He'd never felt like this before. Ever. Not a single person had ever been able to evoke such an … an… amazing feeling like this in him before, and he knew as the son of one Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk (she never had changed her name) that this would be his forever and always, one and only love.
He prided himself on his strength, mental and otherwise. He acted arrogant and cocky so everyone saw him for his attitude as opposed to just Jim. He held everyone at arm's length, even Bones who knew Jim better than Sam did at this point. Bones was his brother-by-choice and yet Jim was scarcely able to put a dent in his barriers to let Bones in even the barest amount. Bones had witnessed Jim as physically weak as a newborn lamb, drunk off his ass and beaten to a pulp. Jim knew that he usually pushed the Neanderthals off the edge looking for a fight, and he knew he was wrong to do it. But some nights…some nights Jim just needed to feel. To reaffirm he was indeed still capable of feeling something beyond the usually forced egotistical arrogance. Despite the physical vulnerability Jim often displayed in front of Bones, Bones had never, not ever seen Jim emotionally vulnerable. Jim had made damn sure Bones never saw him break down. Not even when Jim's birthday came around. Bones had been there to clean him up in the aftermath of that particular binge luckily but Jim was careful to leave his true hurt.
Truthfully, that's what scared Jim the most, the raw vulnerability of it all. Jim knew that, given the chance, he'd lay his heart bare in front of Him. If only Jim knew he had even the most minute chance He would accept him. But Jim knew how their story would end before it even began. It'd been a hard lesson learned but Jim learned. Love didn't last. His Dad and Ma had their love torn apart by that twice-damned motherfucking Nero. Jim knew that his job was no walk in the park…he just knew there would come a day where Scotty was just a second too late on the beam-up and the inevitable hostile natives would finally succeed in dispatching him. Jim knew that he'd never want to leave Him behind like his dad had unintentionally left his Ma. Jim realized how it had broken her, almost to the point where she would've left Sam and him for the stars, just to feel closer to Dad. Luckily she had chosen to raise her boys right; even if Jim had been less than cooperative with that plan…he'd been quite the…rebel. There were the moments though, where Jim could just see in her eyes the extent that losing Dad had broken Ma. Jim knew every time one of the little biddies in town commented on his remarkable likeness to his dad, that her heart shattered just that much more. It scared Jim how much his Ma loved his Dad. It scared Jim that someone could be so hurt by something that was supposed to be so amazing, Love.
Jim couldn't even begin to imagine leaving himself so open for hurt, and yet hear he was, tottering on the edge, one word from either falling or flying. A word away from love or love lost. Yes or No. It boiled down to two words he knew in his infancy. Yes or No. Even so, Jim loved every second of it. He'd never felt so free, and yet tied inexplicably to one person as he was you'd think he'd feel confined. Knowing what he did, Love was, despite liberating, utterly terrifying (not that he'd ever admit that…other than to himself). There was just such an extreme disparity between the potential pain and potential joy resulting from Jim revealing his feelings. So extreme that even Scotty and Sulu and their little "alleged" "betting pool" would hesitate to take a gamble on it.
It was scary how vividly Jim could see their life together, before they even were together. He could picture it all so easily. Images of He and Jim together on the observation deck just talking about nothing, utterly content in basking in each other's presence; or of them sparring in the gym shirtless and completely engrossed in seriously practicing until their mock fight devolved into playful, conveniently placed hands, and hidden kisses; and so many other, thousands of other potentially loving, and playful, and sweet, and tender moments, enough to fill a lifetime together; filtered through Jim's mind. A life together Jim knew would never happen.
At least, Jim thought to himself scrubbing his eyes because of the damned dust he'd gotten in them, at least I've acknowledged it so I can start overcoming it. Despite all I've done to avoid this, I know, he thought pulling on his boots; Spock's my only love, My only exception.
And with that Jim Kirk tied up his laces, straightened his uniform and walked out his door to the turbolift and ultimately to the Bridge, ready to survive another day, still not living it.