Her hands are warm in his own, but for a moment, nothing else seems to happen. There's a little furrow in her brow, a thoughtfulness that looks like she's focusing on a moderately challenging puzzle, and then...
A jolt, like being startled out of a daydream, or water overflowing the lip of a dam, a gentle flood that cascades into his consciousness, impossible to ignore. And Jim suddenly becomes aware of it, blaring as brightly as a lighthouse on a cliff, its light so strong he should wonder how he ever missed its presence.
Dancing lights in the darkness, gently driving out fear and uncertainty. A soft trail to follow, paths opening up that lead away from the tangled thorns of baser beasthood, outward and upward towards discovery and enlightenment. The hand of Guidance on the reins, reassurance and confidence in the face of unknown danger, logic and reason over animal instinct, rejecting mindless suffering to seek meaning in the pain. Whispers and dreams, the unknown and unseen, a key to secrets left locked away. A message, if only he would look, if only he would listen. A question, seeking the reasons why, digging deep like roots to what is unseen below.
It's nothing like the mind-meld with the old Vulcan ambassador, that flood of memories and emotions and pain so strong, so deep, that to this day he still can't entirely sort out which parts come from Spock and which are his own. No, this is different, it's simply knowing in an instant, clarity like a bell being rung, eyes opening to the light after being in darkness. Strangely familiar, like he had always known it was there, only forgotten.
It's not words, not exactly, like he'd thought it might be. But he sees the moon in her, a gentle light that softens the shadows of the night and casts a watchful eye over what lies below. It's like nothing he's ever felt before.
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A jolt, like being startled out of a daydream, or water overflowing the lip of a dam, a gentle flood that cascades into his consciousness, impossible to ignore. And Jim suddenly becomes aware of it, blaring as brightly as a lighthouse on a cliff, its light so strong he should wonder how he ever missed its presence.
Dancing lights in the darkness, gently driving out fear and uncertainty. A soft trail to follow, paths opening up that lead away from the tangled thorns of baser beasthood, outward and upward towards discovery and enlightenment. The hand of Guidance on the reins, reassurance and confidence in the face of unknown danger, logic and reason over animal instinct, rejecting mindless suffering to seek meaning in the pain. Whispers and dreams, the unknown and unseen, a key to secrets left locked away. A message, if only he would look, if only he would listen. A question, seeking the reasons why, digging deep like roots to what is unseen below.
It's nothing like the mind-meld with the old Vulcan ambassador, that flood of memories and emotions and pain so strong, so deep, that to this day he still can't entirely sort out which parts come from Spock and which are his own. No, this is different, it's simply knowing in an instant, clarity like a bell being rung, eyes opening to the light after being in darkness. Strangely familiar, like he had always known it was there, only forgotten.
It's not words, not exactly, like he'd thought it might be. But he sees the moon in her, a gentle light that softens the shadows of the night and casts a watchful eye over what lies below. It's like nothing he's ever felt before.