I'm working on a longer multi-chapter story, but I wanted to get this out in the meantime. The premise of the story is this: sometime after Pike dies, Spock reflects on the emotions he felt.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. Never have, never will.

Spock had never been the type of person who cared very much about emotion. Oh, sure, he felt it; on occasion he'd even been overcome by it. However, Spock regarded the concept of emotion as being superfluous. In his mind, it was unnecessary, unwanted, and of course entirely illogical. His split heritage was a nuisance. Vulcans had long ago purged emotion from their race, but humans, on the other hand, had never made an effort to do so. If anything, human emotion seemed to be growing stronger, not weaker, as the human race grew older. Spock couldn't help but to be bothered by this. Externally he maintained a façade of calm and peace, but inside he was filled with turmoil. The Vulcan need for logic was constantly at war with the human need for emotion. The unintended consequence of this internal struggle was that Spock had come to hate emotions altogether. (And really, he thought, should I not be bothered that I hate emotions, when hate is itself an emotion?)

However, it was impossible to experience certain events and not ponder with an open mind the human need for emotion.

Spock wasn't sure what had compelled him to mind meld with Admiral Pike at the time of his death. He'd known from the moment he'd seen the extent of the man's injuries that there was nothing that could be done; that the man's life was limited to a few short moments. Staring down at the man who had once been his captain, Spock felt a sudden certainty that Jim would want to be here for this. Spock thought about going to find him, but one more look at Pike told him that there was no time. If Jim was here, he would know what to do. If Jim was here he would have laid a hand on Pike's shoulder in comfort, telling him something meaningful. That Jim would make Pike's death as comfortable as possible, Spock was certain.

Scared, dying grey eyes looked up at him. Inside of Spock, the human part of him broke free, if only for a moment. Before he could make an argument against the illogical action, the Vulcan reached a hand towards the human, placing his fingertips on the dying man's psi points. In that moment, Spock could feel everything that Pike was feeling.

Pain.

Fear.

Resignation.

The emotions were overwhelming, but Spock caught something else. Underneath the negative emotions, underneath the turmoil that amounted to Pike screaming "I'm not ready to die" over and over in his mind, Spock could feel a certain warmth. It was surrounded by a slight blanket of worry, but the warmth was there. Spock worked frantically to figure out what it was before Pike died. And then…

Love.

The emotion was love, and it wasn't covered up, denied, or hidden as Vulcan love was. It was unbridled and shining brighter than the sun. The love Pike was feeling conveyed one final, commanding message. It was the dying wish of a human whom Spock had come to see as a friend.

Take care of Jim.

The light that was the Admiral's soul, his katra as it was called on Vulcan, grew exponentially, quelling any prior feelings of fear or discomfort, and then it dimmed out. Spock was reminded of a supernova. Under his fingertips, Pike stilled. His jaw went slack; his muscles relaxed. There was nothing left where there had once been the brilliant light of a strong mind.

Captain Kirk appeared, frantically checking for signs of life that Spock already knew were gone forever. As Spock watched the Captain-turned-First Officer break down in tears, he pondered the emotions he'd experienced this night. None of them had been his own, but they would live on in his memory until the day he died. He owed that much to Pike.

Seeing the captain crying made Spock stare in wonder. It wasn't logical, but Spock felt himself grow slightly jealous. Jim was letting everything out; all the pain, the fear, and the anger he'd felt lately was being released in his tears. Spock didn't have that kind of outlet. It wasn't allowed on Vulcan. Spock knew that he'd be forced to deal with his pain and Admiral Pike's in private, but not in the form of tears; no, Spock would have to spend hours meditating, putting up mental walls around the parts of him that had cracked. He would then have to spend even more time meditating to make sure that the walls never crumbled. Jim on the other hand was simply letting it all out. Spock knew that Jim was hurting now, but he also knew that Jim would feel better after sleeping and after grieving for a while. Spock would never be able to grieve, at least not outwardly.

For the first time in his life, Spock regretted being born into a world where it was considered illogical, wrong even, to show or feel emotion.

As soon as he was alone, Spock vowed to meditate – but this would be a different kind of meditation. Spock wasn't going to force back the sadness he was starting to feel. No; he was going to embrace it. There would be no tears; Spock wasn't ready to sink to that level yet. However, he wasn't going to just ignore what he was feeling. He would let it out, crying on the inside. Finally, when he had let the grief run its course, Spock would build a wall around it – but not to forget. No; Spock intended to preserve the humanity he was feeling. For once in his life he wasn't going to force his human half to be painfully bound and destroyed but his Vulcan half. He was going to embrace who he really was, and he knew already that once he did, he'd feel more at peace than he ever had. It occurred to Spock that maybe emotion wasn't so illogical, after all.