Title: The Knife (revised)
Author: Marcia
Pairing: Mc/Saavik--a challenge, what a challenge!
Series: TOS
Rating: NC-17, ferpetesakesSaavik--this is the TWOK Kirstie Alley-style Saavik. I liked her a lot better. Thanks be to the Great Bird of the Galaxy I didn't draw Valeris...
Disclaimer: This isn't me writing about Paraborg's characters. This is my evil twin. Anyway, they made me do it.
Summary: Saavik V'Spock always gets what she wants...except, perhaps, for a certain human to take her seriously...
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FESTIVAL DAY OF MOTO'RHE, VULCAN YEAR 4867:
Spock of Vulcan's black beard had gone red from the dust of Hellgard. It frosted age onto his hair and powdered the shoulders of his heavy red Empirical field cloak. Saavik now knew he was as fierce as he looked--but he was not going to be cruel to her. It had taken her many long minutes in the meld to be used to that.
She sat at the edge of the biobed and hesitantly kicked her bare legs. Her left hand reached up and fingered the thick, puckered serpentine scar that went from her forehead to the corner of her right eye. Spock was the only familiar face to her, and the only familiar-*looking* face. Humans were something she'd heard of but never seen. While some light coloring was not unheard of to Romulans, Humans were a rainbow of bewildering variety. The woman in blue with piled yellow hair had taken the girl's attention when she walked in, and then the man with soft black hair and skin the color of dark hila...
She was thinking that this was not so hard to get used to, when the doors slipped open a third time and a harried slender man with a thundercloud for a face came in. Blue liquid painted both hands and he held them in the air to avoid touching anything. Without saluting a single person--not even *Spock*, he moved past them all and thrust his hands under the sink. Sterile solution blasted his skin with an acrid scent and he grimaced.
"Thelev's tumor won't drain any further, captain." The man spoke with a strange accent above the soft roar of the machinary. Unlike the even-paced syllabic chant of Romulan or Vulcan, the man placed more emphasis on certain syllables and blurred some vowels altogether. She listened to the strange, half-musical lilt: "Hit's tiime t'have that taalk with h'm."
Spock flicked his eyes to the newcomer. "Your recomendation, Dr. Mak'koi?"
Mak'koi flicked his now clean and dry hands absently as Cha'pel went behind him to undo the fastenings of a cobalt-stained jacket. "It would be a mistake to retire him. Not only would it humiliate the pride of a good man, but he does hope to die in battle like a good Andorian."
Spock nodded. "Transfer to hazard duty then?"
"He'd thank you for it."
"Very well."
Saavik watched, round-eyed, as the newcomer doctor continued to not give a salute of loyalty to the captain. Just as unbelievably, Spock was saying nothing. He behaved as if it were normal. This was beyond her young imagination.
It drove her to take a closer look at this cipher. His hair was brown, and she had seen brown hair before. His eyes were a shocking light blue, but she had also seen that once before. Together was a new combination, as was his features. Romulans were olive or bronze in complexion. His was a peculiar light brown with a ruddy undertone, the color of the cliffs behind the ruined city. Romulans were lean and hawklike, built of triangles. This man was made up of squares: hands and jaw, face and limbs. Very un-Romulan like hair dusted his arms and below his throat where the V of his surgical tunic began. His eyebrows were the strangest. Saavik had been very certain all humans had level eyebrows (which gave them a perpetually confused look in her opinion), but this man's eyebrows sloped upward and fanned out. When his mouth set in a thin line (like now) he had an almost Romulan expression of concentration.
Clean now, the newcomer went to her side with a smile. "Hi there." >From fierce as Spock to smiling in less than a minute. Saavik was nonplussed. Making sure she knew where he was, he rested his hand on the bio-panel and examined the readings.
What was his rank? Other than doctor, his shirt was bare of ornamentation that would tell her something. There was the Empire's sword-upon-a-planet; she recognized the planet being Terra, so he was Terran. But other than a fan-shaped gold medal on the other side of his chest, there were no medals. The fan meant nothing to her, and she knew all the symbols of battle.
"Am I to believe this, captain?" He wondered dryly.
Saavik felt oddly challenged. How could she lie about her own body?
Spock took a step closer. The other humans had vanished somewhere between her staring at Spock and Mak'koi. "My reaction was not unlike yours, doctor."
"Hmph." That was a sound Saavik had no correlation to. He pulled up a chair and sat down in it, which made her feel instantly better. Now she was sitting higher than he was. It took the edge off the fear she was trying not to show.
(Spock would kill anyone who hurt me.) She told herself.
"Well, little lady, you're posing a few mysteries to me. Can you help out?"
Saavik stared at him, unsure how to answer.
"D'you know how old you are?"
Saavik knew that. "Ten jifa."
"Ten summers. Wow, you are big for your age." The human suddenly grinned at her. "My name's Dr. Mak'koi. And it seems you're my newest patient."
"I am patient." She informed him.
He chuckled softly. "So I see." He glanced backwards at the Captain. "Strong as a mule, and prob'ly as onery."
"It is not her health in question so much as her ancestry." Spock spoke with a grim finality to his voice. Saavik shivered in the cold room.
Dr. Mak'koi noticed. "Here. You're prob'ly chilly after spending your life down there." He leaned backward and undid his outer tunic. It went past Saavik's knees like an Overlord's Robe and she buried herself in the strange-smelling material. Warmth began to spread instantly. She fingered the odd fan-emblem puzzledly.
"Anything to eat or drink?" Mak'koi asked Spock.
Spock shook his head. "She says she needs neither."
"We'll see about that." Mak'koi said in an odd tone. "Ok, what I'm looking at is definite "Classic" Romulan DNA. But the Vulcan DNA and RNA has me a little confused." He pulled a stylus from his gold sash and pointed at a graph of gibberish. "Genetic augmentation is the only explanation for those capillaries. And look at the width of the heart muscle. Shoot, at least her heart's where it should be!"
"It is where a human's would be." Spock pointed out, slightly sarcastic.
"My point exactly. Whoever was in charge of your-all's organs, they fumbled the ball big time. Whatever lab did this, they're no debutants!"
Spock was standing closer than ever to Saavik. She wanted to reach out and touch his hand but the fear of enraging him held her back.
Then as if he had garnered her thought, Spock looked down. As she watched, his large hand reached out and offered itself to hers. Saavik hardly ever smiled. She did so now as her cold little fingers curled into his warm palm.
"What's your name, Little Lady?"
Feeling very strong now, Saavik felt she could face this Mak'koi in his blue eyes. "Saavik." Her voice dared defy him to make anything of it.
"Saavik." His sloped eyebrows went up and he smiled again. "That's a good name. In my grandmother's tongue, it means, "Knife."
"Knife." Saavik had been about to fly a rage when he praised her name. She had felt Spock stiffen in preparation. But with the explanation, she was startled. Her name was not from any Human language, but he had made it clear that was what her name meant to him.
The girl pondered this in silence. She had held on to her name simply out of defiance. It had never occurred to her that it would be something to be proud of.
"Knife." She repeated softly.
**
Spock turned away from the sleeping child and finished combing his damp beard. Showing Saavik the wonders of a water shower had taken much time but the activity had finally worn her out and she had closed her eyes but a few minutes ago. He privately hoped she would remain asleep for many hours. Her energy, combined with his work on the planet, had exhausted him.
His newest bodyguard, Storn of Vulcan, alerted him that McCoy had arrived. Spock permitted him entrance.
The doctor was prepared for the heat of the Captain's cabin. He wore the short surgical tunic of Sickbay and was pulling a blue wafer out of his Sash as he strolled in. Without formality, he placed it on the desk, quietly, his eyes on the sleeping girl.
"I'm sure this will be all you need." He said grimly.
Spock did not move to take the tape. "I am satisfied that you have done your job well." He caught the blink of surprise at the other's face.
"Perhaps you'd like to look it over anyway." The human offered cautiously.
Spock considered that a moment. McCoy would not take even a blind, blanket compliment. Much of that was Spock's own fault. He had never voiced loyalty to anyone but Jim Kirk, and Kirk was now dead. As for Spock, only time would tell where he would stand as the Empire shuddered over his head.
(And there is no need. He has proven his loyalty to me, as has Scott and Uhura. I should not let that atrophy from neglect.)
"Later. For now I must speak with you. Sit, doctor."
The human complied silently, crossing his left leg across the right. It always privately amused Spock that McCoy would keep his Officer's Blade in his left boot, unlike the more usual right. It was just enough of an imbalance to throw off a would-be assassin who did not know if McCoy was right or left handed. Only Spock knew the doctor was ambidextrous, self-taught since childhood.
"Saavik must be taken to Vulcan where she can be raised under the protection of the House of Sarek, son of Sharien." Spock pressed his fingertips together, already regretting the moment he would say goodbye.
The doctor frowned. "Are you certain that's a good idea?" He murmured.
"Explain."
"I agree she needs protection, but she's developed an emotional bond with you. As far as she's concerned, you are her father. Now if you palm her off to your family her emotional health will be in jeopardy."
Spock considered. It was true that Saavik had not the discipline he had endured as a Vulcan. Saavik was half Vulcan.
"Let her know early where she's going, and why." The doctor said quietly. "She already worships the ground you walk on. Let her understand that the best way she can help you is to do what you say."
"It *is* the best way." Spock pointed out.
"She's not stupid, Spock. Far from it. But she *is* a child in some ways yet." McCoy shook his head. "I'm speaking as a father, you know. I know that look she gave you. You're her rescuer, her hero, and her god. That's a huge responsibility, and you have to...erode that reverence without hurting her self esteem."
"Nevertheless I must be cautious. Saavik is the sole survivor of an illegal monstrosity. She is the only proof that the Romulan Empire was experimenting with Vulcans against their will."
"She's also not to blame for that--but what do you think will happen if somebody traces her Vulcan DNA through the father's side? What are the odds that the man's family demands her death or worse to avenge the loss of honor?"
Spock disliked the taste of that, but knew truth when he heard it. "DNA can be altered."
"Safer to mask it." McCoy argued. "She can use her retina for personal ID; most of us do anyway. And a retina scan reveals *nothing* about DNA!"
Spock stood and went to his pitcher. McCoy was surprised that Spock began pouring two cups, but politely hid his surprise. This was a first for his captain.
"The Romulans have been at civil war for two hundred years." Spock passed a glimmering cup to the human. "A story such as Saavik's would make many of the poor, yet noble Houses rally to *our* side."
"Yes, it *is* a bit of a slap to honor's face with a glove full of rocks." McCoy muttered wryly. "So she's the *only* survivor in that whole damn city?"
"She is the only child to survive." Spock's face had turned to stone. "The rest were being disintegrated as we arrived. I had every scientist responsible for that debacle executed."
McCoy hesitated. "Which ones were responsible?"
"They all were."
McCoy nodded at his glass. "Good for you." He said softly.
Spock looked at him. "You take this personal."
"Of course I do. Look at *my* ancestry! If Vulcan hadn't stepped in, We would have walked right out of the Third World War and right back into the Eugenics Program!" The human winced wearily. "Bread, Circuses and Spliced Genes." He said under his breath.
"I must agree with your description. Saavik is proof that the Ruling House intends to create Genetically Augmented warriors."
"Good luck." McCoy laughed softly.
"You hardly seem worried."
"I'm thinking of past history with "super" warriors. It never works out the way the creators planned. Ever. Kitchen gunpowder."
"That reference, I *do* understand." Spock said dryly.
McCoy took a long drink of Altair water. "Well. How long before we reach Vulcan?"
"After we stop at Halka for the New Fleet's crystals, nothing short of an attack from the Caesar will prevent us from going to the Homeworld."
"Yeah, well, we've been attacked many a time, you know. Thank God for Scotty's Miracle Engines."
"I have many reasons to be thankful for my ship, doctor." Spock answered. One, he thought, was an irreverent ship's surgeon who cared not of politics, only his Art of healing. It was possible that Spock had the only completely trustworthy Sickbay in both Fleets.
"Well." McCoy cleared his throat. "Thanks for the water. If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to Sickbay and work with Chapel on those weird records you pulled out of Hellgard."
"Very well, doctor. I expect a full report tomorrow."
McCoy hesitated at the door. "I suggest," he murmured with a wary glance to the sleeping child, "you read what I brought you."
"Understood."
McCoy left. Spock saw no need to waste time and picked up the wafer at last. Almost instantly, he saw why McCoy had wanted him to read it.
**
FESTIVAL OF MOTO'RHE, VULCAN YEAR 4881:
Commander McCoy felt the earth shake--under his feet, around, and over his head. All around him people were screaming as they stampeded in a blind panic through the Caverns of Salt. Another rumble and M'Benga fell against him. Both men held each other up as powdery pink mineral sprinkled down over them.
"What was THAT?" M'Benga roared. Salt had turned the whites of his eyes bloody. Tears streamed freely down his smooth face, aggravating the fresh bruises on his jaw.
"Tr-tr-treMOR!" McCoy managed to get out around another spasm. More screams floated up as the slave pens unanimously agreed on an uprising against the guards. The doctor silently prayed for their success. He wasn't racist, but those Orions deserved to be ground to bone meal and sprinkled in the pumpkin patch.
Kwelli opened his mouth to speak and wound up clutching at McCoy's sore shoulders instead, dug his fingers into a deep lashwound. McCoy did his best not to let his reaction show, but as M'Benga couldn't see, he vented by gritting his teeth. A knot of panicking Orions swept around them, several falling under their own peoples' feet. A neck snapped, a faint popping sound that still managed to carry above the level of chaos.
"Get to the Keystone!" McCoy rasped hoarsely, his throat catching fire. He needed to spray out M'Benga's eyes before the salt really caused damage. "Keep y'eyes shut!"
M'Benga coughed and nodded wildly. McCoy gritted his teeth again as he saw the red leaking out of the other's shirtsleeve.
"Hold on." He murmured.
"What's going on?" M'Benga wondered as he put his feet where the smaller man guided him. The smooth-packed salt path was gone, replaced by soft crumbly boulders of dislodged ceiling and wall. The raw mineral wept condensation and created a slimy hazard for their boots. "Are we under attack?"
"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" McCoy knew salt beds such as these caverns were geologically stable; only a large-scale bomb or starship could cause this kind of reaction.
Another boom like thunder. The acid-powered lights flickered and went to low lumen. Going for the planetary shields, then. Not aiming to pierce them, but knock them out. That took finesse.
M'Benga couldn't even pretend to see now. His eyelids were sealed shut but he felt McCoy guide him against a wall. He didn't lean against it, tired as he was the salt would cause new worlds of pain. Something metallic clinked and thumped and Leonard's strong hands were lifting his face up.
"Kwelli, you've got to try to open your eyes. I'm blocking your face from the ceiling. Try to open them."
It was hard. McCoy could see the effort as the man fought against reflexes and further pain. As soon as the bloody red spheres opened, twin waterfalls streamed out and McCoy sprayed. After a few quick blinks, M'Benga began to relax but he was still in a lot of pain.
"Leonard, you look like hell."
McCoy gave him an annoyed look. He ignored the blazing burn on his left cheek ij-Red had personally put on his face and that the salt had turned to an angry nova. He ignored the sting of salt over every inch of his battered, bruised and bloody-damn-it skin. "Who's the doctor around here?" He snapped.
"You think they've found us?" M'Benga cringed as another tremor, fainter than the rest, rippled across the cavern.
"Sure sounds like it." McCoy growled. "Only a starship can cause that kind of controlled damage. Whoever they are, they're not wanting to kill anybody, just shake 'em up."
"I hope its an Empire ship."
"Amen."
One last seismic quake; one last spill of the world. McCoy felt his body snap backwards into a solid wall of salt. He landed hard, but never felt it.
***
G'uk ij-Red was, in Saavik's humble opinion, a worm. A glistening green Orion worm. Nevertheless, as captain of the ENTERPRISE it was her duty to set a proper example, just as she had a personal desire to make her mentor proud.
Spock cha'Sarek was taking no overt action in the proceedings, but the stolid, silent presence of the Empire's legendary Commander in Chief was frightening even for ij-Red. His personal guards had edged away from him long before he himself had realized the danger he was in. Alone now, he sat before the young captain and rubbed his face with a silk cloth gone grimy with his nervous gray sweat.
"Let us be certain there is no misunderstanding, ij-Red." Captain Saavik folded her long fingers before her on the desk. Her steely green eyes were unheard of among Vulcanoids, and she used that unnerving effect with every chance. It was almost as unnerving as the long scar over her eye. "Ships under your command were responsible for capturing the TARR. You are willing to swear under oath that you knew nothing about Captain Bashtil selling the crew and passengers into slavery?"
"No." ij-Red's breathy accent made it difficult to take him seriously. Even when an Orion took an unfamiliar journey into honesty, Saavik could not trust them. "We take slaves, yes, but we understand the Empire's stance on such matters and would do nothing to jeopardize our position in Neutral Space."
"Especially since Neutral Space would not remain Neutral if it were proven Empirical Citizens were being captured and sold." Saavik's voice had gone from forbidding to icy. "You do understand many of us have a cultural aversion to "such matters" as you say."
ij-Red's silk was losing its ability to wipe sweat. "Yes, Captain, I do understand."
"You are then willing to swear your ignorance, risking death by your own people for telling the truth?"
Behind Saavik, Spock was maintaining his facade with difficulty. His native curiosity was burning to understand what his daughter was considering. That she had a specific goal in mind he had no doubt.
He was also feeling very paternal pride. Sarek had been right; Saavik belonged on space, with her own ship. This was his first exposure to Saavik's Command skills and she was performing admirably. She did not have to prove she was hard. Her legendary (and infamous) ancestry took away that question. No one would dare challenge her unless they wished to find their heart on her dagger. Several times in the past, Spock had heard her introduce herself in polar tones: "I am Saavik. That means "knife." and promptly intimidate her audience into submission.
He watched as ij-Red continued to squirm. Like most Vulcanoids, he had an innate dislike for Orions. They had green blood but the similarity ended thus. Orions were both master and slave of their own hormones, and ij-Red had failed in his efforts to manipulate Saavik's resolve with his scent. The musky odor of the Prefect was giving way to the sharp sour tang of fear. He wondered briefly what this must be like to a human's more sensitive nose, but had no time to glance at those present.
"Captain Saavik," ij-Red took a deep breath in his squat lungs. His bald green head glistened and ran down to his thin lips. "I deeply apologize for this misunderstanding. I truly do."
"That is kind of you." Saavik murmured.
ij-Red swallowed loudly. "I swear to you I had no idea that my people were siezing slaves out of the Emmpire."
"That is your final word?" Saavik's voice implied that once he answered this, there would be no further questions.
"Yes." ij-Red rallied himself together. His orange irises locked onto her green ones. "My Oath."
"Mr. Kyle, do you have his statement on record?" Saavik did not turn to look.
"Yes, captain." Mr. Kyle answered.
"Thank you." Saavik straightened and slipped out her Officer's Blade. "The Empire is swift but fair, Prefect. Your judgement is made."
ij-Red's guards turned pale as cheese as ij-Red fell backward. His chair flew out from under him and green blood burst from his nose and mouth.
"Damn." Saavik sighed.
"Regrets, Saavikaam?" Spock lifted an eyebrow.
Saavik afforded him a look of disgust. "He flinched. I dislike it when someone refuses to be killed properly."
Spock's other eyebrow went up as he regarded the wreckage. Had ij-Red not tried to move away, the blade would have cleanly buried in his heart and not severed his jugular to the world. "It does make it difficult on the cleaning crew." He said dryly.
Saavik stood. "Mr. Kyle, I would like this corpse taken to the brig. Place the Prefect's men in a cell where they can see their master easily."
Kyle snapped a salute. "Aye, Captain Saavik."
Saavik smoothly wiped her dagger clean on the front of the dead man's shirt and slipped it in her left boot.
***
McCoy really had no expectations of being caught by a transporter beam. Sudden death by boulders of red salt--that was more likely. But while he was staggering to his feet and giving a weakened M'Benga another hand up, a familiar metallic whine went through his ears and carried his awareness away.
He didn't relax until he saw the familiar logo of the Empire, and a grinning Commander Scott behind the console.
He did *not* expect to see Saavik standing in front of him, wearing the sleeveless gold silk shirt of a captain.
"Doctor, it is good to see you again." Saavik's voice shook just a little.
"Young lady, does your father know what you've been doing with his ship?" He snapped.
Saavik caught him before he hit the floor.
***
"Orion brands are permanent. They'll even show up on their bones. There is no way to remove them."
Saavik was deeply displeased but not wishing to show it. A good commander did not reveal emotions that were of no use. She knew the permanence of Orion marks; disappointing that the fact had never changed.
Dr. Chapel's eyes were sad. "I am sorry."
"I do not find you at fault, doctor." Saavik hooked her thumb into her sash, resting her arm. "Will they permit visitors?"
"Not M'Benga." Chapel shook her head violently. "He's been beaten very badly. Leonard can be released. But don't let him just up and run out of here."
"I have no intention of doing so. Thank you, Dr. Chapel."
Chapel smiled slightly. "If you go easy on him, he'll probably go easy on you. Probably."
Saavik smiled in return. Spock felt as though he had missed something important, but he often felt that way when women were talking together. He nodded as Chapel left.
McCoy was up and bending over M'Benga as they entered. The Orion brand, a lunar eclipse, burned like a black crater on his cheek.
"Oh, there you are. I was thinking you were another hallucination." He smiled, using the undamaged portion of his face.
"How is Dr. M'Benga?" Spock went to the biobed and looked down. He knew the man almost as long as McCoy, and disliked knowing he would be incapacitated for any length of time.
"At least a week convalescing." McCoy straightened and winced slightly. "Those Orions really worked him over."
Saavik and Spock traded looks. "Leonard," Saavik said slowly, "Do you know why the TARR was captured?"
"Oh, Lord." McCoy reached up and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was beginning to gray at the sides, and the harsh red sun of the Orion Borderworld had tanned him black even through his clothing. M'Benga was darker than a Saurian. "I need some water." The doctor yanked a cup from a shelf and waved the tap on. "Officially, those pirates were after the cargo. But off the record, they wanted every Vulcan passenger. Humans were secondary. Those they stun-gunned and put the prettier ones in holding pens for future sales." Blue eyes darkened. "Kwelli and I were the only humans penned up with the Vulcans."
"Significant." Spock murmured.
"Y'know, I'm aware its been at least three months since we've been gone, but I seem to recall the ENTERPRISE was in drydock, you were on Vulcan, Spock, and you, Little Lady, were on Rigel finishing up Command School!"
"A great deal can happen in a quarter-year, Leonard." Saavik had that smile on her face again. She always made it a point not to be reverent around the man who helped Spock raise her. "I requested the ENTERPRISE for my ship."
"And so far she has proven adequate." Spock admitted.
"Adequate?" Saavik repeated.
"You managed to track down the missing TARR and its passengers. Not a small feat considering all witnesses were transported to the Orion Border." Spock had his hands firmly clasped behind his back.
McCoy coughed. "I'm aware this is the Vulcan version of admiration, so I'll hold back on my honest opinion. But there were rumors that we were all gonna be shipped to the Romulan Homeworld."
Saavik's face tightened. "That is not unexpected." Her lips were set. As the men watched, her shoulders lifted in a controlled exhale, inhale, exhale.
"Damn." She said under her breath.
Spock nodded. "Intelligence has been garnering circumstantial evidence of another return to Genetic Augmentation."
"Holy Christ." McCoy tossed his cup into the disposal. "Don't people learn?? Never mind. Let's get out of here so Kwelli can sleep!"
Swearing under his breath in a language neither of his companions understood, McCoy led the way out of Sickbay. "At least I can finish cleaning up around here." He grumbled.
Spock glanced at Saavik. "Perhaps that should be left to others, doctor."
McCoy lifted a suspicious eyebrow. "I don't like that tone of voice, Commander. It implies something unpleasant."
Spock inclined his head. "I am transferring you to Vulcan when this mission is over."
To give him credit, McCoy said nothing to that minor bombshell, he just stared.
"It looks like I have a lot of catching up to do." He said evenly. While calm enough in appearance, Spock knew there would be *words* later. The doctor hardly ever disagreed with him, but even rarer did he do it where another could hear. Especially around Saavik, who had spent most of her formative years watching the men "debate" what would be the best for her future.
"You and M'Benga." Saavik added. "Are the only two physicians familiar with my physiology."
"And you are the only working model of a successful genetic augmentation." Spock reminded.
"Jesus, will you cut out that kind of talk!" McCoy snapped. "Successful in what way? She's only average of strength, speed, and general capability. What she can do better than anyone else is take a punch!"
"A soldier is valued for its endurance." Saavik answered stoically.
McCoy whirled on her. "Yeah, but they screwed up big time with you! There's no such thing as a superior soldier with an IQ higher than Mt. Everest! If they're wanting to repeat their success, they'd be risking a whole army of Saaviks who are perfectly capable of making their own damn decisions on what to do--and that always meant overthrowing their commanders in the past!"
Saavik looked at Spock. "Seldom have I ever been complimented in such scathing terms."
"Have you not gotten accustomed to this after 14 years?" Spock asked her.
"Whatever. If y'all are finished I'm going to go crash in my quarters." McCoy grinned, gave Saavik a one-arm hug. "Welcome aboard, Captain Half-pint."
"Shouldn't I welcome you?" Saavik's cool voice belied the light in her green eyes.
"I was here first, chronologically." McCoy pretended he was going to tweak her nose and laughed when she flinched away. "Gotcha. Wake me up if the war's over or another omnipotent species stops by to taunt us."
Saavik smoothed her shirt down selfconsciously. "Spock, I will be busy with the prisoners. May I ask you to resume command for me?"
"I would be honored, Saavik." Spock murmured gently. His dark brown eyes gleamed with a very paternal pride. "The Bridge is yours when you return."
"My thanks, Spock."
"My thanks to you, Saavik."
The two bowed their heads, both a respect and a goodbye. Then they parted. Spock to the Bridge to oversee their departure from the Border Planets...
...Saavik to skin the corpse of ij-Red before the horrified eyes of his guards. She made a point of curing the hide in the salt from the Prefect's own mines.
***
"You have rested?"
McCoy opened one eye. That was a trick no Vulcan could ever master; he used it because it bothered Spock. "I was in the process of resting." He growled. "I thought I said nobody but omnipotent beings...have you been promoted too while I was gone?"
"I regret to say no." Spock lifted the tray cover and examined the vegetables underneath. "Dr. Chapel promised ill thoughts upon me if I did not see you eat."
"Christine..." McCoy groaned and swung his feet off the bed to the floor. He had changed to off-duty fatigues and with a haircut and shave, looked far more like the doctor Spock remembered. Shuffling his feet he drifted to the table and checked his own plate. "Oh, good. No seasonings. I couldn't stand the thought of any added flavors affter where I've been."
Spock took a second look at him. "Are you certain you should be out of sickbay? Your...lips are stark white."
"That's what happens when a human gets too much salt in his body, Spock. Don't worry, the shots I took'll take care of it. But I'm aware I look like I've been embalmed by an All-Night Mortician's Assembly." He picked up a green bean and ate it. "Not that I have much desire to eat. Salt was in everything. Even our water."
"Dr. Chapel is not about to accept excuses."
"Why doesn't she focus all that hostility into getting a husband?"
"Why do you not channel your energies into the same?"
"I don't want a husband."
"A wife then."
McCoy shook his head. "I tried marriage. It was awful."
"A concubine." Spock tried again.
"No, nope. No thanks. My mother was a Praetor's Concubine. I don't wish that on anybody. I'd rather stay single." The doctor fell into the other chair and leaned his head in his head as Spock pushed a plate over. "'sides, Saavik would brain any bride with the rice bag."
Spock could almost visualize that image. "Perhaps you should make her the ringbearer."
"She'd ram it down the bride's throat. God. My sisters weren't as protective of me as that kid!"
Spock considered that Saavik had been a fully matured adult 14 years ago, but McCoy had--illogical--notions of Saavik's maturity. "She is equally protective of us both, doctor."
"She never threw a cactus at any woman *you* ever took out to dinner!" McCoy poked around the plate and finally found a carrot. "So how's it been to be back on the Enterprise?"
"Most agreeable. Saavik is an excellent captain."
"And your homeworld?"
Spock poured water before speaking. "The leading logicans predict that the changes I instill will be good for the people of the Empire, yet we will eventually be left weak to our enemies."
"Weak in what way?" McCoy frowned.
"Militarily." Spock explained. "I have the means to be invincible if I so choose. But I do not. I am doing what I can, but eventually Saavik's generation must take over."
"Tough, isn't it?" McCoy said sympathetically. "I don't envy you." He sipped from his glass. Spock wondered if the bitter brand on his face would fade with time.
"Perhaps you should think of yourself. It is too dangerous for you to remain in deep space."
"Why me? *M'Benga* was beaten to a pulp!"
"We have proof the Orions had orders to take you both." Spock said bluntly. "The Romulan Empire wants the expertise the two of you have garnered taking care of Saavik. They believe the key to replicating the success of Saavik lies you, and M'Benga especially."
McCoy shrugged. "How come?"
Spock was chagrined. "Among the Romulans, M'Benga's lower rank implies that he had more experience with Saavik. You would be seen as the theorist, but someone who has advanced in rank enough that you would rarely demean yourself with personally taking care of her."
"Oh, you mean like pulling all those thorns out of her feet when she insisted on walking in the desert barefoot, or that emergency appendectomy? Or the blood transfusion that sent half the hospitals on Vulcan running? Or, best of all, the time she came down with that oddball virus that hadn't been seen on Vulcan in 3,000 years??" McCoy snarled sarcastically. "All that was supposed to be below a physician of my rank? Glmph." McCoy had his head in his hand again. "I don't believe this. So they pounded on Kwelli to soften him up for future talking? I guess that tells me more than I want to know about what they'd had planned for me."
The doctor got to his feet, moving stiffly. Spock knew the Orions had injured him but did not insult him by mentioning it.
"I am not planning to ensconce you away, doctor." Spock paid attention to his own meal. "If the Empire is to fall, and fall it must, there must be some salvage of our resources. In all calculations, the Empire is a far worse enemy to itself than any outside force. Vulcan has been cautiously transferring many of its finer scientists and rare supplies all over the Galaxy for when they will be needed. To a lesser extent we have managed to hide Terrans, expatriot Romulans, Sigmans, Centaurians, and Deltans."
"And you're planning to go down with the ship." McCoy said to the wall painting by his head.
"It is necessary."
"Necessary." McCoy repeated hollowly. "Haven't you ever thought about your own importance in this?" He turned around to show a face that was rarely so distressed. "People rallied to you because they believed in you, Spock. Not your plans. You made a lot of changes for the better. I don't have to worry about getting assassinated in my own office by by own trainees. You made it illegal to torture civilians. And you stopped the slash and burn conquest of the Empire. The Caesar would love to hang you up and leave you to cure like Captain Kidd but he can't do it. He might be the figurehead, but you out-power him now."
"That does not stop him from trying." Spock said placidly.
"No. Which is why I'm saying, you'd better actively plan on surviving. People need leaders, Spock. I shouldn't have to tell you something so obvious. Noble deaths are for bad trivids."
McCoy stopped talking, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder.
"Perhaps when we are better prepared," Spock murmured, and McCoy's mouth opened to see the Vulcan was almost smiling, "you and I can "debate" this on Vulcan."
McCoy shook his head. "I give up."
"You surrender?" Now Spock was openly taunting. "I don't recall you ever calling count, doctor. Not even under Kirk's command."
McCoy stiffened. "I thought about it, believe me."
"I have no doubt." Spock thought of the years wasted, considering McCoy an object of contempt for being sentimental and soft. Then melding with the doctor's double had given him a strong suspicion that there was more to McCoy than appeared.
Finding the truth had been difficult. McCoy had been very good at hiding himself, but Spock eventually had proof that the doctor was quietly going against Kirk's orders and giving "mercy deaths" to crewmembers and prisoners slated for execution. The night Spock had invited him to his quarters for a "talk", McCoy had been certain of his end in the Agony Booth. But Spock had offered something more instead, and that was hope for the future.
"I'm the worst person to have on a warship." McCoy had growled. "I'm a father. And I'll do what I can to see that this Galaxy is a little better for my daughter."
Saavik had taught Spock the depth and power of paternal instincts. And slowly, as Spock went from Captain to Commodore to Admiral, he could see his success mirrored in Saavik's eyes.
"What language did your grandmother speak, to call a knife, a saavik?"
McCoy blinked. "She was a Greenlander." He shrugged. "I understand her tongue more than I speak it. Why ask that after 14 years?"
"I never wondered until now." Spock told him.
McCoy's expression said he thought Spock shy of brain cells, but he didn't press it. In the low lumen of the cabin, he looked very tired and...wasted.
"Saavik may want you to stay on the Enterprise as her CMO." Spock spoke reluctantly. They had not exactly agreed to this decision about McCoy's future.
"May?" McCoy lifted an eyebrow. He knew what Spock meant by that. "In other words, you're telling her something she doesn't want to hear."
"Agreed."
McCoy sank back down in his chair, arm hooked around the back. "What's going on, Spock." He asked quietly. Levelly. "One on one. What's up?"
Spock set aside his empty plate. "Saavik was quite enraged when you and M'Benga disappeared. I permitted her the command of my flagship under the agreement it would be a testing ground for her. She has performed beyond my expectations."
"That's hardly surprising." McCoy snorted. "Any ten year old who can beat me at poker is destined for greatness." He grinned suddenly, despite the pain.
"I initially thought I would be able to leave the Empire a safer place for her...as you hoped to do with your own daughter. But Saavik is a warrior. And she will not stay in safe space."
"You think she'll be your successor?" McCoy didn't look up from his dinner as he said that. "Can't say that's a shock to me."
"I would like to give her that opportunity. But she refuses to command my ships unless you are there."
"Wh-a-a?" McCoy drawled in level astonishment. "She doesn't need me for anything! God! You'd think she'd want to stay away from me, as often as I pick at her! And what's that look supposed to mean?" The doctor demanded.
"What 'look'?" Spock wondered.
"You know what look I mean!" McCoy was getting really angry now. "You Vulcans. I'll *never* figure you out!"
Spock stroked his beard. "Perhaps you will someday." He murmured in an odd tone.
"God I hope not. It's hard enough trying to figure out women."
"In that we agree. I daresay all men have had that revelation." Spock rose to his feet, absently adjusting his heavy cloak. "And now that I am safe from a certain woman doctor's wrath, I must return to the Bridge."
**
Saavik had cleaned up after flaying ij-Red and had permitted the remains (sans skin) to be beamed down to the Borderworld with the terrified bodyguards. As they stepped up to the platform, fully expecting to be beamed into space, Saavik permitted herself a small, small smile and fingered the scar over her eye. Satisfied she had gotten her point across, she nodded for Kyle to beam them away.
"I daresay your legend will mushroom over this, captain." Kyle murmured from behind the console.
"That is to be desired." She murmured back.
Spock looked at her. "What, may I ask, will you do with ij-Red's skin?"
"I will return it to the Orion people...eventually." Saavik hadn't yet made up her mind on what to do with it...there were many possibilities.
"Saavikaam," Spock pitched his voice low, "The doctor knows of our disagreement."
"You told him then." Saavik accused.
"I reveal no secrets, Saavikaam." The two walked down the hallway. Saavik pulled her own cloak about her shoulders; the temperature aboard ship was rarely to her liking. "Most especially, I do not reveal secrets that were never offered to me." Her father lifted a droll eyebrow.
Saavik found herself flushing bronze. "I mean to keep no secrets from you, Spock."
"Perhaps you should." He advised. "Too much confidence would eventually lead to an erosion of trust, with one making the decisions for two." He paused and added, "You have been a proven adult for fourteen years. You do not need my permission to make your own life...professional *or* personal."
"Perhaps, but I will always desire your approval."
"You need not fear for that, Saavikaam." Spock stopped, hands clasped behind his back. "I am your father, after all."
Saavik colored until her scar turned emerald. "Then may I ask a question?"
"You may always *ask* Saavik. I cannot promise to answer all."
"Why do you always call Leonard "doctor?"
Spock stifled his amusement. "He knows I am aware that he dislikes his name."
"Why would he dislike it?"
"It is a hard name to live up to, Saavikaam. And while I think it fits him, his chosen identity is completely in medicine. Also, you might say I am accustomed to calling him "doctor" as he is in calling me "Spock."
"He also calls you "Captain Hardhead." Saavik reminded him.
"Considering the circumstances that spawned that nickname, I can hardly blame him."
Saavik sighed. "All of my life I have heard the two of you make reference to a past I know little about."
Spock did not--quite--smile, but he was clearly enjoying himself. "Perhaps you should...speak to Leonard about those days." He commented.
Saavik was done with blushing today. "Perhaps I should."
"Although you have not asked, may I offer some advice?"
Deeply suspicious now, Saavik folded her hands behind her, unconsciously imitating her father. "I would be honored."
"You may pull rank on a soldier, captain, so long as they remain a soldier. Do not think that you can control a man who refuses to acknowledge the superiority of rank. I will finish your watch on the Bridge, Captain." Spock serenely strolled away, his cloak flowing after him.
***
McCoy had managed to fall back asleep thanks to a serious slug of brandy and lying on his front. He'd finally felt the last of the 'plasing kick in, so at least the scars were painless now--just permanent, and he could feel its roughness against the mattress. It had been nearly six hours since he'd left Sickbay (and seven of his hours in Sickbay had been flat-out cold cocked), so he was starting to actually feel rested.
He didn't believe he was up to visitors, but Saavik had never needed permission to walk in his or Spock's cabin and she walked in at that moment.
"Are you asleep, Leonard?" Her soft voice wondered.
"Yes." He said into the pillow. "I'm deeply asleep. Can't you tell?"
"Truthfully, no." Saavik sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap. "Leonard, would you prefer to stay on the Enterprise with me?"
"Saavik..." McCoy finally lifted his head. "I'd be happier if M'Benga was taken to Vulcan instead of me. After seeing the way he was treated, it would be safer. Those crazy Empiricals think he knows your insides better than I do."
"It would be a simple deception." Saavik agreed. "Transferring him to Spock's staff would confirm their beliefs that he knows more."
"And make him damn hard to kidnap." McCoy added.
"But that still leaves you in some jeopardy."
"I'm comfortable with that." He said dryly. "I'm ENTERPRISE, remember? 'we the willing, led by the all-knowing, are doing the implausible for the impossible...'"
"'And we have managed so long, and so well," Saavik picked up the thread, "with so little and so terrible, we are now fully qualified to do anything with nothing.'"
"There you go." He was grinning now.
Saavik smiled. In private, she was far more open with her emotions. "How do you feel?"
"A lot better than I was." He confessed.
"Here." Saavik leaned forward and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He promptly went limp and fell facedown into the bed. "Take off your shirt."
"Turn the heat up first." He mumbled. Since coming back, he felt like a Vulcan with the base temperature frigid at 70F.
Saavik returned and began massaging. At first he took longer to relax because the scar tissue was thick and unfamiliar; he could feel it scrape against Saavik's hot skin. But gradually he felt the knots and tensions work away and let his eyes drift shut again.
Saavik was by now as familiar with humans as she was with Vulcanoids, but the differences of species always interested her. McCoy's muscles were shorter than Spock's, the body designed to be comfortable with a poisonous and corrosive high-oxygen atmosphere. While humans lacked the ability to match Vulcans in most activities, their talents were in adaptation. If a human were to spend several generations on Vulcan, for example, they would learn to compete on an equal level in short order.
Saavik never ceased to be amazed that the man who complained of Vulcan's heat could fling himself wholeheartedly into the humid oven of his home region. Heat did not bother Vulcans; moisture did. And then just as quickly, he could become almost childlike in the presence of snow. Saavik had encountered snow for the first time on her eleventh year, and it had been an amazing experience.
M'Benga had the worst of it; Leonard was right about that, but ij-Red had not neglected his punishment either. Saavik's lips tightened into razor wire as she examined the pattern of salt-toughened scars over the back. It was her Vulcanoid nature to desire revenge, and a very deep part of her was ashamed she had not acted properly. She should have done more than just kill ij-Red, but her anger had not quite carried her past the knowledge of Leonard's anger if she had indulged herself. She ran her fingertips over the longest silvery line, paused, and did so again.
McCoy was thinking (drowsily) that she had accomplished the massage a long time ago. Now her hands were just running over the same areas. A few more minutes passed as he began to drift off again...then the little warning bell began to chime in his mind. He didn't know why it was ringing, but he knew to listen to it.
He lifted his head up and rolled over. "Saavik, thanks," was on his lips but words died away entirely when he caught the look on her face.
(Oh, no.) A brief stab of panic hit him. (Oh, no. Not this.)
"You are displeased?" Saavik had let him roll over, but she hadn't moved her hands and they were now resting on his chest.
He searched for the right answer. "I'm...very surprised." He managed. There was no change in her expression. "And...flattered..." Still no change. "But I...don't think it's a good idea."
"Why not?" She whispered.
"Saavik--!" McCoy fully intended to jump up, grab his shirt back, fling it on and either order her out or stamp out when she wouldn't listen. He knew she wouldn't listen. She never did.
She cut him off at the pass, and she had the leverage on her side. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Saavik V'Spock, get the hell off my chest!"
"Tell me why it is not a good idea." She insisted.
"You *know* why, you little--" Suddenly a lot of nicknames had become obsolete. "Martinet." He finished lamely. That was not the best he could do. "Can you at least let me breathe so I can properly yell at you?"
"Tell me why." Saavik persisted. She looked and sounded exactly like she had eight years ago when he told her she could not help him assist in a surgery.
"I'm old enough to be your father!"
"Age is irrelevant between two different species." Saavik reminded him.
"Maybe to you it isn't." Oh, hell. McCoy felt an avalanche of thought crash over him: This was blatant cradle-robbing; Spock would throw him out of an airlock, and what about fraternization? Sweat was suddenly beading down his face.
"When I was terrified of the Pon Farr, Spock told me I need not fear it from my Romulan heritage. But you told me it meant I was free to choose whoever I wanted."
"Saavik," He felt sick at the weakness of his protest. "For gods' sake, I helped raise you!"
"Spock is my father. You are not." Saavik said in a thin voice. "Do you think I did not know my own mind?" She reached up to rest her fingers in his hair. "I stopped being a child four summers after Spock found me." She reminded him. "Do you think I am misguided?"
Leonard felt too weary to deal with this effectively. "Yes." He said flatly.
"Let me defend myself then. When I was ten summers old and frightened, you looked over my shoulder and mouthed to Spock that he should offer me his hand. I wanted Spock to be my father and Spock wanted it too. But neither of us knew how to make that be. You were the one who taught him how to think of my feelings and explain what my future would be. You never treated me as if I were a curiosity or a mistake. Spock taught me how to be a warrior; how to kill and how to command.
"You taught me how to look for messages in another's eyes, to read contraidictions in my enemy's words and accept no limitations in myself. When I hurt myself, which was often, you asked me if I had learned anything. Spock taught me strategy and you taught me how to bluff at cards. When I was cold in the Sickbay you gave me your own shirt and I wore it for days, trying to figure out what kind of warrior you were from your Legion of Honor badge. And above all, Leonard, you told me I had a good name." Saavik swallowed fiercely. "I am the Knife, not the Wretch, because of you."
Flushed from her confidance, her fingers spread over his face, circling the thickened scar. "Leonard, I know my own mind. I ask that you accept me."
The meld points prickled at her fingertips. All he had to do was give permission and she would be open even more bare than her words had left her. He cringed away. "You...have really taken me by surprise."
"After fourteen years, it is high time." Saavik declared.
He felt himself smile at that. "Stubborn, aren't you?"
"I had the best teachers."
"No, you were born stubborn. We just...honed your edge to a fine point."
Saavik leaned close and touched her lips to his. "Thank you." She said against the soft skin. It pleased her to feel no more resistance. This close, a meld with fingers was not needed; it flared on its own. He gasped in surprise and they both fell into each other's thoughts.
Saavik had several advantages, not the least being she had been prepared for this a long time while McCoy was still trying to absorb the shock. Her silk captain's shirt rubbed between her breasts and his chest; she felt the lump of his dogtags that hung on the chain around his neck and ran her hands down his ribs. She stretched her body completely over his and explored his thick hair again while their tongues met and stroked together. His arms went around her slim waist and pulled tight, ran over her thin shoulderblades and pushed down incessantly. She let him go reluctantly.
"I swear I'm not going to run away." He lifted his eyebrow at her. "Simmer down. I know Vulcans like it fast and hard but not Humans. And if you really want to be involved with one..."
Saavik collected her breath. "I await your orders." She did not hide her smirk.
"Can I have that in writing?" He wanted to know.
His hands were cooler than hers but still warm as they wandered over her skin. She began to undress but he stopped her and did the task himself, unveiling her an inch at a time and kissing what he uncovered. Leonard was right; Humans were different in her experience but she found *nothing* wrong in the differences she was discovering. He was patient and focused and ignored the chatter of her mind against his as he became familiar with her skin, her taste and texture. And when he finally pulled her into his arms, she felt as though they had been lovers for years.
***
Saavik's communicator chirped. She fumbled awkwardly for it, aware that Leonard had somehow gotten up and dressed without waking her and was pouring juice into a glass with a bland expression on his face.
"Saavik here." She struggled to both wake up, listen to her device, and decipher Leonard all at the same time. Leonard appeared to be laughing at her.
*My apologies for disturbing you, Saavikaam.* Spock's baritone floated over the air. *We will be approaching Vulcan Space in fifteen point three two minutes. Do you wish to give hail?*
Saavik pondered. "Yes, thank you for alerting me. I will see you on the Bridge. Saavik out."
Leonard snickered. "You do that rather well. 'Saavik out'"
"I have had three months to practice at being a captain." Saavik pointed out. Then she completely ruined her stance by adding: "I am not a child any more."
"Mmmn, no, that you aren't." He smiled and lifted his glass in a toast. "Thanks for convincing me. Otherwise you never wouldha' gotten past the base."
"Spock warned me about your paternal instincts." Saavik took the glass and gulped its contents. "I must use your shower."
"I hope, after last night, you aren't asking permission." The doctor unwrapped a concentrate bar and chewed on it as the sounds of water escaped the small room. So, Spock knew, did he. That certainly changed some factors. In record time Saavik was back out, gleaming, and shrugging into her uniform. "I'm going to see to Kwelli while you and Spock are renewing family ties with the whole damn planet."
Saavik paused. "What of you?" She wondered.
"What about me?" He wanted to know.
"Will you stay on the Enterprise or go to Vulcan with Spock?"
Leonard sighed. "Do you realize neither you nor Spock gave me a choice in the matter?" He shook his head. "So now you're asking. Better late than never, I suppose."
Saavik belatedly remembered Spock's words about rank. He had been talking of Leonard, not in generalities. "I am sorry."
"Don't be. I'm Enterprise, Saavik. I stay here. Spock doesn't need me, and M'Benga needs a good long rest. Besides," some of McCoy's familiar acid was returning, "*HE* likes that dratted desert."
"I will tell Spock." Saavik breathed her relief and smiled.
"Why bother? He already knew, if he knows his moody humans."
"You may be right."
"I'm nearly always right." Sensitive to Saavik's sudden dive into uncertainty, he leaned over the table and kissed the tip of her nose. "G'wan. I'll see you in the Briefing Room. Long live the Empire, and all that jazz."
"Later, then." Saavik returned his kiss with some of her old confidence and he smiled. She whirled her Officer's cloak about her shoulders and let it flow past her back as the door swished shut behind her. It was, McCoy thought, a damn good way to make an exit.
THE END
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