By popular demand, Spock's POV during the previous incidents.

I don't own Star Trek.

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Red

The desert on Vulcan was red, a solid sea composed of individual grains of sand. It was impossible to identify a single grain, and track it through its motions on the heavy winds. The students, dressed in red, pressing together and shifting apart as they moved, a single organism made of many pieces, were vaguely reminiscent of the sand. It was, quite nearly, impossible to look out at them and identify a single cadet. The lines of ostentatious red blending together, seemingly seamless.

It was reminiscent of the defensive method of patterning evolved in zebras.

And yet…

And yet he could not help but memorize those lines, scrutinize them and identify them from any distance. He could not help but feel heavy-headed. He could not help but feel drawn to pick those lines out, like somehow they made an impression.

Like he'd turned his head.

… .. .

Green

It was an awful shirt. He had said nothing, when it first arrived, though he was the only to refrain from doing so. The color was, as the only redeeming factor, the only thing of interest. It held something of an importance in his culture and his life. Spock had not even thought of it, when he had been called to stand beside his betrothed. He had no reason to consider it, when he left. It had been another anomaly of human pranks that were of little consequence. But it was, undoubtedly, the only one he had in green.

Many messages came in the color of jade.

Jim knew, when he put that awful shirt on, exactly what kind of scene he was making. He knew Spock would see him at this stupid delegation party specifically interpreting his message in the only way it could be taken. And he could see, by her emotional reaction, that T'Pring knew as well.

In spite of his belief in his decision, Spock was hesitant to categorize the look in his eyes.

A look in his eyes that whispered "Please come back to me."

… .. .

White

It was unpleasant. And cool. And the air was disturbingly stagnant, the more he took it into consideration. He had not noticed, when he was kneeling in the sand, mind absent. Now, standing on the mountain, aware again of the world around him, he noticed there was only a faint breeze. As if to add to the chill, clouds were rolling in. He was surprised, seeing them in the desert at this time. It did not rain often. Indeed, only once on average every 11.13 years. So the inward bound clouds were unprecedented. Only McCoy was so disrespectful as to loudly voice his opinion on the weather. Everyone else was too enthralled.

Honestly, so was Spock, but that was highly irrelevant.

And Jim did look so very brilliant in that traditional garb, no matter how unpleasant it was.

The rain began to fall at the end of the ceremony. It was an auspicious sign, if not an utterly surprising one. Spock was less than thrilled for them to be soaked through entirely, their attire clinging and see through. Good omen or not.

Well, everyone did call them the perfect pair.

… .. .

Blue

It was illogical. Everyone else refrain from such actions and comments when he was present, but they agreed when they thought he was not observing. It was exactly the shade of blue used in Starfleet's science uniforms. Unsurprisingly, it was also the first captain's shirt issued in science blue. It was large, on the little body that fit so easily in his hands. He could only stare down in silent wonder. Wide little eyes stared back up, filled with a curiosity that promised years of trouble. Jim said he had his nose and chin. McCoy expressed exasperation at the general disregard of a small, pointed ear in his hand.

There were undeniable similarities between he and his son.

He could admit it was…pleasing.

And he watched as Jim bounced him on his knee with a genial comfort in the situation, completely trusting, and relieved to simply watch. And Spock could not begin to imagine how he would grow with the influences in his life.

But still, the baby was brand new.

… .. .

Red

The red uniforms were impractical. They stood out, like a target on contrasting backdrops. It was impossible to mistake the color as anything but a point to aim at. He felt exposed, sitting in the middle of a room as the only one present in the color. Especially with Klingons in the room. And even as others entered in the color, he felt they stood as a single, large target. Even prim and proper, the color was less a defensive choice than a strategic insult on the oppositions aiming skills.

They blended into a metaphorical barn side, a single entity to hit.

And yet…

And yet with a hint of amusement, he picked out that singular, confused form, memorizing. And his head felt heavy, recalling each line and distinguishing them with ease. Like he was the only one wearing red in the universe.

Like the first time he's turned his head.

… … .. . .. … …

So I'm not sure I like this one as much, but it does have a bit of charm to it, I think. And this'll be the end of it. I hope you liked the second chapter as much as the first.