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Spock sat on the floor of this room with his hands folded neatly in his lap. His closed eyelids fluttered slightly. He often used meditation as a way to settle his emotions when he felt they may grow beyond his control. This time however, he was seeking answers. Answers to a question that had been playing on his mind. What was wrong with Kirk?
His captain usually made constant efforts to engage with his crew, joining them in recreational activities and at meal times, conversing with them in his free time. It wasn’t that he had changed his cheerful attitude, rather that it now seemed less an attitude, more a facade. His appearances in the rec room were becoming more infrequent, and his time alone in his quarters had increased significantly.
As first officer, he had to ensure his captain’s wellbeing. As first officer and maybe, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, on a more personal level.
Spock had begun to rub his index finger to his thumb in a sort of massage, drawing circles around his thumbprint and pushing into the skin as to leave a trail of white. Sometimes, when he was alone, he allowed himself these small habits. Briefly permitting some slight outward expression of his thoughts as they bent into coils, wrapping around in the familiar flowing patterns like the carving of a river across a mountain. Only when he was alone.
His eyes still shut, he lowered his head to his chest, centering his breathing. He meditated for nearly three hours, never stirring from his position on the ground. When he concluded, he placed his hands beside him and slowly stood back up. He had not reached an answer per se, however he had made a decision.
⚜︎⚜︎⚜︎
“Enter,” called Kirk.
“Captain,” Spock paused, unsure what address was suitable for the conversation he wished to have, “might I have a word with you if now is not an inconvenient time?”
Kirk motioned for Spock to sit, “Of course, what’s on your mind?”
Despite all his preparation, actually meeting Kirk’s eyes made him hesitate, the stream of his thoughts started to resemble more that of rapids than a brook. His outward appearance remained the same nonetheless, as he pulled out the chair.
“I have some concerns,” he began, “I have noticed a change in behaviour of one of the crew that seems to indicate they may be facing some challenges in their health,” he paused, examining Kirk’s expression, “that they may not be seeking the appropriate treatment for.”
“That is troubling,” replied Kirk, “I should speak with them about this,” his brow was furrowed in thought, “what is their name?”
Spock pressed his index to his thumb, though did not begin his familiar swirling movement, “I am referring to you, Jim,” he said, now pressing into his skin with his nail. Kirk didn’t say anything for a moment, then he shifted uncomfortably. He was no longer looking at Spock, instead his gaze had fallen to the floor, glancing from his feet to Spock’s.
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” he faltered slightly, “I thought it was going to resolve itself, that I just needed time-”
His hands were clenched into fists now, his knuckles whitening, “I am not myself at the moment Spock, no matter what happened I always bounced back, always kept going, but this time it feels different.”
Spock began to reach over but stopped, “Jim, even if it feels different, worse, this time–”
“I’m a captain! How can I be a captain if I can’t– If–” he was hunched over now, his eyes no longer visible.
This time Spock didn’t hesitate, he placed his hand on Kirk’s knee, “You are the most competent captain in the fleet,” he reassured earnestly, intensely aware of his hand though not removing it, “This does not make you any less capable, but you need to seek help or your condition will only worsen.”
Kirk’s usual demeanour had vanished entirely, he was nearly shaking. He stared at Spock’s hand resting on his leg and made an impulsive move. The Vulcan started, his back tensing, a sudden rush went up his arm at the touch of Kirk’s hand on his. His thoughts whirled, “Captain–“
“I need your help,” Kirk looked up and met Spock’s gaze.
There was a near-pleading quality to the captain’s eyes, “I should have come to you, I wanted to come to you, I just– I didn’t want you to think of me as weak.”
“A health issue does not denote a weakness of spirit as I believe you are referring to,” said Spock, a hint of gentleness is his usually monotonous voice, “It would be… preferable if you would confide in me with such matters.”
“It had been so long since the last time… since the last time my memories overtook me so violently that when it happened last week– I had grown unaccustomed to the emotions that followed and it has been harder to conceal my… difficulties. I can’t forget what happened, perhaps I wouldn’t want to, but the gnawing hunger, the images of— of the children—,” his voice broke, tears were streaming down his face, “I still see them Spock, on missions, sometimes when— I see it all again like I’m back there like—“
Spock embraced Kirk, his arms wrapping around his back, one hand resting on the back of his head. He ignored every impulse that had been ingrained in him on Vulcan, to let go, to distance himself. No, he thought, he needs this. Kirk folded into his arms, resting his head on Spock’s chest.
“Jim,” the word was gentle, warm, familiar .
⚜︎⚜︎⚜︎
He had been improving since his conversation with Spock, the underlying anxiety was beginning to settle, and the flashes of memories were becoming more infrequent again. That was, until they had discovered the Klingon wreckage with one survivor; a child. The blood was splattered across her face, streaks of red had formed as it mixed with her tears. Kirk froze. He never froze.
Upon entering the vessel and seeing the carnage, Spock turned to the captain immediately. Shit. Kirk was standing in the same place he had beamed down, his arms firmly by his side, fists clenched tightly. Spock hurriedly whispered something to Sulu and went over to Kirk, flipped open his communicator and signaled Scotty.
“Jim.”
Spock’s quarters. Spock’s quarters, that's where I am… I’m not on Tarsus.. Not on Tarsus… it’s not real.
With each breath he felt his chest constrict tighter, one moment he would see Spock’s face, the next the blood.. The blood, the blood, the bodies, NO NOT HIM- NOT-
“Jim,” the voice echoed in his mind.
yes that’s right… Spock’s here…
“ Please ,” this time he opened his eyes to see Spock in front of him, “Jim.”
Keep saying it. Keep saying my name.
“You’re safe,” Spock’s voice was low and soft.
Kirk reached out his hand, desperately trying to hold onto the present, to not slip back into his mind. Spock took Kirk’s hand in his, a rush of warmth flooded through the captain.
“Don’t leave me,” he croaked.
“I won’t,” promised Spock. He was trying to ignore the intimacy of his hand on Kirk’s, though could not conceal the slight blush of green in his cheeks. Kirk drew a feeble smile, the images were receding, though the metallic taste in his mouth remained potent.
“Thank you,” he managed, drawing in a deep breath, his lungs didn’t feel quite so tight now. He looked down, realising he was sitting on Spock’s bed. Fuck. The flush of his cheeks would be embarrassing if they weren’t already red enough to conceal it. He too, was now hyper aware of the touch of Spock’s hand, the slightly cool fingers wrapping gently over his.
His embarrassing crush was a welcome distraction so he allowed himself to indulge in the schoolgirlish thoughts more than usual. Of course, he thought, this is completely futile, as he slowly turned his palm up in the Vulcan’s hand, watching his visage closely.
Spock took in a sharp, shallow breath, his control over his expression slipping slightly as his eyes widened. No, he doesn’t know what this means, he doesn’t mean it… he could feel his heartbeat grow stronger, faster.
“Captain–,” he began.
“I’m sorry,” Kirk pulled back his hand, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s just– that has a rather… significant meaning to Vulcans,” he managed.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable Mr. Spock,” he scolded himself for his impulsivity.
Spock winced imperceptibly at the honorific, “No. You have not made me uncomfortable,” he asserted with as much conviction as he could muster, “I merely believe you to be mistaken in your application of such a gesture, it has a certain connotation I am sure you do not mean to employ,” there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“I should decide that for myself don’t you think? What does it mean?”
“It is… intimate,” Spock paused, steadying himself, “a gesture of closeness.”
“Spock, I’m sorry I wouldn’t want to invade your boundaries I–”
“You didn't,” he said abruptly.
Spock grazed his index and second finger against Kirk’s, looking into the captain’s eyes. He pressed his fingers firmly against the Vulcan’s, the corners of his eyes crinkling as a smile tugged at his lips. The contact made every muscle in Kirk’s body relax, his mind quietened.
“You should rest,” Spock placed his other hand on Kirk’s shoulder.
“Stay.”
“I will, Jim,” promised Spock, as Kirk lay down upon the bed beside him, their hands now intertwined.
⚜︎⚜︎⚜︎
When Kirk awoke he found Spock asleep next to him. His face was in its usual state of calm, though the corners of his lips were ever so slightly upturned. His eyes flickered open,
“Jim.”
Kirk looked down to realise their hands were still clasped. The warmth of Kirk’s hand against his own felt familiar to Spock, like an inevitability, a bonding. He noticed he didn’t feel uncomfortable at the thought as he had previously imagined he might. Sure, he had had a crush on his captain for a long time, but he had always brushed it off, kept it suppressed with the rest of his emotions, now though, now it felt different. It felt like the beginning of something new.
Spock slid his fingers down Kirk’s palm, meeting his fingertips. A rush went up Kirk’s arm, his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. Spock took his free hand to Kirk’s face, tracing along the line of his jaw and up to his cheek.
“May I?”
Kirk nodded, guiding the Vulcan’s hands. There was a flood of emotions as their minds intertwined, their streams of consciousness joining as one.
T’hy’la