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That emptiness always lingered. It ebbed and flowed like the tides on Earth. Its only protector tugging at the waters. Some days it was dull enough though, dull enough to make it through the days and weeks. He put on his mask and made it through every shift. No bereavement. No real time to grieve.
It collected like rain droplets in buckets. Monsoonal some days. Those buckets were filling quickly, despite the dry spells as of late.
He sat in his room, desperately trying to hold it in, but the stitches were coming undone. He couldn’t keep himself hidden. He couldn’t repress any longer. The tears flowed from his eyes, collecting at his chin, and dropping onto his lap. Though he was alone he felt like he was being watched.
He rinsed off his face, ridding any sin of emotion left. While his eyes were still puffy and his nose was still stuffed he stood tall like nothing happened. There was work to be done. Lots of it.
No matter how much attention he held to his tasks, they felt far away. He couldn’t even say he was lost in thought; he was just lost. Tell him to go to his quarters and he would get there, but he wouldn’t be able to say how. There was nothing in his mind, just the fact that everything around him felt fake.
Standing on the bridge, with everyone around him, he should have been able to engage with the sensors, the lights, the voices. Everything was muted and mumbled. His hands were touching screens yet it didn’t feel like they were his. This body, whatever it was, was something else entirely. His mind was not attached to it, or anything.
What was the point of it all?
Spock?
Yes that was his name.
Spock?
The voice had no meaning. It wasn’t real.
Spock!?
He probably answered. Really he didn’t know if he did or not. He just continued his day. All the Universe around him muted and tunneled. None of this mattered.
At the end of the day he returned to his room. He didn’t bother with the lights; his mind was too exhausted. His bed was a comfortable anchor for him. His muscles relaxed, his brain lifted out of the fog.
Yet the overwhelming sadness gripped him once more. Those tears dripped down the sides of his head. His breath shuddered. He was lost again.
“Are you okay?”
He was able to make out the figure standing over him. Of course, he didn’t sound so concerned so maybe he’d stopped crying. Time didn’t matter anymore. It never felt like it was moving at the same pace anyway.
“I was just wondering if you were joining us all for Thanksgiving Dinner.” Jim placed a hand on Spock’s forehead. “It’s just not really like you to be in bed so early.”
His ability to answer truthfully shattered. He was preparing to tell Jim that he’d be there, just as always. It was an archaic Terran holiday that saw many iterations through the centuries, but at its heart he agreed with the sentiment. What Jim saw in it was their ability to spend time as a family, not as mere crew mates. He thrived on that aspect of his captainship.
It was also important for Spock to share in what meant most to Jim.
He was about to tell Jim that he’d attend, but the words didn’t form. He burst into a sob, his breath shuddering, his eyes unleashing a flood. He covered his face, not to hide it, but trying to control it. A wail escaped from his throat, despite his best efforts. His jaw clenched, but nothing came of it.
The mattress compressed as Jim sat next to him. Jim was a coolant, a rush of refreshment compared to his own hot breath. But his katra was so warm and gentle, a viscous honey that melted everywhere. It was sickly sweet at times, and during times like this it was what Spock needed.
There weren’t any words. None could be said. Jim sat with his arms wrapped around Spock’s shivering body and waited.
“Thank you,” Spock whispered. His voice was hoarse, and he was admittedly scared that he’d start uncontrollably crying again if he were to speak normally.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. Jim couldn’t do any of the things he desired most right now.
“I miss my mom.”
The way Jim wrapped his arms around him was the closest he ever felt to being in his mother’s arms once more. It wasn’t the cool touch of human skin. It was Jim’s unconditional love permeating his thoughts.