#reader x spock

The Vulcan makes a noncommittal noise. Sitting up and moving away from him, you wrack your brain for some kind of an excuse to make a hasty retreat to your quarters: you need to lie down before the pain gets really bad. “Excuse me,” you mumble.  “I’ve just realized there’s something I need to attend to. I’ll see you later, Spock.  Maybe I can stop by your quarters this evening and we can start on those lessons?” He inclines his head, and you know that he’s pleased even though his expression hasn’t changed. “I look forward to it,” he replies. You wave over your shoulder as you make your way out of the rec room and head for your quarters.  The walk feels like it takes an hour and you know by the time you reach your door that you’re weaving, but thankfully you’ve not run across anybody.  Punching in your access code, you stumble inside and make your way directly to the bathroom.  After dry heaving for several minutes, the intensity of your headache increasing further, you make your way out into the bedroom, turn the lights out, and hit the bed. Whether you fall asleep or pass out makes no difference, as long as the pain is gone when you wake up. And, blissfully, it is. You groan as consciousness comes back to you some time later.  Shifting around in bed, you realize you’ve been asleep for nearly three hours and your mouth is dry.  Ordering the lights to fifty percent, you gingerly get to your feet, stretch a little, and make your way to the kitchenette.  Your head still aches, but it’s a dull sort of pain compared to the knifing agony from earlier and it’s nothing you can’t handle. Filling a glass with water, you sip it slowly, hoping to quell the echo of nausea that’s still sitting in the pit of your stomach.  Once you’ve drained it, you make sure you look presentable and venture out of your quarters again, heading out to find Spock.  His quarters are two floors above yours, with the other officers’ quarters, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You knock on your boyfriend’s door and he answers it within moments, stepping aside to let you in before closing the door in your wake.  His quarters are neat and orderly and strangely welcoming.  The lights are low and there are two mats laid out on the floor near the coffee table.   “Please, have a seat, Y/N,” he says crisply, gesturing to one of the mats.  “I find that a cross-legged position with one’s hands resting upturned on one’s knees is the most comfortable, but it hardly matters how you sit as long as you are able to stay in that position for the duration of your meditation.” You nod and arrange yourself on one of the mats.  You choose to sit just as Spock had indicated and you glance up at him for approval. He kneels at your side, splaying a palm at your lower back, encouraging you to sit up as straight as you can. It’s a little less comfortable than the slouch you’d been in moments ago, but you can handle it and you nod, watching as Spock takes his place, mirroring your position a short distance away in front of you. “Meditation is a practice not of thoughtlessness, as many would believe, but one of mindfulness,” he begins.  “To start your training, I will lead you in a guided meditation.  Close your eyes, ashayam, and listen to my voice.” You consider what he’s said as you let your eyelids drop, and you listen to him as he begins to talk you through a storm, violent and powerful.  As you envision the calming of the wind and rain, you come to realize they are meant to represent the stress that you’d mentioned earlier upon asking him to help teach you.  You switch tracks in your mind, replacing the stress in the metaphor with the pain you feel on a daily basis and you try to ingrain it all in your memory for use when you need it. Your first lesson goes well, and you try it out the next time you start getting a headache to no avail.  Figuring you’re just not trying hard enough or unable to focus properly just yet, you continue your lessons with Spock.  He’s patient with you and praises your efforts even though you know you must be operating at a three-year-old-Vulcan level to him. A few more lessons pass you by and your headaches, if anything, are getting worse.  One night, a couple of weeks later, one hits as you’re actively meditating with Spock and you break rank, cradling your head in your hands as darkness tugs at the edges of your vision. Spock is at your side in an instant. “What is it, ashayam?”  He asks, and you can sense the concern in his tone though you know his voice is as impassive as ever. You have to lie down.  You’re not sure that he’s heard you, or even that you’ve gotten the words out, but you attempt to stand up with his strong grip on your upper arms.  You try to focus on his lips – he’s talking but you can’t hear him over the roaring of your own heartbeat in your ears – but it’s impossible as your vision begins to gray out the closer you get to standing. The last thing you feel as your vision blacks out entirely are Spock’s arms around you, catching you and holding you close. Your consciousness is gone, but with it so, too, is the pain. You awaken several hours later to a cacophony of sounds all around you and two hushed voices at your side.  There’s a hand clasping one of yours and another suddenly lands on your shoulder, startling you.  You open your eyes and groan as you’re assaulted by lights – not overhead, mercifully, but further out in what you now realize is the med bay. Blinking, you clear your vision and look up into the concerned face of Dr. McCoy, the ship’s CMO. “Welcome back, Lieutenant,” he says softly. “You gave Spock quite the scare, fainting in his arms.” “Concern, doctor,” Spock corrects him. “Fear would not have been conducive to appropriate action.  Concern can be felt without impairing one’s ability to operate objectively.” You giggle tiredly as you see the doctor roll his eyes as he begins to scan and examine you.  You endure the light he shines in your eyes, the questions about how you’re feeling and how you felt before you passed out, squeezing his hands to test your grip strength.  What you wish you could skip out on is the confrontation that follows. “How often have you been having migraines lately?”  Dr. McCoy asks. You sigh and run a shaky hand through your hair.  For the first time in weeks you feel absolutely no trace of a headache – undoubtedly due to whatever drugs the doctor has given you – and you don’t want to tempt fate by talking about your migraines of late. “Almost every day,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “Ashayam, why would you keep that from us?”  Spock interjects. You shake your head weakly. “I’ve had them since I was fourteen,” you reply.  “Sometimes they flare up like this.” “And yet there’s nothing in your file about you being seen for headaches in the last couple of years,” the doctor presses. “When did the medication stop being effective?” You swallow thickly at the question, feeling your heart sink. “I haven’t been taking it,” you say almost inaudibly. The doctor grumbles wordlessly and Spock’s grip on your hand tightens. “Why not?”  Spock asks gently.  “Was the medication insufficient to help the pain?  Were you experiencing side effects?” “You keep this up, Spock, and I’m going to be out of a job soon,” Dr. McCoy says dryly before turning his attention back to you.  “What’s going on, Y/N?  I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” “The meds were working okay,” you explain. “I just… I don’t like the idea of being on any medications.  My grandmother was really sick for a few years before she died.  They put her on all sorts of medications and they only seemed to make her worse.  I was afraid of something like that happening to me, so I stopped taking them…” The doctor’s expression softens a bit and he shakes his head. “You should have come to me,” he says gently. “We could have talked about it. I’m happy to answer any questions you have and to make sure you understand everything.  We can make this work for you.” Spock, who has been brooding at your side, interrupts your conversation. “Is this perhaps why you were interested in learning to meditate?”  He queries. You nod. “I thought maybe I could handle the headaches some other way,” you reply.  “I’ve heard that a lot of pain is psychological, and I thought maybe I could trick my brain into easing up on the headaches if I could just concentrated hard enough or in the right way.” “While I find your approach admirable, meditation is not a substitute for medical attention,” Spock admonishes you softly. “No, but it can be a powerful adjunct,” Dr. McCoy reasons.  “Y/N, I want you to take a few days off of work.  I’m going to discharge you to your quarters, but I’d like to check on you twice a day to ensure your headaches are being controlled.  I want to put you back on your medication, but I’d also like for you to continue your lessons with Mr. Spock.  The meditation will help you relieve stress, which will help alleviate the headaches and allow the medication to work better.  I know you aren’t keen on the idea of long-term drug therapy, but I’d like you to hear me out.  Before I let you go, I’d like to explain the treatment to you: the long-term prognosis, your options, and anything else you’re curious about.  I want us to be able to work as a team to manage your health, alright?” You tighten your grip on Spock’s hand anxiously but you nod, letting out a shaky breath.  Your compliance earns you a smile from the doctor and an uncharacteristically sentimental squeeze back from your lover. Everything happens in a flash after that. The doctor disappears for a few moments and reappears with a bottle of pills in hand.  He goes through the dosing schedule, the potential side effects, the pharmacokinetics, the long-term outlook, and answers each and every one of your questions readily.  It’s his being quick to answer that reassures you the most – you know he’s knowledgeable and experienced with the drug and with its use in patients like yourself, and that helps to ease your mind a little about being on the meds. You’re discharged to your quarters shortly following the discussion on the condition that Spock stays with you to monitor you for the rest of the day and that you’re alright with Dr. McCoy coming by to check on you periodically.  You agree easily and soon enough, Spock is walking you to your quarters, his arm around your waist to steady you as he guides you. Though the two of you have been together for a few weeks, you’re still surprised by the gentleness and care with which he tucks you into bed when you arrive in your quarters.  You’re not feeling sleepy and so he props a number of pillows under your back so you’re halfway seated and sits at your side, taking your hand in his again.  You meet his gaze and you know he’s feeling some measure of worry for you, though an eye less trained than yours would never know it. “You should have told me you wanted to learn meditation to help with your pain,” Spock says plainly.  “I would have opted for a different visualization, one that may have been more useful to you.” You smile softly at him, giving his hand a grateful squeeze. “Maybe we can try again?”  You ask.  “You heard the doctor – the meditation might help with my treatment.  I’m open to anything that means I might be able to rely less on the drugs.” And so you do.  This time, as you relax against your pillows, Spock guides you through a new visualization – one of the ocean, waves crashing over you and taking a sliver of your pain away with each recession.  While you’re not in pain at the moment, it is helping to relax you a bit anyway and you feel yourself breathing easier; even the muscles in your chest are loosening up as you concentrate on Spock’s soft voice. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been meditating when you hear a knock on the door to your quarters, but you miss Spock’s presence as soon as he’s gone.  He comes back in a moment with Dr. McCoy at his side and stands a short distance away to give the CMO some room to work beside you.  The doctor takes a seat and makes quick work of running his tricorder over your head and neck, appearing satisfied with the readings. “Any pain, Y/N?”  He asks, glancing up at you as he sets the instrument away. You shake your head, watching the doctor as he brings his hands up and rests his fingertips on your neck, gently prodding at the muscles there and in your shoulders, making you hiss as he elicits some tenderness. “No auras?”  He continues questioning as his fingers press into more of your muscles, making you groan softly. “No,” you answer, shifting and shrugging your shoulders to shake them out a bit as he finishes his exam. He makes a noncommittal noise and glances between you and Spock as you watch him, waiting for his verdict. “You’re very tense,” he explains.  “I could give you a shot of a muscle relaxant, but seeing as you’re not keen on the idea of medication, I think a massage would be the better way to go.  We have a therapist in the med bay, but short of something so formal, I’m sure a good, old fashioned shoulder rub from your friendly neighborhood Vulcan would work just as well and then you don’t even need to leave your quarters.” Your gaze flickers over to Spock, who inclines his head in polite agreement.  You’d been unsure whether he would agree to something so potentially intimate when Dr. McCoy had suggested it, but now that he’s agreed you find yourself relaxing. You turn your attention back to the CMO, urging him wordlessly to continue. “I think that with some rest and a regular med routine, the meditation and massage should help to keep you headache-free,” the doctor concludes.  “I want you to come by and see me regularly for a couple of weeks so we can make sure you’re on track, but after that as long as the treatment holds, you should be fine to get back to a normal routine.” “Will I be on the medication forever?” You ask lightly. “We’ll see,” the doctor replies.  “Migraines often change over time, sometimes they go away all together.  After you’ve been stable for a while, we can try to wean you off of the medication to see if the headaches come back.  If they do, we’ll treat you again and try it again another time.  If they don’t, we’ll go from there.” You nod, satisfied, and smile.  This time, the upturning of your lips is much easier and more genuine, and you hold out a hand to shake the doctor’s. “Thank you,” you say gratefully.  “This is still a lot for me, but I think I’ll be okay.” “You’re going to be just fine, darlin’,” the doctor assures you with a glance up at Spock.  “I may be questioning your choices for a support network a little bit, but between myself and Mr. Spock, I think you’ll do great.” You chuckle and nod, watching the doctor take his leave after he’s reminded you to call on him any time you need.  Spock inclines his head in thanks, too, and immediately takes up the CMO’s place on the bed. Over the next several days, he’s incredibly kind, gentle, and thoughtful with you.  It may not appear so to an observer, but you can feel the humanity in his touches as he massages your shoulders, easing the tension and the aches there.  You know how incredibly intimate touch is to a Vulcan, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully express how grateful you are for Spock’s willingness to be so close with you, so personal.  Even when you do try, he just informs you that he’s doing all that he can for your health because he cares for you and wants nothing more than for you to remain well and happy. He's supportive, too.  You struggle sometimes to force yourself to take your medications, to go and check in with Dr. McCoy, but he’s always there to encourage you, though sometimes it’s more matter-of-factly than it is warmly.  You don’t hold it against him – you know sometimes you’re a little unreasonable – but the tears sometimes come.  When they do, he apologizes, and he’s as human as you’ve ever seen him in those moments. You continue your meditation lessons, and eventually you become more familiar with the process.  Spock is pleased with your progress and he tells you as much as he continues to walk you through the visualization daily until you’re happy to manage it on your own.   Weeks pass and you’re getting better at managing your condition.  Your headaches are much fewer and further between, and when they do come they’re an afterthought compared to the pain you’d been experiencing before.  You’re still warming up to the whole routine, but for all of the anxiety the pain has brought you, it’s also brought you and Spock closer together. The two of you are talking one night as he’s giving you yet another back rub, his hands gliding easily over your muscles, supple beneath his touch, aided by the fragrant oil he’s applied to your skin. “Your progress has been admirable, to say the least,” Spock quips as his thumbs find twin trigger points in either of your traps, making you wince.  “I’m proud of you, ashayam.” You blush a little, opening the eye that’s upturned where your head is lying sideways on your crossed arms, looking up at Spock. “Thank you,” you murmur.  “I’m kind of proud of me, too.” Spock tips his head in silent support of you and you close your eyes once more, smiling softly.  Though his massage is firm and none too gentle over the particularly tight spots, you find yourself nearly drifting off nevertheless.  You’re on the precipice into slumber when Spock’s voice cuts through the haze. “This may not be the right time for me to confess something so salient,” he begins lightly.  “But if my understanding of human feelings and circumstance serves, I believe there is seldom an ideal time for such an expression.  I ashaya du.” You don’t speak a lick of Vulcan, or any language other than Federation standard, for that matter, but the meaning is clear.  You tense up beneath Spock’s touch and he notices immediately. “My apologies, Y/N,” he says plainly.  “It was my belief that you felt the same way.” You shift around, scrambling up off of your belly and onto your knees on the bed, facing him.  You look at him for several long and pregnant moments, your eyes searching his face, looking for some, any sign of true sincerity. You find it in the thinly-veiled hurt and confusion in his eyes and your heart leaps up into your throat as you throw you arms around him, clinging to him, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you, too, Spock,” you say shakily, relief plain as day in your tone.  “I mean, I’d hoped that the way you’ve been here for me meant love, but hearing you say it means so much to me.  Thank you for the final proof.” You feel him move to rest his cheek atop your head in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture and you sigh happily as you stay locked in his embrace.  You find your feelings on your headaches sorting themselves out in your mind, and you realize with a soft chuckle that you can’t regret any of what’s happened.  Your pain has brought Spock so close that you’d do it all over in a heartbeat, though with him at your side now you know you’ll never have to worry about it again.

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It had been at least two minutes this time. Elbows leaning on the silver table, you hold the Vulcan's steady gaze, working hard to stop the corner of your mouth from twitching up into a smile. Spock's eyes narrowed.

“You are joking.”

At his words you relax, grinning evilly. “I'm afraid not my friend. In my time, instead of saying 'are you serious', some people really did say 'deadass'.”

Spock looks at you for a moment, then his right eyebrow quirks upwards. “The people in your time were –”

“Ridiculous?”

“Fascinating.”

“That's one word for it!” You laugh, leaning back in your chair with a stretch. It’s your turn, and you wait as Spock prepares the fact he’s going to tell you.

“Vulcans are touch telepaths.”

You study his face carefully, and find absolutely nothing to help you. Cursing inwardly, you decide to try another tactic.

“As in, if you touched me, you could read my thoughts?” you ask.

“Precisely.”

You wait a few moments longer, staring him down.

“You’re joking.” You guess.

“It is in fact true.”

“Seriously? That’s amazing!” You can’t help but laugh as the absurdity of your situation settles around you. It’s been hitting you less and less lately, but there are still moments where everything seems unfathomable. At least the outright disbelief stopped a few days in.

“This place is wild,” you say, more to yourself than to Spock as you get up, moving across the room to the replicator. As you take your cup of tea from the slot in the wall, you feel the tall Vulcan move into place beside you.

Giving him a small smile, you shift your gaze to the window. Outside, tendrils of pink spill into clouds of blue as the ship sails lazily by a nebula. The glow of the stars seems endless, and you are pulled from your trance only when Spock takes a step closer to you. You turn to see him watching you, and you laugh gently, running a hand through your hair.

“I always loved space,” you say, looking back out at the nebula. “Since I was a little girl. I never dreamed I’d get this close.”

“Too easy. True.”

Confused, you turn to look at Spock, and then it clicks.

“Oh –” you smile, moving so your back leans against the counter. “Yes Mr. Spock, you’re right, far too easy. I thought you said Vulcans don’t have a sense of humour.”

Spock doesn’t reply to this, turning his body to match yours. “I believe,” he says, “it is my turn.”

You nod your assent. When he looks at you this time, there is something like hesitation in his eyes. “Due to our sensitivity to touch, a Vulcan kiss is performed using the soles of the feet.”

You can’t help but grin at the mental image. Hell, if he really was telepathic –

“True.”

“You are mistaken.” Spock answers, moving to face you. “This,” he takes your hand, extending your index and middle fingers before lightly pressing his to them, “is a Vulcan kiss.”

His skin is warm and soft against yours, and your heart jumps as you look up into his face. You feel his thumb slide along the back of your hand, and you take a small step forward.

—

Cover my eyes

Cover my ears

Tell me these words are a lie

It can’t be true

That I’m losing you

The sun cannot fall from the sky

Her tiny chest rose and fell under your hand. You looked over her mottled cheeks and her serene eyes. Still asleep. Nearly two weeks. You reached up and brushed your fingers over her soft mat of black hair, thick and abundant like her father’s.

Someone behind you gripped your shoulder and you looked up to see Spock’s face, although he wasn’t looking down at you. His eyes were fixed on your tiny daughter under your fingertips.

“There has been no change, I assume?” he murmured in the silence of the private medbay room.

You simply shook your head, looking back at her.

“We should name her, before…” your voice trailed off and Spock raised his other hand to your free shoulder and squeezed them both gently in his strong grip.

“Agreed,” he whispered. “When was Doctor McCoy last here?”

“Perhaps an hour ago?” you took a deep breath to quell the fresh emotion tearing through your chest. “He said he would be back soon to look in on us.”

Spock began to move his fingers over your tight shoulders. “Have you eaten today?”

“I can’t keep anything down for long,” you said, looking up at your husband. “Every time I think about her, I get so nauseous…”

“You should still be trying to eat something,” Leonard stepped quietly into the room and walked around the the bed to your daughter’s other side. He withdrew his tricorder and began scanning her.

“I had a half piece of toast a few hours ago,” you mumbled as you watched Leonard’s face. His features set gravely and he put the tricorder back in his pocket before looking up at you.

“We’re ready to attempt the surgery,” he began and your heart gripped in your chest.

Spock stepped around you and dipped to capture one of your hands in his. You choked on your breath, considering what words were coming next.

“It may be best to start making arrangements,” Leonard said softly, stepping around the bed to stand next to you. “I’m going to do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.”

Spock pulled you up from the chair and wrapped you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“What sort of arrangements should we be making?” Spock asked.

“If I were you, I’d start with choosing a name,” Leonard started, “if you have any religious requirements, you may want to arrange those today. We can take it from there as things progress.”

“Funeral arrangements,” you groaned into Spock’s chest. “We should make funeral arrangements, is what you mean.”

“I can talk to Jim for you if you prefer,” Leonard offered.

“As he is already appraised of our situation, I believe that may be the wisest course of action for the time being,” Spock said.

“Then I’ll do that,” Leonard said, “We want to give you the day to make your arrangements, we can conduct the surgery first thing tomorrow morning…”

Your thoughts muddled up with your emotions and your exhaustion in your ears. Leonard explained this procedure to you twice already.

It was her heart. It was nestled half inside her right lung. Her heartbeat was incredibly weak, even for being born six weeks premature. The formation of her heart followed the Vulcan model, but it got lost somewhere between where Spock’s was and where yours was. Leonard needed to go in and separate the organs from each other and settle the heart… somewhere. Your daughter’s chances were not good, but there was a small chance that she would survive, the alternative being that you waited with her until her heart finally stopped beating.

Eight months ago, Leonard warned you that this might happen. You and Spock came to see the doctor when you decided that you wanted to have a baby. Leonard warned you about the complications, many of which Spock was already familiar with. Spock was the first and so far only half-human, half-Vulcan individual to live through to adulthood. His early life was not without medical hiccups, but as the years passed he became more stable and now he was virtually the picture of health. He was willing to bear the burden of similar incidents with his daughter. Neither or you expected this.

Spock ran a hand over your back, a surprisingly human gesture, as Leonard stepped out of the room.

“Do you have any desire to have her baptised?” Spock asked pulling back from you. “I know that you do not adhere to your family’s spirituality -”

“I don’t see a reason to begin now.”

Spock nodded.

“But we need a name,” you looked down at your daughter’s tiny body, breathing away under the assistance of the bio bed.

“I believe that, as she is mostly human, she should have a human name,” Spock said, letting his hands slide down your arms to hold your hands in his. “She should take your surname.”

“Are you certain?” you looked up at him. He blinked down at you with soft eyes. “Then she should have a Vulcan given name.”

“As you wish,” Spock murmured.

You squeezed his hands before letting him go and sitting back in the chair next to your daughter, reaching up and stroking her hair again.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” you cupped her small, warm face in your fingers. “I expected there to be complications but I never thought…”

“The more diluted Vulcan DNA becomes, the more problems it may pose when mixed with that of a human,” Spock explained, standing next to you and reaching out to touch his daughter’s arm with soft fingers. You watched as his eyes roamed over her tiny form.

“Do you read anything there?” you asked after a moment.

Spock closed his eyes.

“I am hesitant to look,” he admitted.

Stop every clock

Stars are in shock

The river would run to the sea

I won’t let you fly

I won’t say goodbye

I won’t let you slip away from me

Spock insisted that you remain in your quarters together while Leonard conducted the operation. It would take hours, and Spock thought that meditating in familiar surroundings may encourage a less stressful wait.

You sat cross-legged across from each other, hands joined where your knees touched, minds cohabiting in their worry.

Being open to Spock’s mind made you feel less alone, although it amplified your feeling of dread. Spock told you once that Vulcans feel emotions more strongly sometimes than humans do. You didn’t believe him until you felt the fear in him surrounding the potential loss of your daughter. You felt residual terror and pain regarding his mother and the loss of his home. He felt comfort in the family unit you built together, and he had so much hope for your daughter and her future and the despair that he was experiencing was so strong it nearly overwhelmed you.

But just as he poured his worries into you, you poured yours back into him and you bonded together over your grief.

T’Ryth.

You opened your eyes and looked at Spock who broke your connection gently. He gazed at you for a long moment before you spoke.

“Is that her name?” you asked quietly.

“If you find it acceptable.”

You squeezed his hands.

“I do.”

“In your culture, I believe there are generally two given names,” Spock ventured, tightening his grip on your fingers as you tried to pull away.

“In many cases,” you said. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was wondering if perhaps an Earth name might be suitable.”

“Amanda.”

Spock’s lips parted a fraction as he processed his mother’s name. He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you certain?”

“Very much so,” you stroked the backs of his hands with your thumbs. “I heard you thinking about her. I know how important she was to you. I know how important our daughter is to you.”

Spock loosened the fingers of one of his hands and he started to trace your fingers with his.

“I can think of no better name.”

“T’Ryth Amanda Y/L/N,” you whispered with a smile as tears sprang to your eyes. “I hope…”

“As do I,” Spock stood and pulled you up with him, encircling you with his arms.

“She will be amazing,” you said hopefully.

“She will be,” Spock said, tipping his head against yours.

The door alarm sounded and you took and held a deep breath. Spock pulled back and kissed your forehead before stepping to the door.

Leonard was on the other side.

“She made it through the surgery, but she’s weak,” the doctor said softly. “You should come.”

So hold on

Be strong

Everyday hope will grow

I’m here, don’t you fear

Little one don’t let go

She was hooked up to several machines when you arrived. A quiet wail escaped your lips and you turned to tuck yourself into Spock’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you as Leonard spoke.

“The operation was a success,” he said softly. “We are going to continue doing everything we can to keep her stable. A significant part of the problem is her prematurity. She may be too weak to recover.”

“Did we make a mistake?” you asked, pulling back from Spock’s body and looking at your friend. “Should we have waited longer to do the surgery?”

“She would have died,” Leonard said. “We’ve given her a chance. We have the capability to keep her alive for a while longer, but her body needs to still do a lot of heavy lifting to pull out of it.”

You nodded and took a deep breath before turning and crossing the room to her.

“We have chosen a name,” Spock said after a moment.

Leonard pulled out his PADD and tapped between a few screens.

“T’Ryth Amanda Y/L/N,” you addressed your daughter with her name, reaching down and taking her tiny hand in your fingers. “You are going to be amazing. You are going to be so strong, just like your father and me. You can overcome this, and you will be extraordinary.”

“A beautiful name,” Leonard said, typing it, presumably, onto her birth certificate.

Out the corner of your eye you watched Leonard lay a hand on Spock’s shoulder.

“If you need anything, please tell me,” his tone was strained and hoarse. You remembered that he, too, had a daughter.

“Thank you, Leonard,” your husband returned the gesture and the doctor left.

Spock stood behind you and watched his daughter over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to let her go,” you muttered to him over your shoulder. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“All we can do is remain with her and hope that she is strong enough to overcome her situation,” Spock said, laying his hands once again on your shoulders. When he spoke again his voice was soft. “She is so small.”

“She is,” you reached up and touched one of his hands.

Spock did not reply but his grip on your shoulders became heavy.

Can you hear heaven cry

The tears of an angel

You stood in an alley, closed in on either side by tall brick buildings. Squinting up at the aged walls, you realized that you were in the old part of downtown. The strip of pitch black sky above displayed a beautiful swath of stars.

Drawing your attention back to the narrow passage before you, you realised that you were staring at a woman. She stood, tall and slender, maybe twenty meters from you. She began stepping toward you, slowly as if she was worried she was going to scare you away.

You took a step forward.

“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked.

As you got closer you could see her more clearly. She had flawless skin, sharp features, jet black hair, and gently pointed ears. There was a familiarity in her deep brown eyes. They were your husband’s eyes.

“T’Ryth?” you asked as she stopped a pace from you.

She smiled broadly at you, her teeth gleaming in the darkness.

“I see you don’t take after your father in that regard,” you quipped.

“I’ve got too much of you in me,” she reached out and you accepted her hands. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

You stared at her remembering her tiny body on the bio bed, surrounded by so many machines.

“I’ve got too much of you in me,” she reiterated, brushing her thumbs over the deep scars on your knuckles, lasting reminders of the hand-to-hand combats you’ve engaged in throughout your career. Her smile didn’t fade. It was so incongruous with her father’s ears, which she displayed proudly with her hair pulled back tight against her scalp.

“You’re dying,” you remembered. How had she become a woman so fast? And why were you here…

“I’m not, mom,” she pulled you into her and wrapped her arms around you. “Wake up.”

A heavy wind blew down the alleyway, pushing you back to consciousness.

“Don’t go,” you clung to your daughter as your heart began to race in panic. “Don’t go!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured in your ear. “Wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open and you were staring at the plate ceiling of your quarters. Spock stood across the room, buckling his belt about his hips. He looked up as he realized you were awake.

“Y/N?” he asked, taking a few steps toward the bed.

“Spock…” you flung your legs over the edge of the bed and closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his neck. “Spock, I need to go see her.”

“You have only been asleep for four hours,” Spock countered, pulling back and taking hold of your arms. “You should rest.”

“I dreamed about her, Spock,” you reasoned, yanking your arms from his grasp and circling around him to the closet, withdrawing one of your uniform dresses. “She was an adult already and she told me that she was going to be okay -”

“Y/N,” Spock said, touching your shoulder as you whipped your nightshirt over your head before fumbling in the closet for a bra.

“I just need to see how she is,” you breathed as you jerked one free from your drawer. You turned to your husband and you threaded the garment around your body. “She said she was a fighter, she said she was going to be alright.”

“Y/N, it was merely a dream. T’Ryth has shown no sign of improvement in several weeks,” he placed his hands on your arms to prevent you from pulling your uniform down your body. “It appears to me that you are attempting to rationalize your grief.”

“Spock,” you swatted at his hands. “Don’t make it sound like you’ve come to terms with this.”

“I have not,” Spock agreed as he let his hands fall limp. “But that does not justify your drawing irrational hope from a dream.”

“I’ll pull irrational hope from wherever I can until I know that my daughter is going to survive,” you snarled back at him. “‘Irrational hope,’ Jesus.”

You bent and pulled your boots on before storming from the room.

Spock’s shift began early today; he went back to work a week ago. The halls were nearly deserted at this hour, which allowed you an unimpeded trip to the medbay.

Doctor M’Benga would still be on shift. You burst through the door of the medbay and he stepped over swiftly to greet you.

“I haven’t had a chance to contact you yet, Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N,” he started with hesitance.

“Contact me about what?” you asked.

“It would be best if you saw for yourself,” he placed a hand on your shoulder and lead you to T’Ryth’s room.

You gasped as you stepped through the door.

A nurse was bouncing in small circles with your daughter gurgling in her arms. You took a few ginger paces forward and met your daughter’s deep brown eyes for the first time.

“May I?” you asked the nurse, who happily passed you your child. You cradled T’Ryth close to your chest, nestling her in the crook of your arm as you stroked her face.

Spock entered the room a moment later and immediately moved to your side, placing one hand between your shoulders and one on his daughter’s head.

“How is this possible?” Spock asked, looking at M’Benga.

“To be honest, I am not sure,” the doctor responded.

—

So hold on

Be strong

Everyday, hope will grow

Can you hear heaven cry

The tears of an angel

The walls of Spock’s dimly lit room flickered in the candle light. You sat on the floor in front of the meditation candle with your knees curled into your chest and your arms around your legs, head bowed so your forehead touched your kneecaps.

Spock flatlined twice more. Once at five in the morning and once around nine thirty.

When Leonard came back on shift at eight in the morning, he explained more to you about Spock’s condition. He suffered a severe concussion and significant damage to his lungs and heart. There was a skirmish. Spock sustained most of his damage in a hand-to-hand combat with one of the raiders. The raiders wouldn’t have known that what they were in fact hitting was his heart not his liver. It struggled just as much as his lungs.

You breathed quietly, counting through each inhale and exhale. The last time you looked at a clock it was nearly four in the afternoon. Leonard came in to tell you to go take a nap. You acquiesced but not because you wanted a rest but because you couldn’t bear to watch the last few hours tick by. If Spock died again, they might not be able to bring him back. And if he didn’t die again before 1714… well, that still didn’t guarantee that he’d survive.

As you left the sickbay you gave Spock one last kiss on the forehead before wandering from the sterile department directly to his room where you curled up among his meagre possessions and began… it wasn’t praying, really, but it wasn’t meditation either. It was begging. You begged the powers that be to let him live.

What tore at you was your memory of the last time you saw Spock, just yesterday morning. He was supposedly spending the day performing diagnostics in the science labs; but that was before you got the distress signal. As you stood from the table in the mess hall to make your way to the bridge, Spock captured your hand in his. He wished you a good day and asked if he could have the pleasure of your company for dinner. He asked the same question every morning.

The door alarm shocked you out of your thoughts.

“Computer, lights,” you commanded as you leaned forward and blew the candle out. You stood and crossed the room as the lights came on and you activated the door panel, revealing Kirk on the other side. Dark blue circles rimmed the undersides of his eyes.

“You haven’t slept either,” you said, leaning on the doorframe.

Kirk shook his head.

“It’s nearly 1800,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Straightening yourself, you tried to read his exhausted expression.

“He’s still stable, since this morning,” Kirk elaborated. “Bones said that means he’s through the worst of it. The dermal regenerators have done enough repairs to keep him where he is now.”

“Does that mean…” you didn’t dare finish your question.

“That means he’s going to make it,” a ghost of a smile touched Kirk’s lips.

Your exhale turned into a cough and tears flooded your vision involuntarily. You reached out and Kirk pulled you into a hug. This was as important for him as it was for you; the two men were the strongest command team in the fleet and fierce friends.

“He’s not awake, though,” you muttered into Kirk’s neck.

“Not yet, but Bones is letting him take over. He’ll come out of the coma as his body sees fit,” Kirk ran his hand soothingly up and down your spine.

“Does he know when that might be?” you pulled back and stepped out of Spock’s quarters, sealing the door behind you.

“It’s hard to say,” Kirk said as you started down the hall together. “It likely won’t be tonight. Bones wants the two of us to get some sleep.”

“It’s like he knew I didn’t go home,” you said with a half-hearted laugh. “Are you going to go sleep?”

“Hell no, I’m going to get a drink, I was going to ask you if you wanted to join me.”

“As much as I’d like to, I don’t know if I’d be able to stomach it tonight,” you said, touching his arm as you came to a hallway junction. “I’m going to go try to get some sleep. I intend to make my shift tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to,” Kirk said, stopping and turning to you. “Really, you don’t have to. We’ve got leave to cover these kinds of things.”

“I’m not using bereavement or sick days to cover this,” you said. “He might not wake up for days. I’m going to get back to work and keep myself busy. He’d kill me if I let something like this get in the way of my work.”

“He probably would,” Kirk grinned. “But I don’t think that jumping back in quite yet is the best idea. Spock might have his own ideas about handling emotional matters like this, but as another human I can tell you that taking time to be with the people you love, especially in situations like this, is more helpful than anything. And anyway, isn’t he telepathic? Just being there you’ll probably coax him back and I’d like my first officer back where he belongs. Just take a day or two.”

You pursed your lips and thought about it.

“My focus won’t be there right now,” you finally admitted. “You’re probably right.”

“Good,” Kirk squeezed your shoulder. “Get out of here, go sleep, and get back to him tomorrow. He’ll still be there.”

“Thanks,” you waved at Kirk before you wandered down the hallway to your quarters.

–

You dreamed about holding Spock’s hand. He was tracing your fingers with his, a traditional Vulcan kiss. You stood across from each other in white space, simply looking at each other as Spock moved his fingers around yours. You were so in awe of his eyes, alive and open, that you couldn’t move in return. His gaze suggested that he didn’t mind.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

You blinked at him in response.

“Y/N,” he said again with a little more force.

With a deep breath you came out of your sleep, the image fading and the white sheets of the bio bed filling your vision as you woke up. You lifted your head and wiped at your eyes with your free hand, picking tiny granules of sand from the corners. As you removed your hand from your face you realized that you were being watched.

Spock followed you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted. He moved his fingers around yours gently. You fell asleep holding his hand.

“Y/N,” he repeated.

“Spock,” you felt your lips turn up at the sides. Inching closer to the bed you raised your other hand and placed it on his head. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” he responded, letting his eyes roam around your face. “I was under the impression that I was dead.”

“Not for long,” you smiled at him, feeling the tears start to well again. You tried to roll the tears away, afraid of showing too much emotion, although you felt a bright light ignite somewhere deep inside you. “You died a few times, but you wouldn’t let go for long.”

“I presume Doctor McCoy was my attending physician?”

“During the day, M’Benga took over at night.”

He blinked his comprehension and his eyes settled on yours, unwavering and very much alive.

“How do you feel?” you asked. “Should I go get him?”

“Not yet,” he squeezed your hand. “I wish for a moment alone with you.”

“You can have as many moments as you want,” you stroked your thumb over his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“The rest of the landing party…” he began his query but his voice trailed off.

“Powers and Duncan are fine, barely a scratch between them. McFee didn’t make it. Willis is conscious but still under surveillance. They’re trying to determine if the damage he sustained to his left arm is substantial enough to warrant amputation.”

“Mr. McFee,” Spock asked, “how did he die?”

“Ultimately it was internal hemorrhaging. He was fine for a few hours but eventually the internal sutures wouldn’t hold. M’Benga did what he could, but the damage was too substantial.”

“And how did I…” he trailed off again. You squeezed his hand.

“Respiratory arrest,” you said, letting your hand slide down his face and tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. “Cardiac arrest, twice.”

He watched you as you lifted your hand from his face to wipe the tears away from your own.

“Are you well?” he asked as you lowered your hand to his head again.

“Me?” you asked.

“You appear not to have slept in some time,” he murmured, sliding his fingers along yours gently.

“I haven’t. I mean, I’m getting about four hours a night, but I’ve been worrying this whole time.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” Spock furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head.

“I wasn’t able to focus on my work,” you said with a small shrug. “Kirk had to convince me not to go back; I know you would have seen the logic in getting back to work.”

“In some situations it may be wiser to protect your emotional well being,” he said. “I appreciate you staying with me.”

A smile pulled at your lips and you lifted yourself, leaning forward and kissing him lightly. The warmth of his breath washing over your face felt like a dream. He was alive and awake. As you pulled back you steadied yourself and loosed your hand from his with a light squeeze.

“I’m going to go get Doctor McCoy,” you murmured. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”