a compelling case," he replied, thumbing through the book. "Why are so many of the pages folded at the corners?"

"I dog ear pages that have lines or quotes I like so I can remember where to find them."

"Dog ear" was a curious term, but he'd grown accustomed to various human colloquialisms throughout their years of marriage and it was easy enough to deduce she was referring to the method of folding pages. He smoothed several of the pleats out. Why they would be named after a canine's ears remained a mystery.

"I presume that also explains why there are numerous markings?" he asked, noting the presence of various shades of ink underling or highlighting various passages.

"Pretty much," she confessed.

"You appear to have studied this book as if it were a religious or philosophical masterpiece to have made so many notes," he remarked.

"I've read it at least a dozen times and I cry every time," she beamed. "I hope you enjoy it."

"I shall be objective," he replied, wondering if she hoped this book would spur him to experience the same emotions it elicited in her. "Now I must leave. I am already overdue at the Academy."

She scrambled to her feet and winced. She stretched, popped her back, and shuffled in his direction. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"No. Yet you are no less lovely."

She sighed and extended her right hand to him. He met their index fingers together, taking in the pleasant sensation of ozh'esta.

"Try not to be home too late tonight," she urged as they walked together to the front door of their home.

"As you have not defined what constitutes 'late,' how shall I know if I am in compliance of your wishes?"

She rolled her eyes, stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I love you."

"I know."

She shot him a pointed look, adjusted the collar of his sleeveless cloak and replied, "Be home for dinner."

He nodded and strolled down the steps of his estate, tucking the small book into the wide breast pocket of his outer garment. He would return much sooner than he anticipated.

Just hours later he raced his hoverbike through the desert of his family estate, desperate to find his wife. Vulcan was under attack by a massive vessel of unknown origin. He could see a large device in the distant horizon piercing the crust of the planet, which was certainly the source of the unnatural seismic activity.

He located her at the power station, gawking at the long coil of black metal drilling toward the heart of his home world. The Vulcan High Council had issued a planet-wide evacuation order an hour before, but reports were coming in that the planet's attackers were destroying ships leaving orbit. The High Council had issued no other advisories.

He pulled the hoverbike to a stop, cupped his hands around his mouth, and screamed over the roar of wind ripping at his face. "Amanda!"

His wife turned to face him. She wore a dazed expression but didn't move. She was frightened. Fear was illogical, but Sarek fought to control the distasteful emotion welling within his psyche. "We should leave for the shelter. Now!"

She nodded and stumbled down the side of the rock face, nearly throwing herself onto the back of the hoverbike. As they sped down the desolate road toward Vulcan's Forge, he was vaguely aware Amanda was mumbling something behind him. Her small arms clutched his body more firmly, and he urged the vehicle faster.

"Where are we going?" she shouted, the high winds engulfing her gentle voice.

His mind was too focused on operating the vehicle and pursing the most logical course of action to communicate with her telepathically.

"To the temple at Mount Seleya!" he yelled over his shoulder. The crypts below the Hall of Ancient Thought were the most secure sanctuary he could think of within a reasonable distance to their home. It was the most logical place to seek shelter.

When they arrived, they found most members of the Vulcan High Council, as well as a number of other high-ranking officials and priests. No one spoke, but turned their focus to intensive meditation. Sarek believed they would die that day, and as he endeavored to suppress the instinctual need to survive to accept his death with serenity, he felt Amanda grip his hand more tightly.

He loved his wife. Why had he never told her so?

He heard a voice yelling in the distance and opened his eyes. His son had come. He quickly considered the logical implications of Spock's presence, but his son immediately informed them that the planet was bound for destruction and they needed to evacuate.

Sarek deliberated for a fraction of a second. He was prepared to accept death, but it was among the most universally accepted tenets of Vulcan philosophy that a sentient creature's ultimate goal should be the pursuit of a long and prosperous life. It would be illogical to accept death if there was an alternative. His wife had apparently come to this conclusion before he did, because she was already sprinting in the direction of their son.

The tremors increased and the temple became mired in chaos and confusion. He ran, listening to the screams and cries of death all around him, dodging falling rocks and statues. The subconscious pain of so much loss grew to staggering intensity, but still they ran.

Soon they were out in the open air and the scene was truly marvelous to behold. Mount Seleya was collapsing. Vulcan was collapsing. Where was his wife?

Sarek craned his neck and saw her just ahead of Spock, abject terror sketched into her aging features. How illogical for her to stand so near the edge of a great precipice under the circumstances. He considered telling her so, but he felt the warm pull of a matter stream and realized in a few moments, they would be secure aboard the relative safety of his son's vessel.

Until they weren't. Until she wasn't.

He heard her scream just as his body flickered into a transporter beam and rematerialized on a circular transport pad. His eyes gazed straight ahead, not daring to look at the empty pad in front of his son. He could see Spock's outstretched hand in his periphery, but he knew Amanda was gone.

He felt it in his soul. He could no longer feel her in his consciousness. His mate, his companion, the singular love of his life, was gone. He felt his chin gently quiver.

The subsequent hours were muted and cold. He put no effort in committing his experiences to memory; he could never forget this day. A young human doctor tended his superficial wounds and showed him to a set of small lodgings on one of the ship's upper decks.

The Federation was at war and their security remained uncertain, but Sarek could feel his mind threatening to fracture as he grappled with the enormity of his loss. His mate, his friends and colleagues, his home, his life had been stripped away, leaving only life in the most hollow, biological sense.

He sank to his knees on the hard metal floor and closed his eyes. There was nothing left. He needed to grieve, but he wasn't certain he wanted to. Grieving implied he intended to confront the inevitable emotions of the loss and find a way to suppress them. He was unsure he wanted to suppress his emotions, because he was no longer sure he wished to live. Sarek did not desire to feel emotion, but the raw pain rippling through him was far beyond his power to control.

It was so intense it was nearly physical. He clutched his chest and felt the hard outline of the book Amanda had given him that morning. He extracted the worn volume from his breast pocket and stared at it. This was all that was left.

He skimmed the pages once again, noting the folded corners – the dog ears, as she'd called them – and the black, red, and blue ink scattered throughout. He closed his eyes and could still hear the gentle pitch of her voice.

I dog ear pages that have lines or quotes I like so I can remember where to find them.

He reopened the book and scanned through its contents again, noting for the first time that the pages near the back were warped as if from water damage.

I've read it at least a dozen times and I cry every time. I hope you enjoy it.

A book and traces of salt from his wife's tears were all that remained. His chin quivered again.

He flipped through the pages a third time, stopping at a page that had more ink markings than most of the others, including a section of text colored in vivid yellow. She'd marked just two short sentences that read, "I am afraid. Not of life, or death, or nothingness, but of wasting it as if I had never been."

Amanda was gone and had no katra for him to preserve. The Hall of Ancient Thought was gone. All the katras ever collected from Vulcans were gone. Vulcan was gone.

He felt wetness on his left cheek that trailed down the deep lines of his face and dripped from his chin onto the paper of the book in his hands. His single tear joined the tears his wife had shed over this story. He felt compelled to honor her final request and read this novel, but his eyes continued to trace along the yellow colored words.

"…as if I had never been."

Amanda was no more, but it was not as if she had never been. She had a son. They had a son.

Sarek had not spoken to Spock in the way that fathers customarily spoke to their offspring since his rash decision to join Starfleet eight years earlier. He often felt dismayed at his son's humanity – he was a creature that carried his emotions very near the surface, as was often evident in his expressive, human eyes.

Spock had Amanda's eyes. Sarek had recognized this the day of his birth. In his memory, Spock's human eyes had been cause for concern because Sarek did not wish for his son to be ostracized for his humanity. He had never appreciated his son's human side; he'd only viewed it as a burden, a thing to be overcome. How foolish he had been. That part of him was not merely human: it was a part of Amanda.

He paused, examining the deep creases in the corners of the paper. The dog ears, as she'd called them. When she had given him the book, his instinct had been to straighten out the folds and make the pages neat and uniform. Amanda never put much stock in neatness or uniformity. He brushed his fingers over the fold in the page with the yellow-colored sentences and swallowed hard.

She'd marked these pages and passages because she treasured them. One day he would read the story of the unusual mouse protagonist, but not today. Sarek rose to his feet, intending to find his son. Their son. Amanda's son.

Author's Note: This story came from a request from Elovie, who has always been such a dedicated and wonderful reviewer.

This story contains several quotes from the 1958 science fiction classic, Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. It's such a brilliant story and a very quick read. I highly recommend it!