I don't really have anything to say about that, except that it pleaded to be written.

WARNINGS: extreme angst.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything that belongs to Paramount

Saavik pounded ineffectually against the door of her quarters, reassured that no-one would hear her through the multiple layers of reinforced triterium. It wasn’t fair… Not that she was supposed to use that word anymore: Vulcans had no sense of fairness, or unfairness- everything was as it should be, since that was how it was, and there was no use –no logic- in wishing otherwise. Not that there was logic in wishing, come to that.

She sighed, sliding down the silvered walls to sit with her back to the stars, heart to the interior of the ship. But she wasn’t really Vulcan, so what did it matter? Nor was she really Romulan. She was half of each, and each half refused to allow the existence of the other. She had read of others in similar situations: Elrond of Imladris, Inuyasha of the sengoku-jidai, Raven of Azarath; but they were all fictional, products of some alien author’s mind. There was another, a real person, who had probably faced the same conflicts she was facing, but Mr. Spock had parents, parents who loved each other, and loved him. Mr. Spock had friends, close friends; she had no one. Maybe, for a time, she had counted Mr. Spock as a friend, a mentor, but he had returned to the stars, leaving her alone. All alone, she was always alone.

She had to stop this: it was self-indulgent. She was a star-fleet officer- she had to be confident, assured, calm… not, what had the doctor called it, falling apart at the seams.

Dr. McCoy had not said this in reference to her, no; she would never allow herself such an emotional display. Not in public, at any rate. But security had ushered in an ensign as Saavik was leaving Sickbay. The ensign, a human male of approximately nineteen years of age, had sobbed quietly as he was carefully led to a bio-bed. She heard Security report that he had been found in one of the turbo lifts before the doors closed on the scene, and she was due at her duty station. She had thought about the young man all throughout her shift, though she doubted that any of her fellow cadets had noticed. What would it take for her to be brought to sickbay, sobbing quietly with her uniform stained by hours of flowing tears?

Saavik could feel her emotions, her damned emotions, spinning out of control. Arie’mnu, Spock had called it. Passion’s mastery, emotion’s control. It wasn’t the suppression that the Universal translator rendered, but it was something akin to that, and often felt the same. Tamp down the joy, the happiness, the anger, the fear. She was Vulcan, and she must master herself. But she was Romulan, and must take every advantage she had, even if that came in a fit of feeling. It was not logical to be so divided, but half of her was not logical in any case, and one must be wholly logical or not at all. Was there no middle ground? She could find none, and had no one to stand by her, no one to help her, no one to show her the way.

It was happening again, the need to sit in a corner and cry, the need to hurt her aggressors, to defend herself. But how could she defend herself against the knowledge that she was all alone?

She gave in, collapsing to the carpeted floors of her quarters, exhausted by her inner turmoil and mental anguish. She slept through the next shift, and the next. She slept through the call to her quarters to call her to duty. She slept through the door chime, of a young security officer’s rote reminder that she was late for her duty shift. She slept through the security officer’s forced entry of her quarters, his call to Sickbay, even the internal beam to a bio bed and the fussings of a concerned doctor and nurse.

Saavik woke to a gentle beeping close at hand. It was very annoying- no, that was an emotion, she didn’t have emotions. But it was annoying- she wanted it to stop. She needed it to stop.

“Cadet Saavik…”

She didn’t move. Let whoever this was- she could not identity the voice- let them think she was still asleep, and they might leave her alone.

“Cadet Saavik. I know you’re awake.”

Insufferable presumption- how could this human know anything of her? She was unique- he had no reference point to judge her by. She was all alone…

“Mr. Saavik.”

She knew that voice… it was someone dear to her… no, it was not. It was the voice of Mr. Spock, who had left her alone. She did not want to talk to him. But she did not want anything. ‘Want’ was an emotion. She had no emotions… The beeping was speeding up. It was by now very aggravating. Why was no one turning it off? Finally she had had enough. She reared up, slapping at the hands that held her back, growling at the voices that spoke to her. There was only fear, now. Fear of people, fear of herself, fear of being alone. She fought restraining hands, screaming to be let loose.

“Saavik you must stop this!”

There was that voice again. It had hurt her, recently, but had also helped her. She had heard it before today, and it had scared her. But it was different now, different in some way she couldn’t quantify. But somehow, something was wrong with her mentor, something she had caused. It was all her fault.

No, it was not. That voice was worried. She should stop it from worrying. She must calm down, and the voice would stop worrying, and everything would be alright again. She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a face, of that pale color some humans had, that was called ‘Caucasian’. The face was lined with worry and laughter, though now it was… anxious? Bemused? She had never been good at gauging humans’ expressions. She turned her head, looking around the room. Sickbay was a mess of splashed solutions and broken glass. Most of the splatters seemed to be from trajectories in her direction… Had she caused this?

She continued her perusal of the room and came to a very familiar face. It was more like her own than the first: longer, greener, darker. Its eyebrows swept steeply away from its arched nose, and pointed ears stretched bulk-head-wards. It was looking at her, but its words did not seem addressed to her, and she could not make sense of them.

“She seems to have recovered, doctor.”

“You sure, Spock? I don’t want to hafta clean up much more than this.”

Lack of response non-withstanding, the first face –Doctor McCoy?- carefully approached her and injected her with a hypospray.

“Just a mind sedative Spock, I need to find out what’s wrong with her…”

were the last things she heard before the darkness covered her eyes.

“Saavik-kam.”
She was awake again, and still in Sickbay. Everything was clearer now, though. She could think without contradicting herself, could speak without ignoring part of herself.

“What happened?”

“Security found you unconscious in your quarters, and brought you to Sickbay. You woke, but seemed… out of sorts. I hope that now you are recovered.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“Out of sorts?”

Now he looked a little… ashamed?

“Hysterical. Do you have any idea why?”

“No.”

“Saavik-kam…”

And with that childhood nickname it all came pouring out. The fear, the loneliness, the despair. She realized that she was crying, but the part of her that knew that was very far away from the frightened young woman sobbing into her former mentor’s shoulder. That part of her, the part that was thinking rationally, was appalled at her lack of control, but the rest of her was having none of it. She cried, sobbed and wept into Spock’s shoulder, a young woman, different in many ways from her peers, but in just as many ways similar to them.

Once she had quieted, Saavik calmed down enough to be embarrassed that she had soaked her superior officer’s shoulder in her tears. She sat up and moved to leave, eyes downcast and avoiding any view but that of her own boots, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Saavik-kam… Look at me.”
Unwilling, unwanting, she was unable to not obey. Saavik turned slowly, and met Spock’s eyes. His expression was unchanged, but for a spark in his eye- condemnation, regret, sadness, she knew not. Perhaps he did not, either. Then he did something she would never have believed possible. He hugged her. He put his arms around her and held her to him, and held on as if never to let her go. She stiffened, then relaxed into his hold. Eventually he let go, and now the spark was more pronounced, though still a mystery to Saavik. He said that he had not realized the effect his abrupt departure all those years ago would have had on a young, damaged psyche. He said he had followed her progress at the academy, and his friend –the Captain, most likely- had ensured that she would be posted to the Enterprise. That Spock had spoken of her to his friend told Saavik more than anything else, that she had wronged him for so many years. And that Kirk, who knew Spock better than anyone else, had read him –and his oft-repressed emotions- well enough to ask that she be posted on the Enterprise, told her that she was not alone. Spock cared for her, had never stopped being her mentor, had never stopped being there for her. She had simply never allowed herself to work it out, before.

As the doctor approached her, asked about her state of mind, and subjected her to various annoying tests– she could admit that now: the tests were annoying, pesky, and a nuisance and she didn’t like them. She didn’t stop smiling, in a small corner of her face, until several days later, and never stopped smiling in her heart.