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Amanda never expected Sarek to bring her anything back when he went off-planet for his duties as an Ambassador, so it was a pleasant surprise when he stepped off the shuttle and handed her the bag. Her breath caught in her throat when she opened it once they were in the flitter headed home.
“Apples,” she whispered, eyes shining as she glanced to her husband next to her, who merely stared resolutely forward as if she didn’t know that was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Once they were home, and after Sarek had solemnly listened to Spock’s recounting of his studies since his father had left two weeks before excusing himself for a short meditation, did Amanda unpack the gift. She handled them carefully, like the priceless beauties they were, fingers enjoying the smooth texture of each before they were placed in the crisper that would keep them fresh much longer than nature would normally allow. Twelve apples, stacked to the brim of the crisper, with one left over.
Touched, as she always was, at her husband’s subtle care, she washed the ripe green apple before slicing it into thin wedges, arranging it prettily on a plate. Indulging herself and letting the knife and cutting board sit in the sink for now, she carried the plate out to the patio. Slipping her shoes off, she reclined on the chaise, the plate precariously balanced on her lap as she stared out at the desert mountain scene.
The tart coolness of the apples was a welcome relief in the heat of Vulcan, almost oppressive for a human. Amanda allowed herself a soft moan as she closed her eyes, head tilting back as she savored every bite.
Later there would be apples tossed with cinnamon, put in a bowl and brought to bed. Sarek had long ago given up calling it illogical, food in bed; now his indulgence went beyond mere understanding that it was a human ritual.
Sarek would wait until she had eaten the first couple slices herself and the juices were trickling down her fingers and she giggled as she tried to keep from dripping onto the bed. He would take her hands and carefully lick them clean, sucking at the pads of her fingertips with sensuality no one would ever believe a Vulcan could manage.
Not that Amanda ever cared to tell them.
Only when her hands were clean, just slightly sticky, would he take a slice for himself, and then another, until it was Amanda’s turn to take his hands. Her turn to clean off the lingering cinnamon, teeth scraping at the callous pads of his fingers in a way that made his eyes go dark and a growl rumble deep in his chest, until he had enough of her innocent look through lowered eyelashes and he set the bowl aside in favor of closing the distance between them.
Yes, that is what awaited Amanda later. For now, though, she could savor this apple in peace. It was Her Apple, a reminder of a home so far away, a momentary refugee in a world that could, at times, be too foreign for a mere human to handle.
“Mother?” Amanda jolted, quickly grabbing the plate to keep it from tumbling to the ground. She smiled as she set it on the seat next to her, extending her arms to beckon her son to her.
“Come here, Spock-kam.” He looked at her with reproach, declining her outstretched arms in favor of sitting next to her, the plate of sliced apples between them. It was with a twinge of sadness that Amanda lowered her arms, settling instead for straitening a bend in his perfectly aligned collar and picking off a non-existed piece of lint. “I suppose you are getting too old for such things,” she said simply, keeping her mourning of the days when she would pull him into her lap private.
Spock didn’t seem to notice, intent as he was on the plate. “Apples, mother?” One of his eyebrow quirked in that infuriatingly adorable manner he was picking up from his father. “They are not native to Vulcan. Where did they come from?”
Amanda smiled – she had tried once to plant an apple tree. It hadn’t lasted a year in the Vulcan heat. “Your father brought them back for me, from his trip.” She hurried on before Spock could press the question she could not answer–which planet, which orchard had the apples come from–saying, “He knows they are my one weakness.”
Amanda bit the inside of her lip instead of giving into the urge to smooth away the wrinkle between Spock’s brows, the one that always appeared when her son thought she was being frustratingly illogical. She braced herself for a gentle scolding on apples hardly being a weakness, let alone her only one. Instead, Spock picked up a slice and ate it, chewing thoughtfully for a moment as if trying to recall the last apple he’d eaten as a toddler, two years prior.
After a moment, the wrinkle smoothed itself and his entire face relaxed from the unrealized frown. Spock lifted the plate and moved into its place, settling it back down on his lap as he leaned against Amanda’s side. He popped another slice into his mouth before offering the next to his mother.
“Thank you, Spock,” she said solemnly, accepting it as she gently hugged her son to her side. She pressed a brief kiss to the top of his head before returning to look out at the setting sun.
Later there would be apples with cinnamon and Sarek. Now, there were fresh, tart apples with Spock and the setting sun. Either way, Amanda could not be happier. For while apples were her weakness, her boys were a greater one.