#(WHATS MY AMELIA TAG AHHH I'LL FIND IT SOON)

[ak-spra]

Nothing left to burn

CONTINUATION FROM X.

Spock’s thought of little else but the news since he heard it. He finds himself constantly sliding open the case, revealing the image of the ambassador and his crew. Older, happy, content. He knows that that their hands are the only ones that likely handled the object, knows that it was intended for him, as a reminder of what to hold on to, what he could become.

There are so many questions he never found the courage to ask, both about the life Ambassador Spock had lived and how he held himself. They spoke, fairly often but not often enough, and the regret soaks into Spock like rain, setting into his shoulders first and weighing him down so slowly that he doesn’t even realise he’s drenched until a familiar hand settles on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

The words wash over him, heard but not absorbed. Understood but not retained. He can feel the waves cresting, each breath he takes shaking a bit more, drawing the line higher in his threshold, and he’s so grateful for them being alone. As is often illogically the case, it’s the verbal confirmation of his grief that really pushes the emotion into something unavoidable.

Wordlessly, he turns towards Amelia — the person who may know him best in the whole galaxy — and winds his arms around her waist, hiding his face among her soft hair before the first hot tears begin to fall. She’s smaller, of course, so the angle isn’t quite right. It’s usually reversed, Amelia slotting perfectly against his chest and is arms seeming designed exactly to wrap around her shoulders. This is less common, though not impossible. It’s the safest place he knows, but he still holds himself back from leaning his entire weight, emotionally and physically, onto his dear companion. ( @snowinabottle​ )