overanalytically | MoM Continuations

[He nods.]

Yeah.

[Before Spock can change his mind after all.]

[ Damn again. He was half-hoping for a chance to meditate since it would help to calm his mind. Neither here nor there now.

With a slow deep breath, Spock shifts his hands away from his grip on Jim's ass. One resettles on his hip, the other raises to Jim's face, cool fingertips gently touching his cheekbone, his temple, and his jaw. ]

My mind to your mind, [ he whispers, his voice low and tight in an effort to control the cold flutter of dread in his stomach. ] My thoughts to your thoughts ...

[Nope, Jim isn't giving Spock any kind of chance to back down.

He reaches out across their link to try and soothe that dread, Jim confident that whatever was worrying Spock so would end up okay in the end.

When that hand comes to his face, Jim instinctively relaxes, opening himself up and emanating his pure trust. He wants to make sure that's the first thing that hits Spock from his side of the bond.]

[ The first thing that hits Jim from Spock's mind is a whole mess of complicated and tangled emotions. The feardreadanxiety of his worries warring with the trustbrightaffection he feels for Jim slams into Jim's mind with an unexpected ferocity; it takes a few seconds for Spock to dial it back, exert a level of control over it that won't overwhelm Jim. That meditation really would have helped in this case, deflection from the subject or no, and Spock regrets not pushing that aspect of it for a brief thought before it too is controlled and sorted away.

He focuses on the brighter emotions of Jim, flashes of memories from the night before surfacing more easily now. The mind meld makes it as though Jim were the one experiencing the memories, looking at himself through Spock's mind—and he feels fit to burst, buried so deeply inside of Jim with him squirming and moaning in his arms, it's all he can do not to come right then and there when Jim's voice hits that certain pitch that sends shivers down his spinebefore the memory floats away, Spock directing his thoughts more easily now. He brings forth only certain aspects of those memories, the word ashayam into the forefront. He was telling the truth that is had no direct translation in Standard – like most Vulcan words, the meaning and depth of his native language loses its preciseness and luster when converted.

But here like this in the meld, Jim will feel how the word tugs at Spock's heart, his very katra/soul/self responding to it. There's a depth behind it that even the link they shared the night before couldn't convey in the heat of the moment, more profound than anything he's felt to this point in his life. The cord responds to it, reaching out to Jim and connecting, the meaning of it shooting across like electricity along a wire. ]

[He is nearly knocked senseless by the onslaught once the meld is established but he recovers quickly enough.

He tries to emphasize that he doesn't want Spock to feel that he needs to organize himself beforehand. It's a deep acceptance, a reassurance that when Spock is ready, Jim's there to see whatever Spock wants to show him.

That flashback from last night is bizarre and kind of hot from a different point of view--it sends a shiver down his own spine--but back to what Jim wanted to feel.

He lets the pitch, timbre, the accent of the word as Spock had said it wash over him. Without tapping into its meaning yet, he decides it's a pleasant word to hear all by itself, especially in Spock's voice.

Like this, Jim is able to grasp its meaning more wholly than any words to explain it in Standard would allow. He's grateful that Spock is allowing him to understand it like this. It goes straight to the heart of him and he savors it, feeling it as deeply as he can while they're melded and wanting to hold onto it. It's overwhelming in its depth, enough to physically take Jim's breath away. He reaches along their cord, absorbing and then reflecting the same feelings--though the word doesn't have a Standard equivalent, he at least knows through its meaning that he feels the same and can reciprocate.]

Edited 2016-08-01 01:58 (UTC)

[ It takes Spock's breath away too, the feeling of it being reciprocated, reflected and answered back.

A bit of the embarrassment Spock felt earlier floats back into existence suddenly—there is actually a closer translation, the confession prompted by Jim's reaction, but Spock hadn't wanted to scare Jim with its meaning. ]

[Jim pulls up the embarassment, wondering if it had to do with the word itself or something else. He wonders at this point what Spock thinks could possibly scare him if it came from his bondmate.]

[ A small amount of alarm flares up when Jim pulls at it—didn't he tell Jim to let him lead the mind meld and not go poking around?—when it pulls up the reason for his embarrassment. Jim will also be able to see that there's some complicated mix of shame and acceptance in it too, rooted at the base along with the word he was attempting to veil. Such an emotion is unbecoming of a Vulcan, of those who follow logic ... and yet, his own father confessed it to him at that time in the transporter room.

The memory comes up easily here too, pulled up from the depths of Spock's mind at Jim's unlooked-for insistence—"You asked me once why I married your mother," Jim's father, Sarek, explained to him. His expression was oddly open, the emotions raw in his voice and in his face in a way Jim had never seen before in his entire life. "I married her because I loved her."

And it's the very end of that memory, that word, that Spock was afraid to show/share/explain to Jim. Jim himself spoke of how he's never been in a relationship of this depth or meaning. They were already making a mess of this, or so it seemed to Spock at the time he spoke with Gregor ... what sort of meaning would Jim find in it, when it was aimed directly at him? ]

[Woops, Jim hadn't thought of it as poking around at the time since it was right there...

The memory causes something to well up in his chest, nearly choking off his air--he could feel the operative word in the scene. It draws up a scene of his own unwillingly...

"I think I love you," she'd said underneath him, grinning and writhing.

He nearly chokes then too, only able to reply "That's so weird," like an idiot, suddenly wanting to crawl into himself, get away from the situation, from Gaila--

The word causes a reflex so deeply ingrained, one of loss, that he actively fights with himself not to pull away. He can't because...truly, wasn't that what he'd been expressing all along? Intimate trust, a bond he wouldn't share with anyone else, a sense of caring anyone else had yet to elicit from him? No matter which way Jim sliced it, that reciprocal feeling from before is love, however much he and Spock had yet to acknowledge it.

He remembers to breathe, the realization easing away the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Had they really been botching it up as badly as it seemed to Spock? Jim knew he had a lot to learn but dammit, no one had convinced him to care quite as much as Spock has.]

Edited 2016-08-01 04:45 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[Here in the meld at least he could tell just how invested Spock was in making sure not only did this work but that it was improving.

It's that word that they never quite get to from Spock's side, when he suddenly sees the woman that Jim knows is Spock's mother, there and gone, Spock's terror and pain enshrouding her--

Jim too gasps as he's forced from the meld, using one hand to steady himself on Spock's shoulder, the other coming up to his face to rub at his eyes, an attempt to gauge how bad it was.

It's tolerable for the moment, so he opens his eyes to look up at his bondmate, to assess what damage there is. His voice is quiet.]

Spock, what--?

[ Spock's eyes are clenched shut, his expression closed off and tight in an effort to gain control over himself. He's breathing harshly, but it's contained by breathing only through his nose, making it seem more severe—his breath comes in fits and bursts, loud even to Spock's own hearing. He can't seem to get it under control ...

To outward appearances, if Spock were Human, it might look like the beginnings of a panic attack, half-choked by how tightly Spock is holding himself. Jim's hand on the bit of shoulder not covered by his shirt as well as the slightly widened bond gives him a glimpse of the impending grief that threatens to overwhelm Spock's mind as well as his desperate attempts to stave it off. ]

[He's never seen Spock anything like this before and it scares him. He puts both hands on either side of his neck, radiating calm as best he can. The pain is apparent though Spock is trying to control it and it hurts, like he's never hurt for someone else before. He'd known Spock was more affected by what happened on Vulcan than he ever let on but he'd never imagined this.

He regrets now pushing Spock in this respect, whispering apologies as he rests their foreheads together, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles. His eyes too are now closed, focusing on attempts to comfort and relax, to back Spock away from the edge of his grief.]

[ 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. ]

[It's an agonizing four minutes for Jim. He's backed off mentally, letting Spock re-organize himself in peace. He hates how helpless he feels right now--emotional responses were never his strong suit and this went far beyond what he was capable of helping with and he knows it. All he can do is wait it out.

Jim feels a slight relief when Spock opens his eyes though can't quite shake how disturbing it is to see Spock isn't maintaining his usually perfect posture. Just how exhausted he looks is jarring. When Jim speaks it's quiet.]

Hey, you still with me?

[ Spock's voice is low, scratchy like he'd been shouting. ]

I am maintaining adequate control.

[He cards a hand through Spock's hair, ducking ever so slightly to see if Spock will meet his eyes yet.]

I'm sorry. What can I do?

[ His eyes re-close briefly, leaning very slightly into Jim's hand for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. He reopens his eyes and looks upwards—though he still can't quite meet Jim's eyes—when he makes an effort to straighten his posture. It also makes him pull away from his leaning into Jim's hand. ]

My apologies ... I require mediation.

[It probably wouldn't have hurt as bad if Spock hadn't so subtly pulled away from him. He awkwardly pulls his hands down, fisting them tightly for a second on his knees before he then climbs off of Spock.]

Right. Sure.

[Because he understands. Of course he understands, even if Spock wouldn't let him in close enough to empathize 100% yet. And that's what made him angry--that he did understand but he's still hurt by it. He turns and gathers his shirt and puts it on, then runs a hand through his hair. He grabs his wallet and communicator and shoves them in a pocket. It's his own fault anyhow. He leaves before he can look back. He needs to go home and nap off that headache, before he does something stupid like stay and try to talk. He'd only be burying himself deeper.]

[ His hand slides form Jim's hip as he stands, and Spock suddenly feels cold without Jim's solid warmth grounding him. He passively watches Jim gather his clothes and items, trying not to wince at the aggressiveness of his gestures. The bond is strangely silent as if Spock's emotions were holding their breath.

He sits up straighter when Jim's moving to leave, the first stirrings of another kind of panic shocking through the bond at the sight. Spock voice sounds agitated when he speaks up, calling after Jim before he can cross through the door. ]

Jim.

[Jim was just about out the door when he hears Spock call his name, the tone of voice also making him freeze. He hesitates for a second before turning around, hands casually in his pockets. Hadn't Spock just wanted to be left alone?]

[ He does need to be left alone. His control over himself is tentative at best – he'll need to focus for several hours to gain a better balance in his thoughts and mind.

But he doesn't want it at the expense of hurting Jim. He felt the sting of rejection from his own withdrawal, and he wants to make up for it somehow. The question is how. He needs Jim to know that he's not withdrawing entirely, that he just needs some time to himself.

There's a few beats of silence as Spock struggles to think of something to say to him. Finally he settles on: ]

... Would a shared evening meal be agreeable?

[That was definitely the right way to go about it--acknowledge he needed space while simultaneously reassuring Jim. The response from his side of the bond is instantaneous if Spock cares to feel. It's a glowing fog, hiding more of the complicated but its overall atmosphere emanates acceptance.

Jim turns to face Spock more fully and nods, face softening.]

...Shoot me a message when you're ready.

[ The tightness that was within Spock's side of their cord loosens to some degree, grateful that Jim accepted his offer. ]

Understood.

MoM Continuations

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