[Prompt] Family - 1,054
Rating: PG
Summary: Spock is born.
A/N: Focuses more on Amanda, because, well, newborns aren't all that chatty.
Amanda found it a pity that she could not enjoy the one place on Vulcan where emotion ran freely as she was swiftly wheeled down the hallway, the cries of infants and the pained grunts of Vulcan women in her ears. Similar noises came from her own mouth as another contraction wracked her body, causing her to clutch at the sheets of the bed. The nurses around her made no move to comfort her as they rolled her into a private room, going about their work quickly and efficiently. The woman closed her eyes and tried to remember every meditation lesson she had ever been given, attempting to take deep breaths even as her muscles cramped again.
“You must calm down,” was the first thing she heard the doctor say, and it took every bit of her willpower not to shriek at him. She bit her lip fiercely, remembering that it would be detrimental to her husband’s position if it was found out that his wife began screaming curses at a medical professional, whatever the situation. She wished desperately that he was here, here to see his child being born, to hold his wife’s hand as she cried, to give her comfort- all things that were near impossible for a Vulcan to do. Sarek was at his office, working as if today were any ordinary day; it was doubtful that he had even gotten word of her labor yet. It made no sense to a Vulcan for him to stop work simply because a child was being born; he was not a doctor, and had no physical part in bearing the child. It was more reasonable for him to stay at his work, providing a living for his wife and the future addition to the Vulcan race.
She blinked back tears, wishing that one of the nurses would feel a stab of pity and take her hand. They simply waited on the edge of the room, however, as the doctor moved up her skirt and studied the situation. Another contraction wracked her body and she tried not to scream in both pain and terror. Unbidden, the memories of conversations on the uncertainty of a hybrid pregnancy came to mind. Statistics whirled through her mind, likelihood of survival, of deformation, of stillbirth, all preying upon her doubts in her moment of pain. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the doctor commanded her to push.
Time labored on for hours. An epidural shot gave her some semblance of mind again, but her body seemed unwilling to release its burden. There were talks of surgical procedures over her bed, and she could not even find the energy to yell at them for being unfeeling. She had thought she was over that, comfortable with the way the Vulcan mind worked, but now she found all she wanted was another human face, a smile and a gentle word. Amanda let out a wordless growl instead and pushed harder.
The sound of surprise in the doctor’s voice was almost worth all the pain, especially as he began to anxiously tell her to stop. But there was no stopping, not now, she had found the edge and pushed past it, and this child was going to come into the world, whether the doctor was ready or not. She gritted her teeth and tuned him out, focusing all her power on her body’s task. The world was nothing but pain and muscle for a long period of time, and then suddenly everything relaxed, allowing her to slump back against the bed.
She dimly began to realize that the room was deadly quiet. She jerked up again, heartbeat speeding to a frantic pace. “Where is my baby?” she demanded, ignoring the fact that her head was reeling. The doctor blinked at her owlishly, confused by her intensity. He carefully offered her a small form, motionless in the blankets it had quickly been swaddled in. Amanda quickly cradled it in her arms, eyes widening in fear as she looked downwards at the small face. Two dark eyes returned her gaze, pale eyelids blinking over them calmly, as if wondering why she was so anxious.
The first thing she felt was elation as unadulterated relief washed through her, followed by a fierce spark of love for this tiny being in her arms. Then the loneliness came back in a wave, as she realized that the babe made no noise or expression, simply staring up at her from its blankets. She choked back a sob; here in a Vulcan world, the one other being who had human blood, who might know what it was like to feel, showed no emotion even after the trauma of birth.
When the doctor returned to take the child again, she let him, sinking back into the pillows and misery. As the infant left her, a sudden, sharp wail filled the room, panicked and demanding all at once. Every instinct she possessed as a woman sent her to her feet, ignorant of any lingering pain or exhaustion. She had the child back in her arms before even she knew what she was doing, holding him tightly against her chest. She ran worried fingers over his cheeks, which were now mottled with an unhappy flush. The babe took a deep breath, threatening to scream again, before noticing his change in position and quieting, tiny pink lips pressing together in satisfaction.
Amanda laughed, then, startling everyone in the room even more, rocking her tiny son back and forth. She wanted to cry out in joy, yell for the entire planet to hear that her son loved her. They would not understand, and that was their greatest loss, but she knew it, more sure of it than she was of her own heartbeat. Cold, unfeeling logic told her that she was likely never to hear the words from her son’s mouth, not when he was raised on a planet such as this, but she realized now that she would never need to; she had that cry to echo in her memory, and even after the years of training he would be subjected to, the cool voice of reason clamped over his heart, that it would still be there, a tiny spark burning in the part of him that was and would always be human.
Summary: Spock is born.
A/N: Focuses more on Amanda, because, well, newborns aren't all that chatty.
Amanda found it a pity that she could not enjoy the one place on Vulcan where emotion ran freely as she was swiftly wheeled down the hallway, the cries of infants and the pained grunts of Vulcan women in her ears. Similar noises came from her own mouth as another contraction wracked her body, causing her to clutch at the sheets of the bed. The nurses around her made no move to comfort her as they rolled her into a private room, going about their work quickly and efficiently. The woman closed her eyes and tried to remember every meditation lesson she had ever been given, attempting to take deep breaths even as her muscles cramped again.
“You must calm down,” was the first thing she heard the doctor say, and it took every bit of her willpower not to shriek at him. She bit her lip fiercely, remembering that it would be detrimental to her husband’s position if it was found out that his wife began screaming curses at a medical professional, whatever the situation. She wished desperately that he was here, here to see his child being born, to hold his wife’s hand as she cried, to give her comfort- all things that were near impossible for a Vulcan to do. Sarek was at his office, working as if today were any ordinary day; it was doubtful that he had even gotten word of her labor yet. It made no sense to a Vulcan for him to stop work simply because a child was being born; he was not a doctor, and had no physical part in bearing the child. It was more reasonable for him to stay at his work, providing a living for his wife and the future addition to the Vulcan race.
She blinked back tears, wishing that one of the nurses would feel a stab of pity and take her hand. They simply waited on the edge of the room, however, as the doctor moved up her skirt and studied the situation. Another contraction wracked her body and she tried not to scream in both pain and terror. Unbidden, the memories of conversations on the uncertainty of a hybrid pregnancy came to mind. Statistics whirled through her mind, likelihood of survival, of deformation, of stillbirth, all preying upon her doubts in her moment of pain. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the doctor commanded her to push.
Time labored on for hours. An epidural shot gave her some semblance of mind again, but her body seemed unwilling to release its burden. There were talks of surgical procedures over her bed, and she could not even find the energy to yell at them for being unfeeling. She had thought she was over that, comfortable with the way the Vulcan mind worked, but now she found all she wanted was another human face, a smile and a gentle word. Amanda let out a wordless growl instead and pushed harder.
The sound of surprise in the doctor’s voice was almost worth all the pain, especially as he began to anxiously tell her to stop. But there was no stopping, not now, she had found the edge and pushed past it, and this child was going to come into the world, whether the doctor was ready or not. She gritted her teeth and tuned him out, focusing all her power on her body’s task. The world was nothing but pain and muscle for a long period of time, and then suddenly everything relaxed, allowing her to slump back against the bed.
She dimly began to realize that the room was deadly quiet. She jerked up again, heartbeat speeding to a frantic pace. “Where is my baby?” she demanded, ignoring the fact that her head was reeling. The doctor blinked at her owlishly, confused by her intensity. He carefully offered her a small form, motionless in the blankets it had quickly been swaddled in. Amanda quickly cradled it in her arms, eyes widening in fear as she looked downwards at the small face. Two dark eyes returned her gaze, pale eyelids blinking over them calmly, as if wondering why she was so anxious.
The first thing she felt was elation as unadulterated relief washed through her, followed by a fierce spark of love for this tiny being in her arms. Then the loneliness came back in a wave, as she realized that the babe made no noise or expression, simply staring up at her from its blankets. She choked back a sob; here in a Vulcan world, the one other being who had human blood, who might know what it was like to feel, showed no emotion even after the trauma of birth.
When the doctor returned to take the child again, she let him, sinking back into the pillows and misery. As the infant left her, a sudden, sharp wail filled the room, panicked and demanding all at once. Every instinct she possessed as a woman sent her to her feet, ignorant of any lingering pain or exhaustion. She had the child back in her arms before even she knew what she was doing, holding him tightly against her chest. She ran worried fingers over his cheeks, which were now mottled with an unhappy flush. The babe took a deep breath, threatening to scream again, before noticing his change in position and quieting, tiny pink lips pressing together in satisfaction.
Amanda laughed, then, startling everyone in the room even more, rocking her tiny son back and forth. She wanted to cry out in joy, yell for the entire planet to hear that her son loved her. They would not understand, and that was their greatest loss, but she knew it, more sure of it than she was of her own heartbeat. Cold, unfeeling logic told her that she was likely never to hear the words from her son’s mouth, not when he was raised on a planet such as this, but she realized now that she would never need to; she had that cry to echo in her memory, and even after the years of training he would be subjected to, the cool voice of reason clamped over his heart, that it would still be there, a tiny spark burning in the part of him that was and would always be human.