Sleep does not come for Vulcans as it does for humans. There is little logic in doing nothing for hours at a time, time which could be spent monitoring subspace frequencies, or finishing paperwork. And yet, Spock does not do "something." He is merely standing on Deck C, staring out the viewport into space and thinking, "There should be a planet right there," which is decidedly unelegant and characteristically straight to the point. The USS Enterprise is passing by the empty space Vulcan once inhabited, only one year ago. And though there is a hurricane of emotions threatening to destroy his very being, the people behind him, and the hand on his shoulder keeps him grounded.
Nyota keeps quiet. She knows full well the state he is in. He'd lashed out at her unfairly the first time she had tried to "make everything all right." She forgave him, but he never forgave himself for the outburst. That she is here now is a testament to her caring personality, and the strength of their friendship even after the deterioration of their relationship.
Leonard McCoy isn't happy to be here, per se. Spock's assault on the Captain has not yet been forgotten, and it certainly hasn't been forgiven. He has, however, since then accrued a certain amount respect from the Enterprise's CMO. After all, Spock's ability to keep one Jim Kirk alive is unparalleled, especially when considering that what the Captain calls "acceptable risk" really appears to be "attempted suicide."
Jim. It is his hand on Spock's shoulder, cool against the heat radiating from Vulcan skin. He is the only one of them "brave" enough to touch him, in many circumstances. It was Jim who saved him when he did not want to be saved. (He was instead hurtling towards the Narada in a ship that wasn't his but was, imagining what Nyota, his father, Jim, may do after he is gone.) It was Jim who ultimately convinced him to stay with Starfleet. It was Jim who was there when Nyota could no longer deal with his shields, his emotional isolation. It is in Jim that he finds a level playing field, a place where he is expected to be nothing other than who he is, and where he expects nothing less in return.
And so it is with Jim that he stares at the empty space where Vulcan should be, and is not ashamed of his grief, nor his inability to express it in a way that those around him would not view as mere indifference. Here, where all he was ended, and all he is still becoming began - here on the edge of everything - Spock is not afraid of losing control. He is safe, he is grounded.
"Thank you," he says simply, his voice soft, the words spoken barely above a whisper. He does not need to turn around to see Nyota's beautiful smile, nor to hear McCoy's quiet scoff. He does not need to turn to see Jim's face, lit by the light of a sun that should not be shining on empty space, but still smiling warmly. Nothing, Spock thinks, should ever seal away Jim Kirk's smile. He does not need to turn to verify any of these things. He turns anyway, and is home.
