Chapter Text
Is Earth Spacedock to the Enterprise like the hospitals are to me? Jim ponders. Casting his gaze towards the sky through a window in Spock’s hover-car, Jim tries to picture the Enterprise up there in dry-dock with her hull torn open; little worker-bee shuttles repairing her nacelles while engineers piece her together properly from the inside.
Nah, I can’t be repaired that easily, he thinks with a sigh, watching as grey clouds consume the last bit of blue still visible. Even though the smell of sanitized medical equipment and white walls no longer surround him, Jim can’t shake his solemn mood.
“Are you hungry?” Spock asks, glancing over to the passenger side at Jim. He receives no response but he can tell Jim’s most likely drifting off in thought again. Dr. McCoy mentioned that Jim does this more often than he used to. It is an expected symptom, Spock tells himself, although even as he focuses on the road ahead, he finds himself deeply concerned. It is the first day of Jim being out of the hospital and normally he would get quite animated when in the city. The mention of food, especially knowing it would be non-replicated, usually inspires enthusiasm.
When Jim does move to look away from the window, Spock sees that it is because they are passing by the section of the city that was reduced to rubble. It’s a distant view and soon hidden behind more buildings when they pull down another street.
“I get why you told me I could nap in the car for the ride,” Jim says with a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Yes,” Spock says, looking blank as always. What more can I say? I do not wish to irritate his current emotional state.
They fall into silence once more, only Jim’s yawn interrupts it momentarily but he doesn’t try to rest.
A few minutes later, Spock pulls up to entrance way of the underground parking lot beneath his building. “We are here, Jim,” he says as he slowly weaves through the lanes of vehicles.
“Gee Spock, you live in a garage?” Jim jokes, but there’s no real mirth to his tone.
At least he is trying to seem like himself. Spock can certainly appreciate the little efforts. After what Jim’s been through, no one could expect him to return to normal right away. “I live on the 6th floor in an apartment, however if you like it here, you’re welcome to sleep in the car.”
That earns Spock a small, genuine smile.
They park in a space with a little sign hovering at the end of it reading: APT 6-19. Fingers gliding over the mini-console, Spock dials down the engine and unlocks the doors before stepping out, Jim following after grabbing his backpack from the backseat.
Standing outside of Spock’s car, Jim really takes a good look at it. Sleek, black and rather sporty.
That doesn’t seem like a logical decision a vulcan would make, Jim observes before following Spock to the elevator doors. “Can I ask why you ended up with one of the slightly less safe models?”
Spock approaches the panel between the two elevators and presses his hand to it. “That is my father’s car. He did not select it though,” Spock explains as the computer scans him before dinging. The doors on their left slide open.
“Oh,” Jim says, feeling his stomach drop. Of course a human actually picked it. Of course I’d accidentally bring up his mom, Jim grumbles to himself inwardly. “Umm so the apartment is your dad’s too?” It’s a lame attempt at changing the subject but Spock doesn’t show any sign of caring either way. He can hide shit really well though.
“It is a joint ownership,” Spock explains, gesturing for Jim to enter the elevator first before following. “I lived here during my time at the Academy. Father only stays here when he has business on Earth.”
“That must have made your Academy years fun. Better than mine, although I won’t deny there were good times,” Jim comments as the elevator makes its ascent to gentle piano music. He braces a hand on the shiny, silver rail as he takes in the fancy interior of the elevator. The floor is a red carpet and the walls are a golden and spotless. Well at least this place looks more like a place a vulcan would choose. Everything seems almost too clean.
“I assure you that my years were not much different from your own. The apartment only benefitted by giving me a place to meditate in peace.” He wishes he had a private place to invite female company to, Spock then tells himself. He turns his attention to the floor indicator above the doors to distract him from any illogical feeling of jealousy.
The corridors on Spock’s floor have the same carpet as the elevator; lush and red with silver trim along the golden walls. Of course Jim only spares a moment to look before following Spock down the hall.
“You know I had no idea what to expect since I hadn’t seen your apartment before but I’m not sure if this place fits you or not,” Jim admits.
Spock merely quirks his brow as he slides his key card over the panel by the door before it slides open. Again, he gestures for Jim to step inside first.
Even less reaction than usual. Good going, Jim! He thinks as he steps inside the apartment though he only manages to get a few steps inside before his jaw drops at the sight before him. “Wow,” Jim breathes as he steps towards the large floor-to-ceiling window that makes up an entire wall of the living room. There’s no tall buildings to block the view of the bay from up here.
The rest of the apartment isn’t as “fancy” as the rest of the complex but Jim can certainly appreciate the simple yet modern set up Spock has here. The walls are pastel blue which is much easier on Jim’s eyes than gold and red. There’s a long couch facing the window in the living room area and to the left of all that is the kitchen and dining room.
Spock goes to the fridge for juice while he gives Jim a little time to take in the view and explore as he likes. Watching from the corner of his eye, he can see that Jim’s taken an interest in the incense tray on the coffee table, curiously examining the carved sehlat on it that’s posed in a leap. It gives Spock an idea but he’ll have to save it for a later time.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Spock offers as he pours himself a glass of cranberry juice.
Jim looks up, his hand paused in the air on its way to poke at the tiny fangs of the sehlat. “Oh, sure! What do you got?” He asks, standing and walking over to the island counter, bracing himself on crossed arms.
“Cranberry juice, water and four types of tea.” Setting the juice on the counter, Spock then turns to open one of the cabinets to retrieve another cup. “Of course there is also the option of using the small synthesizer I have,” he says, gesturing to the rectangle unit above the counter by the sink.
Scrunching his nose at the thought of having to return to replicated foods so soon, Jim shakes his head. “Nah, juice is fine.” Had enough bland meals at the hospital. Hopefully I won’t have to rely on that machine until I get back to the ship. Jim’s eyes widen a moment while Spock is turned; worry fills him for a brief moment. If I get back to the ship…
Unintentionally, yet thankfully, Spock interrupts Jim’s thoughts as he sets the glass of juice down in front of Jim. “I will show you the apartment when you are ready. Later I will begin making dinner,” Spock explains then drinks the remainder of his juice. “I do not have any rules other than to clean up after yourself.” He turns to set his glass in the recycler to be cleaned.
Jim answers with a snort, almost smiling. “No problem there. Bones trained me well in the art of folding my clothes and putting them away rather than piling them onto the nearest surface I don’t immediately need.” As Jim downs half his drink, he recalls how Bones had had enough of living in a mess, assumed his lecture stance that consisted of crossing his arms and scowling, and threatened Jim with a room transfer. Definitely don’t want to risk upsetting Spock like that.
“I am pleased to know that his parenting skills have been effective.” Jim can see a twinkle of humor in Spock’s eyes though he has no doubt that Spock would deny it. As long as Jim can see it, that’s what matters.
Maybe this won’t be so bad… for either of us but mostly for Spock, Jim thinks as he finishes his juice and goes to put the glass in the recycler, “demonstrating” his cleaning skills. “Shall I get that tour now then?”
Spock nods and leads Jim to the hallway between the living room and kitchen. “Since you have already familiarized yourself with the front area I shall show you the rest,” he explains and walks to the first door on the left of the hallway. It slides open as Spock steps towards it. He moves to the side to allow Jim to have a look. “This is the front bathroom. The shower here is only a sonic. Only the one in my bedroom has the option of using water.”
Peeking inside, Jim gives a little shrug. “That’s fine. Water isn’t a requirement for me.” Even on the Enterprise, Jim seldom used water to shower. It’s the privilege of a shared bathroom between captain and first officer’s quarters but Spock still viewed water as a luxury not to be wasted and Jim only ever needed a hot, steamy bath if it had been a rough mission.
Spock led on to the next door, to their right this time. “This is my room.” He steps inside and looks over his shoulder, nodding as an invitation for Jim to follow.
Eyes wide, Jim steps inside while taking in the window this room has. It’s similar to the living room but looks much more comfortable to sit and gaze at. The head of the bed was pressed up against the wall, parallel to the view of the city. Must be wonderful getting to fall asleep to a view of the stars. He looks outside and takes note of the cloudy, grey skies. Not tonight though. Rain will be here soon.
Noting the enamored look in Jim’s features, Spock idly wonders if perhaps he should let Jim take this room. Looking around there are no many personal items here since most of what little he had went to the ship. It would be easy enough to switch. I do not think he will approve of you more for letting him take this room. Attempting to impress him will cause him to ask questions.
“Wow, Spock,” Jim says when he allows himself to take in the rest of the room. It’s large, almost as large as the living room. Big closet, personal bathroom and there was a small table in the corner with two chairs. We’ll definitely have to play chess in here sometime, Jim’s mind supplies. Finally, he turns back to Spock. “This is where you stayed during the Academy?”
Jim’s only given a single nod before Spock gestures to the door. “Shall I show you the guest room now?”
“Sure. Does it have a view like this?” Jim asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the outside.
“No. Your window is smaller and faces the building beside this one.” Spock walks out of the room, Jim following with a small pout on his lips.
Offering to share my room is out of the question as well, Spock tells himself as he tries to ignore Jim’s attempt at… something. Surely he doesn’t think that Spock will trade him. “If you wish to have a larger view, you are welcome to the couch.”
There’s a short pause as Jim seems to actually consider the offer. Then he shrugs. “I suppose that could work if I wanted to put my back through hell… again.” Spock’s bed looks super cozy though.
The guest room – Jim’s room, Spock corrects himself – is the last door on the left, just before the closet at the end of the hallway. The bed isn’t as big as Spock’s but it looks soft and inviting and definitely preferred over the hard hospital beds. The lacking of beeping machines is certainly a plus as well.
Looking around, Jim finds that, while not large, it’s rather comfortable. The window of course is small like a normal window, but not bad. Jim can see the street below.
“Is this satisfactory?” Spock asks, watching Jim as he begins to explore.
“Satisfactory? I’d say it’s more than that.” Jim sets his backpack on the bed and wanders over to the closet, sliding it open to examine before walking over to the dresser and peeking into the drawers. Upon arriving to the nightstand, Jim lets his fingers graze over the polished wood surface before pausing and going to his backpack. He pulls out a worn paperback novel, his glasses and places them on the nightstand. “There!” He declares, hands on his hips and hums in approval. “I’ve officially moved in.”
The human way of describing a heart as “swelling with joy” is illogical and, medically, makes no sense. Yet Spock can find no other way to describe the flicker of emotion he just felt. Before they arrived, Spock considered that Jim may not desire to stay here. In fact, he felt it was a high possibility.
For once, I am pleased that my prediction was inaccurate.
~*~
When Spock retreats from the room to allow him a chance to settle in, Jim can’t help but feel a little lost all of a sudden. The walls here are matte, not the sleek shine of the metallic bulkheads of his quarters on the Enterprise. Sure the bed is softer but everything lacks the sense of belonging that he felt on the ship.
A pang of guilt threatens to consume him when he remembers the state of the Enterprise and the many people that won’t be returning to her.
Slowly, he begins to unpack the rest of his things in an attempt to distract himself. There’s not much to put away though. His backpack only contains a few sets of clothes, PADD, and his communicator. The latter items get placed on the nightstand by his book.
Clothes clutched in his arms, Jim walks over to the dresser to put them away. Just as he’s nearly there though, his knee buckles and a sharp pain shoots up his leg. He gasps, gritting his teeth as he drops the clothes and braces one arm against the wall to stay upright. Attempting to reach down to knead at the pained area only makes it worse. He groans, though still tries to stay quiet; no need to worry Spock any more than he already is.
Gripping tight, Jim lifts up his legs and kicks at the injector as hard as he can. Everything’s too hot, it’s getting harder to breathe—
“Damn it!” Jim hisses as he slides down to the floor, tears welling as the pain worsens. With a deep breath, he looks over to his backpack. The front pocket has his pain pills but the damn thing is four feet away. Might as well be on the fucking roof! Jim thinks bitterly as he forces himself up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg as well as the growing headache. Just what I need right now.
Keeping one hand on the wall, Jim limps forward. His breathing becomes a little ragged from the effort. This is pathetic. I’ve been through worse. He has to stop for a moment and take a few breaths before pushing on. Finally he makes it to the bed and sits down before pulling his backpack over, retrieving a pill and swallowing it dry. It’ll take a few minutes to kick in. He regrets not taking the hypo packs McCoy had offered him. Hate being stabbed with hypos so much but at least the pain would be over sooner than later if I had them right now. I should of just fucking taken them!
With a bitter groan, Jim hoists his leg up onto the bed and rubs his knee as he waits for the medication to work its magic. Of course there’s not much he can to about his headache until then.
When ten minutes roll by, Jim feels ready to move around again. He stands from the bed and arches, pressing his palms to the small of his back. “Don’t give out on me too,” he murmurs to himself as it pops a few times.
Finally, he gets his clothes put away but then he considers what to do next. There’s his novel he could read but there’s also his PADD. He figures he’ll check his mail first but upon opening his inbox, he mostly finds heartfelt “thank you” and “glad you’re alive” messages. Definitely not ready for that yet. Thanks for trusting a psycho and nearly starting a war with the Klingons?
With a huff, he tosses the PADD on the bed. Trying to go through those messages will lead to some dark reflections and he doesn’t need that right now.
He steps out of his room and is hit with a smell of something fantastic. Spock said he would be cooking though Jim’s not sure what he expected he would make. Making his way to the kitchen, Jim finds Spock by the stove, stirring some sort of boiling broth.
“That smells amazing! What is it?” Jim asks, walking over to get a proper look.
Spock continues his stirring as he looks over his shoulder at Jim. “I am preparing a vegetable soup. I hope you will enjoy the taste as much as the scent of it.” He pulls the wooden spoon from the pot and sets it aside. “Would you like to help?”
“Oh sure! What can I do?” Jim asks as he goes to the sink and begins washing his hands.
“You may assist me with chopping the remainder of the vegetables.” He pulls an extra cutting board from the cupboard and a second knife from the drawer. “You may start with the carrots,” Spock says as he sets two carrots on the board. “And I will finish preparing the cabbage.”
“Sounds easy enough. If there’s one thing I know how to do right in the kitchen, it’s chopping stuff,” Jim jokes, drying his hands with the hand towel. “I’m only a fair cook with help.” He goes to the cutting board and starts by cutting the top off the first carrot. “Horizontal slices okay?”
Spock nods as he pulls the cabbage from the fridge. “That would be acceptable.”
As they chop together in relative silence, Spock notes that Jim seems to be quite content. He simply likes having something to do. I will make sure to invite him to assist me in each meal preparation. Glancing over at Jim, Spock is met with a quick little smile before Jim goes back to dicing the celery.
Later, after all the ingredients have had enough time to properly cook, Jim samples a taste of the soup. He seems to hold the broth in his mouth a moment, considering it and then swallowing it with a satisfied nod. “Definitely good,” he tells Spock with a wink, causing the vulcan to internally fluster for a second. “Could use a few mushrooms though.”
It takes longer than it should for Spock to register what Jim just said. “There are some in the fridge although they may not be the kind that you desire.”
“I’m sure what you have will work,” Jim says as he goes to the fridge and sifts around. Eventually he locates the little, plastic crate of mushrooms and takes them over to the sink to wash.
With Jim turned away, Spock can’t help but stare. Jim’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he scrubs each mushroom carefully and Spock can even see his tongue poking out at the corner of Jim’s lips. Spock has seen that same look over chess games, during the time when they’re filling out reports together and even when Jim’s reading over cultural practices before meeting an ambassador.
It’s an expression that often inspires a fluttering feeling inside Spock. He had himself checked over by Dr. M’Benga the first time it happened but nothing was abnormal. Since then, Spock’s come to realize that it’s simply the way Jim sometimes makes him feel and he’s not particularly interested in meditating it away.
“What?” Jim asks curiously before looking down at the mushroom in his hand. “Am I doing something wrong?”
Spock freezes momentarily, the odd feeling quickly being replaced with embarrassment, although he of course remains seemingly calm on the exterior. “No. I simply… forgive me,” Spock says with a slight bow of his head. “That was very rude of me.” To stare, he wants to admit but somehow he just can’t say it.
Quickly, Spock turns back around and goes to stir the soup more, although the tips of his ears seem to be quite green. Jim withholds any comment and simply chuckles before bringing the mushrooms over to the cutting board.
After the mushrooms are added, it’s another ten minutes before Spock declares the soup “ready for consumption”, to which Jim grabs two bowls.
“You sit. I’ll serve us.”
Spock barely opens his mouth to protest but Jim only shushes him gently and shakes his head. A second later, Spock concedes. No point in arguing over something so small.
Finally being seated at the table with their first homemade meal together, Spock finds that he is unable to eat just yet. Instead, he watches as Jim spoons up a hearty portion of the soup, plenty of vegetables with a little broth. Spock saw him taste it earlier yet there’s this illogical feeling like Jim might taste it a second time and change his mind.
“Ah man I haven’t had home cooking in a long time,” Jim confesses. Spock would almost think that statement was said to inspire sympathy had it not been said with a delighted little smile. “Thanks, Spock.” Jim smiles once more before taking a bite. Spock holds his breath until he hears Jim groan in a very pleased fashion.
“You are welcome, Jim. I thank you for your assistance. I was not sure how much you would enjoy a vegetarian meal.” Finally, Spock picks up his own spoon and begins to eat.
“Don’t worry about it, Spock. I haven’t met a meal I didn’t like,” Jim jokes before remembering his kiwi allergy. “Although I have met food that didn’t like me.”
Despite the lack of laughter or even a grin, Jim can tell that Spock is humored, at least in his eyes alone. Being able to make someone else laugh, even if they don’t do it outright, is good. Not everyone should have to feel like me, he thinks to himself as he dips into his soup for another helping.
Outside, the sky darkens. Droplets begin to tap against the window, going from a light sprinkle to a heavy pour in a matter of minutes.
Jim glances over at the storm and shivers slightly. Must be cold out there. The chamber was hot but when I died I felt so cold…
“Jim?”
Keep it together, Jim reminds himself as he forces a smile. “Sorry. Kind of missed Earth weather is all.” He stirs his soup and resumes eating as his features slowly return to the slight frown that was there before.
Spock stares for a few more moments before continuing his meal, albeit somewhat slowly as he watches Jim from his peripheral sight. Dr. McCoy had told Spock of the mental ailments as a result of what Jim has been through, which was expected but not pleasing to hear. He also mentioned that Jim has a hard time talking through personal matters like that, even to McCoy (although Spock had already gathered as much information from observation before). Spock would never try to force Jim to talk but Spock does hope that Jim will trust him enough someday.
~*~
It’s a strange thing to feel so cold despite the temperature in the room being set to something comfortable for a vulcan. Lying on his back beneath the blankets, Spock can’t seem to shake his thoughts of Jim. Earlier meditation didn’t help either.
Seeing Jim go from somewhat content to looking depressed reminded Spock that Jim’s healing is not a process of steadily rising to a state of “better” but being able to take two steps forward and only one step back rather than three.
It doesn’t help that each time he closes his eyes, something haunting presents itself.
Jim’s hand falls away from the glass as his eyes go blank; Amanda pulling her hand from Spock’s as she gazes upon their dying world. Her last breath is a shout of fear as she falls with the crumbling ledge—
Spock’s breath comes short as he opens his watery eyes, sitting up quickly and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. This is illogical. Jim is alive and well in the other room and… mother died years ago. He looks up and gazes out the window, uncertain if he is going to get any sleep at all tonight. After a moment, he realizes his hands are trembling against his knees.
In an attempt to keep his frustration at bay, Spock stands from the bed and begins pacing by the window, eyes fixed on the floor with his arms crossed. He had thought these night terrors would cease when Jim woke up. Then he was sure it would stop when Jim was discharged from the hospital.
What will it take? He asks himself. The rain outside falls harder; a proper storm that hasn’t been seen in San Francisco in quite some time.
He could have ended up like mother. That could have been the last time I spoke with him. Dread builds in the back of his mind. Even in those seemingly final moments, Spock couldn’t bring himself to admit his true feelings. And even though Jim has a second chance at life now, that could change. They’re not just space-faring scientists. Facing danger is a part of the job.
I am your friend.
Coming to a halt, Spock turns his gaze back towards the rainy skies. Suddenly his mind is circulating all the different ways Jim could die all over again. For good. Augmented blood can’t cure every kind of death.
Jim could be sucked out into space, torn apart by a gorn. Perhaps decapitated by a Klingon wielding a bat’leth—
“No!” Spock growls, surprising himself in how aggressive he just sounded. He braces a hand against the cool glass, his breathing ragged as a cold feeling settles in his chest. “I cannot allow myself to fail him again,” Spock says, closing his eyes only to see a pair of glazed over blue ones stare back. There will always be risks. I cannot prevent that.
Spock looks up once more and stares out at the city below. Even earth would not be a safe option. Nero managed to destroy Vulcan and he was only a man of one ship with technology from the future. Harrison destroyed a large portion of this city. Who knows when another danger will enter this sector?
Why did losing Jim hurt so much though? Why did it feel so similar to his mother’s death?
She knew I loved her, even if I didn’t show it the way humans do. Spock lets out a small sigh. Jim does not know though. He only knows that I am loyal and his friend. His heart ached just thinking about it. Even if he rejects me, I must tell him. Perhaps then I will have peace of mind. Spock can clearly picture Jim’s face showing disgust upon hearing that his first officer is attracted to him. It’s not realistic because he knows Jim would be more respectful and they would both be able to resume their work as professionals but still, as illogical as it is, Spock fears the worst.
Pulling away from the window, Spock catches his reflection in the glass. One hand comes up to touch his lips and he notes that they are not soft and plump like Nyota’s. His jaw is too square and there are no smooth, or softly curved features here that Jim would find attractive seeing as he’s only ever shown interest in women or at least the more seemingly feminine kind of aliens.
Perhaps he will not be disgusted, Spock tells himself as he turns away from the window and heads back to his bed, but he certainly will not return my desires.
As he pulls back the covers, Spock looks towards the door and contemplates going and checking on Jim, at least to know that he’s safe and well and not—
Jim’s hand slides away from the glass as his head tips back, staring up as his last breath leaves him. There’s no movement there at all. Just the complete stiffness of death.
“He is fine,” Spock firmly assures himself. He climbs beneath the covers once more. Dr. McCoy would not have discharged him if he was still in danger of any serious medical problems. He then closes his eyes and attempts to sleep once more, silently promising himself that he will tell Jim exactly how he feels. Someday.