Shades of Grey - Spock/Lenore
Title: Shades of Grey
Fandom: Star Trek IX
Pairing: Spock/fem!McCoy (Lenore)
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.
Based off of this prompt on the kink meme, except for the fact that what I wrote is the opposite mood of what the prompter requested: prompt
Summary: Lenore suffers from a sudden panic attack while pregnant. Spock has a scare. Warnings for talk of depression while pregnant.
Shades of Grey
It was the first time in the several weeks since her second pregnancy had begun that Lenore took the time to actually look in a mirror and really stare at herself. Between never-ending shifts in sickbay, impending disasters, saving the universe time and again, and the general insanity that went along with serving on the Enterprise with Jim Kirk, Lenore had barely had enough time to think straight while constantly making sure that her newly pregnant body was getting all of the healthy nutrients and vitamins it required. This being her second time around, Lenore was a little more comfortable with knowing what types of food to avoid and what the exact limits of her body were. That’s not to say that mitigating circumstances didn’t force her to have to make sacrifices, and there were times when she was admittedly a little more exhausted than she was comfortable with, but that’s what you had to put up with when deciding to have a baby while serving in Starfleet. Not exactly the recommended avenue, but not discouraged if those involved understood what they were getting into.
Right about then, as she stared hard into her bathroom mirror, Lenore felt something delicate and vulnerable inside of her crack just a little. How could she have only realized this now? Her shoulder-length hair, which she didn’t necessarily care too much about or usually make any effort to do anything with besides tying it in a loose ponytail while on shift, was hanging limp and dull around her pale face. Her eyes, which she did actually take a little bit of pride in for being an exceptionally brilliant shade of pale blue (nowhere near as electrically stunning as Jim’s, though) gazed listlessly back at her from beneath messy bangs. And her skin, something that anyone should know to take care of as a normal means of health, was pale and sallow, with alarmingly dark bags under her eyes.
“Good god,” She whispered in horror, bringing up a hand to touch the face reflected back at her in the mirror. She traced one pale cheek in the glass before bringing that hand back to touch her own face. Taking a step backwards, Lenore looked down at her body and trembled in shock. Her uniform, an experimental mix between maternity wear and obese crewmember, hung strangely on her heavy form. In the earliest weeks of her pregnancy Lenore has felt unbelievably sexy with the knowledge that inside of her body was a spark of life that she had helped create with a man that she respected and loved. Now, with her stomach curved alarmingly over the waist of her pants and her chest straining awkwardly at the hem of her shirt, Lenore felt the cold creeping trill of realization that despite taking care of her baby, something had seriously gone wrong with regards to herself. She was a disgusting mess! How could she have let this happen? And why the hell didn’t anyone tell her that she was turning into a big fat slob?
Breathing heavily, Lenore cursed under her breath and stumbled out of the bathroom, aimlessly moving forward until her legs ran into the side of the unmade bed. Cursing again, Lenore let her body fall awkwardly onto the sheets, being careful to maneuver in such a way that her stomach wasn’t directly pressed down upon. Breathing noisily through her nose, she fought the sheets attempting to wrap around her. Growling in anger and revulsion, she tore her way out of her uniform pants and damn-near ripped her top to get it over her stomach and head.
Hair sticking in every direction, eyes blurred with tears, and a tickling sob in her throat, Lenore covered her mouth with her hand and collapsed in on herself on the bed. In seconds, the abrupt avalanche of emotions made her nose get stuffy and her head start to ache. Huffing miserably, she unclipped her bra and slid out of her panties, throwing all of the clothing over the side of the bed and hauling the thick coverlet over her unhappy form.
What the hell was wrong with her? When the hell did she let herself go like this? This wasn’t the Doctor Lenore McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise, flagship of the Federation’s finest fleet, that she took pride in being. This was a stupid, ugly woman who might as well lock herself in a dark room and never come out.
“Oh god,” She whispered. What if Jim were to see her like this? He would probably stare at her in shock, confusion, and then pity. God, he would probably back away, unsure how to handle his surly, ass-kicking, alcoholic of a best friend as an emotional, pregnant mess. And who was she to blame him? She wouldn’t want to deal with someone like her right now either.
Cringing full-bodily, Lenore grabbed her pillow and stuffed it over her head.
And how. . . well, how was she going to face him? The one person who knew her more intimately than anyone else on the ship, even more than Jim, even more than her first husband. The one person who surely must have seen her descent into slovenliness as merely something illogical, but unavoidable.
This. . . this must have been why he hadn’t touched her lately. In the wake of the constant excitement the Enterprise had been involved in, several crewmembers were finally being allowed to take a deep breath and relax. Many of the bridge staff who’d had to pull double and even triple shifts were given at least a couple days off to recuperate in both body and mind. And yet. . . she could barely remember the last time her stoic husband had touched her beyond a contemplative stroke of her ever-growing belly. At ten weeks pregnant, a time when by all means Lenore should have felt sexier than ever, she had never felt lower.
An indeterminate amount of time passed, at least an hour if the soft, punctual chime of the chronometer meant anything in her delirious state. Lenore’s head was fuzzy, her limbs ached, and she probably should have been eating something right then. There had been no time for breakfast this morning, despite how important of a meal it was for someone in her condition, and lunch, which she didn’t eat, was hours ago. Sniffling pathetically, Lenore resigned herself to an evening of wallowing alone. She wasn’t hungry, and there was a good chance her husband was going to be spending extra hours in the lab after his shift. After all, it wasn’t like there was anything amazing to come home to in their quarters.
Suddenly, the pillow she had been absent-mindedly thinking of suffocating herself with was jerked off of her head, causing the lights she had forgotten to dim earlier to temporarily blind her in the confusion. Standing tall and tense above her, with a strange look of aborted panic and relief on his face, was Spock, Commander and Chief Science Officer of the Enterprise. Lenore gazed up at him in puzzlement. He seemed to swallow heavily, reaching out for her impulsively before jerking back and standing up tall. His face was flushed a blotchy green color and his eyes were unusually wide. Sitting up alarmed, mindless of her nudity, Lenore quickly scanned his body for abnormalities.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She asked quickly, looking him up and down but finding nothing out of the ordinary. With this sudden relief, fatigue quickly settled back into her bones. She slouched on the bed.
Spock was stilling staring at her like she was the most perplexing lab specimen he had ever seen, which caused her earlier angst to slowly creep back up her spine and make her pull the tangled sheets over her body, hiding her stomach and breasts from view.
The sudden motion seemed to snap him out of his bizarre shock, and the aborted motion he had attempted to make before was successfully completely this time. He reached out and grasped her shoulder, a startlingly hot brand on her bare skin, more noticeable due to the acute lack of contact she had felt of him as of late. Spock stared hard into her eyes, his lips tight.
“I was on the planet’s surface approximately ninety-seven standard minutes ago when I felt an alarming amount of distress over the bond.” The hand on her shoulder tightened, causing Lenore to wince minutely. Spock continued, unnoticing. “I implored our hosts to allow me to return immediately. Unfortunately, the trip back involved an exceptionally long caravan to the transporter sight.” He then seemed to notice that his grip was paining her and immediately pulled hand away. In hindsight, the pain of losing his touch may have been greater than the irritated bruise beginning to lightly bloom on her skin. Spock sucked a shocking and uncharacteristically loud breath through his nose. “Are you alright?” He gasped out,
Lenore stared at her husband, his dark eyes never having seemed so endless and deep as they did now, imploring her, no, begging her to answer his question. She felt a fresh wave of pity for herself rise through her chest, causing her face to crumple and tears to leak freely down her cheeks.
“You idiot.” She cried, sobbing hard into her hands. Spock was practically vibrating beside her, worry and uncertainty coming off of him in noticeable waves.
“Lenore,” He started anxiously, getting onto the bed beside her and invading her personal space. He took her wrists in his hands and made to pull them from her face, forcing her to look at him, but she let out a little screech and pushed him back with all of her strength. Spock actually stumbled a little in surprise as Lenore leapt to her feet, white fleet issued sheets wrapped around her body like a shield and tears streaming down her red flushed cheeks.
“You bastard!” She screamed, “You think you can just come in here and demand an answer to all of your questions? You think you can just force me to submit to your will? So what if you have superior Vulcan strength?” She spit this part out like a curse, “It’s nothing but brute strength when used against the unwilling. Do you hear me? I will not allow you to treat me this way!” She screamed hysterically.
Spock was on his feet in seconds and staring at her with the most open, emotional face that Lenore had ever seen. He looked shocked, surprised, stunned, hurt, angry, all and every different type of emotion used to describe what he so often denied possessing at all. It was all out in the open, and it was all directed at her. As it should be. Obviously Spock was now going to show her just what he really thought of her. If she’d looked like a desperate mess in the bathroom mirror, she must have looked like death warmed over now.
Sniffling pathetically, she turned her back on him and braced her arms against the wall.
“Get out.” She commanded hoarsely, more sure of herself than perhaps she had ever felt. Even then, that delicate, vulnerable little space inside of her that had been steadily crying out in pain, throbbing loudly between her ears, and piercing her heart, shattered into a million pieces.
Tensing against the expected rejection and waiting to hear the sound of Spock exiting their quarters, Lenore gasped wetly when a warm, trembling weight settled between her should blades.
Spock barely dared to touch her, absolutely certain that his emotions were on such a delicate precipice that only the slightest touch would be enough to set him off. Exerting every ounce of his currently non-existent control, he lightly braced his hands on her upper arms, forcing his breathing to slow, and hopefully subtly influence her follow suit.
“I. . .” He began, closing his eyes against the lights of their room, only allowing himself to hear and feel his wife in his arms. “It is not often that I feel. . . the emotions that I did, down on the planet.” He breathed evenly for a few long seconds. “I felt. . . a fear, of which I have now only experienced twice in my life.”
Lenore closed her eyes when one of Spock’s hand very, very gently traced the slope of her arm with his fingertips before falling to her stomach. Her breath hitched when he pressed his full palm reverently into the swell.
A well of emotions rose up in her, causing her voice to crack, “Spock I-”
“I thought something had happened to our child.” He rasped out, suddenly collapsing against her with his whole body. Lenore cried out in the embrace as both of his arms pulled her into his chest, wrapping possessively and fearfully around their unborn. His breath hitched. “I feared that something had happened to you, and that our child was lost.” A warm, frenzied blanket seemed to completely envelop her, and Lenore gasped again when she realized that Spock was projecting. Telepaths were dangerous to be around when driven to anger, but she hadn’t realized just how much the same could be said when driven to despair.
“I could feel your pain, your emptiness. I could not decipher what was happening to you, or why. I wanted nothing more than to find you in that instant and take you into my arms where you belong.” He breathed into her hair, inhaling deeply.
“I’m sorry-!” She cried, turning in the embrace.
“No. It is I who should apologize. I should never have gone back down to the planet. I should have been here with you. I should have noticed. . . ” He bit off, looking away. Lenore made an incredulous sound and roughly grabbed him by the sides of his head, pinching his ears lightly and pulling his face down to hers.
“Don’t you ever think that, you big dumb idiot. It’s not your job to notice when I’m about to have a breakdown. Hell,” She breathed, touching their lips together, “it’s not even really my fault either. Goddamn hormones. Goddamn pregnancy depression. I had it after I gave birth to Joanna. Never expected to experience it before giving birth to this one.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his.
A light seemed to appear in Spock’s eyes. “Statistically, ten to twenty percent of Terran women experience depression during the progression of their pregnancies. Similarly, one in four Terran women will experience some form of depression at least once in their lives. It is quite an alarming statistic when compared to-“ And that was seriously more than enough of what she needed to hear at the moment. Lenore moaned softly at the dearly-missed feel of Spock’s lips cradled against hers. It was an indescribable bliss after such a horrible, utterly and completely messed up day. She broke the kiss and laughed tearfully, unsure whether her husband’s ramblings made her want to cry or burst out laughing at the complete inappropriateness of it in light of the situation. In the end, she vouched for smiling the first real, wide grin that she’d probably done in weeks.
Spock gazed at her heavily, searching her face for something she couldn’t decipher, and seemed to find it if the relieved, satisfied look on his face was anything to go by.
“My wife,” He intoned lowly, supporting her with one arm behind her back and the other against her cheek. “I request that we return to bed for the remainder of the evening. I will bring the necessary nutrients required for a meal. All I ask of you is that you rest, and,” He paused here, curiously uncertain if he should continue. After a few seconds of her staring at him he finished. “Please let me take care of you.”
Lenore nodded quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor and allowing him to tuck her back into their bed. The sheets were abandoned on the floor, unneeded, and the thick, warm coverlet cocooned around her body gloriously. Spock sat beside her reclined form, stroking her face contently. He was a little more at peace with the situation than before and happy to stay with her as her face slowly relaxed, her body eventually going went limp. Lenore fell asleep in minutes, more whipped out by the day’s events than even she could have predicted.
Spock slowly placed trembling fingers on her psi points, whispering the words of ceremony and gently easing himself into her mind. Dinner could wait until her mental health was sufficiently rested. And when that time came, they would discuss what had happened between them that day with quiet, composed minds. He could not have predicted that his wife, his destined mate, would ever suffer from such mental strife. Even worse, was the possibility that he could do nothing to help, to ease her pain.
Settling down next to her, the corner of his lips quirked upwards when she automatically rolled over and tried to squirm her way into his arms, eager to hog his higher body temperature. Kissing her brow gently, Spock told himself he would stay awake for the rest of the night and watch over her as she slept.
A few short minutes later, his head lay still on the pillow, their foreheads pressed together and his arm curled securely around her waist, fast asleep.
st_genderswap
newtrekslash
spockmccoy
Fandom: Star Trek IX
Pairing: Spock/fem!McCoy (Lenore)
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.
Based off of this prompt on the kink meme, except for the fact that what I wrote is the opposite mood of what the prompter requested: prompt
Summary: Lenore suffers from a sudden panic attack while pregnant. Spock has a scare. Warnings for talk of depression while pregnant.
Shades of Grey
It was the first time in the several weeks since her second pregnancy had begun that Lenore took the time to actually look in a mirror and really stare at herself. Between never-ending shifts in sickbay, impending disasters, saving the universe time and again, and the general insanity that went along with serving on the Enterprise with Jim Kirk, Lenore had barely had enough time to think straight while constantly making sure that her newly pregnant body was getting all of the healthy nutrients and vitamins it required. This being her second time around, Lenore was a little more comfortable with knowing what types of food to avoid and what the exact limits of her body were. That’s not to say that mitigating circumstances didn’t force her to have to make sacrifices, and there were times when she was admittedly a little more exhausted than she was comfortable with, but that’s what you had to put up with when deciding to have a baby while serving in Starfleet. Not exactly the recommended avenue, but not discouraged if those involved understood what they were getting into.
Right about then, as she stared hard into her bathroom mirror, Lenore felt something delicate and vulnerable inside of her crack just a little. How could she have only realized this now? Her shoulder-length hair, which she didn’t necessarily care too much about or usually make any effort to do anything with besides tying it in a loose ponytail while on shift, was hanging limp and dull around her pale face. Her eyes, which she did actually take a little bit of pride in for being an exceptionally brilliant shade of pale blue (nowhere near as electrically stunning as Jim’s, though) gazed listlessly back at her from beneath messy bangs. And her skin, something that anyone should know to take care of as a normal means of health, was pale and sallow, with alarmingly dark bags under her eyes.
“Good god,” She whispered in horror, bringing up a hand to touch the face reflected back at her in the mirror. She traced one pale cheek in the glass before bringing that hand back to touch her own face. Taking a step backwards, Lenore looked down at her body and trembled in shock. Her uniform, an experimental mix between maternity wear and obese crewmember, hung strangely on her heavy form. In the earliest weeks of her pregnancy Lenore has felt unbelievably sexy with the knowledge that inside of her body was a spark of life that she had helped create with a man that she respected and loved. Now, with her stomach curved alarmingly over the waist of her pants and her chest straining awkwardly at the hem of her shirt, Lenore felt the cold creeping trill of realization that despite taking care of her baby, something had seriously gone wrong with regards to herself. She was a disgusting mess! How could she have let this happen? And why the hell didn’t anyone tell her that she was turning into a big fat slob?
Breathing heavily, Lenore cursed under her breath and stumbled out of the bathroom, aimlessly moving forward until her legs ran into the side of the unmade bed. Cursing again, Lenore let her body fall awkwardly onto the sheets, being careful to maneuver in such a way that her stomach wasn’t directly pressed down upon. Breathing noisily through her nose, she fought the sheets attempting to wrap around her. Growling in anger and revulsion, she tore her way out of her uniform pants and damn-near ripped her top to get it over her stomach and head.
Hair sticking in every direction, eyes blurred with tears, and a tickling sob in her throat, Lenore covered her mouth with her hand and collapsed in on herself on the bed. In seconds, the abrupt avalanche of emotions made her nose get stuffy and her head start to ache. Huffing miserably, she unclipped her bra and slid out of her panties, throwing all of the clothing over the side of the bed and hauling the thick coverlet over her unhappy form.
What the hell was wrong with her? When the hell did she let herself go like this? This wasn’t the Doctor Lenore McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise, flagship of the Federation’s finest fleet, that she took pride in being. This was a stupid, ugly woman who might as well lock herself in a dark room and never come out.
“Oh god,” She whispered. What if Jim were to see her like this? He would probably stare at her in shock, confusion, and then pity. God, he would probably back away, unsure how to handle his surly, ass-kicking, alcoholic of a best friend as an emotional, pregnant mess. And who was she to blame him? She wouldn’t want to deal with someone like her right now either.
Cringing full-bodily, Lenore grabbed her pillow and stuffed it over her head.
And how. . . well, how was she going to face him? The one person who knew her more intimately than anyone else on the ship, even more than Jim, even more than her first husband. The one person who surely must have seen her descent into slovenliness as merely something illogical, but unavoidable.
This. . . this must have been why he hadn’t touched her lately. In the wake of the constant excitement the Enterprise had been involved in, several crewmembers were finally being allowed to take a deep breath and relax. Many of the bridge staff who’d had to pull double and even triple shifts were given at least a couple days off to recuperate in both body and mind. And yet. . . she could barely remember the last time her stoic husband had touched her beyond a contemplative stroke of her ever-growing belly. At ten weeks pregnant, a time when by all means Lenore should have felt sexier than ever, she had never felt lower.
An indeterminate amount of time passed, at least an hour if the soft, punctual chime of the chronometer meant anything in her delirious state. Lenore’s head was fuzzy, her limbs ached, and she probably should have been eating something right then. There had been no time for breakfast this morning, despite how important of a meal it was for someone in her condition, and lunch, which she didn’t eat, was hours ago. Sniffling pathetically, Lenore resigned herself to an evening of wallowing alone. She wasn’t hungry, and there was a good chance her husband was going to be spending extra hours in the lab after his shift. After all, it wasn’t like there was anything amazing to come home to in their quarters.
Suddenly, the pillow she had been absent-mindedly thinking of suffocating herself with was jerked off of her head, causing the lights she had forgotten to dim earlier to temporarily blind her in the confusion. Standing tall and tense above her, with a strange look of aborted panic and relief on his face, was Spock, Commander and Chief Science Officer of the Enterprise. Lenore gazed up at him in puzzlement. He seemed to swallow heavily, reaching out for her impulsively before jerking back and standing up tall. His face was flushed a blotchy green color and his eyes were unusually wide. Sitting up alarmed, mindless of her nudity, Lenore quickly scanned his body for abnormalities.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She asked quickly, looking him up and down but finding nothing out of the ordinary. With this sudden relief, fatigue quickly settled back into her bones. She slouched on the bed.
Spock was stilling staring at her like she was the most perplexing lab specimen he had ever seen, which caused her earlier angst to slowly creep back up her spine and make her pull the tangled sheets over her body, hiding her stomach and breasts from view.
The sudden motion seemed to snap him out of his bizarre shock, and the aborted motion he had attempted to make before was successfully completely this time. He reached out and grasped her shoulder, a startlingly hot brand on her bare skin, more noticeable due to the acute lack of contact she had felt of him as of late. Spock stared hard into her eyes, his lips tight.
“I was on the planet’s surface approximately ninety-seven standard minutes ago when I felt an alarming amount of distress over the bond.” The hand on her shoulder tightened, causing Lenore to wince minutely. Spock continued, unnoticing. “I implored our hosts to allow me to return immediately. Unfortunately, the trip back involved an exceptionally long caravan to the transporter sight.” He then seemed to notice that his grip was paining her and immediately pulled hand away. In hindsight, the pain of losing his touch may have been greater than the irritated bruise beginning to lightly bloom on her skin. Spock sucked a shocking and uncharacteristically loud breath through his nose. “Are you alright?” He gasped out,
Lenore stared at her husband, his dark eyes never having seemed so endless and deep as they did now, imploring her, no, begging her to answer his question. She felt a fresh wave of pity for herself rise through her chest, causing her face to crumple and tears to leak freely down her cheeks.
“You idiot.” She cried, sobbing hard into her hands. Spock was practically vibrating beside her, worry and uncertainty coming off of him in noticeable waves.
“Lenore,” He started anxiously, getting onto the bed beside her and invading her personal space. He took her wrists in his hands and made to pull them from her face, forcing her to look at him, but she let out a little screech and pushed him back with all of her strength. Spock actually stumbled a little in surprise as Lenore leapt to her feet, white fleet issued sheets wrapped around her body like a shield and tears streaming down her red flushed cheeks.
“You bastard!” She screamed, “You think you can just come in here and demand an answer to all of your questions? You think you can just force me to submit to your will? So what if you have superior Vulcan strength?” She spit this part out like a curse, “It’s nothing but brute strength when used against the unwilling. Do you hear me? I will not allow you to treat me this way!” She screamed hysterically.
Spock was on his feet in seconds and staring at her with the most open, emotional face that Lenore had ever seen. He looked shocked, surprised, stunned, hurt, angry, all and every different type of emotion used to describe what he so often denied possessing at all. It was all out in the open, and it was all directed at her. As it should be. Obviously Spock was now going to show her just what he really thought of her. If she’d looked like a desperate mess in the bathroom mirror, she must have looked like death warmed over now.
Sniffling pathetically, she turned her back on him and braced her arms against the wall.
“Get out.” She commanded hoarsely, more sure of herself than perhaps she had ever felt. Even then, that delicate, vulnerable little space inside of her that had been steadily crying out in pain, throbbing loudly between her ears, and piercing her heart, shattered into a million pieces.
Tensing against the expected rejection and waiting to hear the sound of Spock exiting their quarters, Lenore gasped wetly when a warm, trembling weight settled between her should blades.
Spock barely dared to touch her, absolutely certain that his emotions were on such a delicate precipice that only the slightest touch would be enough to set him off. Exerting every ounce of his currently non-existent control, he lightly braced his hands on her upper arms, forcing his breathing to slow, and hopefully subtly influence her follow suit.
“I. . .” He began, closing his eyes against the lights of their room, only allowing himself to hear and feel his wife in his arms. “It is not often that I feel. . . the emotions that I did, down on the planet.” He breathed evenly for a few long seconds. “I felt. . . a fear, of which I have now only experienced twice in my life.”
Lenore closed her eyes when one of Spock’s hand very, very gently traced the slope of her arm with his fingertips before falling to her stomach. Her breath hitched when he pressed his full palm reverently into the swell.
A well of emotions rose up in her, causing her voice to crack, “Spock I-”
“I thought something had happened to our child.” He rasped out, suddenly collapsing against her with his whole body. Lenore cried out in the embrace as both of his arms pulled her into his chest, wrapping possessively and fearfully around their unborn. His breath hitched. “I feared that something had happened to you, and that our child was lost.” A warm, frenzied blanket seemed to completely envelop her, and Lenore gasped again when she realized that Spock was projecting. Telepaths were dangerous to be around when driven to anger, but she hadn’t realized just how much the same could be said when driven to despair.
“I could feel your pain, your emptiness. I could not decipher what was happening to you, or why. I wanted nothing more than to find you in that instant and take you into my arms where you belong.” He breathed into her hair, inhaling deeply.
“I’m sorry-!” She cried, turning in the embrace.
“No. It is I who should apologize. I should never have gone back down to the planet. I should have been here with you. I should have noticed. . . ” He bit off, looking away. Lenore made an incredulous sound and roughly grabbed him by the sides of his head, pinching his ears lightly and pulling his face down to hers.
“Don’t you ever think that, you big dumb idiot. It’s not your job to notice when I’m about to have a breakdown. Hell,” She breathed, touching their lips together, “it’s not even really my fault either. Goddamn hormones. Goddamn pregnancy depression. I had it after I gave birth to Joanna. Never expected to experience it before giving birth to this one.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his.
A light seemed to appear in Spock’s eyes. “Statistically, ten to twenty percent of Terran women experience depression during the progression of their pregnancies. Similarly, one in four Terran women will experience some form of depression at least once in their lives. It is quite an alarming statistic when compared to-“ And that was seriously more than enough of what she needed to hear at the moment. Lenore moaned softly at the dearly-missed feel of Spock’s lips cradled against hers. It was an indescribable bliss after such a horrible, utterly and completely messed up day. She broke the kiss and laughed tearfully, unsure whether her husband’s ramblings made her want to cry or burst out laughing at the complete inappropriateness of it in light of the situation. In the end, she vouched for smiling the first real, wide grin that she’d probably done in weeks.
Spock gazed at her heavily, searching her face for something she couldn’t decipher, and seemed to find it if the relieved, satisfied look on his face was anything to go by.
“My wife,” He intoned lowly, supporting her with one arm behind her back and the other against her cheek. “I request that we return to bed for the remainder of the evening. I will bring the necessary nutrients required for a meal. All I ask of you is that you rest, and,” He paused here, curiously uncertain if he should continue. After a few seconds of her staring at him he finished. “Please let me take care of you.”
Lenore nodded quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor and allowing him to tuck her back into their bed. The sheets were abandoned on the floor, unneeded, and the thick, warm coverlet cocooned around her body gloriously. Spock sat beside her reclined form, stroking her face contently. He was a little more at peace with the situation than before and happy to stay with her as her face slowly relaxed, her body eventually going went limp. Lenore fell asleep in minutes, more whipped out by the day’s events than even she could have predicted.
Spock slowly placed trembling fingers on her psi points, whispering the words of ceremony and gently easing himself into her mind. Dinner could wait until her mental health was sufficiently rested. And when that time came, they would discuss what had happened between them that day with quiet, composed minds. He could not have predicted that his wife, his destined mate, would ever suffer from such mental strife. Even worse, was the possibility that he could do nothing to help, to ease her pain.
Settling down next to her, the corner of his lips quirked upwards when she automatically rolled over and tried to squirm her way into his arms, eager to hog his higher body temperature. Kissing her brow gently, Spock told himself he would stay awake for the rest of the night and watch over her as she slept.
A few short minutes later, his head lay still on the pillow, their foreheads pressed together and his arm curled securely around her waist, fast asleep.
st_genderswap
newtrekslash
spockmccoy