He hadn't realized that he'd said it until the words were out of his mouth.
Sunlight streamed in dusty panels from the far corner window, where Spock had curled himself elegantly into the bay frame. He wasn't asleep, Jim expected, but the warmth of the Genivian sun smoothed the Vulcan's sharp features and gave him a relaxed, almost dreamy countenance, something the Captain had only rarely seen and only by sneaking a glance.
Jim meandered quietly through the antique wooden furniture and sat down on a cushioned chair near the window, taking care to move his injured wrist gently. The white bandages covering his hand shone in the sunlight, pure as a dove but for a small spot of blood that was starting to seep through. Perturbed, Jim readjusted the bandage and used the fastener to cover the stain. His chair creaked as he leaned forward, and above, Spock's eyes fluttered open to slits before closing again. The Captain mused affectionately over his dark-haired friend; amazed at the peacefulness that engulfed the Vulcan where not a week before he had witnessed Spock engage in some of the most savage fighting he had ever seen.
This past mission had been a bad one; having been away for a few days on shore leave had been more necessary than he ever would have confessed to the doctor. It was good for Spock, too, he knew. They had been through a lot together, Captain and Commander, but the past year had taken a toll on them personally. First the whole Pon-Farr ordeal and then this past mission; it was twice in not enough time that Spock and the crew believed the Captain to be dead. Jim's throat tightened as he recalled the desperate joy on Spock's face when he came from behind that sickbay door; the confusion, the relief, the affection that poured through the Vulcan's fingertips as he grasped the Captain's arms.
Jim traced the ghosts of Spock's touch on his arms, wishing to feel again what Spock had felt in that moment. Perhaps it was selfish, but he couldn't remember ever feeling that complete, that adored. Looking at his dear friend now, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see that side of Spock again. If it meant putting him through that kind of stress again, then he would never wish it. But was it still there, of its own accord? Unlikely.
Snapping out of his reverie, Kirk stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen to make some coffee. The cedar-paneled cabinets were mostly empty, he and Spock weren't staying long enough to stock up on much in the way of excessive food, but Kirk still found that he preferred an old fashioned coffeepot to the portable replicator they had brought along. He made enough hazelnut brew for both of them and walked back to Spock with a near-boiling mug of black coffee.
The Vulcan either sensed Kirk's approach or smelled the coffee because he perked up instantly when Jim entered the room. Jim smiled and raised a mug as a greeting and slumped onto the couch underneath Spock's window. His first officer dropped silently, like a cat, from the window and onto the cushions beside Kirk, folding his legs neatly and accepting the coffee from his Captain.
They sat in silence for a few moments, each considering the other. Finally Jim broke the silence, gesturing up to the window ledge.
"Toasty?" He grinned, taking a swig of his steaming beverage.
"Indeed," Spock replied softly, "I find I am well acclimated to that location."
"Yea, sorry it's kind of cold here, this was the nearest shore-leave approved planet in the quadrant, and Bones seemed to want us out of his hair pretty fast," Jim rolled his eyes. "But at least there's that window, though I'm not sure I'm allowed to have a six foot cat in the house." Kirk smiled at Spock with mock-condescension. The Vulcan merely twitched an eyebrow and shifted the mug into both hands to reap the most benefit of the heat.
Again they sat in silence, both content with the other's company but still undoubtedly lost in their own thoughts. The shadow from the window shifted slightly as the minutes ticked by, and presently Jim noted with some alarm that Spock seemed unsteady, even distressed. Perhaps someone who knew him less well than he would have never noticed the faint lines between the Vulcan's slanted brows or the brightness of his eyes, or how his chin was turned away from Jim. Kirk saw Spock swallow hard once, twice, and felt his own chest tighten. What he must have gone through. The bond between the two of them was inexplicable, strong; and it was probably the thing Jim cherished most in his life next to his ship. Spock's chest rose and fell in small, staggered breaths, and Kirk realized with great astonishment that the Vulcan was fighting back tears.
Jim felt his heart break; if the past few months had been anything to Spock like it had been to him, it must have been beyond exhausting for the Vulcan to keep it all inside. Jim opened his mouth to speak but Spock stood suddenly and walked a few paces from the couch, back to Kirk. He paused in the sunbeam, trying to collect himself. Kirk rose cautiously from his seat, brow furrowed and chest aching. He longed to reach out to his friend, to comfort him, but he would not do so without permission. Jim swallowed his own tears and tried to speak again.
"Spock–"
"Jim." The Vulcan spoke his name before Kirk could fully speak his friend's name. Spock's voice was tight and strained; he fought for balance.
"Jim I understand that it is in the past and there is no logical reason to unearth what cannot be undone…but I cannot forget..." Spock's voice failed him and his head bowed. "I cannot forget I believed you to be dead at my own hand, how I…felt…" he bit the last word as it came out; Kirk knew what a sacrifice it was for Spock to admit to the that word and he considered it a honor to be so trusted, but it pained him to see Spock experience what he would consider failure. Touched, Kirk found his voice.
"Spock–Spock you don't have to." Jim reached out in spite of himself and lightly touched the Vulcan's tense shoulder. He expected Spock to brush him away or step back, but in a single motion he found his hand cradled delicately in Spock's warm, lean fingers. Jim's heart nearly stopped, he was shocked at the Vulcan's openness. Spock's voice was barely above a whisper; Kirk found he missed some of what he said, lost in the surface images and thoughts of Spock's mind.
"I have no way to say it," Spock confessed, Kirk felt his internal struggle through the vague link they had formed through their fingertips.
"Show me." Jim stepped closer and lifted their joined hands. Their eyes met, they each felt the waves of devotion and affection pouring off of each other even before Spock gently cupped Jim's jaw and placed his long fingers tentatively on either side of his face, securing the link.
They were enveloped in warmth. Kirk breathed it in, cherishing Spock's restless heartbeat and beautiful mind. Jim leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, daring to wrap his arms around the Vulcan's neck. They breathed together, each close to tears, speaking without words. The heartbreak of the past year, the pain and the unrest all melted away here, if only for a few moments. Here they were one, indivisible and eternally devoted to the other. Spock relented his fingers from the Captain's face and curled warm arms around Jim's body, locking them in full embrace. The Vulcan's head dropped into the crook of Jim's neck and he pressed himself deeper into the golden uniform, drinking in every breath, every heartbeat that meant his Captain was truly still alive, as he had so longed to do that fateful day. Jim wept silently into Spock's shoulder, heart bursting with regret and unspoken affection.
He didn't realize he'd said it until the words were out of his mouth. Jim slowly realized what he'd done, but couldn't bring himself to regret it. Spock drew back, unreadable. Jim stared back at him, unwavering, unapologetic.
"I do not deserve it," the Vulcan replied slowly, wonderingly. Their eyes held each other, arms still intertwined.
Jim said nothing but placed a chaste kiss on Spock's rigid jaw, his sharp cheekbone. After a moment, Spock returned in kind, caressing the human's jaw with warm lips. Tears ran down their faces, they sank to their knees and held each other, silently, until the coffee had long gone cold.