Authoress' Note: Hi. :) I'm new to the Star Trek fandom, and just the other day I decided I'd dabble in some Trekkie fanfic. It's certainly something different. As it is, I was really interested in the relationship between Saavik and Spock after the incident in STIII and her disappearance in STIV. To be honest, I am dissatisfied with how her entire story has been portrayed in both canon and fanon. So yeah, here's my Saavik. She's got sort of a one-sided thing going on sadly. Please review when your done reading! All constructive criticism is appreciated.
Wishing on Stars
The unbearable heat of Vulcan presses against my skin, its density almost stifling. The thin material of my tunic and trousers provide little relief in this desert land, and I long to touch the coolness of the dark sky above. The only light is that of the pinpricks of stars in the heavens.
The house, Spock's childhood home (how quickly my mind jumps to him), stands ever watchful and silent behind me, like a fortress. The lights inside have long since gone out, and I am utterly alone in Amanda's garden for the third consecutive night this week. It has become my haunt of sorts over the past few months as it is the only place on Vulcan where something lush and green grows. Somehow this gives me some sense of security, and I spend an hour or so amongst the creeping ferns and ripe fruits dangling from thin stems pondering nothing in particular, letting my mind wander to him.
I have watched these stars often, wondering what he could be doing out there, whether he is safe, and hoping that he has thought of me at least once since I disembarked 4 months ago. Hoping, though never knowing. Now, more than ever, I wish I could be amongst those stars again, those faraway pinpricks of light. . .
Grief rips through me suddenly, and I long to cry out in anguish at the unfairness of my situation. I close my eyes, shutting out the sight of the celestial bodies above, the very things I want most, and clench my jaw tightly. Only a few tense moments, and order is restored. My pulse slows, and I open my eyes again calmly. Cool Vulcan logic and control. . . sometimes I wish I were more Romulan than this.
Wishing is too much like hoping. Both are illogical, yet I cannot help indulging in them.
My hand strays almost of its own accord, coming to rest on the slight swell of my stomach under my tunic. I look down, still surprised to find this new life inside of me after all this time. I press the palm of my hand gently against the firmness. There is something there, a fluttering I had not noticed before now. It is a curious feeling, and I find myself entranced by this frail drumbeat of life. I do not draw my hand away from some time, wishing again . . .
I wish Spock knew what had happened on the Genesis planet. I wish he knew what that one night, that one risk, had produced between us; that I now carried a small piece of him inside of me. There is no point wishing though, because he does not know, he does not remember, and somehow I doubt he ever will. Spock is not one to make earthly ties, for hi s heart has always been amongst the stars. For weeks on end, when Amanda caught me looking up at the sky, that naïve glint of hope in my eyes, she reassured me with a wrinkled hand on my shoulder that her son would gain his memories back in time. "Then he will understand the sacrifice you made for him," she said. All I could do then was nod dumbly.
That's what it was to her, to Sarek, to Spock: a sacrifice made in the line of duty. Duty before desire, as the Terran saying goes. But oh, how I had desired it; how I had harboured it in the deep recesses of my soul all that time. I had imagined it, fantasized about it even, never expecting it to come to pass in the way it did. Memories, long repressed surface at that moment, overwhelming my senses.
The boy's face is so close to mine that I can see a thin trickle of sweat roll down the side of his cheek from beneath his mop of dark hair. He blinks at me without recognition, and I swallow hard to calm that unfamiliar feeling of anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I draw my hand to his face and place my fingertips at the proper points carefully in order to initiate a mind meld.
Immediately, I am swept up in a tide of confusion and fear. There are no solid memories to latch onto in this sea of discord, and I feel myself slipping beneath the surface of the boy's crushing conscious. Amongst the darkness the steel barriers of my own mind appear, and I crawl back into myself, gasping for air. Only then is there peace and quiet as the storm rages outside. Running through the neat file folders of my mind I pick out images and snippets of memories to show the boy what must be done to save him.
When I am certain he understands I open my eyes and lower my hand. He is still for a moment before opening his eyes, which shine innocently in the gloom of the cave. When I raise two fingers he is like a mirror, copying my exact movements. When the tips touch fleetingly I shiver involuntarily though I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Each stroke from knuckle to fingertip would feel erotic in any other time or place, but all I can feel is disgust at the thought of what I am about to commit myself to, what I am about to do to this boy.
It is much too late to back out now though. The boy's face is flushed, his breathing becoming shallow and ragged. His eyes snap from our joined fingers to my eyes, and I see in his the blood fever. He is quick. With an animal-like snarl he grips my arms, and we crash to the stone floor, an entangled mass of sweaty limbs and tearing hands.
My stomach plummets as I swallow the hot bile rising in my throat, tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. Pressing the palms of my hands to my eyelids, I gulp down several shaky breaths and clear my mind of all thoughts. Cool control settles into my heart and mind though my hands continue to shake uncontrollably. A new wish surfaces in my mind; a wish that he would remember so I would not have to be so alone with my thoughts. I am alone in everything it seems.
Steadying myself against a wall of the house, I wipe the sweat from my brow. The rough stone feels familiar under my hands, and nostalgia for something I have never truly known washes over me. I wish I were home. There, that is the truth of it. I wish to be with that family I have never known in t hat place called home. . . where ever that may be, for it is certainly not here amongst this alien culture of people forced to care for me only because I carry one of their kin.
The tread of bare feet against the warm earth echoes in my sensitive ears, and I turn to greet Amanda who steps carefully between the bulbous fruit plants and hedges. Her presence is a comfort; I am not the only stranger in a strange land.
"Are you well, Saavik?" she asks. It is a silly question to ask of a half-Vulcan, but this fact does not seem to faze the old woman.
"Yes," I reply simply, crossing my arms over my chest and continuing my perusal of the night sky so as not to arouse any suspicion. In truth my heart is pounding in my ears, and those memories from the cave continue to swim dangerously close to the surface of my mind.
"You are thinking of him."
It is not a question, though I feel the need to nod anyway. Amanda places a withered hand on my arm, and I glance at her.
"He will come home," she whispers, certainty in her voice.
I shake my head, the unwanted tears returning to my eyes. The stars twinkle above us as they have for thousands of years.
"No, he is already home."