A New World, 711 words. David/Saavik, PG.
David and Saavik look upon the new world inside the Genesis cave.
Set during The Wrath of Khan.
The Genesis cave was glistening and glimmering, as glorious and living as it always had been, right from its creation, as beautiful as it had been the first time David had entered the cave: valves upon valves; lustrous vegetation clinging to the walls; a pre-historic Eden. At the brink of the cliff stood Lieutenant Saavik, her alien face serene and as beautiful as the cave. Her hands rested in the small of her back, her posture rigid. David approached cautiously, as though his intrusion would turn her against him. She surveyed the scene as he carefully approached her.
'Thank you for saving me,' he said by way of greeting, biting his lower lip. Her face was a perfect silhouette against the upper rock face, illuminated by a man-made sun. Her eyebrow twitched.
'There is an ever-human propensity to constantly thank others for insignificant deeds. Would you not have done the same?'
She looked at him squarely, her eyebrow arched, her lips pursed. (Her lips very red, her skin very pale.) David tried to imagine saving her from Terrell's phaser shot, but his mind lingered at what the fabric of her uniform would feel like and what how he would feel, his fingers softly placed against her waist. Protecting her. The image was absurd.
'I wouldn't be able to.' He looked away. 'I've got four years of molecular biology studies, none in life-saving. I never went to the Academy.'
'Attendance at the Academy is not a preset for a sense of duty.'
'I'm a duty then, am I?' He grinned, hoping she would give the smallest smile in return, knowing that she would not. She did not answer, but looked sternly into the distance again. 'Are you hungry? Mum did tell me to get you food. And some for Dr McCoy, but he went back to, um – '
'Commander Chekov,' Saavik filled in. She looked at him again, cocked her head, questioningly. 'I assume that sustenance will consist of the yield of nature?'
'Yeah, yeah, it is. You're vegetarian, aren't you?' Suddenly, David was grateful for having actually paid attention in xenobiology class. 'It's all fruits and berries and stuff like that Come!'
He reached out and took her hand, as if he would lead her, a childish idea. Saavik's stance became, if possible, even more rigid and she tore from his grasp. Puzzled, he just stared at her. When she at last spoke, her voice was slightly darker than it had been before, and her words were more forced.
'You should not touch my hand.'
'I'm sorry?' He had clearly not paid enough attention in xenobiology class. Saavik looked at the view again as she collected her thoughts. She ran her tongue ever-so-slightly over her lips.
'What would you do if I were to kiss you on the lips?'
David could imagine it far too vividly and had to swallow a sigh.
'I don't know.'
'That is the case for me, too, when you touch my hand.' Her inflection was perfect, there was not a hint that it was he that was the issue – it was the touch.
'You didn't know what to do when I touched your hand? I don't get it. You, what, were surprised?' She looked at him, sharply. Whoever said Vulcans did not feel? He smiled in concession: 'To be fair, if you'd kiss me, I'd be surprised, too. At least to begin with.'
The last words were not meant to be spoken; they were an afterthought that David was barely aware of himself. Saavik kept her eyes upon him, her eyebrows slightly burrowed, clearly thinking. They stood so for a few moments, silent, looking at each other. One a figure of the perfect Vulcan, the other perfectly human. Then, David averted his eyes.
'I promised you food, didn't I?'
They worked in silence as they gathered a sizeable dinner for the five of them – Chekov was unaccounted for, considering his condition. David's fingers once accidentally brushed over Saavik's palm, but she didn't remark upon it. He might have imagined it, but he believed he saw the contour of a smile against her lips, anticipation in her eyes.