Summary: Written for kinkmeme; Sarek and Amanda and the difficulty they had in conceiving Spock.
Her first pregnancy had lasted two months to the day.
The doctor had warned them that she would not be able to carry a Vulcan infant. There was no historical precedent for it, not even another attempt – but she had refused to abort it, and Sarek had supported her. When he said that it was illogical to terminate the pregnancy on the basis that it might not make it to term, she knew what he meant. She knew he was showing his support in his own emotionally subdued way.
So when she had awoken one morning with a numbness in her pelvis and legs stuck together with blood, her heart broke. Sarek had stoically taken her to the doctor, where the embryo had been fully evacuated. She left with a silent husband and a packet of contraceptives the doctor had pressed into her hand.
Her second pregnancy had ended before it had really started. She simply awoke one morning to find Sarek seated next to her bed, eyes solemn.
“You were pregnant,” he informed her, and she became aware of the familiar cramping of her period’s arrival. “However, it would appear the zygote did not attach to the uterine wall. Your body will not easily accept a non-human embryo.”
Amanda’s hand traveled to her stomach briefly, rubbing the pains away and lingering there. “We’ll try again, though, right?”
Sarek took a long moment to look at her before answering. “Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”
Her third pregnancy made it all the way to the second trimester, and she had great hopes for this one. Sarek had taken to melding with the developing child, and he seemed confident it would be viable. But one morning, as he held his fingertips against her abdomen, she could sense his unease. He moved his hands over the tiny bulge, face growing graver.
“We need to see a doctor,” he murmured. And without further ado, they were on their way to a hospital. His hand did not leave her stomach until it had to, the technician running a scanner over her belly.
“The fetus has no heartbeat,” he told them succinctly. “It will not develop beyond this point. I will need to remove it before it causes any further damage to its carrier.”
Although tears stung at her eyes at the prospect of aborting another child, she consented. Once the tiny, unmoving, misshapen creature had exited her body, she flagged the doctor down, swallowing down her grief for a moment.
“Would—would it have been a girl or a boy?” she asked, reaching to stroke Sarek’s fingers. He wound his hand around hers, more intimate an act than he’d ever performed in public. The doctor glanced over what he’d removed from her.
“The fetus was female,” he answered. “Miss Grayson, I highly recommend you begin a contraceptive regimen. I do not anticipate any viable pregnancies between you and your husband.”
She nodded, took the pills again – and on the way out, tossed them into the garbage. Sarek merely held her closer, and she accepted the support.
Her fourth pregnancy was over three days after she revealed it to Sarek, which was as bad as she could’ve imagined. She spent the whole day curled into Sarek’s pillow, sniffling, sobbing, whimpering, and just spending hours silently taking in their bedroom and the barren landscape out the window. Sarek had been silent after she’d given him the news, and he’d left for work without another word.
How could he not hate her? She’d lost four children. She knew how much he wished for a child with her, how much he wished to extend his line. But what was there to do? No fertility clinic would take them, not with the lack of precedent. It didn’t matter how young she was, or how healthy.
Apparently, she just wasn’t meant to be a mother. Not to Sarek’s children.
He returned the same time he always returned, and to her surprise walked straight into their bedroom, curling behind her. “You are not at fault,” was all he said for a long while, arms around her as she tried to keep her composure. His fingers twined with hers briefly. “We will try again.”
She swallowed hard. “One more time,” she agreed. “We’ll try one more time. If it doesn’t work—if it doesn’t work, it isn’t going to happen for us. Just once more. Okay?”
“Agreed,” he murmured, and she closed her eyes to the setting sun.
The fifth pregnancy lasted beyond when she should have had her first period after the conception, and that was how it was discovered.
Three days after she told Sarek of her pregnancy, she was still pregnant, although the fear that it could end at any moment lingered with her. She spent hours just resting, trying not to strain her body. On Earth, she would have been embarrassed to do so, but she knew how much was riding on this baby.
Two months to the day, they went to the doctor to check the progress of her pregnancy, and it was there that she discovered she was carrying twins. His prognosis was even graver than his last few, and he informed her in no uncertain terms that when she miscarried again he was going to transfer her to a different doctor.
When she entered second trimester, her belly beginning to expand, she knew something was wrong and called Sarek out of work. The doctor’s predicted miscarriage had come upon them – but only for one fetus. It was carefully removed (another girl, they were told. All their lost pregnancies had been female), and Amanda was sent home with a prescription for bed rest – and another for contraceptives for when she lost the second fetus.
At six months pregnant, stomach curving gently, she felt the child inside her move for the first time, and Sarek had rushed to her side when she began to cry. She worried for a long minute that the light touching, the shifting that she was feeling was the infant in distress – but Sarek melded with the child within her and informed her, face open and almost expressive, that it was not at all in distress, but happy.
At eight months pregnant, she would awaken to feel the infant still inside her and wake Sarek to make him confirm the child was alive. She could not help but anticipate the death of the child she carried; how could she not? But Sarek was somehow confident that this would be the one.
She was put on bed rest in the hospital three weeks from her expected delivery date, and went into labor two days after that. When the child left her body and the room remained silent, a cold chill worked itself up her spine. The infant must’ve been stillborn, she thought. She must’ve failed again. Sarek’s eyes were fixed on the doctor carrying what she’d delivered, and she wondered how he would ever forgive her—
And then, somehow, there was a living, breathing infant in her arms, eyes open but only half-lidded, staring up at her and looking for all the world that it was fighting sleep. She breathlessly took in this unbelievable picture, from the upswept brows to the tiny ears (they would grow more pointed than they looked, she thought. Sarek would confirm this later), and to the little fist exploring her finger.
Sarek stroked the infant’s head for a moment, and she might’ve mistaken it for tenderness when he looked into its eyes. “His telepathic abilities are strong,” her husband told her. “He feels your amazement.”
She held him closer, not quite believing that this little miracle was all hers. “I don’t know,” she murmured, continuing to stroke his little hand. “Maybe he’s just as amazed as we are.”
And although she couldn’t be sure of it, she thought she saw Sarek nod.