Hold My Hand

By Path

Summary: Amanda asserts herself after the death of Sarek.


The healers were unable to determine the cause of his cough, insisting the constant change of environmental atmosphere was to blame. My Aunt Fanny’s butt it was. To my dismay the cough lingered for six months with no respite.

And then it all came to a head. The mistake was realized and Sarek was immediately summoned. They were beside themselves for their failure to identify the cause. Any one with a half a mind would recognize the fear written all over their faces despite their denials. Sarek was terminal. Terminal! HOW in all the hells of Earth could that happen? He was a robust man still, despite his two hundred something years.

In an effort to correct their mistake, to illogically halt the progression and hopefully reverse it, Sarek was compelled to accept treatment. And what bloody good did that do? Each dosage of the chemical cocktail stripped him of his dignity, reduced him to nothing more than a simpering human child, nothing resembling the controlled Vulcan that he was. Unable to shed my tears, I buried them within, my anger palpable. How could they do this to such a noble man?

During his moments of lucidity he came to the only conclusion he could; logically of course. And begrudgingly so did I. It cut deeply, severing my heart into two, but I could no longer see my husband, the Great Sarek of Vulcan destroyed by something far worse than the maddening fires.

Against the wisdom of the healers he made his choice, and home he came. I attended my cherished one, my beloved, my heart of hearts, with sub human strength. Sitting by his bedside, my tea cooled in my hands. He was so small, lying there. It hurt. Days would pass into nights, nights to days, while we continued this routine until he called out.

"Wife. Attend me."

I moved from the chair to the bed, my hand brushing his unkempt hair into place. "I am here my love."

"I ask of thee, `hold my hand'."

Settling a mask of Vulcan calm into place I took it, knowing well in advance what was to come. This couldn't be happening? It was I who had suffered medically all these years, living on borrowed time. How could I survive him? I could see the pain reflected in those once-intelligent eyes. His face, twisted unable to invoke his internal control. Raising his hands to my lips I kissed them.

"My logic escapes me. Fear has me in its grip."

His words sliced me like a well-used bull whip. "Put words to your fear my darling, it will diffuse it."

"I fear…that once this life is completed, I will be unable to call you to my side. Unable to caress your face with my paired fingers, unable to solve the puzzle that your logic challenges me with."

Night and day, Sarek, please do not do this to me. You are breaking my last resolve. "It will matter not, my beloved. I will attend thee when thee calls, as I have always done. Always shall."

"You will do this for this tired old Vulcan?"

"I will do this for the man who is my husband regardless how old and tired he is." Please Sarek, no.

"I ask my wife's permission to take my leave?"

I couldn't swallow, the lump stuck in my throat. The words, almost caught. But I was strong. "Granted."

He gave me that same small smile he had always granted in private. "I shall, await thee."

The light faded, his eyes closed and his breath shuddered and then there was silence.

My mind called to him; he was no longer there. Immediately I called out. They came. Came to collect his katra before it was too late. And they left, indulging my grief. Once I was certain they had gone I lifted his body cradling him in my arms rocking him. I wept, and wept and didn't care that I wasted precious water. Damn them, damn them all to the Hell Fires of the Forge. They robbed me of my husband, if they had only searched harder.

Smoothing his hair once again, I pulled up the covers, tucking him in. I moved from our rooms to that of my office. The anger a force so strong it rivaled the baling winds of the deep desert, creating a firestorm of great magnitude.

I awoke to find myself curled into a corner, the room was upside down, in shambles, with nothing salvageable. I stood, proudly, carrying myself to our rooms. Dressing in the gown that was his favorite I made arrangements for the man that once was Sarek of Vulcan.

With those same squared shoulders of determination I marched into the Senate chambers, taking the stage I crossed to the center, commanding a great presence. I proclaimed Sarek of Vulcan's crossing and then boldly declared that I was Amanda of Vulcan. A murmur erupted rippling across the amphitheater. I raised my hand ever so elegantly commanding silence. When it was again silent I continued with another bold assertion. Devoid of words I permitted my actions to issue the final declaration. With the utmost grace I floated across the stage, to the empty seat among the other dignitaries taking my place. It had become deadly quiet; I knew they were in shock. No matter. How many other daughters of Vulcan filled the void of their deceased mate? Logically? Who better to know the game? Tell me? No protestation? I thought not. With no objections voiced, the speaker crossed to the center and began the proceedings. It was then I heard those words, altered but repeated. `I will hold thy hand my beloved.'