In all of the years he'd been with her, Spock had seen the many sides of Nyota, the small peeks into her life that collected to form certain ideas in his mind, the countless times she'd surprised him with her exceptional ways, and after all of those moments spent at her side, he could finally say that he knew her, thoroughly and entirely.
He knew the exact pitch of her voice when she was stressed, memorized the comfort of her touch and the lines upon her skin, and could trace the marks on her body with his eyes closed. He was aware of her far more than he'd ever been aware of himself, and yet he could still be taken by surprise. After the birth of their daughter, she'd acted in a way he'd never seen, careful of handing their baby off to others and wary of how they cradled her in their arms, as if they could not be trusted to do so properly. She had kept vigil at their child's side, ever watchful, fatigue marring her features from the lack of adequate sleep, even though he'd tried time and time again to coax her into a fitful slumber.
Only when Nyota was alone with him did she ever let her exhaustion show, and it seemed to melt away whenever the baby needed attention. The maternal instinct was strong, and Spock realized that there was something he didn't know, after all, about his wife. After months of discovering new details, he realized that there was quite a bit that he didn't know, and so he set out to truly explore her. The routine he adopted was centered around her-watching her, following her, tracing her interactions and expressions, anything to understand more about this new way of hers, this motherly alteration.
And so, that was why Spock was watching her through the doorway, her lithe form softly padding across the lush carpet of the nursery room to where their girl was nestled in her crib. Nyota picked her up, gently murmuring endearments in her tiny, pointed ear, her long fingers cupping her head as she held the baby against her shoulder. She swayed back and forth, the movement starting in her hips and branching out from there, and he felt the sudden and inexplicable urge to smile.
This was his. His wife, his child, his family. His life was laid out before him in plain sight, such beauty wrapped within two people. He took a deep breath to quell the emotion that came to him and chose to watch her for a while longer, eyes following every curl of his daughter's fingers, every lift of Nyota's smile.
And then she began to sing.
It was a startling development, the silent atmosphere broken by the lilting notes of her voice, but a welcome one nonetheless, for it made his heart pound with both surprise and admiration. It was melodically soothing, the soft rise and fall, and he leaned against the doorframe, sighing to himself with contentment.
She rocked their child back and forth, safe within the confines of her warm, strong hold, and he knew that the notes drifting from her lips would soon become their child's lullaby, her heavy eyelids already falling closed.
Secretly, he hoped that she would never stop singing, and the corners of his lips turned up just a fraction, eyes wide and enamored with the slow, hypnotic movement of her lips as she sang those lasting, calming words.
Based off a prompt given by youandme-but-mostlyme over on Tumblr.
Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)
All rights go to their respectful owners.