Work Text:
“Come.”
The door to her quarters opened and she saw Spock standing just outside.
“Spock, come in,” she said wearily, as he stepped inside. “Look,” she told him after the door had swished shut. “I shouldn't have said that to you, earlier. I know you were just trying to help.”
“Although you invited me, I came in order to apologize,” he said to her.
“Spock, stop apologizing,” she said flatly. “You're always apologizing.”
“Rather than attempting to understand what you experienced,” he continued. “I should have simply offered to be there for you. To ask what you need.”
“Um,” she started to tell him, trying to not be overwhelmed with emotions coming to the surface. “I was actually going to apologize to you, for, uh, kind of forgetting that you're also Vulcan,” she said, drawing her hands together and twisting her fingers anxiously.
“You, also, must stop apologizing,” he said to her, a determined look on his expression. “I say that as your...friend,” he went on. “There is still much for us to learn about the other.”
She laughed and fought the urge to wipe at the corner of one eye as she felt a bit misty. “This is the part where I usually drown my sorrows or hop into bed with someone that doesn't ask a lot of questions.”
“I will not ask a lot of questions,” he told her. “And I am not here to hop into your bed.”
“I know,” she said, starting to smile, then took a deep breath. “That's kind of the whole problem.”
He contemplated her words and then took a few steps forward and put a hand on her shoulder, as she looked at his touch and then up into his eyes. Waiting.
When he didn't say anything, she continued searching his eyes, then said. “There were children at J'Gal. I held them in my arms. Tried to put them back together, but...how do you do that?”
She paused, and shrugged, although his hand still stayed in place, until something inside her moved, and came loose, she felt tears start to slip down her face as she wiped them away, feeling her face get hot, embarrassment mixed with anger.
“The answer is, you don't,” she continued. “They don't make it, and a part of you doesn't, either.”
So much anger. So much death.
So many people to cry for, and not wanting to cry at all.
How were there any tears left to cry?
“I don't think I can-” she started to say to him, holding her hands up between them. “I'm not good at this, Spock.” She looked down and away, at the floor, her eyes searching, for somewhere else she could go, where she could still keep running-
Why wasn't he running away from her?
“Say something!” she told him suddenly, staring up into his eyes, as she gave a heaving sob. “You can't just stand there and be quiet, and-”
He stepped closer to her, and put his arms around her, carefully, and drew her against him. It pulled a sound out of her that felt startling and almost unfamiliar, but it was her, sobbing against him, letting something go. It was like it was draining her, like laying there in the MedBay on support systems and watching yourself from outside of your body, until she felt herself shaking and drew back from him, wiping her face with the palm of her hand, afraid to look back up at him.
What was she doing to him? He's half Vulcan and she's making things worse.
She's just making things worse.
He let go of her, and walked away, a good decision, she thinks. Waits for the sound of the swish of the door.
Instead, she hears him programming the replicator, glances over as it produces a glass of water, watches him return to her and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him, sucking back snot and then taking a sip of it. Then she stared at the wall, and tried to think of something else to say, as he eventually took away the empty glass.
But there was nothing to say, and anyway, her mind had gone blank.
She remembered to blink, and another tear splashed down her cheek, and this time, it was wiped away by his thumb and she looked up into his eyes and saw him watching her.
“Human displays of emotion,” she joked. “It's a lot for you, I'm sure.”
He didn't say anything to her, just pursed his lips in acknowledgment as took his hand away from her face, as she reached out to clasp it, suddenly afraid now that he really would go, and held it between hers.
“Stay?” she asked him, raising her eyebrows.
Then she intertwined her fingers between his and lead them over to the edge of her bed, and sat down on the end, drawing him to sit down beside her.
They made eye contact briefly as she leaned her head against his shoulder, and just rested there, letting herself lean on him, solid beside her.
Feeling her eyes start to get heavy, stirring lightly when she felt him laying her back on her bed, she seemed so heavy. Arranging her carefully on it over the top of the blanket, and her waking slightly at the sound of him attempting to arrange a pillow under her head.
“Stay,” she said to him again, meeting his eyes, as he worked through it in his mind.
Then he slowly sat down on the bed next to her, swinging his legs over and quietly lying next to her and watching her, then offering his arm beneath her head, as she curled her body against his, always so much warmer than anything else, and laid her head on his chest.
The gentle pressure of his hands on her scalp, lightly touching her hair. Such a comforting gesture.
She imagined his mother doing that to him, when he was a child.
She imagined touching their heads. The children of J'Gal. Saying goodbye to them one by one.
And then she finally drifted off to sleep.