Chapter Text
Spock sat by the counter, sunlight filtering in through the windows in the roof, illuminating the steam rising in delicate white scrolls from the spout of the teapot in front of him. It was an old Vulcan artefact, one he had carried with him from one end of the universe to the other, and back again. Spock waited for the leaves to steep. His hands rested, at ease, in his lap, cradled by the soft fabric of his house robe.
For the space of a single breath, there was perfect serenity.
A stone hit the surface of the lake.
Spock’s hands grasped the edge of the counter, shaking hard. He gasped, head bowed, eyes closed. One hand flew out, as if in response to a sudden attack, knocking the empty teacup to the floor. It shattered on the wooden boards, the sound ugly against Spock’s ragged breathing. He rose, and fell, clutching his side against an unseen assailant, crying out.
A sound of sheer agony tore through the still air.
“Jim!”
He knelt, body curled in on itself, the world unknown to him except for that encompassing pain. Jim was gone. Gone. Not just from the apartment, where he had not been for several days now, but from—everywhere. From everything. Jim was gone.
The sunlight had turned to darkness before Spock could move again.
He raised his head, flat gaze taking in their home. Jim’s jacket, by the door, which no longer fastened but which he loved too dearly to ever give away. On the sofa, all the brightly-patterned cushions and throws which Jim had insisted added an element of comfort to their home. Jim’s favourite mug, on the shelf – an antique, printed with a symbol used by an early human space exploration agency. In every corner, every line, every mote of dust in the air, Jim was there. This was a home because Jim lived in it.
Had lived in it.
Spock realised he had forgotten to breathe. He drew breath with some difficulty, forcing himself to focus on that, and only that, for several long minutes. His heart continued to beat, and he did not understand how.
Jim was gone.
Eventually, as the sun once more began to take its place in the sky, Spock stood. He moved mechanically around the apartment. He emptied the teapot of its cold contents, and swept up the broken shards of ceramic on the floor. He disposed of the fresh ingredients that Jim had always insisted were superior to their replicated counterparts. He closed the windows against the world, and put on his travelling robe. A few items went into a bag, and then Spock walked out of the apartment that was no longer home.
To those he passed in the street, he appeared unchanged, quiet and contemplative, his expression unreadable. For the first time in his life, his inner world felt just as blank and empty as so many humans had always thought it must be.
Jim was gone.