[ He barely even registers Jim's attempts to calm him, he's so focused inward, rebuilding that barrier between himself and his grief as fast as he can. By slow, tortuous degrees, Spock manages to control his emotions, his labored breathing taking on more of the rhythm of the breathing techniques he's shown Jim before for meditation. His expression slowly unclenches, eyelids smooth and just simply closed, his jaw relaxing and posture relaxing. The mind matches his body as well, the hollow and yawning pain easing off as he pushes it back down, burying it before it buries him. It leaves his mind and thoughts raw, like a wound only just scabbed over, but at least it's no longer bleeding.
It's almost full four minutes before Spock reopens his eyes, keeping them downcast, looking somewhere near Jim's stomach; he actually looks tired after that, dark circles appearing under his eyes. He's actually slumping right there on the bed, his body mimicking the mental exhaustion he feels. ]
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It's almost full four minutes before Spock reopens his eyes, keeping them downcast, looking somewhere near Jim's stomach; he actually looks tired after that, dark circles appearing under his eyes. He's actually slumping right there on the bed, his body mimicking the mental exhaustion he feels. ]