Disclaimer: If you think I have anything to do with J. J. Abrams, Paramount, or the ST franchise you are dead wrong. I also make no profit by writing fan fiction cause, dude, that would mean lawsuits.

Event Horizon

Amanda always knew she would die before her long-lived Vulcan husband and half-Vulcan son. Dying was, after all, an inescapable and undeniable fact of life. To flinch from this reality would be, as her husband so often said, illogical.

In spite of this factual knowledge, it did not occur to her that the end would be so sudden. As she ran at Spock's side, his strong arms guiding and protecting her, she had the feeling she would never leave the surface. In that moment, she felt profound regret. Spock, her boy – her sensitive, sweet, caring, all too human boy – was not ready for such tragedy. Conflicted by his dual nature, by the strictness of the Vulcan way of life, Spock struggled to find balance between logic and love. Her son needed her and the counterpoint of her humanity, the steady presence of her acceptance, to help him come to terms with the blatant racism and cruel ostracism her genetics had foisted upon him.

They exited the katric ark to a scene of devastation. Vulcan shattered around them, the singularity consuming the rocky terrain and its tenacious life forms. Amanda's eyes widened in fear. She stepped away from her Spock and wondered what would become of him — a man without a home. Would he find peace and a place in Vulcan society? Would Vulcan society even survive? Would he find love? This young woman, Uhura, he spoke of in his transmissions sounded strong-willed and intelligent. A good match. Still, what would happen if the relationship were to dissolve as so many did? How would Spock handle the disillusionment such a loss would bring? Sarek would not understand—would urge the reasoned, measured, and logical view—instead of giving silent comfort and a nonjudgmental ear. Without her influence, would Spock choose to banish all emotion and pursue Kolinahr? Would her son ever have children? Would he allow himself to cry for his lost mother and lost world?

Turning, Amanda looked at Spock and the ground beneath her feet gave way. She saw the desperation on Spock's face as he reached for her; heard the anguish in his voice as he shouted, "Mother!" Though she felt the itch and tingle of the transporter field that surrounded her body, the pull of gravity was stronger. This, she thought, is what it feels like to die: to be pulled apart in all directions and ripped away from that which you love.

Amanda closed her eyes, not wanting to see the distance of her fall into the void. Sarek would go on in his enigmatic way, would likely marry again, but for Spock this would be a wound from which he might not recover. She wanted to stay. She wanted to shout that she was not ready for her life to end, that there was too much left to teach her son, but what would be the point? It would not be heard. If by some miracle she survived, she would resolve to try harder, but she must make peace now with reality. Not to do so would be worse than illogical, it would be irrational, and she had never in all her days been irrational.

She summoned courage in the face of disaster. Her life had been well spent. She was an asset to her people as a linguist and as the wife of an ambassador. She married for love and had been blessed with a fine son. She raised that child to become an adult who excelled at every task set before him with grace and precision. Now she must trust that her life had served its purpose.

The heat became unbearable; the force of gravity too much to stand. Amanda felt the clothes that covered her ignite. She could not help herself. She screamed; her voice an echo sucked into nothingness.

"Spock!"