Watching Him Sleep 2
Watching him sleep, she thought of how much, and how little, she knew him.
Physically, she knew him intimately.
All of him belonged to her alone. That, she knew for certain.
She knew how, when he woke, the light would play over his body, highlighting and creating shadow as it went.
She knew every interplay of muscle beneath his skin as he moved.
She had explored every millimeter of that surface; had noted how he felt beneath it, how he responded to her faintest touch.
But, for all the time and all the touches - and for all of his bare, unblinking honesty - his mind remained an immeasurable mystery.
She was well aware of the curiosity of those around him. She was grateful that his dignity and reserve kept them from approaching.
Faced with naked truth, there were questions that she could not bring herself to broach.
She could not bear to think that she would betray his confidence, even unknowingly, in some small thing.
There were so few, now, who truly understood – and she felt, sometimes, wholly inadequate to traverse the morass of tradition and philosophy that surrounded him. There were no guides to follow - and he was even more silent now, as though he guarded something precious only he could protect.
He did not put up defenses against her, though; and he seemed to welcome her venturing.
She felt her way through the maze - sometimes with bold assurance, sometimes with hesitation, trepidation.
Then his eyes would meet hers; and she knew - with every fiber of everything that he had ever touched within her - that he understood, and accepted, never expecting her to be anything other than exactly what she was, just at this moment.
He would reach for her; and in his arms she knew, again, that she was part of what he guarded.
Spock was finding his own way through the morass; and - just as for her - for him, there were no guides left.