A/N: This takes place directly after the first 2009 movie, and I don't own anything. More from me at the end!
Loss was an illogical emotion, and yet they were all feeling it. Suffering it. Drowning in it. Losing an entire planet and more than half your species would do that to you.
Yet Spock felt like he was suffering more, drowning faster, which may have been completely illogical but he was only half Vulcan after all and at that precise moment all he wanted was a warm embrace from his mother.
He couldn't remember the last time he had let his mother hug him, really truly hold him. And that hurt. It hurt more than he expected it to; it hurt like a knife to the chest, a deep burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, an open ulcer that was slowly bubbling and festering, waiting to burst and devour him from the inside out.
So perhaps he had latched on to the only thing he could. He knew that type of attachment was not logical, or necessarily healthy, yet he couldn't explain his sudden need to ensure the safety of another living being. They were all tired, all hurting in different ways, some physical while others emotional; yet even when surrounded by all that pain, Spock found his focus zeroed in on one in particular.
If it had been Uhura that currently held his attention, Spock may not have been so perturbed. The two had formed an emotional connection after all, he valued her, and appreciated her. He wasn't sure he could say he felt the same way about her that she did about him, but at that moment he wasn't entirely sure what he felt. Love, anger, pity, forgiveness, worry. It was all a jumbled mess inside his head, the need to meditate and sort it all out almost overwhelming.
But Spock didn't have time to meditate just yet, so he was left to reign in his ravaging emotions. Reign in, but not suppress entirely.
Which is why he found himself discreetly staring. With subtle glances, and analytical gazes. Nothing too obvious, but enough to ensure the safety of the human that currently grasped his attention.
A human so like his mother it was almost startling. They shared the same love for the feeling of being alive, Spock could tell that this human relished in each breath the same way his mother had. This one's willingness to tackle challenges, with a smile and vigor while others might sigh or complain, was the same. He shared the same glint in his eye that his mother often had while working on a particularly difficult problem. They both valued life like no other Spock had ever come across, even other humans did not have the same outlook as his mother. Or as Jim Kirk.
The young acting captain was hurting, both physically and emotionally, that much was clear. Yet he still refused to go down to medical. The ship was in shambles, hundreds of crew as-of-yet unaccounted for; he couldn't abandon his post, leave someone else to deal with the problem he felt was his own responsibility to fix. But he couldn't continue working at this pace either.
Uhura gave him a slightly quizzical glance when he discretely asked her to send a message to medical and have McCoy report to the bridge to assist the captain. And when the doctor burst through the lift doors, white coat flaps trailing behind a blaze of righteous fury he barely blinked an eye.
Jim was understandably upset, but after his friend ran a small scan over his body and reported his numerous injuries for all to hear he was a bit more cooperative. He sighed as heavily as his damaged ribs would allow and handed the conn over to Sulu, telling Spock to "look after my baby" with a playful wink before allowing the doctor to support his weight and guide him down to the medbay.
It may have been illogical to latch on to someone so quickly, and he knew he was not yet worthy of calling himself even an acquaintance of Jim's, wasn't sure if he would ever be worthy of a title so monumental as friend. So he merely hovered. Ready and willing to offer his assistance should it ever be needed.
McCoy noticed, of course he did. There wasn't much that concerned Jim that could get past the good doctor, he had eyes like a hawk and a radar for potential threats when Jim was involved. Yet he responded to Spock's miniscule signs of concern with a slight lift of the eyebrow and a shake of the head. He most certainly didn't approve of the attention Spock was giving Jim, but he didn't stop it either. Perhaps it was because he could divulge Spock's true intentions were non-threatening, or because he was up to his elbows in injured people as it was and having someone else to watch over the accident-prone captain was just what he needed at the moment.
Whatever the case, Spock latched on tight. He had lost his mother, but he had not lost everything he loved about her. He saw her in the curious, mischievous glint in those too-bright blue eyes staring quizzically at him from a biobed across the room. In the kindness shown to him in a simple nod of the head, a simple nod he returned tenfold before retreating back to the bridge.
Everyone responds to loss differently, has a different way of dealing with suffering. Spock found a likeness to what he had lost in the young, irresponsible acting captain of the Enterprise, and he found he was willing to do almost anything to protect the living attachment to his recently deceased mother, the only truly meaningful reminder he had of her life. It was illogical, but he was not thinking logically, and he found that at that precise moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.
A/N: So I literally have no idea where this came from. *shrugs* It just kind of popped into my head. I was trying to explain the almost hesitant friendship Spock and Jim have been forming. It's obvious they care about each other to literally everyone, except each other I think. And if Jim isn't quite sure what Spock feels for him, and if Spock feels like his attachment to Jim is over something "illogical" like remembering his dead mother and not genuine, that would make them both a little awkward. Anywho, that's just what happened in my whack-ass brain. What'd ya think? :D