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Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.
Author's note: Written for the Sarek & Amanda Advent Calendar 2011, Entry: December, 18th. This story ties in with my earlier story 'Reflections'(can be found in the Sarek & Amanda archives), but you don't have to read 'Reflections' to understand this story.
~*~
The wind howled outside, causing the branches of the tall pine tree to scratch against the walls and roof of the small house. She went over to the window and held the curtain aside to watch the impressive tree sway in the wind. When she had been here the last time this tree had not been more than a sapling, ready to grow tall. Like her son... A wave of grief threatened to overcome her and her thoughts moved on quickly so as not to be pulled down into the abyss of pain so well known to her by now.
Had it really been over fifty hears? Yes, it had. Her memory was not as good as that of her husband and his people, but it was good enough to make her remember. She and Spock had been here for a Christmas visit. His first – and last Christmas celebration, because shortly after her parents had died in a flitter accident. Her brother had never understood her love for Sarek or her moving away from Earth. They had barely spoken over the last five decades and when he had moved into the house with his family she knew it was probably the last she would see of it. Probably... Were it not for the tragic circumstances that had re-united her family this year.
She watched the thick snowflakes fall for a while longer, then she returned to the couch where she had been sitting before. It was the middle of the night and the house was quiet. She liked it like that and she couldn't sleep anyway. Not with so much at stake... her thoughts wandered dangerously close to the events of the last weeks. It seemed unfair to her to remain on Earth while Sarek exhausted the last of his mental and, yes, emotional resources to give their son his life back, but due to the fragile control on her emotions she was not permitted near either of them at this time. It was difficult for her to grasp that she could possibly do anything to endanger the success of the ritual, but she'd do anything they asked to make it work. So she stayed on Earth while Sarek returned to Vulcan alone, even though she felt like breaking apart under the emotional pressure of having her son ripped from her, just to be faced with the opportunity to get him back.
A low clicking sound disturbed her thoughts and she looked up from where she had been nervously kneading her hands in her lap to see the room was alight with the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. She smiled softly, just like back then, so long ago, when she had gotten up in the middle of the night to find four year old Spock watching the tree in awe. The ornaments had not changed much during the years, although she spotted a new item here and there, certainly the craftsmanship of her brother's children and grandchildren. The most significant difference was the rotating socket the tree was resting in. Even though the technical upgrade set the image apart from her memories she had to admit the sight of the slowly turning tree was pleasant, the sparkle of the ornaments increased by the gentle motion. The couch she sat on was not the same, but it stood in the same place as the old one, so she had a good view on the tree. She reached for the blanket beside her and lifted her legs onto the couch, making herself comfortable. Just as she had settled in to watch the tree, a small sound startled her. She turned her head and saw two big brown eyes peering at her through the wooden posts of the stair rail. She almost gasped in sudden recognition, but in the blink of an eye she realized her error. It was not Spock, crouching on the stairs with a teddy bear clutched in his arm, but her brother's youngest grandchild. She wiped the shock from her face and smiled at the boy. “Hi Nathan. What are you doing up so late?“
The little boy got up and padded down the last steps and reluctantly approached the open doorway, then he hesitated just beyond the threshold. “Aunt Amanda, is Santa there?“ he whispered.
Amanda looked pointedly around the room. “No, Nathan. I think he's running a little late because of the storm.“
The boy's expression fell. “I thought I heard noises.“
'Ah, the pine branches scratching on the roof', she thought. “So you came down to surprise him?“ she asked aloud and received a nod.
“Do you think he can make it through the storm?“
Amanda nodded. “I have no doubt.“
“But what if the reindeer can't see through the snow? My dad says you have to wear goggles in a snow storm so you can see.“
Amanda turned her head away slightly and suppressed a chuckle when the image of snow blind reindeer with goggles fluttered through her mind. “I'm sure they can manage,“ she said softly. “But just to make sure we could open the curtains so they can see the light in the house. What do you think?“
Nathan nodded enthusiastically and she got up – not as easily as she would have liked – and pulled the curtains from the window. Outside the wind still blew snow against the windows and the old wood sighed softly under the pressure. “There, now they can't miss us,“ she said.
“Can I wait up until he comes?“ Nathan asked.
Amanda hesitated, but her decision was made quickly when she saw the boy was already rubbing his eyes. He would not withstand the pull for sleep for long now – enough time for Arthur to get up early in the morning and place the presents. She nodded and led the boy to the couch where she reseated herself and Nathan settled beside her under the blanket. She stroked softly over the boy's hair that was as dark a shade of black-brown as Spock's had been. It was not as straight, but close enough to be a painful reminder of the time she had sat here with her son and watched the tree. Just like the boy could not resist the pull of sleep she could not withstand the pull of her memories and when his head got heavy and he leaned against her she succumbed to her own feelings and let her mind wander.
When they sat here all these years ago she had marveled about Spock's future. She had been concerned that his character would be subdued under the Vulcan controls. Part of it had, yes, but nevertheless he remained more her son than she could have imagined. His eyes, so dark and sad sometimes, were as much windows to her soul as they were to his.
Today she should be much more afraid for his soul than she had been back then. Who would he be? What would he remember? Would she still see herself reflected in his eyes? Back then she found comfort in the thought that no matter how strict he'd apply the Vulcan controls she'd always have that moment with him. He would always remember, always until.... death. A painful twinge caused her chest to tighten.
He had died.
The fact was as unreal to her now as it had been the day Sarek told her. She had refused to believe it, refused to accept it. How could she? She did not even have his body to mourn and bury. She was devastated when Sarek went to claim Spock's body and they learned he had been buried in space. As much as she understood why Kirk gave him a grave in space she hated the thought. Maybe she was selfish. Spock had been at home in space. It was there that he found the respect and friendships he deserved. It was a fitting resting place. Considering the way he had died it was probably the best she did not have to lay eyes on the destruction the high radiation had caused. But she was his mother. The thought of never again seeing her beloved child, even in that devastated state, drove a knife of pain through her so forcefully that she could not breathe.
Yet, there had been hope for Spock's katra, to preserve the essence of his mind, even though most of his personality would probably be lost forever. She would not be able to communicate with him, but it gave her a measure of comfort that he would not be lost completely.
Then everything had happened in a rush, almost too fast for her to grasp. Sarek had gone to see Kirk in order to retrieve Spock's katra and learned that not Kirk carried it, but Dr. McCoy who was suffering from the ill effects of a merging attempt of his mind with a Vulcan katra. Simultaneously a federation science vessel that was sent out to examine the new planet Genesis had found Spock's body – alive!
She did not know much about the events that transpired thereafter, but she understood that the crew sacrificed their careers to retrieve the body from Genesis. All of this was secret knowledge that she gained from Sarek. She felt the mental pressure of another personal tragedy behind the scenes, but she did not press Sarek for information. Now they were all on Vulcan, performing the ancient ritual of fal-tor-pan – an attempt to refuse Spock's mind with his body. She ached to attend, but her failing emotional control would be disturbing to those closest to her. She had to take a backseat and wait – torn between hope, dread and doubt. Hope that the ritual would be a success, dread that it wouldn't and she would lose Spock all over and doubt that he would still be her son even if the refusion was successful.
The creaking on the stairs alerted her to another presence. Her eyes focused and she noticed with surprise that pale morning light shone through the window. She must have been sitting here for a long time, Nathan sleeping peacefully against her side. She turned her head and spotted her brother. He was wearing slippers and his old morning robe. A small mountain of colorfully wrapped gifts balanced haphazardly on his arms. She smiled softly while watching him making his way to the tree, oblivious to her presence. It pained her to realize how wrong it was that they did not speak to each other for so long. They were twins, they had always been so incredibly close. She had always regretted that her marriage and his refusal to accept her style of living had driven a wedge between them, but neither seemed to be able to convince the other to budge. Maybe, beside all the pain, there was also some good in the tragedy that had befallen her family after all. He had not hesitated for a second to take her in and support her during the time she could not support her son and husband.
He stopped in front of the tree and bend slightly to place the gifts on the floor and the bones in his back gave an audible crack.
“Ho ho ho, Santa. Getting old, hm?“ she whispered.
Arthur turned to her, startled, and one of the packages slid from his arms and hit the carpet with a soft thud. Both adults held their breath and waited to see if they had woken Nathan. But like all children he was blessed with deep and peaceful slumber. He did not even stir.
~*~
Three hours later, the gifts all unwrapped they went to church. Amanda had been reluctant to join them. She had not lived a religious life and she could not even remember the number of years that had gone by since she last set foot in a church to pray rather than sight seeing. Arthur had been adamant about not leaving her alone at home, though, and she had relented. It had been the better decision, she mused now that she sat in one of the front rows. The atmosphere of candles and the muted sounds of soft organ play soothed her in ways she had not thought possible. Perhaps it was the pleasant childhood memories of a time devoid of pain, fear and responsibility that the place evoked. She felt more at peace and the nervous kneading of her hands ceased for a while.
She looked up when motion at the entrance to the row caught her attention. It was Arthur who had excused himself a couple of minutes ago. She wanted to go with him, but he just shook his head and left. She felt for the link to Sarek, but knew he would not contact her until he knew she was in company of kin to support her physically and emotionally, whatever the news would be. Arthur held his eyes downcast as he approached and took his seat beside her. She tensed upon seeing this behavior, it did not bode well. She held her breath when he looked up at her and a wave of hope swept through her so strong that she was glad she was seated. Her brother's eyes shone with unshed tears, but his smile told her it were not tears of grief. He was happy for her. He took her hand gently and squeezed.
Then he leaned closely to her ear and whispered, “Sarek just called.“ He gave her a kiss on the cheek and looked at her, the old deep affection between them blooming back to life. “Merry Christmas, Amanda.“
It was all he needed to say.
THE END