Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: This is the official rewrite of Whispers of Eden. Enjoy!
Past
One of the first memories Spock had was of battle.
How she managed to get away from her father she doesn't know but staring up into the wild eyes of the young sehlat as she crouched playing by the small oasis's shore she realized what life was all about. Fight or flight. Maybe in simpler terms, she was still young, but the meaning the was the same.
Though she had no words for it then; the feeling of knowing that she had to reach down, knowing that she had to grasp the sharp rock in her small hands, knowing that she had to bring it up, knowing that she had to defend, to kill the beast across from her if she wanted to live was burning in her mind.
And oh, how she wanted to live.
So when the huge, densely furred animal growled at her loudly, trying to scare her away, she didn't move. It was bigger than her, faster. She would never be able to run away in time. She had to fight. Her gaze sharpened, her heart slowed, and she felt the desert shift around her as one stout, clawed foot took a slow step towards her.
All the while her small, dark eyes held the softball-sized, orange gaze of the sehlat. She, even so young, would not back down.
By Surak, it was her water hole and she was going to play there. Beast, for all that it really had been there first, be damned.
It took a step towards her and she raised her small fist, rock tight in her grasp.
It was then that she felt the fast beating heart of the sehlat, the fear that pulsed through the desert dweller's mind like it was her own. It consumed her and she knew when the sehlat was truly aware of her, watching the oval pupil contract and give as it felt her inside it.
He.
The sehlat was male. It was lonely.
Spock watched as it crept closer to her, its bearded chin dragging the rough ground and further matting it.
He crept a little closer and she could feel the muscles shifting under the skin, feel the hunger roaring in his belly, feel his want for pack. But he had none. He was alone.
She knew when the want for food won out and he rose a paw to bat at her stomach. It was so fast she could barely stop it with her arm and stabbed at the glowing orange eye with her rock. She got him in the bridge of the nose, her small arm unable to reach further.
He skidded back a few steps, covering his bleeding nose. She hissed, her nerves alight with fright and wonder as he stood and stared at her, meting her eyes.
Then it clicked within her.
They had blooded each other. They had, in an instinctual way, earned the other's respect now.
That won out over hunger.
Sitting back down in the sand, Spock held her rock close, sniffing the dark blood that covered it curiously.
She didn't look up, not afraid as the sehlat approached.
He sniffed at her arm and Spock looked over, watching as he took a small lick of her vibrant, green colored arm. The scratches were deep.
Then he waffled and fell to his stomach beside her, cleaning his bloodied claws. She could feel his amusement and giggled in return.
And she started to play in the sand again, making pictures with her sharp stone and dipping her fingers in the nearby water to build small houses for her sand people.
The sehlat sat beside her, his chest rising and falling. Once in a while he would huff intentionally, blowing away her drawings in the sand.
Patiently she would begin again, frowning crossly at him when he waffled out his amusement.
It was only a few hours later, when her arm began to burn painfully as the neurotoxin held in the sehlat's claws began to wear off that she paid any mind to the near frantic voices in the distance calling her name.
Standing up she parted the tall reeds surrounding her hid-away and stepped into the cooling desert sand.
It ticked her bare feet as she walked away from her play spot, towards the familiar voices.
The sehlat followed beside her, brushing against her as they went.
Spock remembers more than anything else her father's vivid eyes, so full of fearreliefanger as he swept her into his embrace when she found the search party.
And the sehlat stayed with her ever since.
Present
Flicking out her rough tongue she pulled her split lip under and sucked the seeping green blood down her throat in a smooth move.
Her sore, bruised hips swayed a fast rhythm as she nodded her head to the music pounding through her apartment.
Her flawlessly clean carpet got another swipe as she picked up her fainting couch with one hand and worked her vacuum cleaner over the area. She kicked aside one of Polly's chew toys with her bandaged ankle and glanced over the fluffy white carpet to the sleeping sehlat that lounged in the far chair.
She dropped the couch with a loud thud and Polly's clawed feet kicked in his sleep, his large mouth opening to show massive canines long enough to protrude over his chin.
She gave a fond roll of her eye and turned off the vacuum, parking in back in the corner and turning off her stereo.
Polly huffed, blinking open his big orange eyes to watch Spock. She closed her tired eyes and ran her bandaged hand through her short hair.
A knock reverberated loudly, suddenly, through her small apartment and the thick black strands of her hair caught in the clasps holding the white strips together over her hand. She tugged to get it free as she walked to the door, snatching the spare closest phaser from behind her stereo.
Holding the weapon to her side she walked silently to her front door. Even after so long, she couldn't stop her caution. Too long had she been in real danger, too long had she lived as a warrior and a solider, not the mild mannered xenonlinguistics teacher she was now.
Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered who the hell would be visiting her at this hour of the night. No one from her current life that was certain.
"Open up!" A familiar voice yelled through the door, pounding on it again. Instantly, her sharp mind recalled the image of the short Admiral. It was going on two years now since she had last seen him.
Spock's brow furrowed in confusion. Why would her ex-Commander want anything to do with her? She remembered vividly the icy glare she had taken when she had announced her retirement from being his right hand.
She chased off the chills that raced down her spine and suddenly she felt too exposed in her panties and undershirt. It was illogical, Archer had seen her in far less, but she still wanted to run to her bedroom and grab something to cover up it.
She beat the urge off with a stick she had crafted from years in Black Ops and made herself move forward, gun securely in her palm.
With nimble fingers she undid every other one of the six locks on her door, disabling the small plastic explosive and trip wires as she did so.
The Admiral waited with little patience, and what she could feel through the door before she set up her shields was that he was in a serious hurry.
Tightening her hand on her phaser she let the door open, stepping aside as Admiral Jonathan Archer, her ex-commander and bed partner, stormed into her humble abode after 11 months, 15 days, 21 hours, and 18 minutes after coldly dismissing her from his presence.
She relocked her door behind him as he stalked into her living room and began to pace, soundly ignoring the now awake Polly.
Archer liked dogs and after all, wasn't a sehlat a cosmic relative of his beloved canine?
Spock soundly pushed the memories of lazy mornings in bed with him, Polly taking up the foot. She remembered fleetingly how she had burned the bed when she had gotten out, hoping to never have to relieve those painful, happy memories with a man that she was so close to.
Darkly humorous she thought that the only time the man would ever be still was in death. Archer always had to be moving, even after sex. He said it helped him think. Spock gracefully refrained from quoting the statistics and likelihood of success in such an event even as his blunt fingers tapped out a design on her naked thigh.
To each his own, right?
Archer stopped pacing, rounding on her like a hurricane. She was painfully aware of his vibrating coolness as it washed over her…just like old times.
Only long practiced movements kept her from backing up from him as he almost invaded her space.
"Spock," he sounded pained as he spoke, running a hand through his errant hair.
"You were one of my best." It wasn't a question. Spock felt herself tense and her instincts made her wary, nay almost afraid of what he would say next.
"I need you back."
And Spock's world felt apart.