The station was quiet. Against the almost wild celebrations going on below across the Two Worlds, the contrast made the corner of her mouth turn ironically.
We are still so different.
Saavik drew the cloak tighter about her shoulders and moved closer to the great observation bay windows. Her eyes found the night outside and the irony gentled.
Our stars are still the same.
Her gaze wandered back to the Two Worlds and she felt an inexplicable grief.
He should have been here to see this. This was his dream. His call.
Saavik closed her eyes against the familiar aching emptiness in her heart but she did not engage the Vulcan Disciplines to deny it.
His absence was all she had left of his presence.
I should go home.
The children would be waiting. Her mouth moved tenderly. And the grandchildren.
But she did not turn away from the observation windows.
There was nothing left to do. The new Vulcan Embassy was in place. The Federation ambassador was coming. The treaties were sealed in the Great Hall. The first ship would be leaving at dawn. She had even heard that the Sundering Harp had been restrung.
It was all done.
There was no logical reason to still stay.
Saavik felt the ache inside suddenly expand.
I am lonely.
A terrible, bitter realization slowly filled her soul.
And I will still be lonely at home.
Saavik bowed her head, no longer wanting to see the stars.
The softest of boot steps made her turn.
Tall and draped in black, his silver hair caught the starlight outside. But it held nothing in comparison to the mischievous glint in his eyes. He swept a bow deserving of an Empress and held out a single perfect rose.
Saavik inhaled.
His mouth twitched with barely contained humor. "I believe, that this is more your color."
For the longest of moments, Saavik hesitated, fingers trembling.
He stepped closer and gently enfolded the rose in her hands. She looked up at him and found that the irreverent glint was gone, replaced with something different. Something softer.
"The stars should not be watched alone."
Saavik shook her head. "I know no other way now."
He turned her to the night outside. "Then look again."
She lifted her eyes, feeling the steady warmth of him at her back, smelling the delicate fragrance of the rose in her hands. The never ending aching emptiness gradually quieted and for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt the fragile whisper of . . . something.
And it was enough.
"I heard once," she said softly, "that home was where one stands."
She felt his sudden attention and noted wryly that he stepped ever so slightly closer.
"And what do you think of the philosophy?" he asked carefully.
Saavik's gaze took in the stars over the Two Worlds. "I think that I am here."
He hesitated a moment and then very gently, very lightly, rested his hands on her arms. And Saavik found it... comforting.
It has been so long, Spock.
The stars seemed to brighten in response and at last Saavik felt a kind of peace.
It was, at last, enough.
They stood that way for a long time.