Vulcan, 2272

Ten was an unusually late age to take the Kahs-Wan, but then Saavik was an unusual child. Skidding down a dune with light brush growth, she evaded the keen scenting abilities of some lemataya cubs. The long night of survival was nearly done.

Born on Hellguard, the half-Romulan was striving to make her time among the best ever, so as not to embarass Sarek. Breaking open a rough-skinned Plataala tree, Saavik drank quickly of its stored water, and ignored the cuts on her hands.

Now, she sighted the edge of the ritual boundaries. As she had prayed, a man stood with Amanda. She couldn't make him out, but the tunic was powder blue, and he had a calm, regal stance. It was him. It had to be him.

Her time was good. In fact, it was very good. But one last burst of distance run would put her over the top. She knew she could do it, because she knew Spock could do it. She would find a calm, logical way to tell him all this when she saw him, for surely it was Spock who awaited her with Amanda.

Her legs ached. Her lungs burned, and her heart missed beats. But none of that mattered. Saavik honestly couldn't say why she always wanted to please the distant Spock. It was a promise she had heard someone swear to in a dimly lit, half-remembered dream. It was a feeling of connection. It was what drove her, and kept her going when things seemed at their worst. It was the love of a child for its father, even when that father was unacknowledged.

At last, she met with the boundary, and the time-keeper allowed her the status of best time ever, even with her age factored in. Then Saavik saw the man in the blue tunic--and her victory suddenly meant absolutely nothing.

"I'm so sorry, Saavik. He couldn't make it. But I'm here. Aren't you glad to see me?"

For now, Saavik stifled her tears. The man before her was dear to her. He was a great man, and one who always was there for her, giving better than his best solely because he loved her. But for all those pluses, James Kirk simply wasn't Spock. He couldn't be, for no else was Spock.

"Of course I am pleased to see you, Uncle Jim. But I am tired, and would like to go back home. May we do so now?"

Amanda was heading briefly to market, and so went on in one of the two transports they had taken. Jim took his adopted daughter and headed back to Sarek's house. Once there, he stopped and turned to Saavik. Kirk opened up his arms, and she ran into them, sobbing as he knew she would. This time, he had decided not to insult her with Spock's vague excuse. Holding her was equal parts joy and pain, for it reminded Jim of his sons. One was unaware of his existence, mostly. The other--was dead, killed in the night, his body never found.

"Uncle Jim--why doesn't he like me? I've tried so hard to be a good Vulcan. I show a great deal of restraint. How have I displeased him?" Kirk had no explanation. He couldn't know how his friend's pain was crippling him, in the matter of Saavik.

"He likes you, Saavik. He's just a bit hard to figure, is all."

"Promise you will never leave me, Uncle Jim? Please."

The qualities Saavik so loved in the father would one day be among those she loved in the son, who was not dead, but merely awaited her kiss to awake. Still, neither Kirk was Spock, and again, never could be. Only Spock was Spock. Jim answered the tender query.

"Of course I'll never leave you, honey. After all, I'm your 'Daddy'. And you have to know that, no matter how far away he is, your Daddy loves you, best of all."