Author's Note: I do not own Star Trek, or any recognizable characters, locations, etc. They all belong to Gene Roddenberry (the writers of all episodes and films referenced) and Paramount Pictures, and my playing with the characters is not intended as disrespect for the characters or the actors that give them life.

The title comes from the following: The Triangular Theory of Love, which consists of intimacy, passion, and commitment, along with the term gravitation, which I reference the definitions of "the act or process of moving under the influence of attraction; the natural phenomenon of attraction between physical objects."

The story begins near Spock's fal tor pan (re-fusion of his body and katra) in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.

Triangular Gravitation

Prologue

~Vulcan~

Ever since his death, she could not sleep. Nothing could offer her comfort or distraction. The only time she could sleep was when her body demanded it in order to recover from the exhaustion to which she had driven herself. Voices did not comfort her, the sounds of the planet did not comfort her. Her husband did not comfort her. His Vulcan features only made her remember that her son was dead.

Her son was dead.

Lady Amanda walked through her home as quietly and slowly as the darkness descended on the moonless planet she had called home since marrying Ambassador Sarek. The house was silent. Her home had never been a noisy environment anyway, but once there was silence for so long, a single sound would be deafening. Even when Spock was a child he would sit outside quietly with her while he was reading something related to his schooling that Amanda could not believe he could understand as she tended the plants.

Ever since her husband and son stopped speaking to each other, her son very rarely visited home. It was too painful an event not only for herself, but for both of her husband and son. The tension was firmly in place between the two men. The conversation was halted and clipped. On Spock's rare visits home Amanda had solid evidence against the widespread belief that Vulcans had no emotions. On his last visit home, she had spoken to her son. He informed her that he believed it brought her too much pain for him to visit, and that he would not return until his father was ready to speak to him about the tensions between them. Amanda remembered what she told him.

"Spock, your visit is only painful because you and your father are too stubborn to speak to each other."

"Mother," he began, only to be interrupted by her.

"But you must understand that if the joy of seeing you means I must deal with the pain of watching my husband and son unable to speak as they once did…I can accept that."

"Mother, I do not wish to cause you pain. It is clear that coming home causes my father pain. To remove it, it is obvious that I must not come home."

Amanda's expression turned horror-stricken. "Are you saying that you will not ever come home again?"

Her son remained stoic in face, but his dark eyes were practically screaming at his mother. "I cannot so long as it hurts you." Spock looked down then he turned and was about to walk away.

"Spock," Amanda called. Spock stopped and faced her. Amanda took a step forward. "You can always come home when your father is away. Not seeing you would hurt me more than what has been happening when you've come home."

Spock nodded. "To come home whenever my father is away is disrespectful to him. There are also many variables left to chance in your proposal. My duties in Starfleet would not permit me to return whenever my father is away. There is also the possibility that I would be available for leave only when my father is not away."

Amanda held up her hand to try to stop Spock from speaking. He did. When she looked up at her son, she knew her eyes held tears. "Spock…"

Spock came to her, but did not touch her. "Mother." He looked at her intensely for a long moment. When he spoke his tone was surprisingly gentle. "Would it please you if I were to frequently communicate with you in other ways?"

Amanda sighed her answer. "Yes."

Spock nodded. "Then, I will com you when my duties allow. Will that satisfy you?"

Amanda nodded and tried to smile. "Yes."

Spock tilted his head as he looked at his mother. "And yet you are crying."

Amanda looked up at Spock, knowing that her eyes had begun to release tears. "They're happy tears, Spock."

Spock raised an eyebrow just like his father. "A strange human trait to cry when one is happy."

Amanda smiled at her son's studious face.

But now, her son was dead and her tears were far from happy. She was told by Sarek that Captain Kirk was currently attempting to recover her son's body. But Amanda wanted her son…alive…and it could not be.

Then, she heard it. A gentle sound that had been absent from her home for a long time, from before her husband and son began their silent dispute. It was a long-missed sound.

Amanda was brought out of her musing on her son and wandered out of her bedroom. As soon as she left the room, the sound was louder. She was able to discern from which room it came almost instantly. She was not sure if her grief was playing tricks on her, and so she approached the room slowly and carefully. It was her son's childhood room. She stopped just near the doorjamb and listened.

She heard the sound continue, though it stopped occasionally. She thought she heard a sniffle, but was not sure if it was her own. Was it Sarek? Could he possibly be showing his grief for the death of their son with whom he had never reconciled? Was he finally showing emotion?

Amanda risked it, and she peered around the doorjamb. What she saw, she did not expect.

She saw the back of the Starfleet officer who was residing with them. This officer was responsible for beaming her fellow colleagues onto the Enterprise so that they could steal it in their unofficial mission. Then, Sarek had left Earth with this female officer and journeyed to Vulcan, in order to await Kirk's arrival with Spock's body, and to offer this woman protection.

The same woman that Amanda now watched holding her son's Vulcan lyrette as one would longingly and tenderly hold the memory of a lost friend, but stroking the strings as one would softly stroke the hair of a lover.

To be continued…

Thanks for reading! Please leave some feedback so I can see where I stand. If people are interested I'll keep going, but since I do not have this story quite on its feet yet, I would like to know what people think and if it's worth continuing. So, please let me know your thoughts. Thank you!