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“Jim,” Spock stood in the doorway of their shared apartment.
The newly-minted admiral looked up, a smile gracing his face. “Yeah?”
Spock sat opposite him on the chair they usually reserved for visitors. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, but Jim could feel the nervousness radiating off him in their bond.
“You okay?” Jim put down his PADD and held his hand out, palm up, an open offer.
Spock looked between his hand and his face, finally opting to place one of his own in Jim’s. The Vulcan’s hand was far warmer than the base temperature for a human’s—something Spock once approximated to be 2.08 degrees of difference.
“I wish to share some news with you,” Spock said, eyes watching Jim’s every expression for a sign he was unwanted.
Jim, to his credit, pretended he didn’t notice this. He placed his other hand on top of Spock’s and stroked his knuckles.
“Go on, sweetheart.”
Spock couldn’t hold the eye contact any longer. Looking down at their joint hands, he said, “It has been two weeks.”
Jim’s mind lagged behind for a moment. Two weeks since what? And then it clicked. He pulled Spock’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. Closing his eyes he rested the bridge of his nose on Spock’s hand, siphoning some of his warmth.
“I’m so proud of you,” Jim finally said.
Spock pulled his hand back into his lap. “It is not a particularly impressive milestone.”
“Are you kidding?” Jim said, eyes shining. “Two weeks is a huge deal!”
The Vulcan watched him, still not entirely able to believe what he was saying.
“Come here,” Jim motioned. Pushing himself back from the desk, he patted his lap, making room for the man he loved.
Spock raised his brow.
“Fine, let’s go to the couch,” Jim conceded with a smile. He did well not to mention the last time they’d attempted the same position, which resulted in both of them on the floor and a very sore tailbone for Jim.
Holding his hand, Jim led Spock to the couch, pulling him down into his lap. Spock settled against him, Jim’s chin level with his chest.
“Two weeks is infinitesimal considering the scale of one’s lifetime,” Spock murmured, burying his face in the crook of Jim’s shoulder.
The admiral cupped the nape of his husband's neck and held him tight.
“Two weeks is the start of something that can last far longer,” Jim said.
“But what if I fail?”
The thought of more green cuts against pale skin made Jim sick to his stomach. Two weeks was barely enough for the remnants from the last incident to heal. If Spock was to relapse—
“If you fail, I’ll be here,” Jim whispered into his hair. It smelled of cinnamon, like his shampoo.
“You will still want me?” Spock’s voice was small.
“Sweetheart, I’ll always want you.”
Jim thought of the weeks Spock had kept his habits hidden, and then the weeks it took for him to agree to get help. Now that he’d managed two weeks without an incident, there was truly hope that this could continue.
“But… you are going to Andoria in 3 days,” Spock said. What he didn’t say bled through their bond. A thrum of fear and distrust in himself.
“I’ll stay if you need me,” Jim offered without hesitation. “You know I will.”
“I cannot ask that of you, ashayam,” Spock’s voice cracked.
“Nothing—nothing at all—is more important to me than you,” Jim said fiercely. “Starfleet—Andoria—all of it can wait.”
Spock shook his head. “I must… I must learn to manage.”
They were quiet for some time, both breathing hard. A few of Spock’s warm tears dampened Jim’s collar. The admiral found his own vision blurring as he thought of leaving his husband hurting and alone.
“What about a call?” Jim said. “Every night, from my shuttle.”
Spock pulled back and looked at him through wet lashes.
“I know it won’t be the same as sharing a bed, but at least I’ll still be able to check in with you.”
“You would… you would do that?”
Jim’s thumb wiped away the Vulcan's tears, and he gave him a small smile.
“I’d do anything for you.”
Spock leaned forward, letting their foreheads touch. He didn’t say anything, but the bond flooded with relief.