Author's note: Written for the Trekmas challenge. Pre-Search for Spock; goes through Wrath of Khan. Many thanks to my brother for providing the idea, my various beta-readers and critique-ers, and Memory Alpha and Memory Beta for providing details and timelines I never could have gotten straight on my own. Also, Saavik's backstory is playing heavily off of The Pandora Principle, but since I couldn't get a copy of the book, I have no idea how well the details match up.

"Cadet Saavik reporting for duty."

She stood as stiffly at attention, as out of place as she always was, and reminded herself to look Vulcan.

Dr. Carol Marcus looked up at her with raised eyebrows, and then shook her head. "This isn't Star Fleet, kid," she said, and her voice was rough with years of speaking to be heard. "No need for that kind of formality."

Saavik's lips pursed a little more than she wanted them to. Formality was a shield she preferred to keep in front of her.

Dr. Marcus sighed and then smiled a little. "Typical Star Fleet," she said. "Welcome to Regula one." She rose and handed Saavik a padd with instructions on it, and Saavik couldn't quite suppress a rush of gratitude that she did not attempt to shake hands. "This should have everything you need to know." Dr. Marcus raised her eyebrows again. "I must admit that I wasn't expecting Ambassador Sarek to personally ask me to take on an independent study project."

Saavik couldn't meet her eyes. It would be easier to simply stay under the radar.

"The ambassador has been good to me."

"I see," said Dr. Marcus. "Is he your….father?"

"No."

Saavik did not wish to explain the nature of her relationship to Spock's family, if indeed she could be certain what that was. They were more like parents to her than anyone ever had been, but they had of course not adopted her. Spock himself was the closest thing she had to family in the Vulcan sense—they shared the low-level telepathic link that family members had with one another.

"All right then," said Dr. Marcus. "I've been told that you've studied higher levels in several of the sciences we're working with. Let's see…" She looked down at a padd of her own. "Epigenetics, Cosmology, and Radiation Physics. Impressive. Is this your last year at the academy?"

"This coming year will be my last."

And then she would be a Star Fleet officer. Like Spock.

Dr. Marcus nodded. "Let me introduce you to the people you'll be working with, then." She turned and started down the hall, and Saavik picked up her small duffel bag and followed her. "My son David is our primary epigeneticist, so you'll be working with him a lot." She nodded at a passing scientist. "Hey, Zinaida." She turned back to Saavik. "She's our fractal calculus expert. You wouldn't believe the calculations we've had to make just to get started."

Saavik frowned slightly. "Why would I not believe it? The number of variables, combined with the near-infinite number of possible permutations as the progression unfolds, would be beyond the scope of traditional spatial calculus."

Dr. Marcus gave a short laugh, which Saavik did not understand. Had she said something amusing?

"You do speak our language. I think the ambassador was right about you—you should fit in just fine around here." She swung around a corner and into an open doorway, giving a short knock on the doorframe as she came through. "Hey, David," she called. "Our Vulcan intern is here."

"Uh-huh," said the young man, typing something rapidly on the screen. Dr. Marcus sighed and tapped her foot, and waited until he hit the last key and looked up. "Hey, mom—"

"I said, 'Our Vulcan intern is here'," she said without waiting for him to ask.

David's eyes widened. "Oh! Why didn't you say so?"

Dr. Marcus threw a punch that didn't get within a yard of him, but he ducked anyway. Saavik looked on in confusion, not certain if she had inadvertently caused a family fight.

But if it was a fight, they were easily forgiving. "David, this is Saavik. She's the student that Ambassador Sarek asked us to take on."

For the first time, David looked at her, and Saavik could have sworn he froze a little.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Hi."

Saavik gave the half-bow that seemed to best dissuade humans from attempting handshakes. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Marcus. I have read much of your work on epigenetics."

She'd read most of the works authored or coauthored by every member of the project, actually, as soon as she had learned of the opportunity.

David laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's just David," he said. "Dr. Marcus is my mom. It would get much too confusing around here otherwise, trust me."

The elder Dr. Marcus rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture. "I'll just leave you two to get acquainted, then. Don't worry, David, I'm sure she doesn't bite."

Saavik bit her lip. "I assure you, I have no desire to injure you…"

David ducked his head and shook it. "Don't worry. She's just trying to give me a hard time. She does that."

Saavik couldn't stop another frown. "You are…not on good terms?" She had been under the impression that they made an excellent team.

David looked up. "What? No! No, we're…she's…that's how she shows affection." He laughed a little. "Usually I get right back at her. She just…caught me off guard." He inhaled sharply. "So. Epigenetics."

Saavik nodded, grateful for the change of topic.

"I have not caught up on your entire bibliography," she said—it was far more extensive than any twenty-three-year-old's had a right to be— "but I was particularly intrigued by Fungal Prions in Silicone-based Species as a Model for Probabilistic Epigenesis."

David nodded slowly. "Yeah. That was the start of a lot of this, really. That's what gave us the engine to drive what ended up a massively accelerated form of evolution."

Saavik nodded. "With the prions altering the genetic code multiple times in each generation is response to environmental conditions—"

"—you end up with something close to Lamarkian evolution," said David, and his eyes were sparkling. "The environmental experience of the parent generation actually has a mechanism to pass on adaptations to offspring!"

"And you are able to program this mechanism into your bio-matrix?"

David let out a breath and sagged a little. "Program? Yes, thanks to Zinaida's math wizardry." He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. "Unfortunately, that's going to do us exactly zero good unless we can engineer a workable matrix to program it into."

Saavik glanced down in poorly-hidden disappointment. "Then it is beyond your capabilities?"

David grimaced. "I still have a few options to work on. Unfortunately, they all have some pretty massive drawbacks of their own to work around. I'll find something, though."

He stared at a blank spot on the wall for a moment, in a manner that Saavik interpreted as contemplative, and then seemed to remember her presence again.

"Oh," he said, looking back at her and immediately breaking eye contact again. "Right." He turned to his computer and pulled up some files. "So, you're doing this as an independent study class, right? Under…who, mom?" Saavik nodded. "Anyway, here's a pretty basic project—I've already worked this one out, actually. I just want to see how you do." He paused. "Uh, no offence."

Saavik downloaded the file onto her padd. "There is none where none is taken. It is entirely logical for you to test my capabilities." She glanced over the project. "I am certain my abilities will suffice."

David relaxed a little. "Ok, good." He gestured to the other side of the room. "You can consider that workstation yours," he said.

Saavik nodded and stood, picking up her duffle bag and moving in that direction.

"Wait," said David. "Did my mom actually show you your quarters before she brought you here?"

"We came straight here," said Saavik.

David shook his head. "Typical mom," he said. "Actually…if I'm honest, typical me, too. Come on, let me show you where to put your stuff before we start working you to death."

The quarters were small, but solitary—a welcome relief after the academy's roommate policy.

"It's not much," said David.

"It is more than sufficient." She set her bag at the foot of the bunk and looked out the small window at the slowly turning stars.

David followed her gaze. "We make a complete rotation every ninty minutes," he said. "It's a little dizzying at first, but a nice show once you get used to it."

Saavik nodded, figuring it was one of the human things best left alone.

"Feel free to take some time getting settled," he said. "There's no rush."

Without waiting for her answer, he turned from the doorway and the door slid shut behind him.

Saavik took four point seven minutes 'getting settled' (which consisted of hanging up her spare clothes and folding the duffle bag) before heading back to the lab.

David glanced up, surprised, when she entered, and then grinned. "That eager to get to work? You know, I thought this was an odd setup, but I guess you're all right after all."

Dr. Marcus, who had come back, just snorted. "Told you."

Saavik, not remotely sure what to make of that, just stood there. Several more people had showed up by this point, and she wasn't sure what to do about them, either. Was she supposed to introduce herself?

Dr. Marcus saved her from that one. "Saavik, here's the rest of the team. Zinaida, you've met."

The woman nodded. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and gestured to one of the other scientists. "My mate, Jedda."

Saavik nodded towards the two, whom she guessed were both Deltan.

"He's our quantum physicist," added Dr. Marcus, and gestured around the room. "Paul Neeley, Geology. Sabin, Comparative Xeno-Evolution. Donna Moore, Organic and Silicic Chemistry. Var Norez, Temporal Physics. Conn Ioward, Radiant-Energy Physics. I'm bio-chemistry, personally. As you can see, it's taken a lot of specialties to get us even as far as we've gotten."

Saavik nodded, clasping her hand behind her back. "It is an honor." An honor she really didn't deserve, but one for which she was indebted to the ambassador.

Dr. Marcus came to her rescue yet again. "Enough with the introductions—you've got three months to get to know everybody. Let's get to work, people. The research won't do itself."

Saavik's abilities did, indeed, prove more than adequate for that first test project—and the next, and the next.

"Well," said David after examining the results of her third test, "I can't find fault with it." He grinned. "And that's saying something." He held out his hand. "Welcome to the team."

Saavik's attention focused on his outstretched hand, and her breath drew in more sharply than she'd hoped.

She'd done well enough hiding it so far, but her shields weren't strong enough for this. The un-Vulcan emotion that always swirled beneath her skin was too powerful. If she touched him…

David used the hand to slap his forehead instead.

"What am I thinking?" he said, and Saavik breathed again. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Let's not shake on it, then, but still—as far as I'm concerned, you're officially part of the team. I've got a whole stack of unreviewed projects for you to work on. You up for it?"

Saavik forced herself to inhale evenly and nodded. "Certainly."

Work was easy. Casual interaction was hard, no matter where she found herself.

She wasn't Vulcan enough for the Vulcans, but she was too Vulcan for many of the other races in the Federation.

So she had learned to stay low, knowing that it was easier than saying the wrong thing and having to deal with the questions. There were far too many topics that she had nothing safe to contribute to. Childhood? Family? Place of origin? Even education wasn't safe if it dipped back beyond the secondary level. At least she usually didn't have to worry about cultural references—her Vulcan reputation let her dismiss them as an 'illogical' waste of time.

Mostly, she limited her interaction to work, eating before or after the others and working late to avoid them. That strategy had served her well throughout the academy, and she saw no reason to abandon it now.

"Hey," said David to her one day. "Why don't you eat with us in the mess hall sometimes? It's not like we'll make you eat in the kitchen or anything."

Saavik glanced up. "I am quite content to eat alone."

David's face fell. "All the time?"

"You wish me to do otherwise?"

"Well, yeah," said David. "I mean, we're all kind of antisocial here, but you take the cake. You should come interact with us every so often."

Saavik hesitated. There were many reasons to decline.

"…perhaps."

"You should!" said David enthusiastically. "Come on—let's go now!" He stood up and gestured toward the door.

"I am not finished with—" tried Saavik, but David waved her objection away.

"Come on, I'm as much of a workaholic as anyone, but it's lunchtime and I'm hungry. Let's go get food."

Saavik was not quite sure how she ended up following him, but she did indeed find herself in the mess hall with a tray of their vegetarian fare.

"What's this?" said Dr. Marcus with half-mock disbelief. "You actually got our resident introvert to come out of her shell?"

"She was making me feel like a slacker," said David cheerfully, heaping his plate with potatoes and heading for his place at the table.

Dr. Marcus snorted. "You don't need help there. You'd work yourself to death if I let you as it is."

David grinned. "I learned from the master," he said with a bow that nearly spilled his peas.

Dr. Marcus aimed a swat in his general direction, and Saavik took the opportunity to choose an empty seat at the Marcuses' table.

"So, Saavik," said Dr. Marcus as David finally corralled his various utensils and sat down. "How's academy life treated you so far?"

Saavik swallowed a bite of an unfamiliar purplish vegetable. "The experience had been…enlightening."

Dr. Marcus nodded. "What branch are you going into? Science, I assume?"

"Command line," answered Saavik, "but with a focus in science."

David made a sound of surprise. "Command line?" he said. "Most Vulcans don't go that route."

Saavik picked up another forkful of the vegetable, using a little more strength that strictly necessary. "I am not most Vulcans."

David spluttered on the sip of water he had just taken. "What? No, of course not. I didn't mean—"

He looked around helplessly, and Dr. Marcus took a moment to unnecessarily wipe her mouth with her napkin.

"I'm afraid he inherited my social graces," she said. "Are you hoping for a starship command? Star base?"

Saavik nodded. "Starship. I will be taking the final class for command candidates this coming semester. If I pass, I will graduate with a commission and the rank of lieutenant."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," she said. "If I could do it, I'm certain you can."

Saavik's brow furrowed. "You were in Star Fleet?"

"Briefly," said Dr. Marcus, taking another bite.

"May I ask why you left?"

Dr. Marcus laughed slightly. "It was another world," she said, "and it wasn't for me. There are some good people there, though. You'll do fine. Though if you decide you'd rather be a research scientist, you'll know where to come."

David reached across the table for a roll. "I'd never make it in Star Fleet," he said cheerfully before Saavik could respond.

Dr. Marcus snorted. "You could if you wanted to."

"Why would I want to? I'm a hereditary scientist, no question."

With a smile and a slight shake of the head, Dr. Marcus turned back to Saavik again. "But yes, I met some good people there. I even knew James Kirk."

Saavik's eyebrows raised. "I…have met him as well," she admitted.

"You have?" said David, surprised. "As a cadet? That's… kind of impressive, actually."

"I was a cadet when I first met him," said Dr. Marcus to her son, "…but then, so was he."

Saavik looked back at her plate. "Spock introduced me to him."

David laughed. "You're a on a first-name basis with Captain Spock?" he said. "Well, that explains how you know Kirk, but how do you know Spock?"

Unbidden, Saavik's mind flashed back to the first time she had met Spock.

"Vulcan names do not work that way," she said, hedging for time. "Captain Spock is my…"

Her what? Her savior? Her teacher? Her vouchsafe?

"…mentor," she finished, inadequately.

"Well, I suppose that explains Ambassador Sarek's involvement," said Dr. Marcus.

"Wait, what?" said David. "Involvement? You mean he was the one who sponsored Saavik to come here?"

"I told you that. It's not my fault you love equations and citations too much to listen to your own mother."

"Actually, I think that one is your fault," said David with a grin. "But seriously, why didn't you ever introduce me to any quadrant-famous ambassadors?"

"Because you weren't interested in politics," said Dr. Marcus promptly. "Or have you forgotten your own education so soon?"

"What about your education?" asked Saavik, grateful for a change of topic.

Dr. Marcus sat back. "Yes, David, what about your education?"

David laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "My education was…eclectic," he said to Saavik. "Nowhere near your experience, I'm sure."

Saavik neglected to mention that that was the case for almost everyone in the federation.

"I grew up fairly swimming in science," David continued. "Mom taught me everything she knew. For the things she didn't know well enough, she hired teachers to make sure I didn't grow up lopsided."

"And," added Dr. Marcus, "I had enough contacts in the scientific world to let him study under the best minds in multiple fields while he was still in high school."

"But never an ambassador," said David solemnly.

Dr. Marcus shrugged, lips twitching. "It's not too late to add a poly-sci degree to your collection. Maybe Saavik can set you up with Ambassador Sarek."

David threw up his arms in possibly-mock horror, missing his plate by inches. "Oh no you don't. I like things that make sense."

Silently, Saavik was in agreement with his assessment. But loyalty prompted her to speak up. "The ambassador is quite good at finding the underlying order in complex situations."

David shook his head. "Seriously? I mean…he must be, to have gotten his reputation in the first place. But…one, I'm not convinced there's any sense there to find, and two, I wouldn't have expected a Vulcan—"

He cut himself off abruptly, eyes darting around as he tried to save himself.

"…to comprehend emotionally charged situations?"

Lips tight, David nodded. "I'm making a 'most Vulcans' assumption again, aren't I?"

Saavik looked aside, considering. "Yes," she said. "However, as the Lady Amanda liked to remind him, the ambassador was not exactly a typical Vulcan either."

David looked quizzical. "In what way?"

Saavik frowned slightly. "He married her."

"…right," said David. "I guess that is kind of rare."

Saavik raised her eyebrows. "At the time, it was unheard of."

"Wait, what?" said David. "Haven't interspecies marriages been a thing for a while now?"

"Perhaps among humans," said Saavik. "The Lady Amanda's family was more willing to accept her decision than the ambassador's clan."

David shook his head. "Ok, seriously, how do you know so much about them? Were they family friends or something?"

Saavik pushed aside her empty plate and pulled a bowl of soup towards her. She took a spoonful of it and stared at the orange liquid for a moment.

"…the Lady Amanda and Ambassador Sarek raised me for six years," she said finally, and took a sip of soup. It was warm and faintly sweet, and reminded her of Amanda's plomeek soup.

Dr. Marcus frowned. "Really? I thought you said they weren't family."

Saavik shook her head. "I said the ambassador was not my father. He is not."

"Sounds close to it," said David. "Unless your real father is in the picture?"

Saavik's lips tightened. "My biological father is irrelevant."

David glanced aside. "Ah. Sorry. For what it's worth, I don't even know who my father is."

He glanced at his mother, who shrugged. "'Irrelevant' sounds about right. But I believe we were asking Cadet Saavik about her academy experience. Have you had a favorite class thus far?" she asked, turning back towards Saavik.

Saavik let her eyes close a bare instant in gratitude. "I have found tactical history surprisingly fascinating," she said, and thought that, perhaps, engaging in small talk was not quite as bad as all that.

It was not many days later that she got a bitter reminder of why she avoided it.

"Hiram Roth won the election," said Paul Neeley offhandedly to one of the other human scientists as they worked the lab. Saavik, uninterested in interstellar politics, paid them little attention as she attempted to concentrate on her work. It was late, but she could get a few more hours before retiring for the night.

"Did he?" said the other human, Donna Moore. "I was actually thinking that Abelmare would get re-elected."

"Did he even run?" said the first human, Paul.

"I'm…not sure. I should probably pay more attention to politics."

"I just hope Roth's not as much of a pacifist," said Paul. "The Federation can't afford another president who won't take the Klingons seriously—it's not going to be that long before it comes to a head, I assure you. And I'm sure the Romulans are up to something."

Saavik tensed.

"Yeah," agreed Donna. "It's been far too quiet on the Romulan front. I always get nervous when they haven't said anything for a while. They're too devious for comfort."

"True, that," said Paul. "I'd almost rather they had done something recently, just so we'd know what it was. What was the last incident? The breakup of the alliance with the Klingons? That's the last thing I remember hearing about, and that was over ten years ago. Who knows what they've been able to plot in that time?"

Donna nodded. "The best we can hope for is that their plans are focused on the Klingons right now. Or maybe some kind of infighting. If they've got to cause destruction, it might as well be directed at their own people."

Saavik's hand accidentally knocked over a stack of data disks.

Paul turned towards her. "What about you?" he asked. "Got any views on your cousins?"

Saavik struggled to inhale.

"I have no opinions on the policies of the president-elect towards the Romulans." She could not, as she had no idea what they were. "If you'll excuse me."

She rose as gracefully as she could manage, picked up a stack of files to make it look like she had somewhere to be, and left the nearly-empty lab to its last two occupants.

The hall on the way to her quarters was mercifully empty.

Saavik's lips were hard and tight as she tried to maintain her hard-won control. Their worries were entirely logical, she told herself, but that didn't stop the old anger from burning at her core.

And that was far from the worst she had heard.

The door to her quarters opened up in front of her, offering sanctuary.

"Why do they keep preaching peace towards them?" one classmate said angrily. "What do they think those bastards are going to do? Suddenly see the light and decide to go all Surak on us? I wouldn't trust them if they did. They're liars to the core."

"Come on, we should take the high road," said another. "Do you really want to sink to their level?"

"If that's what it takes! Come on, you know they're planning to kill us all anyway. I say we get to it first."

"Are you seriously suggesting genocide?"

"The only good Romulan is a dead Romulan."

Saavik punched the wall.

All pretense of Vulcan control fell by the wayside, and her lips twisted into a violent contortion that showed off her teeth. They didn't know what they were talking about. If anyone had cause to hate the Romulans, it was her, not them. They knew nothing. They had never been to hell. They had never—

There was a knock at the door.

Not even a buzzer. Just a knock.

Saavik clenched her fists and pulled away from the wall. She considered not answering.

Instead, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, pulling herself together with the most basic meditation she had ever been taught.

Opening her eyes, she was Vulcan again. She went to the door and opened it.

David Marcus looked in at her. "You…ok?" he asked hesitantly. "I thought I heard a noise."

"It was nothing," Saavik lied. Vulcans didn't lie.

David glanced down at her hand, and it was only then that Saavik noticed the green blood welling up from her knuckles. The color, at least, did not betray her.

"I stumbled," she said, covering it with her other hand. "It's fine."

David pointed off to the side. "There should be small first aid kit around here somewhere," he said. "There should be some copper-compatible clotting factor in there." He hesitated. "Failing that, there should at least be bandages, though I'm not sure they'd be worth the trouble…"

"I will be fine," said Saavik, turning abruptly toward the small sink in the corner of the room and methodically washing the blood off her hands.

She turned off the water and let her hands drip into the sink, watching as the green-tinged water flowed down towards the recycler so that she didn't have to look up at him.

"Found it," said David happily. "Told you—one hundred percent copper-compatible. Iron, cobalt, and silicon too, so it'll work on you, me, a Bolian, or even a Horta. Somehow."

Saavik still didn't look up. "Why are you helping me? You are not a physician."

David frowned. "Why wouldn't I? I mean, no, I'm not that kind of doctor, but I wouldn't want one of my favorite co-workers injured…" He froze. "I mean, you've done great work so far. I'm gonna hate to lose you when your time's up. I mean…" He shook his head. "You know what, let me just spray this on your hand and I'll leave you in peace."

That sounded good. Saavik extended her hand, and David sprayed the clear, sticky liquid in a thin film over her bleeding knuckles. It must have contained some kind of broad-spectrum analgesic as well, because the stinging faded without her having to try to suppress it.

"Better?" he asked.

Saavik nodded, because it was true. It was better.

"Good," said David. "Then…um, leaving you in peace now, as promised. See you tomorrow."

Saavik nodded. "Very well."

The door slid shut behind him, and she stared at the smooth gray metal for a few long moments.

She didn't know what to do. The anger had faded into little more than confusion at the act of kindness, but that wasn't a good thing. It was the only thing that sustained her on nights like these.

Saavik clenched her good fist. Her Vulcan mother had given her the telepathic touch of her people, but the only gift her Romulan father had offered was the anger.

She could hide it, usually, but it never completely went away. It protected her when nothing else could. It had driven her to survive when even fear had failed. The anger burned her, but it was better than being alone in the dark.

Her hand unclenched of its own accord, and she raised her injured hand and cradled it in her good one, looking at the door again.

It was going to be a long night.

David looked up and grinned when she entered the lab the next morning. "Sleep well?"

"I did not sleep," she said truthfully, and then regretted the automatic honesty.

He blinked. "…at all?"

Saavik moved past him without making eye contact. "I do not require as much sleep as a human. I was…meditating."

"Oh, ok," said David. "How's your hand?"

Saavik glanced down. The mark had faded to a single dark green scab. "Better. Thank you."

"Glad to hear it," said David, and then focused on the work on his screen.

For several hours, they worked in silence as the other scientists came in and out in search of various bits of data.

Eventually, Saavik found that they were alone in the lab. She looked at her screen, but found it difficult to focus on the numbers she was supposed to be analyzing.

"…may I ask a question?" she asked, before she had consciously realized she was going to speak.

David blinked and glanced up. "Hmm? Oh, sure. What's up?"

Saavik looked back at the hard numbers on her screen and wished that she had not spoken.

"It is not important."

David stretched and rubbed his forehead. "That's ok," he said. "I could use a break anyway. What is it?"

Saavik stared unseeingly at her injured knuckles, not at all sure how to ask what she suddenly wanted to know.

"You said your education was 'eclectic', and implied that your childhood experience was outside the norm," she said. "Do you…" She trailed off, not sure what she was asking.

David frowned and looked at the ceiling. "Do I ever wish I'd been 'normal'?" he offered. "Do I ever feel like I got stuck between worlds? Do I ever feel like I'm completely outside everyone else's assumptions? Something like that?"

Saavik nodded.

With a sigh, David leaned his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand.

"Yes," he said, "to all of those. But only sometimes. I've been ridiculously lucky, and I wouldn't trade what mom's given me for any world. But yeah, sometimes I feel like I'm stuck on the outside looking in, wondering what it's like to be everyone else."

Saavik looked at her screen and slowly nodded.

David stretched again. "I guess you'd know," he said, and Saavik tensed. "I mean, how many other Vulcans are even in the academy right now? It must be massive culture shock."

"Two that I have encountered," said Saavik, relaxing again.

David shook his head. "I can't even imagine how lonely that must be."

Saavik frowned. "There are always other students around," she said. Indeed, it was all too hard to find privacy sometimes.

"Not what I meant," said David. "Being alone in a crowd is worse."

Saavik looked up at him. "Alone in a crowd," she repeated. "I had not encountered that phrase before. It is…evocative."

"Yeah," said David, but then the door slid open to let in another of the scientists.

Sabin (a dark-eyed, quiet man whose species Saavik had not been able to determine) didn't speak, only nodding at them on his way to his workstation, but the conversation was still effectively over.

Saavik turned back to the problem on her screen, and discovered that the answer had been staring her in the face all along. She made a note of it and moved along to the next one, letting the quiet of concentration fall over the room once again.

Slowly, Saavik let herself open up a little more, taking more of her meals in the mess all with various combinations of the other scientists. She learned that Var Norez was an accomplished musician, who sometimes brought out a string instrument after the last meal of the day and played for them. Sabin, quiet though he was, tended to make deadpan observations that make the other scientists laugh. Donna Moore liked to practice kickboxing in her spare time. Paul Neeley was pretty much the only one of them to pay any attention to current events, and he kept them updated on anything he thought they should know. Conn Ioward was Palkeo Est, which explained his faintly purple coloration, and had grown up on the integrated colony world of Nisus.

"Wonderful place," he had said easily. "We've got everyone there, and then some. There's even a Klingon scientist—last I heard, he had two half-human sons and a half-Orion daughter." He glanced up. "And there's a Romulan," he added, "though she hardly counts—she didn't realize she wasn't Vulcan until she was already an adult."

Saavik had carefully set aside a horrible stab of jealousy.

Zinaida and Jedda were not only the only couple on the team, but the only ones in a relationship at all.

"I believe the phrase is 'married to the job'," Jedda said with a smiled aimed more at Dr. Marcus than anyone.

"It is not easy to find someone who will put up with a job like ours," said Zinaida.

Dr. Marcus smiled. "There's a reason I didn't stay with David's father," she said. "But I'm sure it's fulfilling to find someone who shares your passion." She glanced sidelong at David. "Hear that?" she said loudly. "You can balance work and a relationship. I mean, I couldn't, but you could if you wanted to."

David cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Sounds like a lot of work," he said, and took a big bite.

"I know," said his mother. "I'm just still holding out for an in-law. And possibly grandchildren."

David choked and swallowed, eyes watering.

"Or just grandchildren," said his mother helpfully.

"Mom," said David, finally regaining control of his windpipe. "I swear…" He shook his head, unable to think of anything to swear.

"Well, if you ever need advice on raising children, you know where to find me. And if you ever need advice on long-term relationships," she said, jerking a thumb at their resident couple, "you know where to find them."

Saavik watched the exchange with some interest. Things were very different on Vulcan.

Dr. Marcus glanced in her direction. "What about you?" she asked. "Are marriage and/or kids in your future, or are you purely career Star Fleet?"

"I…have not considered the matter," she answered, which was close enough to true.

"Wait, then you're not bonded?" asked Conn Ioward. "That's unusual."

"…I am so glad I'm not the one who said it this time," muttered David.

Saavik glanced aside. Who would even consider her an acceptable bondmate? One of the other half-Romulan survivors? She had no desire to be linked to a mind that shared memories of that world.

"I am not," she said. "My formative years were…atypical."

David glanced up at her in surprise, and she avoided his gaze.

"But it is gratifying to know that those who wish it can find that sort of companionship," she said, nodding towards Jedda and Zinaida, tossing the thread of conversation in their direction again.

Zinaida caught it. "Indeed," she said. "My parents were both scientists as well…"

Saavik went back to the lab afterward, where she usually had a few hours alone while the others slept.

This time, though, David came through the door a few minutes after her and sat down at his station.

He stared at his screen for a few moments without actually turning it on, and then abruptly turned towards Saavik.

"Hey," he said, "shut me up if I'm prying—please—but can I ask you a question?"

Saavik paused the simulation that was running of her screen and considered the matter for a moment. It would be easier to simply take the out he offered and request that he not inquire about her past.

Saavik took a breath. "You may ask."

David paused for a moment and then let out a breath. "Before," he said, "when you were talking about non-average childhood experiences…" He trailed off, giving Saavik another chance to escape the conversation.

Saavik bit the inside of her lip.

"You are not the only one, no."

With a sigh, David put his elbows on the desk.

"Why do I suddenly get the impression that I've put my foot in my mouth on more occasions than I've even realized?

Saavik blinked, and then found the expression in her mental dictionary.

"You…have done so less often than most," she said.

David shook his head. "Thanks," he said, less than happily. "Look, I've been on the receiving end of awkward assumptions about my experience, and I never wanted to do that to someone else. So I apologize for all the past and probably future instances of doing that to you. Whatever it is that you don't like to talk about…I'm sorry I brought it up. I won't ask again."

Saavik stared at the paused simulation on her screen, fighting herself. She should simply be grateful and let the topic die.

Instead, she took a breath and said the words she had never willingly said to anyone before.

"I am half-Vulcan."

David looked up in shock.

"…oh," he said, and she could hear the pieces connecting in his head. "Is that why Spock's family took you in?"

"Yes," she said carefully. It was true enough. "After my previous…residence," she hedged, "proved…non-viable."

"Oh," said David again. "I see."

He didn't, of course, but that was just as well.

Saavik stared straight in front of her. "I prefer for that not to be common knowledge."

"Of course," said David. "Vulcan it is. My lips are sealed." He brought a hand to his lips for emphasis.

Saavik looked up at him at last. "…thank you," she said, surprised at the relief that came from telling that small piece of the truth.

David gave her a sudden smile that was as warm as Earth's young sun. "No, thank you," he said. "You didn't have to tell me, and…I'm honored. Thank you."

Saavik couldn't return his smile, but she met his warm gaze and nodded.

"…I should return to my work," she said.

David nodded. "I've got a little more to get done tonight myself," he said, and turned towards his computer, finally turning it on.

Saavik unpaused the simulation and let it continue in front of her, watching for anomalies.

But even as most of her mind devoted itself to numbers and variable factors, a small corner of it was wishing that she could see that smile again.

The end of those three months came all too soon.

Saavik repacked her small duffle and gave the room one last unnecessary glance before turning and walking toward the transporter room.

She had wondered if David and Dr. Marcus might be there—but to her immense surprise, every single one of the scientists had gathered in the small room to see her off.

"Well," said Dr. Marcus with the grim humor Saavik had come to identify with affection. "It's been a good run. I must admit that I was skeptical at first, but you've more than proved your worth. I'll be sorry to see you gone."

"Yeah," said David without meeting her eyes. "We'll miss you around here."

"Yes," added Zinaida. "It has been a pleasure working with you."

"Best of luck at your classes this semester," said Paul, with a firm nod that probably pushed aside an automatic handshake.

"Swing by and visit us when you get your own starship," said Donna with a smile.

"Let us know how you're doing," added Sabin.

Saavik glanced from one to another, still rather startled.

"…thank you," she said, regaining enough control to nod politely. "It has been…a rewarding experience." She turned her attention more toward Dr. Marcus. "I am grateful for the opportunity."

Dr. Marcus gave a lopsided smile and nodded, but it was David who spoke up again.

"There's going to security issues as soon as you're off the rolls," he said. "But we'll let you know how the project is going as soon as we can."

Saavik nodded. "I would like that. I trust that you will find a solution to the matrix problem?"

David grinned suddenly and finally looked up. "Oh, you can count on it."

Saavik's communicator beeped. "Cadet, are you ready for transport?"

She pulled it from her pocket. "Affirmative, Reliant." She stepped onto the transporter pad. "Ready to transport."

She snapped the communicator closed and looked back at the people she'd gotten to know over the last few months, at the smiling faces who asked her to come back, and she promised herself that she would.

David raised a hand, eyes still full of that light of determination. "Until next time, then."

Saavik nodded before the transporter took hold. "Next time."

As the tiny world flickered out around her, the last thing she felt was the warmth of that smile.

Then next time she saw Regula I, everything was different.

Perhaps she should not have insisted on coming down, but she had to see.

It was cold here now, much colder than it had any right to be, but Saavik barely felt it. From the moment she had heard of Khan's targeting of Genesis, the anger had burned an empty place deep in her core.

Not here.

But he had come here, and even her useless anger couldn't change that.

The first body was the hardest, because that made it real.

Saavik reached out and closed Conn Ioward's empty lavender eyes, not bothering to justify the action to herself, and kept looking.

She counted as she went, securing each scientist's name in her memory as she found them.

Donna. Var. Sabin.

She forced herself to keep looking, trying to ignore how much she didn't want to find anyone else.

Paul.

The anger burned brighter with each body.

Zinaida.

If Khan came here now, she would kill him with her bare hands, and not care who was watching.

At long last, hidden in a set of caverns that Regula hadn't even had when she was there, they found the last three scientists—alive.

But even before she had a chance to feel relief, Khan had his puppet kill Jedda as well, right in front of her eyes, and there was nothing she could do.

Khan had tricked them all, and now he had the coordinately a completed Genesis device as well. Powerless rage filled her core and bled out to cover every centimeter of her skin with barely-contained fire.

As the blue glow of the transporter beam took hold of the Genesis torpedo, and David leapt to his feet.

"No!" he shouted, jumping forward. "He can't take it!"

No!

Saavik threw herself in front of him and caught his arms, bodily preventing him from jumping into the beam.

He will not have you too!

The heat of her hand hit the bare skin of his arm, and for an instant, there was the shock of connection.

The whine of the transporter ceased, and Saavik snatched her hand back as though burned.

Avoiding his eyes, she moved stiffly away, managing to wait until she was out of eyeshot before the anger drove her fingernails into her palms.

Right now, she felt entirely Romulan, and she was almost certain that her Vulcan touch had betrayed her.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and systematically started forcing the anger back into its hiding place.

Sometimes Admiral Kirk was infuriatingly calm.

They were trapped. All communications channels were blocked; the ship was days away from having main power, according to Spock; one of the most well-known tyrants of Earth's bloody history was in control of an entire starship; and Admiral Kirk smiled.

He was expecting something to happen, clearly, but he seemed not to mind the wait.

In any case, she, David, and Dr. McCoy were summarily dismissed.

"Well," David said to her stiffly as he led them away, "At least you'll get to see the progress we've made since you left." His voice warmed with pride in spite of himself. "Wait until you see it."

He touched a control panel and a set of giant double doors opened onto a scene from many species' idea of paradise.

The entire cavern was filled with the green of life-giving blood, towering trees and trailing mosses and climbing vines and humble shrubs tumbling together in an explosion of life.

Saavik breathed in the scent of oxygen. "You made it work."

David grinned beside her. "I told you I would."

Saavik didn't take her eyes off the cavern. "Indeed."

"Well," said Dr. McCoy, whose presence she had momentarily forgotten. "All right, kid, color me impressed."

"Come on," said David, starting forward. "Mom was right about one thing—we should probably eat while we have the chance. Unless anyone thinks the Admiral doesn't any something up his sleeve?"

"Likely so," said Saavik, but Dr. McCoy snorted.

"I gave up trying to follow his train of thought years ago. Either he's got a plan, or he'll come up with a bluff, but he'll end up trying something. I'll take that food you offered."

David led them to a stand of trees. "Anything with fruit is edible, at least to humans," he said. He glanced apologetically at Saavik. "I don't know offhand for Vulcans, though I doubt there's anything toxic."

Saavik nodded. "I have a tricorder."

Dr. McCoy glanced at them. "In that case, I'm going to go make myself a fruit salad. Let me know if Jim pulls any more stunts while I'm gone." He waved offhandedly and disappeared among the trees.

Saavik watched him go, vaguely wishing he would stay. It would probably be simpler if he did.

"So," said David, picking a fruit and not looking at her. "I guess that's why Vulcans don't like handshakes?"

Saavik selected a fruit at random and ran a full scan on it. It was far more than she needed to know, but it gave her hands something to do.

She wanted more than anything to simply answer in the affirmative and change the subject, but she could not do that. She could not allow her own failings to reflect poorly on Spock's people.

"Half-Vulcan," she corrected stoically.

David examined his fruit and ate a bite before responding.

"…does it really make that big a difference?"

Saavik's lips tightened, and she clamped down hard on the rebellious anger.

"I meant as far as telepathy goes," said David, glancing up. "I mean…goddammit, why do I keep doing that to you? Look, it doesn't matter." He looked away and took another bite of fruit, looking up through the greenery towards the artificial light source at the roof of the cavern. He swallowed.

"We've all worked so hard to get here," he said softly. "All of us."

Saavik looked down, not sure what to say. In Vulcan, the phrase would be 'I grieve with thee', but…

"I…am sorry," she said. It seemed so wrong to express condolences with an apology, but that was the phrase. The words were utterly inadequate.

"They died to keep Genesis safe," spat David, "and the bastard still got it."

Saavik was quiet for a moment, hands not quite clenched.

"They died bravely," she said with deliberate softness.

David shot her a strange look, but it was mixed with grief.

"It's just me and mom now," he said. "Well, and you, I guess. Genesis was our life, and now…"

Saavik stared icily at the ground. "And now it's nothing but death," she finished.

She took a breath and ignored the look that David was still giving her, and then remembered the words that Admiral Kirk had spoken only this morning. She frowned.

"…'How we deal with death is at least as important as important as how we deal with life'," she said softly, more to herself than to him.

"…what?"

She shook her head slightly. "That's what Admiral Kirk told me. I failed a command simulation and lost the ship, only to learn that that is the intent of the test. He said it was a test of character, so that they could see how we reacted when faced with death. I believed it was a waste of time."

David reached out and picked another fruit, turning it over in his hand without eating it. "You don't think so now?"

Saavik looked up, but instead of the jungle, she saw the cold faces of her former co-workers. She saw the bridge of her simulated command, surrounded by the simulated bodies of her superior officers—even Spock. She glanced further back, but pulled herself back to the present before the images of Hellguard could burn themselves into her eyes again.

"I have seen death many times," she said. "I did not believe it was necessary for me to face it again." She took another breath. "However…I may have misunderstood what the admiral meant by 'dealing with'it."

David straightened up and looked at her in shock. "Saavik," he said, "how old are you?"

Saavik frowned again, not sure why he asked. "Twenty-one earth-standard years old," she answered.

David shook his head. "You're younger than me," he said. "Where the hell have you 'seen death many times'?"

Saavik stared straight ahead. Once again, she'd failed to consciously anticipate how her experience differed from everyone else's. She should have accounted for that, and chosen her words differently.

"…that is precisely where," she said.

David tilted his head in confusion. "Where?"

"Hell," said Saavik, and turned back toward the trees.

He was staring at her back, she could feel it. Humans didn't guard their emotions, and right now the bare edges of his were brushing against the edges of her mental space.

Finally David shook himself. "Okay," he said, and it was almost a relief. "I know you're not really supposed to ask Vulcans personal questions, but…"

Saavik sighed fractionally. "Half-Vulcan," she corrected again.

David narrowed his eyes. "Half-Vulcan," he said with an undercurrent of suspicion, "and half-what?"

Fire and ice. Captors and captives. Lies and death.

"Nothing."

David blinked. "Half-nothing?" he said, with an edge of grim humor.

She'd simply meant it as a dismissive, but it was true enough in its own right. Nothing was exactly what she was. She was nothing to the Romulan who had sired her. Without her Vulcan half, she would be nothing to anyone but herself.

"Yes."

David frowned, amusement vanishing like a flicker in the wind. "What?"

Saavik turned away. "My biological parents are irrelevant. Captain Spock is the only one who counts me as family."

David was looking at her with an expression with which she was not familiar, and one of his hands moved fractionally toward her before he stopped it.

"All right then," he said. "Sorry for intruding."

Saavik nodded a slight acknowledgement, but finally listened to the little voice that was telling her to change the subject.

"What else has been happening on the project?" she asked.

"Well," said David, straightening up, "remember that problem we were having with the oxygen ratios? We managed to fix that by stealing some traits from the flora of class L planets…"

They spent most of those two hours engaged in conversation about the scientific and technical intricacies of Genesis, avoiding by unspoken agreement the topics of their dead co-workers and Khan's possession of the device.

Eventually, Kirk joined them, and Saavik snatched the chance to ask him about his own attempt at the Kobayashi Maru.

Kirk smiled. "I reprogrammed the simulation so it was possible to rescue the ship."

Saavik blinked. "Then…you never faced that situation," she said. "...faced death."

She felt cheated.

"I don't believe in the no-win scenario," he said, and then flashed that infuriating I-know-something grin and opened his communicator. "Kirk to Spock. It's been two hours. Are you about ready?"

After that, there was little time for thought.

The Mutara Nebula provided scant protection from Khan's less-damaged ship, and Saavik devoted herself to eking out whatever information the confused sensors would give up.

She saw it when it appeared, but David spoke before she could.

"It's the Genesis wave!"

She watched as the familiar theoretical form came to brilliant physical life on her sensors. Even though she knew it was about to kill them, she still felt something like fierce pride. It was beautiful, and she had helped create it. If she was going to die, this was a good way to die.

"How we face death," she whispered to herself, and then steadied her shields and looked again for some way out.

And then they had warp drive again.

There was a terrible emptiness in her skull, and she didn't understand it.

There had been something there, tucked into the back of her mind, and now it was not there. The absence hurt, and she did not even know what was gone…

…who was gone.

Spock.

Saavik froze. It couldn't be.

Spock. The only one who had ever claimed her as true family, the only one with whose mind she had shared a familial link.

A link that was now dead.

He was dead.

Saavik put her hands to her head, dropping her shields and reaching out, desperately, futilely trying to find his mind. The edges of alien emotions danced uncomfortably around the edges of her awareness, but that was all. The tiny whisper of cool logic that had been there for all of her life that mattered was gone.

It was too late. She had already been denied even a chance to say goodbye.

The funeral was a brief and solemn affair.

The captain spoke a few words about his oldest friend, his voice catching in his throat as he did, in that weak human way.

Weak.

To show emotion was weak.

Tears flowed down Saavik's face as she watched.

Saavik stood at the door of her quarters, staring.

It was only logical that she go in. She was off-shift—she should sleep, or perhaps she would be able to meditate for a while.

She did not want to go in.

She didn't want to meditate. Anger warred with grief in her mind. She wanted to scream at the universe, to beg any forces that might be listening to please, please give him back, give him back, her family, her friend, the one stable thing in her life, please, no matter what the cost…

Face impassive, she turned from the door.

The halls were quiet in the middle of the gamma shift even under normal circumstances. On a half-staffed ship, with everyone withdrawn and licking their wounds, it was dead.

Spock's ghost flickered through her memory as she walked.

Her feet took her through the ship, through all the places he had shown her. She struggled to keep her un-Vulcan grief contained inside her where it wouldn't show, but she couldn't banish it, wasn't strong enough to feel nothing.

Kling akhlami buhfik, Saavik-kam, whispered Spock's memory as she passed engineering. No one is perfect, Saavik-dear-one.

She bowed her head and turned away.

The ground was hard and unyielding under her feet. Her boots hit the deck with a soft tap with every step, as they always did, but right now that was odd. Wasn't the air thick around her limbs? Wasn't it pulling against her legs, making it hard to walk?

The doors of the observation deck opened obligingly before her and she walked blindly inside.

The stars shone through the bank of transparent aluminum, cold and piercing and bright, and finally Saavik allowed her feet to slow to a halt.

She stared at the stars. There were so many, so many hundreds of thousands of millions of stars…and even the reality of warp drive suddenly couldn't erase the unimaginably vast distances between them.

Cold stars.

Lonely stars.

Saavik gripped the handrail.

"…Saavik?"

She jumped and tried to whirl around, but the guardrail jerked at her clenched hands.

"Sorry," said the voice, and this time she identified it as David.

She didn't relax, not really, but at least the handrail stopped pulling at her so hard. She thought she wanted to be alone with the lonely stars, but she couldn't make herself move.

"I'm really sorry," he said again. "…about Captain Spock, I mean."

Saavik's lips tightened and she lowered her head. It was an expression of sympathy, she knew that—but it still sounded so wrong. It sounded like he was apologizing for Spock's death, as though he could have prevented it and had not done so…

"Oh hell," muttered David. "I looked it up…wanted to say it properly, but…" He took a deep breath. "I grieve with thee," he said in Standard.

Saavik exhaled, and her grip loosened.

"…thank you," she said formally, and her voice almost didn't waver.

David nodded and was silent for long moment. "You probably came here to watch the stars."

Spock had shown her this area as a good place to meditate, but she couldn't meditate right now.

"Yes," she agreed out loud, because that was easier.

David stepped back. "I can go, then, if you'd rather be alone."

Saavik looked at the cold, lonely stars. They dove at her, and for a moment she was falling into forever.

"Stay," she said desperately. "…if you'd like."

David stepped forward and leaned against the rail near her. "I think I'd like."

Silence fell between them for a long moment before David spoke again.

"It must be hard," he said softly. "If I'd lost mom…"

The Vulcan voice in Saavik's head whispered at her, told her to keep quiet, but the crying child in her soul was stronger right now.

"His was the only family-bond I had," she said, staring straight ahead. "It is…unlikely that I will form more."

Not without him. Not without his protection, not without his words on her behalf.

"Family bond?" asked David, brow furrowing.

"A telepathic link," supplied Saavik, "shared between parent and child, sibling pairs, and other family members."

"Oh," said David. "That's what you meant. You were an orphan, then?"

Saavik hesitated.

"I do not know."

Her Vulcan mother was almost certainly dead, at any rate, but her father would not have shared that life expectancy.

David was staring at her in open shock, and Saavik wished that she had said nothing.

"You don't know?" he said. "I thought Vulcans were kind of obsessive about family lines. And adoption, for that matter. Why don't you have any more of those links you mentioned? I mean, even if your other half—"

The fire at her center flared up again, momentarily overpowering her grief. Saavik's hand ripped away from the guardrail, and she slammed it down against the cold metal.

"Romulan!" she shouted, whirling on him.

He stared at her.

"You wished to know my other half," she hissed. "I am Romulan, born on the nightmare world of Hellguard. Spock found me there, took me away from that world, saved my life and my mind. He claimed me as kin, David! A half-breed Romulan bastard! Who would do that?"

She would have spit out more unguarded words, but then the horrified look on his face caught up to her.

Saavik snapped her mouth shut and whirled away, both fists clenched. She should not have said anything.

Stiffly she stepped away from him, towards the door.

"Wait."

His hand closed over her sleeve.

Saavik stopped. She considered brushing his hand away and leaving anyway.

David took a breath.

"I…I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to pry." He was quiet for a moment, but she didn't look back. "If…look, if you want me to forget I heard anything, then I didn't hear anything. You're as Vulcan as you say you are. I shouldn't have asked, and I'm really sorry about your…family member. Mentor. Whatever he was to you."

Saavik struggled for the composure she knew she should have, but it kept getting lost in the flood of shameful tears behind her eyes.

"He was…" She tried to think of a way to put it in Standard, but she could only think it in Vulcan. "K'war'ma'khon." She shook her head and tried again. "My…family-without-blood. But now he is gone. He made me who I am, and now he is gone."

The fire in her soul flickered and faded to ashes.

Without him, she had none of the ties that made one a Vulcan. She would never have the acknowledgement of her Romulan parent. She had no halves left. She was nothing.

Saavik closed her eyes, and was again the small, angry child seeing Spock for the first time, seeing him offer her something she had never even imagined existing…

…something she would never have again.

Saavik wrapped her arms around herself, barely fighting off the urge to double over as the Romulan child's heart was ripped from her side.

David's hand lifted from her arm, and for a moment she was as utterly alone as the cold stars.

Then he was in front of her, and his arms were wrapped around her in a very human expression of comfort.

It was cold in the observation deck—always cold, where humans lived. It was a cold she had learned to live with, and she had almost forgotten its pervasive presence.

But he was warm. Not as warm as a Vulcan, perhaps, but so much warmer than the surrounding air—and what Vulcan would ever offer this kind of warmth?

Saavik didn't move. She should probably save what face she had left by respectfully declining his human offer of sympathy, but she didn't want to. Right now, her blood was liquid in her veins rather than green ice.

"It doesn't matter what you are," murmured David. "You can always work that out later. But whatever that is, Spock clearly loved you for it."

Saavik opened her eyes and stared unseeingly at the collar of David's shirt.

"Vulcans do not love," she said, automatically.

David shrugged, which shifted her arms slightly.

"He was half-Vulcan," he said, softly. "Like you."

More shameful tears filled the space behind her eyes, hot and salty like Vulcan's tiny seas. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head forward. She was silent, but her tears stained the front of his shirt.

David only tightened his arms around her and bowed his head against hers.

Saavik's shuddering shields fell. Before she could stop it, her grief was spilling through her skin and into his mind.

David took a startled breath, and Saavik struggled to reinstate her shields before he pulled away.

"Don't," he said quietly, and instead of pulling away, he leaned a fraction closer. "It's better not to be alone."

It was. It was always better not to be alone.

Saavik's hand trembled as she was filled with the sudden, overpowering urge to touch his face. All it would take was her fingers on his skin, and then she could know his thoughts, know him, share her own mind with him, and not be alone.

It was so much better not to be alone.

Her hand rose up without her conscious permission, and she brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, sending telepathic sparks along his skin. Her entire arm ached with the effort not to turn her hand over and make it real.

David started, pulling his head away from hers to look at her. She drew her hand back and looked away as the contact faded, wishing she had done nothing.

"No, wait," said David, catching her hand in a loose grip. "It's…"

He paused. "It's ok," he said, and pulled her hand lightly back toward him. "If you want to."

She wanted.

Shouldn't…shouldn't, whispered the Vulcan who gave her this ability in the first place.

She wanted.

Saavik pressed her fingers against the contact points.

The opening words slipped softly from her lips in Vulcan, and then the pathways outlined by her fingers flared to life and her mind was flowing outward past the confines of her skin.

Colors surged around her, colors and not-quite-colors, colors that were and colors that should have been.

There was a brightness that should have been, an almost-yellow, made up of the warmth and strength of Earth's young sun. That should have been ringed by shades of blue from the calm of placid tropical sea to the unyielding grey-blue of tempered steel.

That was what should have been.

But those colors were forced to the margins in favor of something new, a purple so deep that its center bloomed into almost-black.

She touched the purple, and it was grief.

The empty center pulled at her, and whether it was his grief or hers didn't seem to matter anymore. Sorrow mingled with memories and knowledge of what they had lost.

But it was better not to be alone.

The emptiness could not take them both, because it was no longer empty.

I grieve with thee, thought Saavik, and David understood.

Understanding grew and opened and bloomed into something that could begin to fill the edges of the emptiness.

Slowly, the purple-black of grief ebbed, and Saavik pulled back a little towards her on mind.

Thank you, she whispered.

David's response was a smile, small and sad, but filled with the warmth she had grown to recognize. Now she was inside of it, and it warmed her like the first breath of hot desert wind after the cold night.

The warmth curled around her and became a want.

Want?

Her confusion echoed back towards him, and he shied away.

David's mind pulled away. It's not important, he thought.

That was a lie she had used often enough herself. It was a lie now, and he knew that she knew it.

Is it not? she asked.

David hesitated, and then reluctantly let go. The strange want washed through her, and she felt something she had never felt before. He wanted to touch her lips with his. He wanted to kiss her.

Saavik's physical eyes opened.

David's did too, but he wouldn't meet hers. "It's not important," he muttered aloud.

But it was important.

She didn't understand, exactly. Vulcans didn't kiss, so her frame of reference was rather limited. The idea of engaging in such an activity had simply never occurred to her.

But the wanting, she understood. He wanted to touch her lips the way she'd wanted to touch his mind.

She glanced down. "Why?" she said.

David's lips tightened.

"Because I love you."

Saavik was silent for a long moment.

"I am not sure I understand that."

He shrugged and still wouldn't meet her eyes. "Okay. Like I said, not important."

Saavik looked aside. The lie was for her sake. She could accept it and leave, if she wanted to.

If she wanted to.

The flame in her core found its life again—and this time, it was something other than anger.

"I would like to understand," she said.

David finally met her eyes, surprise fighting back hope, and Saavik felt an un-Vulcan warmth toward him like the one that filled his smile.

Perhaps she would never be fully Vulcan.

Perhaps she did not care.

Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.