Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just thought that this would be interesting.
A/N: What would it be like? If Spock had been raised human, never knowing the Vulcan ways? It might have been something like this, I figure. Ha! I can write boy!Spock! Yeay me! And thank you to everyone who liked "Fish" so much! I was just writing on a dime.
*
"Where are you?" He whispered softly, her eyes closing as if to escape the sights she saw.
The rain fell in a torrent of unparalleled sorrow. It hit him everywhere. His shoulders ached with the force of the raindrops falling like shards of glass. The neat grass bowed before the storm's power, and Spock couldn't blame it. He too wanted to fold in half like a slight flower. But he couldn't.
The murmur of the priest reciting his mother's last rights filled his ears and overflowed. Today he was a cup too full. All he could see from the slits of his tired eyes was the dark wood box that held his mother as she was lowered into the earth.
Sixteen was too young to be alone.
There were only a few beside him at the grave. The few rare friends that his mother held close and the Vulcan man who stood at the back were the only testament that it really hadn't been Amanda against the world. She had had loved ones, friends. Her son hadn't ruined it all for her.
Spock clenched his hands in the deep pockets of his coat and hissed through his teeth as his long nails bit into the flesh of his palm. The sound didn't carry over the rush of the wind, and for that, he was glad. He already didn't like that he looked like shit in front of these people.
He opened his eyes to see the priest's final crossing and watched, heart broken, as the dirt began to cover his mother's box like a wet, uncomfortable blanket. He wondered if he'd get shipped to the Funny Farm if he threw himself down in the hole. He decided that it was likely from the wary look on the priest's face. He bowed his head and blinked his eyes as water fell from his thick bangs. He was soaked to the bone.
When the dirt lay level with the rest of the ground and people began to drift away, Spock stepped forward. He ruffled through his pockets, discarding the gum wrappers and lint, and slowly pulled out his prize.
The box was soggy, but it opened easily enough. He pulled out the wad of toilet paper and unwrapped it slowly. The glass birds felt like ice in his hands as he shoved the box and packing back into his pocket. His numb fingers fumbled as he knelt on the grave, his knees absorbing the chilly mud and grass chunks. With careful precision, he undid the tiny door on the top of the gravestone and slid the birds inside. They were kept safely out of the elements, and in the dark, the blues of their plumage seemed black. He wondered if they would look any less pitiful if it was sunny out.
Adjusting them some, he got them into position and stood, gently closing the door most of the way, but keeping it open a crack. Just in case they wanted out. He stopped himself, his eyes clenching shut and his breath rattling in his chest at the sight of them in there. He felt the tears well up and slide hotly down his cold face.
It would be alright, he chanted over and over.
The mommy bird and the baby bird were safe now. Nothing could hurt them.
He covered his mouth with his trembling hand and stood, turning to the man who had stayed behind with him.
Sarek felt his chest tighten to the point of uncomfortable as the child,
No, he corrected himself, the young man looked at him with eyes that shook him to his soul.
Dark eyes, wide with thick lashes and large circles. They looked black under the cast of the clouds, and he wondered if they weren't really brown. He had always wanted the child to have Amanda's eyes.
His child. He felt his chest get even tighter.
How could he have listened to her? Amanda had told him that she would be fine. He had listened, so cowed by the elders, so unaware of the bond. He had let her go, and in doing so, he had lost his wife, his partner, and his love.
And his child, his mind reminded him sharply. The thought was like glass to his frontal lobe and he almost winced.
His emotions were like a warring sea. Rising and falling, they burned like cold fire; barely restrained under his teachings. He wanted to speak, but could find no words to comfort the one in front of him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore the drop in temperature as the wind rate picked up speed.
What was he going to do?
"You, you're…Sarek, correct?" He asked slowly, forcing the words from his throat as he watched him retreat further into his thick looking coat. The wind picked up but he couldn't feel it, his face was already numb.
He didn't know if he could deal with this. Now, anyway.
He couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he felt…alright. Hole, and warm to his senses. He had met Vulcans before, but this one felt different. He wondered if it was because he had been close to his mother. He felt the sorrow hit him between the eyes like a bat and fought the urge to curl up.
"Yes."
The answer was without infliction and Spock nodded, already having figured as much.
"I assume you received my post."
"I did."
"I'm cold. I'm going to my craft…Would you like a ride to the place you're staying?"
He barely remembered to tack on the polite offering. Mother raised you better than that; his mind scolded him as he moved to shuffle past the older man. He couldn't find it within himself to feel bad about it. Mother was gone, after all.
That's no excuse! His mind screamed at him. Spock sighed and nodded in assent to himself as he walked past the other Vulcan. He moved to accommodate Spock and Spock jerked his head forward.
"It's over here."
Sarek followed him as they walked down the softly sloping hill of the burial ground. His shoulders were slumped and his walk slow. Sarek wonder if he was meditating well. It was…unlikely in the face of such anguish he was feeling, he decided as he watched his feet. He wanted to be certain of the ground before he step-
With a rush of slick grass and wet mud, Spock's feet went flying out from under him. In a frightening rush, he was sliding down the hill. The seat of his pants found resistance and he sat there as the world flew around him. He was now at the bottom of the hill.
The corners of his mouth tugged and as he though about it, his smile widened. He threw his head back and laughed, landing with his back on the ground and the rain hitting his face sharply. He heard Sarek hurry down behind him, on his feet mind, and he couldn't help it; he laughed harder.
His eyes clenched shut and for a moment, the world stopped. Spock always had had a strange sense of humor. His laugh bubbled around the silent hillside and Spock couldn't care. It shook his lean frame and his cheeks and head hurt by the time he stopped, out of breath and green faced. He gasped for breath and smiled wider at the blatant look of concern on the other's face.
His eyes hurt and he rubbed at them with his sleeve as he tried to lever himself up.
Sarek caught his soaking arm and tried not to look more worried. He gently pulled him to his feet and was thankful that he had remembered to wear his gloves.
He felt the weight of relief over his heavy heart and thanked Surak.
His heart had stopped when he had heard his son's squeak of astonishment moments before he went sliding down the incline on her bottom. He had raced down after him, uncaring of mud and such in the face of his ch-…him, being injured. He found him doing the illogical.
Why would he laugh?
He wondered why he had laughed so hard, but attributed it to the fact that he had been in desperate need of it in past days. Spock figured he would ignore it unless Sarek brought it up.
"Well, that was fun!" He exclaimed, adrenaline warring with the want for sleep. He started looting for his vehicle keys.
Spock motioned forward with a bare hand; long fingers covered in mud and stained a dark green color from him catching himself as he fell.
He might as well keep his offer of a ride.
Sarek wasn't looking too great.