AN: First fic on ! excited to finally be posting something haha. This is just a sweet and short ficlet that I felt like writing one night after watching "into darkness" for the hundredth time. I really felt like some hurt/comfort with Spock and Kirk after he woke up, him dying and all. So I wrote some. Can be read as friendship or pre-slash (god knows I ship these two so hard). I have some bigger stories planned, so reviews/critiques would be greatly appreciated for future reference!
When Kirk wakes from his two-week coma, he has a brief conversation with his CMO and first before falling back into the throes of unconsciousness. Spock, whom had been waiting days before his captain was finally allowed to open his eyes, finds himself growing concerned. He furrows his brow, and asks McCoy if Jim is alright. The doctor sighs deeply as he tampers with the medical equipment by Kirk's bedside. He turns and locks eyes with Spock: they are red-rimmed and tired, but still manage to maintain their usual firmness. He smiles sadly before responding, "of course not, you hobgoblin."
Jim's recovery is to be long and full of hardship.
His body has been, essentially, rebuilt by Khan's blood. His immune system, having been completely destroyed by the warp core's radiation, is brand new and delicate. Any sort of exposure to a virus could potentially leave him, as McCoy puts it, "on his ass longer than necessary." They do their best to keep his room sterile and limit his visitors.
Unfortunately, their efforts fail.
Jim wakes late in the evening from a fever-induced nightmare. Spock, who had been sitting at his bedside working on his PADD is immediately alert, his concern for his captain's well-being now built in like an additional sense. He attempts to calm him but immediately knows he requires a doctor's assistance when he feels Kirk's overheated skin like a flame against his cool-blooded, vulcan hands. He is about to leave the room in search of a nurse when he hears Jim's voice, small and weak and full of obvious pain.
"Please...Please don't leave me," it's barely above a whisper.
Spock knows the logical thing to do in order to alleviate his captain's pain would be to seek medical assistance immediately, but for whatever reason he cannot understand, it does not feel an easy thing to do under these circumstances. He does not want to leave his friend. The emotional need in a human's voice has hit a vulcan harder than ever thought possible. For five and a half seconds, he cannot move.
Before Spock can decide what action to take, McCoy comes bustling into the room, white coat fluttering frantically in his wake, most likely alerted by the biobed's alarm system. He pushes Spock out of the way, cursing as he sees the stats on the wall. He spends the next fifteen minutes getting a diagnosis and administering antibiotics to Kirk, who meanwhile lies quaking like a leaf.
When McCoy finishes, he runs his hand through Kirk's sweat-soaked hair and whispers something Spock cannot make out into his ear. He does, however, catch Jim's response: "It hurts."
"I know, kid."
McCoy lingers for several more minutes to comfort his friend, but eventually has to leave. Before he does, he tells Spock that Jim has a viral infection, but that they were lucky and he will be alright in a few days. He asks Spock to remain with him at least until he's calmed down, whom complies without hesitation, saying that he had planned to initially. McCoy looks at the commander, nods once, and leaves the room in a whir once more. Spock moves back to sit in the chair by Jim's bed, and observes him.
Kirk is shaking substantially less, but his body still shivers as he fights the fever. His brow is furrowed, and he is breathing somewhat erratically. Spock feels helpless as he watches the man who always seemed invincible suffer openly in front of him. This is not the rising Starfleet captain that saved the world. This is not James Tiberius Kirk.
A whisper of his name interrupts his thoughts.
"Spock," Jim calls, his body shifting restlessly under the covers, "Spock, where are you?"
"I am here, Captain."
Kirk laughs, but it sounds so disturbingly forced and choked that even Spock, the emotion-devoid vulcan knows it can hardly be called that. "S-Suppos'd to call me Jim. We're n-not on-" his words break off into something akin to a sob. Spock reaches out and covers Jim's hand in his own. It is not a gesture new to him, as he had done the very same with Nyota countless times before. He believes Jim is deserving of the same intimacy in this moment when he so clearly needs it. Jim's hand squeezes back tightly with each wave of pain that passes. He shakes with chills even though his temperature is one-hundred and three and there are multiple blankets stacked on top of him. Spock holds his hand through all of it, and Jim eventually falls into a restless sleep. Spock keeps Jim's hand in his and watches over him for the rest of the night.
The next morning, Jim's fever has broken and when he wakes he is confused to see that Spock has fallen asleep with his fingers entwined with his own. He's too tired to question it, so he merely smiles at the image of his seemingly always-dignified first officer now so awkwardly slumped over in his chair, fast asleep.
Always logical, my ass.
It's not long before he too shuts his eyes and drifts off blissfully.