[ It's that initial reaction from Jim that Spock was afraid of. It causes his own chest to tighten, his breath to stall, almost pulls his hand away from Jim's face, his fingers twitching to get away from that not-quite-rejection that was so apparent in the memory.
It's Jim's own realization that stops Spock too, his fingers remaining in the melding points after the brief wince. He's cautious and nervous now, watching/feeling Jim and his thoughts about it. He tries to send reassurance that maybe it wasn't so bad between them? It had just seemed like there was miscommunication between them before their talk, and that now things were better ... or so Spock hopes. He desperately hopes it's so.
He still can't quite focus on the word, even here in a mind meld, dancing around it with translations and plucking out similar words, everything Jim described it as too: intimate, caring, trust, an implicit understanding that they would be there for the other. It's as if Spock is scared to define it as love because he doesn't want it ripped away from him like it was before, like his mother being pulled down into the core of the black hole, leaving a gaping maw of pain in its absence—
And Spock finally pulls away there, forcibly ending the meld before his thoughts trip down that path any further, down past the wall he's built up around that part of himself. It's abrupt and jarring, leaving both of them with a headache, throbbing briefly before easing into something dull and forgetful. Spock gasps aloud as it ends, the hand gripping Jim's hip, unconsciously reaching to balance him in case the ending of the meld unbalanced him physically as well as mentally. The other hand, the one that was on Jim's face, grasps at the bed, knotting his fingers in the sheets. ]
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It's Jim's own realization that stops Spock too, his fingers remaining in the melding points after the brief wince. He's cautious and nervous now, watching/feeling Jim and his thoughts about it. He tries to send reassurance that maybe it wasn't so bad between them? It had just seemed like there was miscommunication between them before their talk, and that now things were better ... or so Spock hopes. He desperately hopes it's so.
He still can't quite focus on the word, even here in a mind meld, dancing around it with translations and plucking out similar words, everything Jim described it as too: intimate, caring, trust, an implicit understanding that they would be there for the other. It's as if Spock is scared to define it as love because he doesn't want it ripped away from him like it was before, like his mother being pulled down into the core of the black hole, leaving a gaping maw of pain in its absence—
And Spock finally pulls away there, forcibly ending the meld before his thoughts trip down that path any further, down past the wall he's built up around that part of himself. It's abrupt and jarring, leaving both of them with a headache, throbbing briefly before easing into something dull and forgetful. Spock gasps aloud as it ends, the hand gripping Jim's hip, unconsciously reaching to balance him in case the ending of the meld unbalanced him physically as well as mentally. The other hand, the one that was on Jim's face, grasps at the bed, knotting his fingers in the sheets. ]