Running, running, running.
Run faster! Mother, please, run faster!
Enterprise, beam us up now! NOW!
Mother…. Mother?
Wha…? Where? …!
He gasped as consciousness returned and his vision cleared. The room was dark. He was sitting upright on his bed, uncovered. How did he get this way? Spock reached for the light on the nightstand, but it was not there.
Footsteps outside. A knock on the door. "Spock?" It was Nyota. The door latch clicked, and the door opened a crack. "Spock, are you OK?"
He tried to calm himself, but she had already heard his uneven breathing. Nyota touched the switch to the room's main light, which revealed blankets and pillows strewn across the floor and the nightstand lamp and chronometer down with them.
Everyone in the household had retired to their rooms three hours ago. Nyota had awakened when her excellent hearing picked up the vibration of something hitting a floor somewhere. She had to investigate. Seeing nothing amiss in the hallway, she decided to check up on Spock. Surely the same sound had awakened him as well.
After quietly calling to him, she opened the door and turned on the light. His bedding was on the floor, the lamp and other items knocked from the nightstand. Spock himself was in as much disarray as the room. His hair stood out every which way, and his pajamas twisted in uncomfortable configurations along his long body. What pulled at her most were his eyes. Something in them made him look just…lost.
In the light and now wide awake, Spock tried to reassert his thoughts as he surveyed the room, making an effort to return to rationality and order. He moved to the edge of the bed to begin the clean-up.
"Stay right there," Nyota said gently. "Don't move. I'll get this." She grabbed the pillows and returned them to the bed.
"Nyota, I—"
She put two fingers to his lips. "Sh-sh-sh…," she soothed. She gathered the blankets, smoothed them out, and covered the very confused Vulcan who remained sitting up on the bed. Fortunately the lamp and chronometer from the nightstand remained intact, and she returned them to their familiar places. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her hands around his face. "Ashayam, what happened?"
Her worried brown eyes beckoned him to confide in her. He looked down. His uneven emotional state had burdered her during the past six months, and he did not wish to continue this pattern. But he did not want to keep any more secrets from her. At this point in their relationship, any temptation to do so was long past.
"I dreamt about the emergency beam-out from Vulcan," he admitted.
Although Nyota did not know the details, what he was really saying was that he had the recurring nightmare about Amanda again, the one where he saw the terror in her eyes as she was pulled from him. The one where he reached for her only to have his grasp fall short. The one where his world and his heart crumbled simultaneously. It always left him gasping with loss and guilt. He had not had that nightmare in months.
Perhaps this was not unexpected. After the episode with the portrait, Spock had confessed his need to allow his grief. Maybe the nightmare's return was a manifestation of that revelation.
Nyota was afraid that the nightmare, as well as Spock's inexperience with expressing any grief at all, might send him back into his Vulcan shell. So much of this was new to him, and Vulcan culture actively discouraged it. Already she could see him brace himself, struggling to control his breathing, posture, and facial expression. He was reaching for familiar coping strategies.
Nyota refused to let him suppress his grief again. He needed release, and perhaps here, in his aunt's comforting home, away from the distractions of duty and Starfleet, was where he finally might find it.
She smoothed his hair back into place, stroked his cheek, and kissed him twice on the lips. "Move over."
He shook his head. "Nyota, it is not proper. As guests, we—"
"No one is going to be doing anything improper," she broke in. "You need me here." She stroked his cheek softly again, then tilted his chin up to bring his gaze to her. He did not resist. "Let me help."
He seemed torn between accepting her help and trying to reassert some stoicism.
"Spock, this is part of grieving. It hurts, and we hate it, but we go through it, otherwise we can't go on with our lives." She kissed him again, this time on his temple, comforting, coaxing and encouraging him. "It would be easier to ignore if you could, but that's not going to be an option for you—human, Vulcan, or both. It is about you, your mother, and your bond. You can never replace it. It's OK to mourn your loss. Really."
She trailed her palm from his cheek, down his neck, and to his shoulder. His breathing deepened. Nyota sensed his intensity as he felt his grief. He said nothing as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. His eyes, though, gave him away. He hurt.
Nyota had trouble not breaking down herself. She had seen the devotion between mother and son that Margaret had captured in the portrait, and his reaction to it spoke volumes about how deeply devoted to Amanda he had been. His pain stabbed at her own heart. She was determined, however, to guide him.
"Sweetheart, move over, please."
He complied. He was tired and unsettled. She walked to the switch to the main light and switched it off before climbing into bed next to him. In the darkness he stared at the ceiling as he felt her reaching across his chest and finding his wrist.
"Give me your hand."
His hand found hers. She placed her cool palm against his warm one, then fingertips to fingertips as she invited a mild telepathic connection. She sensed mild resistance from him initially, but he followed her instructions.
"We're going to take this slowly," she reassured him. "It doesn't happen all at once, and it shouldn't. It's a process." She kissed him again, this time on the cheek. "Give me your thoughts, show me what you feel…," she whispered, nuzzling against his neck and collarbone.
For one of the few times in his life, Spock was scared. In allowing human grief, he had miscalculated. This was not what he had expected. To do what Nyota asked, he had to bare himself as he never had in his adult life. Again his Vulcan mind rebelled, recoiled at what he now had to attempt. Losing emotional control was disgusting, shameful, but some part of him ached for the release.
Nyota's lips were now at his jawline. "Tell me …"
Intellectually he realized how expert Nyota had become at breaking down his barriers. His emotions sat just below the surface. He was relieved that the room was dark as he felt the first tremor within himself. He did not want her to witness his lapse as his eyes closed and the muscles in his chest involuntarily constricted. What was he doing? Was he mad?
"It's OK…Ashayam, it's OK…just a little bit at a time…slowly…"
Her soothing words, her warm presence, her patience, her acceptance…Spock's body shuddered. His head thrashed to one side as a wave of grief overcame him. He wanted to run.
Nyota gently pressed her fingertips harder against his. "Show me here," she urged.
He released a surge of sadness, regret, and guilt. He inhaled, almost gulping the air. He felt pressure against his closed eyelids. His mind raced, and he could not stop himself. Were those tears? His shoulders drew upwards as he fought another shudder. How could this be "OK"?
But Nyota continued her encouragement. "Let it go…let it go…." More gentle kisses. More endearments.
Suddenly the sorrow that had been too great to acknowledge erupted, and he broke. At first he closed his eyes tightly and set his jaw hard. However, emotion forced them free of his control. His sobs were quiet, but the tears flowed freely. He could not speak. It was too hard. He was ashamed at his inability to control the flood of irrational thought and feeling that he, himself, had allowed.
"Slowly…slowly…. Sh-sh-sh…."
He tried to regulate his breathing, counting his breaths. Another pang of sadness shot through their link, and Nyota felt her own abdomen clench as Spock's grief again resonated through his body. His pain came as much from his resistance as it did from his emotional anguish. He felt weak, and this in itself caused him more distress.
Nyota felt his struggle intensify. "Share with me…please…"
Spock tried to calm himself enough to concentrate. He removed his fingertips from Nyota's to seek the telepathic contact points on her face. Nyota reached his face in return, granting him permission to meld with her.
She left the darkness and found herself surrounded by chaotic cracking and crashing as boulders rolled by her. Her body flooded with anxiety as she realized that she stood on a crumbling precipice. The ground below was disappearing into the magma that now burst from the planet's interior. Acrid smoke hung in the air while the rock below her feet vibrated. She was impatient. Where was the transporter beam?
The woman just a couple meters away looked back at her, fear in her eyes, disbelief of the scene before them both. Confusion. But relief at being in Nyota's care. The transporter? Why were they not beaming out?
The swirls of energy commenced, signaling the start of the process. The planet's surface began to disintegrate. The woman cried out, her high-pitched scream hung in the air, and she was gone.
Nyota choked, her mind screaming back in desperation as she felt herself reach to grasp at the spot where the woman just stood less than a second earlier. Her chest burst in pain. Her heart ripped. Her stomach heaved.
Gone.
And now, as she stood with the other survivors in a transporter room, she never felt so alone. Desperately alone. Shocked…stunned…drained…conflicted…angry.
Heartbroken.
Nyota and Spock had shared themselves in melds before, but he had carefully hidden that memory. It had been too excruciating to relive. Nyota now knew the emptiness and guilt he had felt at Amanda's loss, the pain he lived with every day after his mother was so violently torn from him.
I am so sorry, Nyota's mind told his. I am here for you. I will always be here for you. Show me what you need.
There was no hesitance in his thoughts. You.
You have me. I am yours. Let me help...
He found comfort. Her declaration freed him, and his thoughts and emotions came in rapid waves.
Grief for Amanda.
Despair for the loss of Vulcan.
Anger at Nero.
Frustration at his own inability to prevent the devastation…
Nyota reassured him, sending him compassion and support.
Depression, self-doubt…
He was vulnerable. He worried about his worthiness of her. In his failure to save his world, he felt worthy of nothing.
Spock… Nyota's thoughts embraced his essence, trying to soothe him in a loving warmth.
Minutes went by until she felt him release some of the hurt as he sought some peace with her. She continued to smile at him in her thoughts while she felt herself rise through the layers of consciousness as Spock ended the meld. As she regained awareness, she was most aware of him leaning over her, delivering passionate, almost desperate kisses to her forehead, then to her lips. Their link had not completely broken; she could still feel his thoughts.
His passion was not one of desire or lust.
Admiration…gratitude…appreciation…affection…
Devotion.
Trust.
He embraced her closely and gently. Never had Nyota felt more wanted or valued, and she accepted his attentions gratefully. When she thought that she could not fall more deeply in love with him, his commitment to her won her heart again. She wound her arms around him in return, knowing that he finally was allowing himself to feel his losses. The grieving he needed to re-center himself had, perhaps, only just started. But it was a good start.
She occasionally stroked his face and his chest as they held one another while he calmed. She continued to whisper endearments and assurances, comforting him until sometime, a couple hours later, they fell asleep.
