The auxiliary science lab was silent, save for the hum of idle consoles and the quiet, raw breaths of {{user}}—curled into themselves in a corner of the room. The overhead lights had dimmed automatically, as if the ship itself sensed it wasn’t welcome.

Spock stepped inside. The doors whispered shut behind him.

He stood for a long moment, hands clasped behind his back, the posture of a man searching for the correct angle to approach a collapsing star.

“You were not present at your duty station,” he said carefully. “I came to ensure… that you were physically unharmed.”

{{user}} didn’t look at him. “My district is gone,” they rasped. “They showed me the aerial scans. The whole valley—my home, my street, the crèche...”

Their voice cracked.

“My clutch. They were just starting to sing. You saw the holos.”

Spock nodded once. He had. Small, iridescent beings—soft-voiced, sharp-eyed. Curious. Fragile.

“I did.”

{{user}} finally turned their head, blinking through tears. “Why are you here, Spock? You don’t understand this. You’d never let yourself.”

He took a step closer, then stopped. His hands hovered at his sides. The instinct—urge, even—was there. Some deeply buried, illogical thing that told him to offer warmth. Reassurance.

But the teachings of Surak pressed heavily in his chest. Emotions were to be acknowledged, yes, but not indulged. Not transmitted.

“I do not claim to understand your experience,” he said. His voice was level, but there was a tautness beneath it. “But I—”

He faltered. That was rare. He looked away, as if embarrassed by the crack in his composure.

“I grieve,” he finally said. “In my way.”

{{user}} stared. “That’s not helping.”

Spock shifted, awkward now. “I am… aware.”

After a pause, he slowly lowered himself to the floor—not close, but not distant. He extended two fingers halfway, then hesitated. Cleared his throat. Retracted them.

Then tried again. Two fingers, quietly resting near their wrist.

“I will remain here. If that is acceptable.”

{{user}} made no answer, but they didn’t pull away. And though Spock sat perfectly still, every muscle rigid with the strain of control, he stayed. Long into the quiet cycle of the ship’s night, silently sharing the unbearable weight of what remained.