[ He's been dressing sparingly during his time on land, moving between towns out of fascination and taking his tricorder, as usual, with him. The snow is negligible for a while as Spock heads back to the turtle, a little too cold but nothing incomparable to the San Francisco rain or fog seeping into his bones. It's when finds himself stilling on the countryside road, tricorder dropping to the dirt and hands covering his face, that he finds his emotions are creeping up on him in the middle of nowhere, seemingly for no reason.
There's nowhere to sit so he kneels on the ground as a migraine throbs in the back of his skull and he fights the impulse to laugh, to let out a sense of joy that runs too deeply to be trusted. It hurts behind his eyes and his hands become itchy where the snowflakes litter the sensitive skin on display, the sensation of something seeping through his telepathic warding despite not inconsiderable efforts. When he younger, he saw Sybok's descent into flagrant emotion; it was disturbing and a little frightening, and now Spock is gripped by a burst of nostalgia for the moments his brother whooped happily and raced around their garden as Spock stood tentatively in the door-frame. Wild and free, Sybok called it. Spock recalls shrinking into Sarek's robes for comfort and a warm hand being laid on his head to assist in calming his fears.
Why does he behave in that manner, father? I do not understand his motives.
The worst part is that the longer he stays in the open, beginning to pant, the harder it is to hold his inhibitions in check. ]
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There's nowhere to sit so he kneels on the ground as a migraine throbs in the back of his skull and he fights the impulse to laugh, to let out a sense of joy that runs too deeply to be trusted. It hurts behind his eyes and his hands become itchy where the snowflakes litter the sensitive skin on display, the sensation of something seeping through his telepathic warding despite not inconsiderable efforts. When he younger, he saw Sybok's descent into flagrant emotion; it was disturbing and a little frightening, and now Spock is gripped by a burst of nostalgia for the moments his brother whooped happily and raced around their garden as Spock stood tentatively in the door-frame. Wild and free, Sybok called it. Spock recalls shrinking into Sarek's robes for comfort and a warm hand being laid on his head to assist in calming his fears.
Why does he behave in that manner, father? I do not understand his motives.
The worst part is that the longer he stays in the open, beginning to pant, the harder it is to hold his inhibitions in check. ]