He had no name. He knew only that he was and he cared for less. It was warm. It was safe. He desired no other, nothing more. He was. And he waited; putting on flesh inside that which nurtured.
This was right and this was home.
But as he put on Mind he grew ... restless. Reached out for the Other in which he grew and became frustrated. He sensed Her. Surely He was sensed in return? He reached out with his mind but encountered ... next to nothing; the dimmest of shadows. He kicked. And he heard laughter, sensed delight. So he kicked again, harder, and met dislike. He did not approve and sulked within her, knowing not what to do.
Daily he reached out for her, yearned for her, put on Thought and thought to share with her. But she was all but deaf to him. He sought to touch her with his Mind, caress and share but received only dimness, blunt emotion ... Love ... in return. He wanted more. There was More out there. He could sense it. But he was too far away. The flesh that encased him deafened them to his thought-words and made him dumb as her.
He ached to escape. Daily his home became tighter around him and he chaffed against it. His world was turning upside down. Touching but never touched. Caressed but never caressing in return. This baby was in distress within her long before he heard her scream as contractions pressed his head to something hard and muscles clamped down to expel him from Eden.
No baby yearned to be born as he yearned. He would make it easy for her. He knew not how but wished it with all of his heart. He had not disliked being inside her it was simply that he wanted ... more. More than Love. He wanted Thought. He greeted the light with glee. Gasped at sensing minds around him - far stronger now he was released from flesh. Felt hands upon him pulling him forth and reached out with his mind to those around him and let out a guttural scream as a knife cut through that which still bound him to his Mother. His cry was anguish. She was gone and Terror engulfed him. He'd felt them amputate her from him and in that moment realised that little of her he had touched and possessed was part of him; integral to him. Infant lungs filled with hot scorched air and the desperate wails of a baby filled the ears of those who stood in shocked attendance on its mother.
Vulcan babies do NOT cry. I cry for what I have lost. I am Alone. Separate.
I hear footfall and feel the approach of my father ... yearn for approval ... contact … with the superior mind I have sensed and longed for congress with. I hear his name, Sarek. He speaks.
"I had a thought .. that we might name the child after one of Vulcan's early Society Builders ... His name was Spock."
Listening to his voice my cries abate as I encounter ... hope. Perhaps Now is the Time of the Father as Then was the Time of the Mother? It seems to me the world holds its breath as I wait to discover if all is not lost.
"Mm. Spock." She pauses then repeats my name and smiles. "He has your eyes." And touches my ear. And I speak, eager for acceptance. I hear a laugh. "And your ears."
I sense amusement. I amuse?
A hand on my hand. A whisper from my mother only I can hear.
I am calming inside. I summon my resources to project Love to them both.
My Father's hand strokes my face. His mind to my mind. Touching and ever touched I gurgle my delight at him.
He pauses, then lifts his hand away from me.
I wail. Abject despair.
The first thought I encountered from the mind I sought the most was ... discomfiture with what I had chosen to project to him. "So emotional" I heard him say inside my head.
My mother holds me close and shushes me. I wish I could crawl back inside her.
My foremost thought is Regret at being born and a sense of my folly; too willing to relinquish that which I had in the forlorn hope of more. I must be more Rational in future. Weigh things more carefully. Protect what Love I have - even if it is little.
I am conscious of my fractured nature and the many ways in which I can fail.