Interlude: Perceptual Organization

Spock was Vulcan. This was a fact that he had once been proud of. He was still proud, would always be proud….but…. his pride now handicapped him. It haunted him throughout his day. Activities he had once taken for granted were now colored by the sour aftertaste of grief.

Grief. Grief was not truly an adequate word for all that he felt, still felt. He did feel. Felt more strongly than he liked to admit even to himself. He knew this was illogical yet he also illogically did not want to stop the grief.

He deserved his grief because he had failed.

So logically (and yes, he was now reclaiming logic) he needed to somehow redeem himself. Some sacrifice needed to be made. Some of his guilt needed to be eased. Spock couldn't change the past (although ironically his future self had done just that) and he couldn't bring her back.

There was nothing left to do but rebuild what was left of the Vulcan people.

But there again he paused because his future self had told him to do what felt right.

But nothing felt right anymore.

And there was the rub.

So he had returned to Starfleet thinking he would stay in his old rooms at Starfleet. But they were no longer available for him, as they were now housing a new occupant.

Instead of requesting new ones like he should have Spock had bought an apartment. Instead of living with Nyota like she had generously offered he spent his last pay check furnishing the place. Instead of acting based on logic like was expected he did something thoroughly out of character.

He acted impulsively.

Now he was living thoroughly in character: alone. However contrary to popular belief living alone was not helping Spock. Instead he felt like he was drifting through the days buoyed merely on the small issues of renting his own place. This was not enough. He missed the casual camaraderie aboard the Enterprise. He missed being so engaged he could not focus on anything but the task at hand. Suprisingly he even missed the odd, unstable friendship he had slowly been developing with his brash captain.

Now Spock had so much time. This was something he had at one point desperately wanted but now that he had it he had no idea what to do with it. His meditation wasn't working. Nothing was working. He would continue to test new methods, but his efforts were clearly lackluster. Instead he sat in his new bed for hours holding a staring contest with his wall.

To any normal person this might be considered depression. To Spock it was merely disorganization of thought.

Authors Note

So I will be having brief interludes into Spock's thoughts throughout the story. These are based less on plot and more on personal insight since the rest of the story will be largely from Kirk's point of view.

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