At first Jim doesn't remember anything. Not his name, his friends, the Enterprise. Nothing. He has no concept of language. No way to organise the feelings and blurring images floating through his brain. He's suspended; without reality. Without time or physics. And after a while there's panic.
Panic's good. It means he's remembering something. Thinking about something. Although he doesn't know what; not yet.
It takes a while after that. An immeasurable amount of time that he spends fighting the building panic and fear.
And then it's there. James Tiberius Kirk. It is both thought and sound; everything and nothing in this cramped infinite world. More important than that, he understands. There's a clarity settling into his bones, into the marrow of his entire being.
He is Jim again.
Day, years, months, seconds. Time passes, speeding up and slowing down when it feels like it. Somehow Jim knows he isn't dead. And that's the moment when it all comes crashing down on him.
The mission. The explosion. Spock's face as he requested to be beamed up. The blood coating his arms.
When he was a kid, Jim's favourite colour was red. It's a good colour, strong and sure. Loud and bold and unashamed.
The red on Spock's arms is no different. There's a drop on his cheek. If Jim had the strength, he would have wiped it away with a cheeky grin. But Spock's face is pale and the skin between his eyes is all scrunched up. If Jim had the courage, he'd smooth it out with his fingers. He's always wanted to.
Somewhere in Jim's hazy mind he acknowledged that he was dying. The Enterprise was taking too long. Spock would make a good captain.
There isn't anything to recall after that. Jim thinks that he passed out. He's not one hundred percent sure, but it seems most likely.
If this is death it doesn't seem so bad. Jim hadn't ever paid attention in their ancient mythology classes but he's pretty sure Humans used to think death involved judgement. It seems silly, sitting here at the edge of nothing. Then again, a lot of the things Humans have done or thought have always seemed pretty ridiculous.
Jim laughs until he can't breathe and then laughs some more. What does breathing matter when you're already dead?
There are things Jim regrets in this blank space.
He didn't spend enough time with his friends. He only called his mother twice a year. He never said goodbye to Sam or Aurelan. He was always trying to get out of his medical tests and running away from Bones.
He never told Spock. Not even when he had so many perfect opportunities.
Sometimes Jim feels the ghost of a hand on his shoulder. His hand being squeezed. Someone stroking his cheek.
And for the first time, Jim feels a burst of excitement. Because if anyone can pull someone off the brink of death, it's Bones. It wouldn't be the first time after all. So Jim wiggles his fingers and toes. It can't be too hard, pulling one's self out of a coma. He's seen Spock do it at least three times. He just has to focus. If anyone can do it, Jim can.
So Jim closes his eyes -metaphorically- and breathes in deep. He imagines his body in sickbay and just kind of sinks into it.
The smell of antiseptic has always given Jim a headache. But this time it's different. This time he wakes up and Spock is there. Dark eyes flick up from the PADD resting on his knee and settle on Jim. There's a moment of silence before Spock is up and pressing the button to call McCoy over. Jim can already hear the snarky lecture.
But then Spock's hand is on his cheek; so close to his psi points. A calloused thumb is stroking along his jaw line and Spock's eyes. Jim has always chosen to read his second through his eyes. But he's never seen them so relieved. Even after Kahn, there was a barrier there. But now Jim can see; Spock's letting him see.
"Ashayam." The word shifts across his skin like a caress and burrows down into his bones. Vulcan has never been his strong suit but that doesn't matter because Jim can feel the word.
Bones comes in with the bustle and frown that Jim predicted and then he's being lectured and hypoed and he's playing along with complaints and everything is alright.
"Jim." Spock breathes his name like it's everything he's ever needed. Like Jim is everything he wants.
Jim's hands are on him in a second. And it's so good. He's wanted to touch Spock for so long that Jim's not quite sure when it started. Probably right in the beginning; standing across from him.
It had been a punch at first. The need to wipe the condescending jerk off his feet. And then, on the Enterprise, he'd agreed with Jim and he could have kissed that sour face.
Which maybe should have been the time Jim took a bit of a closer look at his feelings. In the usual Kirkian style, he ignored the pit in his chest when Uhura touched Spock. Or the growing warmth whenever Spock chose to spend an evening in his company.
"Spock?" Jim isn't really sure what the question is but Spock seems to get it. He always gets Jim.
"It's alright. I've got you." And it is. Spock's hands are in his hair, on his waist.
When their mouths connect it's everything the growing stack of romance novels under Jim's bed describe. There's tingling and weak knees and somewhere fireworks are going off.
Spock's mouth is amazing. He's insistent and gentle in a way Jim isn't used to. He's treating Jim like he's treasured and it knocks the air right out of his lungs. He'd be happy to die like this, protected and loved.
They eventually make it to the bed and there is the usual flurry of clothes and forgetting shoes until pants are on their way down and fingers slipping over buttons for three times as long as it would usually take. But then they're free, blessedly naked and Spock is gorgeous. His body is lithe and covered in fine dark hairs. His abs jump as Jim runs his fingertips over them and he can't look away. Can't close his eyes. Never again. Not when this exists.
He has no trouble crawling up Spock's body, contented for the moment with just looking. Because he's wanted this for so long it feels like there's never been anyone else to grab his attention. And there really hasn't. Not like Spock. Spock is... Spock. Without equal or measure and awesome in ways that not even Jim can fully comprehend. The insight from the Ambassador helps but Jim doubts his tiny Human brain will ever be able to understand everything about his First.
And in that moment he knows that he doesn't want this to be about sex. He doesn't want whatever this is to end because they skipped the important parts. Nor does he want to give Spock the wrong idea. It wouldn't be the first time someone had thought Jim Kirk was just in it for the physical.
There's a sigh against his cheek and a kiss pressed into his temple, the corner of his mouth before Spock pulls him into the line of his body. The sheets slide up his naked skin and there is nowhere in the world Jim would rather be.
When they wake up there isn't the slightest twinge of awkwardness that Jim might have expected. Spock's dark eyes are watching him and Jim can't resist running his fingers over those alien eyebrows, down the length of his nose. It's more intimate that anything Jim thinks he's ever done before. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that this is scary. But here, with Spock, Jim knows no fear. Maybe that's how normal people feel about relationships but Jim wouldn't know.
He's never pretended to be normal.
Spock's mouth is closed but Jim could swear that he can hear his own name. Feel the lightest brush of a hand against his forehead. It's odd but maybe this is a Vulcan thing. Jim doesn't mind. It's nice to think they share a connection. Something hidden and secret and just theirs. Jim's never had something like that.
Not a shared secret, at the least. He's got more than his fair share of things he doesn't want anyone else to ever know. Maybe one day he'll tell Spock. He thinks that would be alright. Because Spock would never hurt him.
They get dressed in near silence. For once Jim doesn't feel like filling it. He can just be. Spock can just be. They can be, together.
The walk to the mess hall feels different. And Jim wonders if anyone can tell. But Spock is at his side, where he can always be found and Jim can't imagine anyone knowing what it means now.
"Got plans for the holidays, Captain?" Sulu asks as they sit at their usual table. One would think that working and eating and relaxing together would become tedious. And Jim had been ready for that. He'd made the acquaintance of every single crew member for more than just moral reasons.
"Don't bother asking old Humbug over there, Sulu." Bones intercepts, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Let me save you from the speech."
It's a song and dance Jim knows well.
Bones is not really a fan of the festive season. If he gets to comm his daughter, he's happy. Anything else is superfluous in his books.
Jim on the other hand loves making a big deal out of the event. He loves the lights and the trees and tinsel and holly and candles and the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon everywhere. He likes getting his special people gifts, especially now that he has so many.
He's been planning this Christmas for months. Their stops at various space stations throughout the year had been perfectly engineered for Jim to pick up all his supplies. There were lights and a tree and presents and Jim was just about bursting out of his skin with excitement. He'd put so much thought and time into his preparations this year.
Spock leans into Jim's side, just a touch and Jim feels his weight like a slap across the face.
He comes up for air, blinking in confusion and gulping down lungfuls of air. The light is partially blinding which lets Jim know exactly where he is. Waking up in medbay is never fun. And this time it's even less so. Because Jim doesn't even know what happened.
Bones runs in, Chapel close behind him. He looks at Jim like he's never seen him before. It makes Jim uncomfortable. Bones has never been silent when Jim's gotten himself into trouble.
"Jesus kid," Bones finally mutters, tone softer than anything Jim can remember. "You scared the shit out of us." Even his hand against Jim's brow is gentle. The touch is soothing, the opposite of everything Bones stands for.
"Wha-" Jim tries to ask before sputtering. Chapel hands him a glass of water as Bones goes over his readings.
"Your goddamned hero complex, Jim." Bones grouched, leaning over and administering a hypo into the sensitive flesh on the side of his neck. "You're supposed to run away from sharp projectiles."
It's like a bucket of cold water wrenching Jim back to reality.
Everything had been a dream. A stupid fucking dream and Jim had been too caught up in his desires to realise it. There had been so many inconsistencies with reality and he'd just ignored the obvious. Jim snorts, genius his ass.
Within the hour Jim's on his feet walking himself back to his rooms. Chapel had offered to assist him but he needed the time to be alone. The trip is taking at least four times as long as usual, but Jim can't bring himself to care. His crew are slapping his back, welcoming him back and in the case of one off shift navigator, hugging him so close it feels like his ribs might crack.
He smiles and nods and returns their well wishes but behind the façade Jim is empty. He's emotionally drained, tired right down to the roots of his being. A long session in the fresher and a good night's sleep are calling to him.
There is no Spock on the walk. Jim refuses to be disappointed.
The next day he's still confined to medical leave but Jim chances a quick trip to the gym before falling asleep on the observation deck. Hiding out in the dimly lit room feels like a mix between cowardice and regret. In the time he's been unconscious someone has decorated the room with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights. They catch his attention and Jim can't pull his eyes away.
Not until someone clears their throat.
Spock is standing in the doorway, back straight and uniform impeccably pressed. There is an air about him which Jim doesn't recognise. It's almost as if Spock has retreated further into his Vulcan shell, undoing years of friendship. This isn't the Vulcan Jim knows. It's someone else and that hurts.
Jim flees the room. Spock lets him go.
Over the next week the pattern continues. Like a game of cat and mouse which only Jim is playing. Every time he feels that gaze boring into him, Jim runs. He's almost run out of excuses to leave a room in a hurry and Bones certainly isn't happy to have him lazing around medbay for no good reason.
In the corner of his room a pile of Christmas decorations goes untouched. The presents under his bed begin to accumulate dust. The sight of it makes Jim feel sick. This was the first Christmas of their five year mission. It was meant to be magical.
It's Christmas Eve and Jim forgoes the celebrations held in the mess for an early night's rest.
The sound of the door swishing open wakes Jim. It's dark and someone's in his room. Jim doesn't move. His muscles feel locked and he would swear his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. The mystery person isn't making a sound, yet he knows they're moving closer. His skin prickles and-
"Computer, lights at 25 percent." Spock says, the room lightening until Jim can clearly see. He almost wishes he couldn't. There is no way to miss the pissed expression on his Vulcan's face. Clearly Spock had finally had enough. "Of all the stupid things you have ever done Captain, this has, to borrow an expression from Mr. Scott, 'taken the cake'."
Jim lays there in shock, unable and unwilling to defend himself.
"Your behaviour has been reprehensible." Spock continues without pause. "And the entire crew were disappointed by your actions tonight."
Jim's brows furrow at this. He's never known Spock to exaggerate –the Ambassador is a totally different kettle of fish- about anything. He is painfully literal.
"You are insufferable." He huffs, actually huffs, before lowering his gaze to the floor, "And I have been lost Jim." Impossibly big dark eyes meet his own.
"I didn't," Jim begins, ever present frustration and confusion leaking into his tone.
"I had assumed I made it clear after the Kahn fiasco, Captain." Spock cuts him off, voice almost a growl.
And then Jim is being kissed within an inch of his life. Spock's mouth is hot and wet and tastes faintly of hot cocoa. The alien tongue is rough against his own and it feels so good. Better than his dream. Especially when a large hand settles against his cheek, cradling his face and locking their minds in the shallowest of melds. It's like having a Spock blanket wrapped around his mind, holding him in the most intimate of embraces.
"I love you." Jim murmurs against Spock's mouth when they finally part. He feels Spock's lips stretch into a small smile.
"I am aware." Spock replies, flinching just slightly as Jim's hand makes contact with his shoulder. The asshole.
Spock seals their mouths together once more, sucking Jim's bottom lip into his mouth before nipping it gently. When he draws back Jim whines, a deep broken sound and Spock is back in an instant. He presses a quick succession of pecks against Jim's mouth.
Jim laughs, feeling drunk on love and affection. There is nowhere he would rather be. And, from the looks of things, Spock wasn't about to let him go anyway.