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Jim stood on the observation deck, staring blankly out at the stars as the ship silently moved past them. According to ship time, it was the middle of the night, and the deck was empty but for Jim, the rest of the crew probably trying to catch up on desperately needed sleep.
It had been a really, really long day.
Not long in the way that days spent doing nothing at a desk were long, where the hours stretched out as you counted the minutes go by. No, it had been long because it felt as though from the moment Jim had stepped onto the bridge, the whole universe suddenly decided to turn against the Enterprise. This wasn’t exactly unusual, and normally Jim would be able to handle it. But between beaming down to planets and defending themselves planetside and then having to handle defending the Enterprise against oncoming ships, between engine malfunctions and having to warp between countless planets, it felt as though there hadn’t been a moment even to breathe.
Everything had begun blurring together in Jim’s mind; it felt as though he had crammed a week’s worth of living into the space of twenty-four hours. He felt dizzy even thinking about all the paperwork he would have to do over the course of the next few days. And, to make matters worse, it made him want to throw up, thinking of all the forms needed to log the fatalities. There had been too many fatalities for just one day, more than Jim ever thought he would have to see.
He had thought he was better, that he’d be able to take care of his crew. Apparently, he had been wrong.
After a while standing in silence, there was the quiet sound of footsteps approaching. The noise helped snap Jim back to reality, draw him out of the depths of his mind, and he became aware that he was shaking. He put a stop to that as quickly as possible, before the owner of the footsteps reached him, because he couldn’t show that he was weak, not in front of his crew. They needed him to be strong.
Focusing his sight on the reflections on the viewscreen, Jim saw that it was Spock walking towards him, slowing down as he approached, waiting for some kind of a response. Jim didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything. Absolutely nothing to acknowledge his presence. He knew that Spock would understand.
Spock stopped beside him, mirroring Jim by staring out at the stars, clasping his hands behind his back. He too stayed silent, but Jim still didn’t even glance at him. He could read Spock, could read him well, better than anyone. He was afraid of what he’d see in his expression.
They stayed like that for what felt like eternity, just standing there. Jim realised that Spock had probably been looking for him, that he probably had something to say to him. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. He was sure it could wait until morning.
It was when Jim saw, out of the corner of his eye, Spock lower his head and squeeze his eyes shut, that he figured he ought to do something. Because right there his first officer, his best friend, his – his Spock, was so destroyed that his emotional control had weakened until he was on the verge of tears, and there was no way Jim would just stand there doing nothing.
Still not looking, he held his hand out to the side, until it was halfway between the two of them. He extended his first two fingers.
Spock gave a sharp intake of breath, his body going rigid as he looked down at Jim’s hand, back up to his face, back down to the hand again. Just as quickly, he looked out the viewscreen again, unblinking. And, without looking, he put out his own hand, making contact between his fingers and Jim’s.
Jim felt his heart begin to race, and he could swear it felt as though his fingers were tingling where they were touching Spock’s. He curled his fingers tight, using the motion to pull on Spock’s arm, and in one smooth motion they were facing each other, searching each other’s eyes for something, for answers to the questions that they both surely had whirling through their heads at a hundred miles a minute.
Touch telepath, Jim reminded himself, trying his best to calm his mind. He was worried that if he didn’t, it would start to make Spock uncomfortable. Maybe even freak him out, which was the complete opposite of what Jim needed. He needed everything to go right, because if it didn’t, well… if it didn’t, then he couldn’t really see how their friendship would recover from it.
Carefully, he moved his hand – the one not entwined with Spock’s – and placed it on Spock’s hip, glancing at it in a silent question, checking that what he was doing was okay.
But still he was afraid to move any further, afraid that he would fuck up and send Spock running, so he did nothing. He didn’t even look back up into Spock’s eyes, just kept his head tilted down slightly, still looking at his hand.
So it was Spock, then, that closed the final distance between them, leaning his head down slightly to be on level with Jim. He felt Spock’s nose nudging against his own, willing him to look back into Spock’s eyes. When he finally did, Spock pressed their lips together briefly, before pulling away just slightly, a tiny crease in his eyebrows indicating worry.
Jim wanted nothing more than to hold Spock, to protect him and tell him that it was okay, that everything was going to be okay. To remind him that after the day they’d had, this one moment should be the least painful for him, should be the best. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he moved to kiss Spock again. Not just a peck, like the last had been, but a full force kiss. As he felt Spock’s lips part under his, he tried to direct what he was feeling towards Spock, tried to get him to understand the sheer overwhelming love that he felt for him.
Eventually, they drew apart. Jim, breathless, opened his eyes and grinned, resting his forehead against Spock’s. Spock, also seemingly short of breath, opened his eyes a few moments later. With his eyes locked on Jim’s, he said a single word, although it came out more like a breath than anything.
“T’hy’la.”