Working Title: Full
Date: June 26, 2001
Summary: Winter in Shikahr. Set after "Joy Unspeakable"



*************

Skirts in the summertime, robes in the winter over trousers and tunics 
and blouses, what Sarek wore in San Francisco to keep warm - even in 
late spring. 

When they married, Amanda concerned herself primarily with Sarek's 
clothing. Gathering trousers, and tunics, robes and surcoats in her arms 
and carrying them from one room to another, while deciding which 
outfits would be appropriate for him to wear under what conditions; but 
really - imagining which room would be hers, and which would be his, 
or if the one they currently shared would continue to be theirs.  
Never having felt materials like she smoke, sage and heather ones 
rustling in her arms, she stroked and petted them as if they were Sarek's 
very skin.  She'd never felt materials like those before - sheer wools 
and thick almost linens.  Plant fibers, mostly, with vegetable sheens, 
delicate and easily bruised.  Quilted panels dented so easily, she had 
not managed the trick of wearing a surcoat without crushing the 
diamonds of padded cloth beyond hope.  Sarek smelled like . . .  
nothing on Earth.  Her synthetic gowns and suits were patterened with a 
symphony of floating color.  You are imitating the gardens again, Sarek 
would tell her on rainy days when she sat at his desk in his office, and 
she sat at the small table that served as hers.  She liked the closeness, in 
those days, though she shared an office with the translators on the 
grounds.  The rain would pour down the diamond panes of the window.  
She would stare through the windows at the drenched gardens.  Sarek 
would gaze at her.  He said, `gardens in the rain,' the expression on his 
handsome face softening into loveliness.  `There is no greater beauty.'

He appreciated the rain but not the chill.  His robes collected water and 
the hems of his trousers were ever wet making his feet cold.  He did not 
complain, but he held her to him most often on Earth.  There, even 
her little warmth was a welcome addition, for all that it was not logical 
that though shivering, her relative coolness made him more 
comfortable.



At his home in Shikahr, she lit the Chanukkah candles each night by 
the circular window that opened onto the waste before the house.  He 
never asked, never questioned.  The first night he said nothing.  The 
second, nothing again. The third, he waited for her, just by her right 
elbow.

The candles and menorah fell to the ground and Amanda bent to pick 
them up.  Sarek approached, and helped her gather them in her arms, 
and in the fullness of his robes.

He held her, let her feel the weight and furnace of him, the heat inside 
of him that sought to balance itself in her coolness.  


Title: Full 
Fandom: Star Trek - TOS
Author: ebonbird@hotmail.com
URL: http://ebonbird.tripod.com
Summary: In the fullness of time . . . 

************
Sand apart from water, never having been near water unless carried in 
dense glass pipes from wells drilled many miles down beneath Vulcan's 
crust.

The pipes are black.  They are volcanic glass.  They run through the 
foundations of the open-work house Sarek chose for them to live on in 
Damaar.  Dry. Dry. Drier than her throat which is never moist enough,
now that she lives on Vulcan with her husband.

Amanda wears the robes of a matron, though she and Sarek are newly 
wed.  She walks barefoot along the smooth, halls connecting the wings 
of the house.  Only the wings are more like pods, branching off from a 
central stalk, a central vein.  The sand is fine grain, like 3X sugar, and 
like sugar it sticks to the bottoms and sides of her feet.  She is the 
moistest thing in Damaar, she thinks, she and the rose she carries in the 
double-vented plastic tub-bulb. It is specially made to keep the 
American Century Clear green - dark green, like the crimped planters 
that held the citronella candles in her grandmother's backyard deck - 
resin tulips to a point above the rose nodding in it's confines.
Condensations.