Character(s)/Pairing(s) Spock, Amanda, no pairing
Genre Family/Grief
Rating G
Word Count 353
Disclaimer Star Trek c. Paramount, CBS, NBC.
Summary He never told her he loved her.
Warning(s) Spoilers for the eleventh movie in the Star Trek franchise.
Notes Last night this fic idea just kind of appeared to me and then wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. Pretty much put together with an observation from "The Naked Time" and the idea that even if this is an alternate universe, some things probably wouldn't be that different. Sorry if the ending is a tad weak, it's been a while since I had the luxury to write for myself.
Spoken
He had never told he loved her.
It was his first real breather since all the action started and refused to stop. Stars, planets, and space phenomena, flew by the observation window. He stood straight and clasped his hands behind his back. He tried to meditate in his room, but it was for naught. This was not the first time he sought out the observation deck. Space always helped him tuck the most stubborn of emotions into the appropriate drawers of his mind.
It echoed through his mind, this level of sorrow that seemed stronger than even the most basic level of Vulcan emotion. Yet, he knew he would not break. He could accomplish this. Even if he was half-human, Spock had every expectation that he could put his grief, his sorrow away properly just as his training allowed.
However, he had never told her that he loved her, not even in Vulcan.
His mind wandered from what he should be meditating on, on pacifying the torrent of emotions within himself. It did that frequently now, but that was only to be expected. Without Vulcan, he had to redirect his meditation, and he had yet to find an appropriate substitute.
Memories flooded him, some more painful than others. He almost told her many times. Many times, he thought he could tell her, but then he reasoned it would not be logical. Love was one of the most irrational of all emotions, so never did logic state that it would be appropriate.
However, when it was just them, she would run her fingers through his hair. It was such a gentle touch, a most illogical touch. Then he would lean into it and look up at her. It was so hard to keep his lips straight, but he could always tweak an eyebrow and relax his eyes. He would look up at her and she would smile her hidden, human smile. And he would feel at peace no matter what his troubles of the day were. Because she was his mother, he was her son, and there was love.
He just never told her.
End