Part 3 - Because I Can't Escape the Gravity
Nyota
She bounces Saavik's baby on her knee, trying to ignore the near-constant shooting pain from joints asked to carry her for too long. When she looks in the mirror, she doesn't recognize the woman looking back. Gray hair and lined face—she saw that once, on the Enterprise. An illusion, then. Not so, now.
She is old. Old and tired and probably going to die soon.
Spock, meanwhile, looks older but not old. Still vital. Still so handsome. She's never regretted her choices, leaving William, pledging herself anew to her husband.
And he is her husband. Christine never had that. She likes to tell herself that Spock would eventually have let Christine go the same way she let her lover go.
She likes to tell herself many things. Some aren't true.
The baby laughs, and she glances at Sarek to see what he thinks of that. He looks on with a sort of resigned forbearance. The child's father is human. Not what she foresaw for the girl she considers her daughter, but Saavik has always walked her own path.
Saavik is sitting with Clint, over by the fire, probably glad to get a break from this adorable little monster that Nyota can't get enough of. She always wanted children of her own, but it was not to be. Of all the regrets in her life, that is the strongest. But this little angel is helping change that.
He adores her. He giggles every time she talks to him and he loves her singing.
"You're good with him. He won't hold still for me." Perrin sits, her grace the kind of practiced perfect that Amanda just seemed to possess naturally.
"Sulek's an adorable baby. You've just got to know how to treat him." She closes her eyes at how sharp her tone is. They're all making this woman pay for taking Amanda's place. It's probably not fair, but she was Sarek's intern and still seems so young.
She thinks it jars all of them, seeing him with her. If he's aware, he's not letting on. He probably thinks they'll have no choice but to accept her once enough time goes by. Especially since she's born him a son who appears to thrive on Vulcan and under his father's tutelage, unlike either of his brothers.
She forces a smile and tries again. "How do you find Vulcan, Perrin?" She knows how she finds it. Hotter than shit and hard to breathe. Thank God for tri-ox.
"It is a place of great peace."
"Or just great quiet. I find a chapel full of song more peaceful." She's been going to church a lot lately. Probably trying to wash her ledger clean before it's time to meet her maker. But has she been that bad? In all her life, she's tried to be kind, to be good, to make a difference.
"You're religious?" There's a sneer in Perrin's voice.
"I take it you're not."
"There's no logic in faith in some grand, benevolent deity."
She just laughs. This is an old argument she's had with Sarek, and she can hear his words in the way Perrin parrots it back, like a dutiful little sponge.
Spock doesn't mock her. He understands the concept of faith, even if he chooses to put his faith in causes and people, not deities.
"You know what they say, sugar. Never discuss religion or politics in polite company."
Perrin seems unsure where to go with that.
She takes pity on her, tries to make her voice as war as possible. "Are you happy, honey?"
For a moment, she sees resistance, as if the endearment calls up bad associations instead of good. But then Perrin nods, and her smile is a pretty thing—too bad they so rarely see it—and says, "I'm very happy. But that's not a Vulcan thing to admit."
"You're not Vulcan, ergo..." She studies her, deciding that it wasn't her beauty that drove Sarek to her. She's a little plain. No one you would notice in a crowd.
Christine might have been that way, too, if her energy hadn't plowed ahead of her. Her energy and a sensuality that Nyota sometimes envied. She tried to play the seductress; Christine just was one.
Or slut. That label works, too.
She chuckles and the baby gurgles and reaches up to touch her lips. "You are a charmer, young man. When you grow up, no one will be safe from your wiles."
Spock comes out of the house and sits next to her. He's easier with the child than she expects and it charms her when they play a game, letting Sulek go from one to the other of them and then back.
"Have you had your tri-ox?" Spock asks in a hushed voice.
"Yes, stop mothering me." She grins to take away the sting and tickles Sulek. "I love him, Spock."
"I, too, find joy in his presence."
"Joy? Really, Spock?" Perrin's voice is arch, as if she's gotten something over on him.
Spock ignores her. It's rude, but it's what he agreed to do. The last time they sparred, he verbally eviscerated Perrin at the dinner table. Nyota has asked him to not do that, out of respect for his father and his new stepmother, even if he doesn't like her. "Say nothing if you can't say something nice."
The old homilies are so useful. She feels herself growing sleepy, and says, "I believe I'll go in for a while."
He gets up, slinging the child over one hip and offering her his arm. As they pass Saavik, he hands Sulek back.
Clint looks up, a frown on his handsome face. "Is she all right?"
"I am, Doctor. Be a guest, not a caregiver." She winks at him, wondering if Saavik was drawn to him because he has dark skin like hers.
But that's silly. Saavik took forever to choose a mate. She had no problem with no-attachment relationships, but finding someone who mattered enough to marry, to have a child with, that took a long time.
Nyota thinks that's due to her. The talks they had. The wisdom she tried to provide. That it's okay to wait. Get what you need and move on, and then someday, the one you really are meant for will find you.
Even if you've known him most of your life.
She nestles into Spock as they walk into the house. Once in their bedroom, she lets him help her into bed and says, "Spock. I don't think I like Perrin."
"You have indicated that before."
"Well, today I really don't like her." She studies him. "Will you remarry? Some Perrin of your own?" This is ground they've never covered. That they've steered carefully past over the years.
He sits on the bed and takes her hand. "I will not take an intern."
"There are other ways to meet chicks." She laughs at his expression. "Spock, it's all right, you know. I want you to love and be loved."
"I am. By you." His tone is perfect, but there's something in his eyes she can't read. He leans down and kisses her gently on the cheek.
It's been along time since they've been truly intimate. She'd like to, but her body protests even the idea of it.
"Nyota, I love you." There is nothing in his eyes now but the warmth and affection she has come to cherish. "I will never love another as I love you."
It's a good way to phrase it. Because really, every lover someone has is loved differently.
She decides to let it go. She's sleepy.
And at least Christine can't have him. It gives her solace, even if it's a mean-spirited sense of peace.
Spock
You sit in front of your wife's grave. She wanted to be buried here, on Earth, where her family has been laid to rest for years. There are Uhuras and others scattered around the small cemetery.
You are hurting. Your life has a hole in it the size of the woman who has left you. Saavik and Clint have come over frequently because they seem to realize it is only Sulek who truly soothes you.
You stay far from Perrin and your father. You do not like her and want no platitudes from her—or your half-brother who can appear to do no wrong. You do not want to hear "I grieve with thee" from their lips. How can she possibly grieve? She is younger than Nyota was when you first met her.
You know your mother expected your father to remarry. But you think she would have been shocked at his choice. His intern?
A small voice in your head murmurs that Christine would have married her professor. Was that so different?
But Christine is not relevant here. She is safely in cryo and there has been no move to liberate or annex any world that would have the cure. If the Federation has any personnel on the worlds where the cure could be found, it is in a covert manner, and you cannot betray that.
The needs of the many...
You close your eyes, but then your communicator sounds. You answer, hear your father's voice, and feel rage rising up.
Your emotions, so volatile at this moment. You are compromised and you know it.
"Where are you? The debates on the Cardassian war are set to begin in one hour. I thought we would discuss strategy."
"You believe I favor your side?"
"Do you not?"
At this point, you can see the merits of both sides. But it is infuriating that your father must disturb you in this, your time of mourning. As if Nyota meant so little you can be rustled back to work on his whim.
You remember how he was when your mother died. He sequestered himself for several weeks, allowing his grief to flow freely if privately. Nothing roused him. No one was to disturb him.
"Perhaps, Father, it is preferable that I do not attend?" You state it as if it is a question, but you do not mean it as such. You wish to stay here, in this peaceful place, next to the body of the woman you have loved for decades.
The woman you made a life with. A true and good life.
A new voice on the communicator. "Spock, your father needs you. We expect you here within the hour." Then the line goes dead.
You stare at the communicator, sure your father will call again, that he will tell you she begs pardon for speaking to you as if she has some authority over you. But he does not call you back.
They want you there? Fine. Let them have what they want.
You time your arrival so there is no opportunity to discuss strategy. You sit at their table, nodding pleasantly to them and those around. You wait for Sarek to make his statement.
And then you counter it.
There is confusion in the ranks. Which of you to listen to? They are accustomed to Vulcan speaking with one voice, to their Vulcan diplomats being the ones to pay heed to.
But now you have given them an alternate path. One that you do not believe in any more than what your father espouses, but also do not believe in any less. You may be furious, but you would not sabotage Sarek's effort if his were clearly the superior solution.
Perrin turns to you. Her face has never been more Vulcan, but you see rage in her eyes. You force your own anger down and simply lift an eyebrow, a gesture that generally fans the fire of an infuriated human.
And in this case, it does. She leans in, her voice like that of a serpent, "Why would you do this? Why humiliate him?"
"My presence was demanded. I am here. What I choose to say or not say is entirely up to me and my conscience." You roll your chair back, the meaning clear.
You are moving away from her. She repels you. They both repel you.
You stand and speak loudly and as clearly as you can to those assembled. "I must apologize. I am in a period of mourning and am now returning to it. My remarks have been captured?" You look to the staff tasked with monitoring the recording devices and they nod. "Then I take my leave of you. Good day to you all."
And you sweep out, the way you have always admired your father for doing. You can feel his gaze on you, burning into you. He would stop you if doing so would not betray him.
Like those early days. When you defied him, and he punished you. And still you defied him again.
You will always defy him. He has never understood you. You feel a sudden longing for human women: your wife. Your mother.
And your lost lover.
You make your way to the Starfleet cemetery. An urn that you know is empty sits in a cabinet carved into the marble wall, glass keeping it safe from the elements. On the brass marker, it says it is Christine's final resting place. She is not there, but still, it is the closest you can come to her.
Your communicator buzzes with Saavik's tone and you pick it up immediately.
"Come home, Spock. Your room is ready, and Sulek misses his grandfather."
"Saavikaam." You remember the day you found the half-grown, feral child. Now she is the granter of succor, of peace and love. Did you know she would be? Is that why you took her in as your ward—as your daughter of heart, if not body—when others told you she would never be tamed?
Perhaps you did. Or perhaps, you were simply fortunate. In any case, there is nowhere else you would rather go. "I will be there shortly."
Perrin
She sits dumbfounded next to a Sarek she's sure is furious. When she was younger, she thought she would just know these things, that she would be bonded to him. It was crushing to learn Vulcans cannot bond with humans unless they are exceptionally talented psychically.
She is normal that way. Excruciatingly normal.
She wants to reach out to Sarek, to touch his neck, and massage it the way he enjoys. But of course she doesn't. It would be most unseemly, and she's made it her life's work to be a good Vulcan wife, even if she is not Vulcan.
So instead she reaches for the mint tea—blessedly real mint here on Earth, instead of that dreck the Vulcans call mint—and sips it as if her stepson did not just run these proceedings off the rails.
Sarek stands slowly, and she looks up at him, trying to project assurance and faith. "My son has raised some interesting points. He is also...somewhat compromised with the death of his spouse."
She smiles into her tea. Sarek won't lose. He'll never lose and that's why she loves him. He's more than Spock can ever hope to be. She's grateful their son, Sarrin, has not followed in his brothers' footsteps of defying their father. He understands how fortunate he is to be the son of this great man and has followed the plan laid out for him, working now at the Vulcan Science Academy, married harmoniously to T'Pela.
Sarek takes a long breath, as if he too feels the weight of Nyota's death. Then he says, "We must forge on. We must follow one path—a house divided cannot stand."
"Is not your house divided, Sarek?" The Andorian ambassador is smirking.
She hates him so. Wants to hurl her teacup across the aisle at him and his aide. They love to undercut her husband.
"As I said, my son is not entirely himself."
The Andorian's smirk grows bigger, and she can feel her hands shaking.
"I suggest a recess for lunch," the representative from the President's office says, giving Sarek a look that clearly says, "In my office, now."
Perrin bites back a sigh.
Damn Spock. Damn him to hell.
