[ If he could share the murkier recesses of his mind, the places he goes to hate himself and replay his failures, there's a high likelihood he still wouldn't willingly take Spock there, even without the kneejerk reaction to barricade it from sight. It says enough that the surface is skimmed, not broken, and he lifts the hand from the glass because Spock reached out. Jim understands and appreciates. He can anchor the tears that are shed on his behalf, absently holding fast to the wrist of the hand touching his face in real time, the pad of a thumb soothing lines back and forth, over an instep.
These are new memories; Jim doesn't remember waking. He knows only the darkness, watching with the air of a spectator as Spock and Bones stand by his bed and a riot of color dims to a simple pale glow.
Thank you. And then, It's going to be weird, not hearing you soon.
It hurt when Jim wrenched his head away from Prime's fingers, he doesn't want that to happen again. The difference in knowing Spock's thoughts here and having to guess at them suddenly feels enormous. ]
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These are new memories; Jim doesn't remember waking. He knows only the darkness, watching with the air of a spectator as Spock and Bones stand by his bed and a riot of color dims to a simple pale glow.
Thank you. And then, It's going to be weird, not hearing you soon.
It hurt when Jim wrenched his head away from Prime's fingers, he doesn't want that to happen again. The difference in knowing Spock's thoughts here and having to guess at them suddenly feels enormous. ]