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Jim wakes up sweating, his hands quick to travel down to his stomach, to pat over the expanse of his ribs-
There’s flesh there, an abundance of it, enough fat to conceal the bone he expects to feel, enough to prove he wasn't starving.
Captain James T. Kirk had been starved before, starved to the point of muscle wasting and a boney exterior, and starved close enough to death that he could feel it breathing down his neck.
Could feel it even now.
Jim staggers out of bed, quick to make his way to the bathroom attached to his quarters, tugging at his shirt along the way-
He had to make sure, had to see for himself that he was really out of it. Jim had to know that he had built up enough fat to hide the bone that he had become so accustomed to seeing-
James Kirk had done everything in his power to change his appearance after Tarsus IV. He had cut his hair (it had become overgrown, matted, and messy back then), he had changed his clothes, god, he had eaten.
Jim Kirk never wanted to be hungry again.
Spock startles when Jim throws open the bathroom door, jumping forward to catch his captain when he stumbles backward in his own surprise.
Spock had not been on Tarsus IV, and that in itself allows Jim to catch his breath when the vulcan helps him upright.
“Captain?” Spock raises a brow at him, and Jim smiles reflexively.
He tries not to think about the picture he must make, shirtless, his hair a mess, and obviously out of order in front of his first officer.
“My apologies Mr. Spock, I hadn't realized you were awake.”
“Neither had I, you, captain.” Spock pauses, “Is there something wrong?”
“ No , no. Nothing of the sort. I was just-” Kirk blinks, finally registering what Spock had been doing before he had interupted. “You were taking off your makeup?”
“I was.” Spock agrees, looking over to check his face in the mirror. “Was it another nightmare captain?”
“What?” Jim coughs, “Why, Mr. Spock-”
“You talk in your sleep, loud enough that I can hear you through the bathroom door on occasion. I have offered my assistance to you on the mornings after-”
Jim recalls with a sinking feeling all the mornings Spock had asked things like, “Are you alright captain?” Or, “How did you sleep?”
“But now that I have you here, it might be easier to discuss.” Spock continues, bending down to pick up the makeup wipe he had been using after it had obviously fallen to the floor when Jim barged in.
“I hadn't realized,” Kirk swallows, “You'll have to forgive me again Mr. Spock, I hadnt meant to disturb your sleep, or worry you.”
“There is nothing to forgive, and you should know vulcan’s are incapable of worrying, captain.”
Jim laughs, “It's just some old wounds Spock, nothing to worry about now. They just crop up sometimes.”
“A trauma response then? To the events of Tarsus IV?”
“So you know?”
“You've mentioned it before. The response is only logical.”
Kirk wonders, uncomfortably, what sorts of things he must be shouting in his sleep for Spock to know as much as he does, what sorts of things he's led Spock to look up on the little computer in his quarters.
He forces himself, instead, to look over the makeup littered counter before him. It's not a hard feat, considering he'd always been curious of the vulcan's process, and so he leans quietly against the counter and watches.
Spock raises a brow at him in the mirror, before continuing where he had left off, and wiping off his foundation.
Jim had always found the vulcan impressive, he was always awake before him, and his makeup was always done by the time Jim met him on the bridge, and that was to say-
Spock was always at his station early-
And his makeup was always impeccable.
“You're up late.” Jim whispers, not wanting to ruin the moment by being too loud after the realization hits him, and Spock hums in response.
“I was meditating Captain.”
“You're welcome to call me Jim in our quarter's Spock.”
Kirk stares at the ceiling when he says it, suddenly embarrassed, and crosses his arms over his chest. Of course he had to look so out of sorts every time Spock looked so put together-
And Spock almost always looked put together.
“Then,” the vulcan pauses, tilting his head to the side to wipe his face from a better angle, “I was meditating, Jim.”
It’s nice when Spock says his name, not that it isn't nice when the others say it, it's just-
With Spock it's different.
It has always been different.
Spock is real, and he is not a product of Tarsus IV, and he says Jim's name in a way that is so indifferent and yet so endearing and-
“Have you ever tried wearing makeup, Jim?”
“I have on missions.” Jim blinks, turning slightly so he's facing his first officer again. “But not otherwise, no.”
“You might like it.” Spock brushes his hair back with one hand so he can wipe over his forehead with the other, “it can be therapeutic.”
“How so?” Jim asks, grinning now but with the warmth he’d been missing earlier, and Spock meets his gaze once again in their reflection.
“You can be whoever you want to be,” He starts, almost carefully, if Kirk was able to gauge his vulcan's right. “Or whoever you don't.”
“What are you thinking Spock?”
“I am thinking, that I too, like to appear a certain way. I think we are similar in that regard, Jim.” Spock wipes away his eye shadow as he says this, and his words muffle just slightly. “Vulcan's traditionally wear makeup.”
Oh.
Oh.
Kirk could understand now, it was a secret, a small confession of Spock's own to make him feel better.
James wanted to be seen as Jim, and Spock wanted to be seen as Vulcan-
And both were planets away from where everything had gone wrong.
“Do you want to talk about Tarsus?” Spock asks easily, throwing away his wipe and turning on the faucet.
“I don't know Spock, it was-” Jim trails off, mouth suddenly dry when Spock looks up at him with wet lashes after he splashes his face.
“Difficult?”
“Hungry.”
They look at each other for a long moment, and it's not awkward, or pitying like Jim expects it to be, it's just-
Weighted. Comfortably. And he is glad that it is Spock who is staring at him, poking at his wounds.
“I cannot assure you that you'll never be hungry again Jim.” Spock dips his head, “But I will always offer you my plate.”
When Jim catches his own reflection in the mirror there is flesh there, enough to cover his ribs and droop just slightly over his waistband. He is full, he is whole, and he is in his bathroom with Spock.
They are both bare, and awake far too late before their next shift, and Jim finds himself feeling far too comfortable in their shared space.
All he had to do was reach out, and Spock could touch him, but he isn't sure if that was allowed.
No, Jim wasn't hungry, but he was still starving.
And Spock wasn't Tarsus IV, but god, did he make Jim feel weak.
Kirk could reach out now, but would Spock reach back? Would it be for the same reasons?
Jim wonders suddenly if the vulcan had even been starved before, if he'd ever filled his mouth with dirt and his stomach with grass just to feel like he was eating.
If he had ever pretended the leaves were meat and the worms a delicacy.
He wonders how human Spock believed he was, and if he was afraid that that part of him was greater than the Vulcan one.
“Your makeup skills are impressive Spock,” Jim answers back finally, swallowing down an emotion he's far too afraid to name, “you always look so pretty on the bridge.”
They part soon after Kirk's thinly veiled confession, Spock leaving with a greener tint to his cheeks, and the captain runs his hands, again, over the expanse of his ribs-
His arms, his legs, his stomach-
His face.
Jim Kirk would never be hungry again, but for Spock, the vulcan commander on his bridge-
He was starving.