Chapter Text
Spock's heart is pumping fast in his side. His throat is dry from running, and his feet are starting to ache inside the standard-issue boots. He pushes the discomfort to the back of his mind and keeps his phaser steady as he slows his pace; urgency is replaced by alertness as his walk becomes a prowl.
The corridors are narrower in the lower level. The previous floors had been spacious and filled with machinery, but this one is bare. The walls are dirt, the floor is dirt, and the only break from the brown is the dark rust of metal bars. Large cells line the entirety of the right side of the corridor and they house quiet aliens—both dead and alive.
The stench of the place registers and he coughs, feeling his eyes sting, and tries breathing just through his mouth. He doesn't stop to help the prisoners; there's an entire security detail who beamed down with him and they'll see to the rescue. His focus is elsewhere. His focus has been elsewhere for months.
"Slow down, Spock! You're not even looking properly," a voice speaks behind him and he remembers that someone else is just as invested in this rescue as he is. Almost as invested.
"I do not need to look," is the only reply he gives.
There's a huff of air that comes from his CMO, but the man does not press him further.
They are walking past the cells very quickly, but Spock's bond sings to him and he follows it blindly. His soul has been stretched thin for the past three months and he knows his feet will stop when he must.
And they do, and he does.
"It is him," he says, no hint of doubt in his voice.
Following his lead, McCoy turns toward the cell they've reached and all either of them can see is a figure huddled in the far most corner. There's no blond hair peaking out from what looks like either a tatty blanket or a loose set of robes. McCoy looks at Spock and opens his mouth to either ask or say something—
But Spock is already aiming his phaser at the cell's gates. He blasts the lock open and pieces fly off in different directions, making sharp metal sounds as they ricochet. He doesn't care to be cautious with it; Jim is too far away to be harmed.
Hopping over the remains of the metal bars, he crosses the room in less than three strides. His knees hit the floor just as McCoy's voice sounds again behind him. "Jim?"
Jim is sitting up against the wall, curled up and clutching a tan colored blanket that's wrapped all around him. He does not move when they come in, even with the sounds of their forced entry. He is not dead, Spock says like a mantra inside his own head. Their bond lives, and so Jim has to be alive as well. It is fact and it's all he's got to hold onto.
Out loud but with a very soft voice, he says, "Ashayam."
Jim looks up at him and Spock's heart skips in his side. He is alive— the confirmation of it threatens overwhelm him. The expression on Jim's face, however, is not one Spock had been prepared for. There's no relief, no pain, no fear, no nothing. Jim looks at him like he'd been looking at the dirt walls before, indifferent.
"Jim?" he prompts again, his hand softly touching his husband's face, itching to initiate a meld between them. But the blank expression doesn't change. There's no recognition in Jim's eyes, and Spock feels his throat tighten as he considers that Jim may have been blinded.
He's about to scoop Jim into his arms when an elbow pushes him out of the way.
"Move, Spock!"
It's a testament of how much he intrinsically trusts McCoy that he doesn't flatten the man against the wall for shoving him away from his bondmate. The last time Spock felt this primal and out of control was during his pon farr, and he isn't sure how he's going to come back from this.
The tricorder on McCoy's hand starts spinning and the doctor's eyes are fixed on the readouts. He lowers the device and holds it over Jim's stomach.
Spock is holding his breath, eyes snapping back and forth between Jim's face and the medical tricorder. He can feel each of his heartbeats loud in his ears.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Dread starts to settle in as the whirring of the machine continues with no word from the doctor. This is it. He had been hoping; he had stayed up at night dreaming of this moment, but it had been for naught. Jim is right in front of him and there is nothing he can do to change the outcome. Breathing out through his nose and clenching his hands, he prepares himself for the news.
And then McCoy slumps next to him, both tricorder and readouts falling at his sides. "By god, she's in there! She's alive, Spock. She's alive!" he says and then he's laughing a bit hysterically. "That's a Kirk right there if I ever seen one!"
Spock closes his eyes and feels his body sag like he's just been sedated.
She's alive. His daughter is alive.
He can feel his throat tighten again, and the words don't want to come, so he just breathes out very heavily and nods several times. He's trying to get his breath under control. He is Vulcan, half-Vulcan, and he can regulate it; he should be able to regulate it. He can't. He nods again.
"Jim's pulse is steady. No internal injuries that I can pick up."
But it's a field tricorder. It's a model TF-M97842 and it scans for major damage to muscle and bone tissue, but it has a series of limitations that could—
"Jim? Jim, can you see me alright?" the doctor asks, waving a hand in front of Jim's eyes.
It might not account for certain types of brain damage—
"Don't make me hypo you, kid, I swear!"
And Jim's condition would serve to complicate the readouts further—
"Alright, let's get him out of here. He's good for transporting. There's no point in wasting time with these when we have a state-of-the-art sickbay up in that tin can of his." McCoy says, nodding his chin towards the ceiling.
A beat.
"Spock?"
A beat.
"Spock!"
"Yes, Doctor?" Spock looks up, and McCoy is staring at him.
"He's clear for transport," the man repeats, gesturing towards the door.
With a small nod, Spock searches Jim's face again, hoping to see some recognition, but his bondmate still has his eyes opened, his mouth unmoving and no expression. So Spock moves slowly to get his arms under Jim, careful not to startle him, but there is no response; Jim doesn't lean into or away from his touch.
McCoy sees him struggle slightly to balance Jim's dead weight off the floor and moves closer. "Do you need any he—"
"I do not," he replies curtly.
The doctor sighs.
In silence, their walk back to the beam up point seems to take much longer than their way down.
—
Spock forces—forces—himself to meditate, because his mind is swallowing him alive and he will be consumed by his emotions if he does nothing. He almost barged into the sterile surgical room, and it was only Doctor McCoy's understanding of his state that kept him from being removed by security.
Jim will need Spock's mind to be ordered. Their daughter will need his mind to be ordered.
He breathes in, breathes out and closes his eyes.
It's hours before someone touches him lightly on the shoulder. He can't tell how much time has passed down to the second and that concerns him, but at least his meditation was successful.
"They're fine," his CMO says before he can ask.
He lets out a slow breath and nods once.
"Jim is surprisingly fine. Well, physically, anyway. Not really a bruise or scar to speak of." He shrugs. "The other prisoners we've beamed up— not gonna go into the nitty gritty of it, but whatever they were doing down there, they weren't throwing a tea party, that's for sure."
Spock's jaw tightens.
"And T'Lena?"
McCoy huffs. "She's Jim's kid, alright. Grown big and strong since last time we saw her—moving around like you wouldn't believe it." He offers an encouraging smile. "She's low on copper, but it's nothing a few hypos won't solve. I already got Jim's started on a vitamin solution, too. He's on the red for a lot of stuff, but at least I can tell he was getting something to eat."
"I surmise you are informing me of this because he has been transferred to a private room?"
The doctor nods, but then he's closing his mouth tightly and shifting his focus off to the side.
"Spock, listen." He pauses. "Before you go in there, I need you to know what to expect."
Spock's eyes narrow at the tone. "You have said, not fifty-two seconds ago, that they were unharmed."
"I said they were fine. Physically."
"'Fine' has-"
"Multiple definitions, I know. And that's kinda my point, this time." He sighs and shakes his head. Spock only then notices how the doctor's eyes have dark bags underneath them and how his hair is pointing off in different directions. "Jim is— the way he was reacting, or rather, not reacting to us down in the caves hasn't changed at all." McCoy says, fetching a chair to sit in front of him.
Spock eyes the chair suspiciously. He had assumed their conversation would be brief.
"He's in a catatonic state," McCoy continues and then pauses, holding Spock's gaze for a couple of seconds. "It's most likely due to shock. It's hopefully due to shock—"
"You believe it to have been caused by an external agent," Spock interrupts, and his voice has no inflection.
"I didn't say that," McCoy replies, annoyed. "But toxins could have caused it, yes."
"It is highly probable. In interrogations—"
"We don't know that! Stop jumping to conclusions, Spock. Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?" He pauses and closes his eyes for a moment before continuing. "I'm waiting on a more conclusive tox-screen, but I'm pretty sure it's just shock."
Spock inclines his head and starts to get up, but McCoy gets up at the same time, blocking his way.
"Listen, I know. I know how hard it is for you to get him back, only to get him back like this. But he's gonna need us to be patient with him. He might need a few days to start coming around. Do you understand that?" he asks, and despite his tone, his eyes are very kind.
"Whatever Jim requires of me, Doctor, he will have it," Spock says and they lock gazes for a couple of tense seconds before McCoy nods and scratches his head.
"Alright, come on, then. Let's see that husband of yours."
—
When Spock comes in, Jim looks up at him and follows his movements for a short moment. But just as quickly, the gaze is drawn away and Jim is staring off at the blank walls again. Spock could have been a stranger.
Jim is sitting propped up against pillows, wearing a standard sickbay gown. His large stomach makes the blankets pool all around him and Spock can't easily reconcile the Jim he'd seen last, at barely five months along, to the one in front of him at almost full term.
"Ashayam," he calls, walking to the side of the bed. While Jim glances at him for a moment, the gaze is indifferent and Spock hesitates to speak.
Looking down at his hands, mere 5.24 centimeters away from his bondmate's, Spock gives into the urge to reach out and touch. Jim's skin still feels the same— his touch and cool fingers are exactly as Spock remembered them, so he moves his own fingers up and down Jim's hand in a soft Vulcan kiss.
"How profoundly I have felt your absence," he says and then leans over to run his other hand through the blonde's hair before placing a kiss on the top of his head. "I am so glad you are returned to me, Jim. I am so glad you are home."
There is no response, verbal or otherwise, and Spock just resigns himself to it and sits in the chair that had been left for him.
"Doctor McCoy assured me that T'Lena is in good health," he says after a minute of silence. His eyes linger on his bondmate's large stomach and he brings the chair a bit closer. Reaching out, he places a hand delicately over the rounded belly of his mate and looks up at his face, searching for signs of discomfort.
Jim does not seem to care that he is being touched. He is clearly aware of Spock's touch and presence because he is looking right at him with those dead blue eyes. But there is no emotional response to go with it. The bond is as silent on the other end of Spock's mind as it has been for months— alive, but hollow just like Jim.
There's a firm thump against Spock's hand and he startles. He looks away from Jim's blank face back towards his stomach; the kick against his hand is harder this time. His muscles relax as a huff of air leaves him in something akin to wonder. It's his daughter.
His heart speeds up even as he feels something warm fill his chest all the way up towards his throat. She is alive, he assures himself again. Jim had not been far enough along last time Spock had seen him for them to be able to feel T'Lena through the skin like this.
It's— wondrous.
There's a knock on the door and Spock immediately straightens as he looks up toward it, his hand falling away from Jim's stomach.
It's a courtesy knock more than anything, and the person comes in without knocking a second time.
"Commander," Doctor M'Benga greets him formally, nodding his head and Spock straightens a bit more.
"Doctor." He inclines his head.
"Doctor McCoy just informed me you were done meditating, sir," he says, stepping further into the room, but still standing away from his commanding officers. "I spoke with the healers stationed on Starbase 17 about the captain's case," he continues, "We believe that a mind meld would be safe to perform at the moment. In fact, we're hoping it might shed some light into the captain's state."
Spock feels the flutter of his heart and looks at Jim; he'd wanted to do it since they were down on that dirt planet.
"Of course, the captain will need to see a proper healer once we arrive on earth, but this will help guide us for now," M'Benga says, shifting his weight and looking at Spock expectantly.
Spock gives a small nod and looks at Jim again.
"I will attempt to initiate a meld," he says, and the doctor eyes the door with uncertainty. "You may stay in the room; it is wise, should any complications arise. However, I request that Doctor McCoy also be present."
The man nods. "Yes, sir. I can fetch him now if you wish to start?"
"That would be agreeable."
It is illogical to feel safer with McCoy in the room when M'Benga is already a highly qualified physician. But Spock knows that if anything were to go wrong, McCoy would save Jim first.
When they're all in the room, Spock stands up to loom over Jim's body. His bondmate's blank eyes stare at him and he doesn't move. Spock feels the urge to explain what he's going to do, or to ask Jim if he's ok with it, but he can't bring himself to speak so openly in front of M'Benga. He wouldn't be able to keep emotion out of his voice if he talked to Jim.
Instead, he touches the cool skin of his husband's neck and traces his way softly up to Jim's face as a physical form of a warning. But Jim doesn't startle, doesn't move. He just looks at him, utterly indifferent.
Ignoring the void stare, Spock positions his fingers on the meld points of Jim's face and leans a bit closer to him. "My mind to your mind."
My thoughts to your thoughts.
It's cold. Gray.
It's still Jim, somehow, and Spock isn't sure whether that makes it worse.
Their bond is right there, unbroken, alive. But Jim's mind is quiet. Where there're usually vibrant colors, pulsing thoughts and emotions that call out to Spock and pull him in, there's just stillness.
He searches inside his husband's mind for any surface emotion, and while there is awareness and thought and memories, the rest of him seems paralysed.
Spock prods deeper, trying to gather any information about Jim's time in captivity, but the vast majority of the fuzzy images that flash by him are brown walls of dirt, a ragged blanket, and the feeling of being cold.
He retreats to the center of their bond and feels around for the other bond in Jim's mind, the one he shares with their daughter. The intertwined threads of the familial bond are thin, grayed and feel cold to the touch. It has a sterile and worn feeling to it as opposed to the organic and pulsating qualities that a healthy bond should have.
When he separates from Jim's mind, he finds the two doctors sat at the edge of their seats, looking at him expectantly.
"Well? What did you see?" McCoy asks after he remains quiet for a full minute.
Spock looks at Jim, studying his face and trying to find any clue as to whether the meld has helped at all. Jim is still staring at the wall in front of him, in the same position he'd been in before.
"I am uncertain," Spock says, finally. "He does not seem to remember what has happened to him. He remembers being in the caves, but it is possible that he's forgotten what caused his trauma. It is also possible that I am unable to search his mind that far back without his cooperation."
"You mean you think whatever they did to him, they did it in the first few weeks? The first days? And they left him alone, after?"
The minute incline of Spock's head is something that only McCoy will be able to read as a shrug, so he doesn't care that M'Benga is there to see it.
"Indeed."
The three of them look at their captain's quiet form. There's nothing any of them can do without a Vulcan healer present on board.
"There were no female prisoners," M'Benga speaks up after a moment.
"Hmm?" McCoy frowns and looks towards the door of the room, beyond which lies his sickbay. "Hadn't really paid attention. But what of it?"
M'Benga shrugs. "Well, the captain wasn't obviously pregnant when he was captured. They could have left him alone once they realized it."
"How kind of them," McCoy says, sarcasm on his voice and a sneer on his face.
Spock looks at Jim's stomach and interlaces his fingers together. According to what he knew of the Depenthian people, they did not recognize females as warriors and did not keep their mates near military bases.
"It would explain his physical health," he concedes.
"Well," McCoy braces himself on his knees and stands up with a sigh. "This didn't really get us anywhere, did it?" He gestures vaguely towards Spock. "Guess we'll have to wait till we get off this deathtrap and he can see a Vulcan Voodoo doctor."
He sounds incredibly frustrated, and Spock knows that the doctor blames himself for not being able to help Jim. It is a feeling they share.
"You know where to find me, Spock," McCoy says as he heads for the door, M'Benga right behind him. "I'll come back in an hour. You'll be ok?"
Spock inclines his head. "I will," he says, looking at his breathing, living, bondmate.
—
When Jim is sleeping, all curled up against his numerous pillows, Spock can almost pretend that everything is ok.
He has been sitting on a plastic chair for five days, watching as his quiet bondmate ignores him and anyone else who enters the room. At least when Jim sleeps, there is no blank gaze staring at him.
Around them, the Enterprise is finally on her way home, as she had been over three months ago.
Three months ago, they had no idea what had been waiting for them. Spock keeps remembering that day. He keeps remembering Jim's beaming smile, his teasing remarks, and his charming treatment of the foreign ambassadors. Jim had been glowing. They had hit the fifth month mark and his uniform stretched over his belly, but he still just looked like a man who had indulged a bit too much.
Jim hadn't minded.
They would have been back on earth before the sixth month, several month's worth of boring reports and debriefs ahead of them while they waited for parental leave. After five years in deep space, even Jim had been ready for some downtime.
And then it was gone. Just like that.
Spock wakes up from the same nightmare almost every night. Hendorff is running towards him, yelling about a hostage situation, Jim is nowhere to be seen and there's dread exploding through their bond. He remembers the Hulnish high commander yelling at her guards and the reports of the seven Hulnish ambassadors who had gone missing.
No one heard anything for days.
The first and only clue they received about the kidnappings was a severed head, returned to them at dawn.
"It was the Depenthians," the high commander had said, looking down at what was left of her most trusted advisor. "Your captain is lost to you. There is nothing to be done."
Spock closes his eyes and shakes the memory away. He never gave up on Jim. He never had and he never would. Reaching for the blankets on the bed, he rearranges them snuggly around his husband's form and combs the hair out of his face. Placing a kiss on his forehead, he says, "I will return shortly, Ashayam." And he leaves to get his first meal in many hours.
—
There was a reason why they had been so practical in the planning of their pregnancy. And the reason is now coming to bite at their heels.
"How much time would be a realistic estimate?" he asks Doctor McCoy.
"Couple of days? I wouldn't push it." the man replies, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at the bed and at Jim before sighing. "Look, Spock, I'm not happy about this either, ok? But we gotta be—and I can't believe I'm the one saying it—we gotta be logical about this. This girl is gonna be born in space and there's nothing either of us can do about it. We're still two weeks away from earth and we don't have two weeks, she's coming out."
Spock closes his mouth.
They have nothing on board. No nursery, no baby clothes, no bottles, no nothing. T'Lena had been preciously calculated to be born on Earth after the end of the Enterprise's five-year mission. They had labored over the procedures for a year, with the help of McCoy, until they knew it would work on Jim. They had even lined up their shore leave and milk run to New Vulcan so they could have the assistance of the healers who'd helped Spock become a reality for his parents.
And now their daughter is going to be born onboard a deep-space flagship that doesn't have a maternity ward to speak of.
He breathes in deeply and nods.
When he looks at Jim, he is reminded of the main reason why T'Lena's birth was being avoided. The reason is staring blankly right back at him.
Jim hadn't talked in the eight days he'd been back on the Enterprise.
Spock is the one giving him food, sponge baths, dressing him in his clothes and combing his hair every day because Jim won't do any of it himself. Jim won't do anything at all. He sits there and stares at the wall and seems to be in an entirely different universe.
How are they going to explain to him that he's giving birth to a child?
"Listen, Spock. He'll be put under; we'll do it quickly and it will be fine," McCoy says, and his voice is kind for once.
"You are suggesting general anaesthesia."
"Obviously. What else would we do?"
Spock looks at his husband, looks at where he knows his daughter to be, and then back at the doctor.
"Negative."
McCoy scowls.
"What do you mean, negative? You want me to cut into someone who could start throwing a fit in the middle of it? We don't know how he's gonna react, Spock!"
"Jim would want to be present for the birth of our daughter," Spock insists, his face completely stern.
"Well, Jim's not really present at the moment, in case you haven't noticed," McCoy snaps back and then immediately shuts his mouth. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ok. That was uncalled for. But this is a terrible idea, you have to see that."
Spock still sits there with his unreadable Vulcan Poker Face on. "Jim will be awake for it. I will not change my mind on this matter."
McCoy crosses his arms over his chest and grits his teeth in annoyance. "Fine. But you better bet that the moment he so much as flinches, I'm putting him under. You may be his husband, but I'm still the CMO on this ship."
Spock inclines his head. "That is acceptable."
—
"Jim," Spock calls, but his bondmate doesn't turn to face him. "Jim?" He touches his arm this time, and Jim finally looks at his hand and then at his face.
"Are you feeling well?" he asks, even as he knows there won't be a response. "Doctor McCoy will be here shortly. We are— today, we are delivering T'Lena. She is finally ready to meet us, Jim." He says, hoping the news will spark something in his bondmate.
Jim blinks at him, mouth closed.
Spock clenches his hand for a moment, but then places it over his husband's stomach.
"We will need to take you to the surgical room, but I assure you, you will not be harmed. Doctor McCoy and I will be there for the entirety of the process. I will not leave your side," he says, feeling as his daughter rolls under his touch.
"Ashayam, do you comprehend what I'm saying?" he asks. Waits.
Nothing.
He breathes out heavily and looks up in time to hear the door of their private room open.
"Rise and shine, Jimmy-boy!" McCoy greets loudly as he comes in. "How's my most insufferable patient doing today? Ready to pop that kid out?"
Spock raises an eyebrow at the expression.
The doctor approaches Jim, who is still quietly observing the two of them. "You excited, kid? Finally get to meet your little hobgoblin, huh?" he says conversationally as he takes out his tricorder and starts checking on Jim's vitals.
"Doctor, please refrain from calling our child names," Spock says tiredly.
"Do you hear that, Jim? Kid's not even out yet and Spock's already giving me a hard time."
After a few moments, he puts the tricorder down and nods. "Well, all looks good. We can get started on that spinal block, how's that sound?" he asks Jim directly, and the blonde just looks at him. "I'll take that as a yes. Spock, can you get him to lie on his side? I'll bring the stuff in; we can do it here. The OR is ready to go."
Spock feels his heart jump a bit at that. The reality of what they're about to do is starting to set in.
"Affirmative."
McCoy looks at him with a bit of a sideway smile and stops by the door. "Don't look so stricken, Spock. You'll do fine."
Spock was going to argue that he did not look 'stricken', but instead he closes his mouth and inclines his head. "Thank you, doctor."
—
Jim hadn't minded the anaesthesia being administered, which was promising. He'd not complied with the requests to turn on his side but did not protest when Spock maneuvered him. Most importantly, he did not move away from the needle during the procedure, even though it took a good ten minutes and they all knew he wasn't fond of needles in the first place.
"This is good, very good," McCoy had said, and mindlessly patted Spock twice on the shoulder blade. When the Vulcan gave him a pointed look, the doctor just rolled his eyes and moved towards his side of the curtain. "I am about to stick my hand inside of your husband's artificial womb, you'd think you wouldn't mind a friendly pat on the back," he says with fake grumpiness.
"You would be incorrect," Spock replies, easing into his banter with McCoy.
He is wearing all the gear required of him and standing firmly beside Jim, holding the man's hand if only for his own sake.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road. How are we doing there, Jimmy? Ready to see your girl?" McCoy asks from his place at Jim's feet.
Jim is staring at the ceiling, face closed off. Spock can feel through their bond and through the touch of their skin that Jim is aware something is different. He knows he's paralysed, but he doesn't seem panicked about it.
"He is satisfactory. You may proceed," Spock says, holding Jim's hand in both of his. He tries to project all the love and calm he can into the touch.
It takes so, so long. Spock does not care for the sounds of metal tools being picked up and dropped onto trays, nor does he care for the wet sounds of flesh being open. But the whole scene is very similar to when they first implanted the artificial womb and embryos into Jim, and he holds onto that treasured memory.
Jim is very still, but Spock can feel he is completely on guard. "You are doing so well, Ashayam," he tells him but, unlike most times when he speaks, Jim doesn't look at him.
"I can see her," McCoy says from beyond the curtain, and Spock can hear the smile in his voice.
His heart is beating fast in his side and he runs his thumbs over Jim's hand again and again.
"Here she comes," the doctor says, and next thing Spock knows, there's a blob of green and red being lifted from inside Jim.
McCoy is a blur as he moves towards the side of the room, and Spock watches him hungrily, not even noticing how much he is squeezing Jim's hand until the man flinches and he eases the grip.
The med team is hovering around the doctor, three sets of hands moving quickly and then a loud shrieking noise cuts through the room and Spock feels something inside him come undone.
"That's what I wanted to hear!" McCoy says and it takes everything for Spock not to move across the room to where he is; he can't let go of Jim's hand.
"She's beautiful, wait till you see her!" the doctor tells him over his shoulder.
When he finally, finally turns around and starts heading Spock's way, a bundle in his arms, Spock feels like the Enterprise has come to a stop.
He zeroes in on the little arms sticking out from McCoy's hold and walks as close to the man as he can without letting go of Jim's hand.
"Look who I got here, Jim. All ten fingers, ten toes and pointy ears, just like you wanted," McCoy says and then he's finally lowering the bundle into Spock's line of vision.
She is breath-taking.
The first thing Spock notices is the headful of dark hair—she has quite a lot of it. And while her delicate pointed ears are exact replicas of his, her nose and chin are all Jim's. She's still flushed a very noticeable green from all the screaming but had quieted down a little bit.
Spock is quite certain this is what it feels to fall in love for the second time in his life.
"Do you wanna hold her, Jim?" the doctor asks, and both he and Spock are searching his face for any expression.
When McCoy offers the baby to him, Jim does something he hadn't done since they beamed him up: he moves of his own accord. Just not in the way they'd been hoping. Upon the smallest contact, Jim flinches and pulls his hands out of reach, refusing to touch any part of the baby. Then, he turns his head to the side and pointedly does not look at any of them.
Spock feels his heart constrict and he immediately reaches for T'Lena, taking her into his arms. He cannot allow her to feel Jim's rejection.
The silence that follows is strained and he can feel McCoy's eyes on him, but he ignores them.
Hiding the sting of hurt deep within his mind, Spock locks it away for when he next meditates. He focuses, instead, on the precious little creature in his arms. Her mind is calling his, reaching out and forming their familial bond at last.
The rush of primal, indistinguishable emotions flow through him and T'Lena starts crying again. So does he.
Everyone in the room is very pointedly ignoring the unprecedented sight of a weeping Vulcan. Spock appreciates the gesture as he could not stop himself if he wanted to.
T'Lena… their precious little medical marvel.
He places a kiss atop of his daughter's hair and allows her to hold his finger in her tiny little fist.
"I ashaya du ni mau, t'nash-veh ko-fu," he tells her. "Ish-veh dor-tor me tor nam-tor ish-veh sa-mekh."
She reaches for him in his mind and he feels her confusion as she reaches for Jim and finds nothing. Holding her closer, he turns his back as if to hide her from Jim's sight and showers her in the love he feels and with images of a happy Jim that he can conjure from his own memory.