One of his counterpart's memory's floats free: a child, Spock, awake in his bed in the middle of the night with a woman sitting by his side, stroking his forehead. Sleep, Spock. You need rest if you are to grow strong and logical like your father. There is humor, human humor in the memory's voice. His mother, then.
Spock shakes his head to dislodge the memory.
He rises, graceful despite his injury, and moves to strip off his clothes. He folds them, removes the shealths for his knives, disarms himself with his back to Christopher - trust, complete trust.
The curve of Christopher's back invites his touch when Spock slips into the bed from the other side. It is not entirely settled between them, he knows, but he reaches out anyway, runs his hand from nape to the small of his back.
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Date: 2009-10-11 10:52 pm (UTC)Spock shakes his head to dislodge the memory.
He rises, graceful despite his injury, and moves to strip off his clothes. He folds them, removes the shealths for his knives, disarms himself with his back to Christopher - trust, complete trust.
The curve of Christopher's back invites his touch when Spock slips into the bed from the other side. It is not entirely settled between them, he knows, but he reaches out anyway, runs his hand from nape to the small of his back.
Wake me for any reason.