Work Text:
Spock had barely moved since his discharge from medical. He laid in bed, counting marks on the ceiling; deathly stiff, chest still, and eyelids unblinking.
Jim rested a warm, honey and lemon tea on his bedside; then laid beside him. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, his voice narrowly overheard over their ship’s low humming.
Spock didn’t acknowledge him.
He had been choked on their last mission, strangled to unconsciousness, and whilst Bones had done everything he could, Spock still needed to rest, before trying to speak again, to prevent permanent damage.
“I know you’re struggling. I can hear you. I’m here.”