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The moment Jim escaped medbay, he threw his back against the wall, and finally let go of the broken, guttural, twisted sound he’d been holding in since picking up the first body. The dam had broken, allowing a stream of choked sobs to follow. One hand pulled at his hair as the other tried to muffle his pained screams; neither soothed him. His fingers caused his hair to feel sticky and wet, and the salty, metallic taste of human blood pressed against his lips. His hands were red-gloved; not just covered in blood, but stained with it. It came from his men, from the bodies — so many bodies, too many bodies — he had carried back to the enterprise after the ambush and explosion.
He was fortunate to escape with scratches and bruises at most. His subordinates… Jim shuddered. There had been too many casualties to count. Almost all young officers. Fresh graduates from the academy. Babies. Jim was their Captain. He was supposed to protect them. He was supposed to keep them alive, return them home in one piece to their families; not write letters of condolences to their mothers along with battered remains to be buried deep into the ground. He’d tried to get as many as he could back and breathing, but there was only so much he could do. Now, he was smothered head-to-toe in crimson red. It was all he could see, feel; smell. ’Murderer.’
Jim was about to hunch over and barf when Spock emerged from medbay; his own uniform dusty and torn, but unmistakably blue, compared to the red of Jim’s. “Captain?” He frowned, immediately noticing his ragged state, and reached out to console him.
“No!” Jim flinched back. His hands shook violently — so red, so bloody — and he tried not to let out another heartbreaking scream. “I’ll get you covered in it, too!”
“I do not mind.” Spock’s frown deepened. He approached Jim slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, and transferred waves of calm, gentle reassurance through their mental bond. “Our uniforms can be washed, t’hy’la. Please allow me to hold you.”
Jim shuddered. Stumbling toward him, he instantly melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around his partner, and burying his head against his chest. “There’s too much blood.” He choked against his uniform, desperately trying to find Spock’s scent to replace the blood’s. “Humans shouldn’t bleed that much, but I’m stained with it, and—“
“I know, ashayam, I know.” Spock interrupted, rubbing circles against his back, as he pressed a firm and undeniably loving kiss against the top of his head. “We are safe, t’hy’la. We all returned to the ship. No one was left behind, ashayam. You brought us home. We are okay. We are safe. They are safe. They are okay. You are okay, t’hy’la.”
Jim clutched his shirt; whining and whimpering against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He choked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—“
“You have nothing to apologise for, t’hy’la.” Spock soothed him. “It’s okay.” He held him tighter, and caressed his cheeks. “You are allowed to cry.” He pressed another doting kiss against his hair. “I have you now, t’hy’la, and I am not planning on releasing you. We are safe now. I promise.”