Title: Listening for the Waves
Author: Wildcat
Series: TOS
Rating: M
Codes: Saavik, S/U
Summary: When Saavik helps Spock and Uhura move into their new home on Vulcan, she finds that their lives may not be the only ones changing.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Spock, Uhura, and company. I have just borrowed them for a while and will not profit from any of this.
This story is part of my Spock/Uhura universe. It takes place between The Most Forgiven and Bright Shining as the Sun.
As always, thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Jungle Kitty.
This story won 2nd place for "Best S/U" in the 2000 Golden O Awards.
Feedback is desired.
Listening for the Waves, chapter 1
Shifting her parcel to the other arm, Saavik paused to watch a young man weave a patterned cloth. The movement caused a small bundle of flowers to wiggle at the top of her bag, and she experienced some discomfort over her conspicuous frivolity. When she had seen the bright blossoms in the market, she had envisioned Nyota's pleasure and added them to her otherwise practical purchase of fruit and bread, but now she wondered if she had been overly impulsive.
The man stopped to choose a new thread, and Saavik nodded appreciatively before resuming her leisurely progress. The day had turned out to be mild—by Vulcan standards—so when Nyota commented that they had very little food in the house, Saavik had volunteered to venture out for supplies. Of course, Spock and Nyota were busy moving into their new home so she would have done anything she could to help, but she could not deny that she was very pleased to have been given the opportunity to explore the old portion of the city.
Perusing the open shops that lined the walkway, she decided that she would have to return with Spock and Nyota before she left Vulcan. Spock had explained that this area was known to be eclectic, but that was an incredible understatement. In the eighteen minutes it had taken her to locate the produce market, she had seen dignified antiques and gaudy tourist baubles, ethnic restaurants and open-air markets, artists, musicians, merchants, Deltans, Tellarites, Andorians, humans, Vulcans, and even an ancient Orion who lurked in the doorway of his shop, daring an unwary customer to venture in.
It was all quite fascinating.
She paused at a branch in the walkway, looking curiously down a path that would lead deeper into the heart of the Old Town. A group of Vulcans passed, and when an older man nodded at her in the dignified manner of one Vulcan respectfully greeting another, she had to make a conscious effort to smoothly respond in kind. A Vulcan, on Vulcan, seeing another Vulcan when he looked at her! It was one thing for humans and other non-Vulcan beings to assume she was Vulcan, but it was entirely another for a Vulcan to assume she was Vulcan. Surely her every movement branded her as a fake, someone who pretended to be something she wasn't, someone who worked every minute of every day to deny the Romulan blood that coursed through her veins. She had managed to fool yet one more person, and as always, she did not know whether to feel excited, relieved, guilty, or all three.
Finally, she threw one last glance over her shoulder at the quiet group of Vulcans, then turned back in the direction of modern ShiKahr. She had dallied long enough. The walk back to the house was not a particularly long one, but no doubt the others were growing hungry.
As she passed through the crumbling gate that had once kept the desert out of the original town, she reflected on the immediate contrast between life inside the walls and life out here. Although no one could ever describe a Vulcan city as bustling, there was certainly a high level of activity in the Old Town. Stepping into the neighborhoods that stretched between old ShiKahr and new was like going from one world to another. These neighborhoods were so serene, so spacious... The old city had grown within its existing walls for two thousand years, and when people had finally ventured outside, they had rejoiced in their unconstrained freedom. The houses here were not particularly big, for it would be illogical to build a big home when a modest home would do, and the yards were not particularly large, since generally one would avoid being outdoors, but the houses were not built on top of one another as in the Old Town, either.
She caught movement from the corner of her eye and saw that it was a group of running children. They did not make a sound—Vulcan children were never loud—but it was clear that they were enjoying themselves as they raced between the houses and vanished. What might it have been like to live such a relaxed childhood? She had certainly developed the strength and coordination that was encouraged by their game, but she had accomplished it in a very different way. She did not experience any resentment over their good fortune, however. As a matter of fact, it merely strengthened her resolve that someday, if she ever produced children of her own, their lives would be no less free from concern.
Rounding the corner, she saw the house ahead. Although she was not entirely certain that her opinion was objective, she thought that the house seemed to stand out from the surrounding homes. It was not impressive or imposing, so perhaps her perception was due to the porch tucked off to the side, or maybe it was fostered by the low brick wall that surrounded the front yard. Or could it be that her eye was caught by the vividly flowering cactus the previous owners had imported from Earth? At any rate, this house was very different from all of the others. She could see why Nyota had known immediately that this was the one she wanted, the perfect place to find a fresh beginning after the death of Admiral Kirk and the disbanding of his senior crew.
As she neared, Saavik noticed that Spock was working in the front yard. He appeared to be... digging.
"Greetings, Spock."
He stopped, resting his hand on a shovel as he turned in her direction. She could see small flecks of sand on his normally immaculate tunic, and the dry, dusty scent of freshly turned soil wafted from five neat holes that were lined up across the front of the house.
"Greetings, Saavik. Were you able to locate the market without difficulty?"
"Yes. Your directions were very precise." She tilted her head. "What are you doing?"
He looked over at a group of small shrubs that leaned against the wall, their roots bound in rough cloth. She was certain that she heard a heavy sigh as he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Nyota decided that the front of the house requires landscaping. Therefore, I am planting these bushes. It is unlikely that they will survive, but she thought it 'worth a try.'"
"But why are you using such a crude tool? Would you not prefer to use a portable transporter?"
"We do not possess a portable transporter, and evidently it was crucial that these bushes be planted immediately." He glanced toward the house. "I am quickly coming to the realization that Nyota did not actually relinquish her chance to command when she resigned her commission last month. Of course, she does not have the crew of a starship to oversee, but apparently a crew of one—"
He stopped speaking at the sound of a voice from the open window.
"Spock? Could you come here for a minute and help me move this sofa again? I don't like it so close to the window. And did I hear Saavik out there? Would you ask her if she'd mind fixing us some lunch?"
Meeting his eyes, Saavik could see his resigned amusement.
He continued. "Correction. Apparently, a crew of two is better than no crew at all."
She nodded, so he placed the shovel beside the unplanted shrubs, and together they went into the house.
End chapter 1