Chapter Text
When Sarek received confirmation to attend the yearly federation gala in San Francisco, I was quick to start planning an impromptu holiday with Michael and Spock. However, a mere thirty hours later Sarek approached me in the kitchen and explained that my own presence was requested at the Gala for logistical reasons.
I didn’t even have to ask for clarification. It was no secret that our marriage is a bridge between the relations of two planets and our mere presence together is diplomatic strategy.
With the children having their own little holiday with my father, I squeezed into my best dress, a three-quarter sleeve length burgundy gown that stopped at my ankles and within an hour of dropping the children off, we were at San Francisco headquarters.
I found solace watching the many different species mingle with each other as I stood next to the buffet, stealing the warmth of the lamps warming the food. Though it was room temperature, I seemed to have become cultured to the usual 30 Celsius Vulcan climate.
I twiddled with my thumbs, people watching while simultaneously eavesdropping on some of their conversations. Some about upcoming political meetings, and some just about family life.
The other thing on my mind was the food.
It was rather intriguing. Just beside me was a dished labelled Vulcan Plomeek Samosas. Hyper aware of my surroundings I was highly advised not to eat during diplomatic events due to the vultures known as paparazzi.
However, after fighting the urge for ten minutes I couldn’t help it any longer. I picked one up, glanced around quickly and bit into the buttery, flaky pastry. I was told the food would be exceptional as only the most renowned Vulcan and human chefs prepared the food and they did not disappoint.
“You know, they say the Vulcan chef catered this event just to punish our taste buds.”
I looked up, the samosa was in my mouth. Before me was a young man, human, of approximately twenty years of age staring at me.
“I’m Nigel. International Relations. And saviour of your evening.”
Saviour, eh?
He had a smug look on his face. The kind of smug look that Michael would have when she was trying to outsmart me. I swallowed my bite and quickly introduced myself wiping the crumbs from the chest of my dress.
“I’m Amanda.”
On impulse, I offer my hand, which he shook immediately. I realised upon a quick glance up and down that he was a lieutenant. He had his full uniform on with not a pin out of place. Additionally, there was not one crease in his jacket.
It looked as if he was going to a photo shoot instead of a Gala.
“Amanda. A classic name. Not like these Vulcan names. Try saying "S’Chn T’Gai" three times without throwing out your jaw.”
Oh this dude was cocky, and clearly had no idea to whom he was talking to. It was both refreshing and a catalyst for disaster”.
I chuckled, “It takes practice, definitely. Are you enjoying the gala?”
He moved closer to me, now he was an inch away from our shoulder touching. “I am now. But honestly? It’s a career chess match for me. Tomorrow morning, I have a briefing with the big boss himself - Ambassador Sarek.”
I don’t know what quite made me curious, what made me want to play along. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it’s my protectiveness as a wife, or maybe it was my curiosity at how far this could go with this Nigel individual.
I smiled wickedly, finishing the rest of my now lukewarm samosa in a single bite.
“Oh? Sarek.” I wiped my mouth of crumbs, “I heard of him, I hear he’s... formidable.”
“Champagne?” a waiter appeared holding a tray of champagne. I accepted and so did Nigel. I thanked the waiter, Nigel did not.
“Formidable? Try a walking, breathing block of ice. The guy has the personality of a tricorder on power-saver mode. Completely devoid of any and all humour. I bet you my entire month’s salary he calculates the exact mathematical efficiency of brushing his teeth.
I bit my lip trying my hardest not to laugh. I took a sip of champagne puckering my lips at the taste. It was the most sold champagne sold on Vulcan, one made specifically for the Vulcan palette.
“You might be right about the teeth.”
“Exactly! But hey, enough about the walking statue. A beautiful, mysterious civilian woman like you shouldn't be thinking about grumpy old diplomats.” He leaned in, almost whispering to me, “What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Oh, I just tag along with someone.” I smiled. “I’m usually the translator but on this occasion, I’m dealing mostly with logistics….domestic so to say.”
“A clerk! Love it. Underappreciated, overworked.” He stopped taking a sip of the champagne before sitting it out immediately back into the glass. It would have turned my stomach if I weren’t raising two children.
“Oh my god, even the champagne is shit!” He placed the glass on by the food under the heat lamps.
I handed him a fresh napkin which he quickly availed of and wiped his mouth of loose saliva. He then popped the used napkin in the champagne cup. I tried hard to hide my distain, though I’m not sure how successful I was.
“Let me take you away from all this.” He stated suddenly, “There's a fantastic bar down by Starfleet Headquarters. Let me buy you some better champagne. We can slip out before the Ambassador Sarek starts awkwardly leading the gala waltz.”
I rose a brow, seeing his eyes were no longer on my face and now lingering on my chest. I cleared my throat, which forced his eyes back on my face. I downed the rest of the champagne in one gulp and handed it to a passing waiter nearby.
“That is a bold offer, Nigel. However, I don't think my companion would find it very... logical.
“HA!” He laughed in my face. “Logic is highly overrated, Amanda. Trust me, I know Vulcans. I’ve worked with them for almost a year they wouldn't know romance if it hit them with a lirpa. Come on, come out with me. I’ll show you a good time.”
The chimes that suddenly echo through the ballroom was enough to make me jump. The chatter in the ballroom died down instantly.
“You are very jumpy.” He commented, his finger grazing my upper arm.
I moved my arm away, turning towards the heavy double doors of the ballroom as they swung open.
Sarek’s presence grow stronger through our bond. I watched the crowd part like they did in one of those old movies where royalty enter the ballroom. He was getting closer to our corner of the room, his eyes plastered on me, determined to get to me.
This would surely be interesting.
I watched Nigel straighten his posture, and brush his jacket from the non-existent crumbs.
“Oh, Mr structural integrity himself. Watch this, Amanda. Watch a master diplomat at work.”
“I look forward to it.” I whispered, not even trying to hide the smug smile on my own face.
Sarek had almost reached us. Internally, I could his feel slight concern, though it was something he seemed to quickly repress. His exterior remained as stoic, upright and ridged as usual.
I watched Nigel stepped forward, extending a hand and puffed out his chest.
“Ambassador Sarek! Sir! Lieutenant Nigel D. Vance, junior attac—"
Sarek steps right past Nigel, completely ignoring him and his hand. Instead, he stopped directly in front of me immediately offering his forefingers, which I accepted.
“My wife. Your sudden departure lacked a logical foundation. What variable prompted you to leave so precipitously?".
I glanced over, Nigel’s hand stays frozen in the air. His jaw drops so low it nearly hits the Starfleet-issue carpet.
“Forgive me, husband.” I stated, feeling my eyes dancing in amusement, “I was originally escaping the cold, but then I was suddenly being educated on the... structural integrity of Vulcan romance.”
Sarek slowly turned. His eyes lock onto Nigel. I watched one of his Vulcan eyebrow ascends into his hairline. It is a terrifying, and arousing sight. He briefly turned back to me asking,
“Is this individual bothering you, wife?” His voice as flat and stoic as always. A wave of his protectiveness suddenly ran over me.
“Not at all, Husband. In fact, Nigel was just telling me about your briefing tomorrow morning. He says you are a walking block of ice.”
Nigel tries to speak but the only thing remotely coming out of his mouth was a high-pitched squeak. Sarek turned back to Nigel, seemingly waiting for his words to become coherent.
“I— uh— uh- I - the atmospheric controls in here— the metaphor was—"
“My dental hygiene routine is calculated for maximum efficiency, Lieutenant. It takes precisely two point three minutes.”
The young lieutenant looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him into the Earth's core. I stepped forward and patted his shoulder,
“Good luck tomorrow, and try not to throw out your jaw.”
“Wife,” Sarek interjected before offering his arm to me, “Our presence is required”.
“Of course.” I graciously accepted.
We headed out of the ballroom. We were walking down the long corridor when Sarek affirmed “His flirtation techniques require significant emotional expenditure for a remarkably low success rate.”
“I can’t deny that,” I chuckled. “But you have to admit, it was hilarious”.
He was silent, but the slight squeeze of my arm with his free hand informed me that maybe, just maybe, he found a small amount of humour in the situation.
~*The End*~