Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: 2009, and I'm not making any money off this.
Jim kicked a pile of snow, shivering beneath his jacket. "It's cold here. It's better than the last place, though."
Spock lifted his tricorder. "Our previous destination was not unpleasant. In fact, I quite liked it."
Of course he did. It was a desert, whereas this place was just an ice cube. "Okay, so we'll get a few readings and then beam back up." And make a note to pack heavier jackets in the future. "Sound like a plan?"
"Affirmative."
"Great."
Spock's eyes narrowed, his tricorder falling from his grasp. "Jim." He pointed ahead.
Jim looked up. A few feet away, a figure in a puffy, black coat was hunched over the ice, unmoving. "I thought Chekov said there was no one down here."
"You are correct."
"Could he have been wrong?"
"Clearly, he was." Spock shifted closer to Jim. "A more logical question would be why."
"I don't know, but it's not moving. I'm going to check it out, you stay."
"No, Jim, we should go together," Spock insisted.
Jim wanted to argue with him, but it would take more time than it was worth. By the looks of things, whoever was out there was probably dead already. Hardly a threat. He pulled out his phaser, and carefully crossed the short distance, Spock right at his side.
The figure rose as they approached. Spock grabbed Jim, yanking him back a few steps. The ground slid beneath Jim's feet, but he grasped Spock's elbow, keeping himself vertical for the moment.
"I'm Captain James T. Kirk," he called out. "Do you need help?"
"Yes." The voice that flowed from beneath the dark hood was raspy.
"Jim, wait." Spock cautioned.
It was too late. Jim rushed forward, his feet skidding over the ice. His fingers still clutched his phaser, but his attention had fallen away from it. He reached out for the person whose back was still turned.
Warm breath collided with Jim's ear as Spock caught up, only a few inches behind him. In a flash of confusion, something hard collided with Jim's stomach, and then he was lying on the ground, gazing up at the sky.
He blinked rapidly, the scene before him snapping into focus. The figure jammed a hypospray into Spock's neck. The Vulcan fell to the ground, his eyelids fluttering shut.
"No," Jim's voice was a mere whisper. He groped around for his phaser, but it had slid away, barely out of reach.
Spock's assailant hovered over Jim, unsheathing a knife, the silver blade reflecting a beam of light straight into Jim's eyes. He reached up to block the blow. His limbs were frozen and shaky, his reflexes dampened from the shock. The blade punched into his gut, again and again and again.
His own screams were the only audible noise, apart from the rushing wind. And then they were alone.
It wasn't supposed to end like this, Jim mused as he lay dying. Not even thirty yet, he should have had all the time in the world. They should have had all the time in the world.
Here he was, though. Bleeding to death in a silent wasteland.
He licked his lips, which tasted like he'd swallowed a mouthful of copper. Beneath him, the once white ground had turned a deep scarlet, like raspberry juice spilled over crushed ice. His gold shirt was sliced to ribbons, and he decided that if he survived this ordeal, the first thing he'd do when he got back was file an official complaint with Starfleet over the quality of their uniforms. It seemed like every week he was in need of new ones because his shirt had been ripped in some ordeal or another. It was unacceptable, to say the least.
A burst of pain brought Jim back to the present. A scream echoed through the deserted area, disconnected and seemingly unreal. He had to get them out of here. Otherwise, there was no absolutely no hope of survival. And Jim Kirk was a survivor, if nothing else.
His fingers were numb, but he managed to flip open his communicator and gather a few words. "Kirk to Enterprise. We've been injured; the situation is critical. Beam us up now."
The rushing wind drowned out most of Scotty's reply, but his voice was laced with panic.
Beside him, Spock was silent, still.
"Wake up," Jim whispered. There was no response. He threaded his fingers through Spock's. His hand was so, so cold. "Goddamn it, Spock, wake the fuck up."
Still nothing. Jim turned his head, squinting over at his companion. A few tears sprung to his eyes, either because it was cold as hell, or because the situation was just so hopeless. He would never be sure.
"In case you were wondering," he said, his throat raw, "My greatest regret is never saying I love you."
Maybe he was imagining it, but Jim could've sworn Spock's fingers twitched. And then, in a blur of colors and disjointed images, the world slid away.
Jim couldn't pin down the exact moment he fell in love with Spock, because it hadn't been a single moment. It was a thousand slight brushes of their hands; a million shared looks on the Bridge. It was dozens of attempts in which Jim swore to himself he would just go ahead and tell Spock how he felt, and one glorious second when he thought he'd finally gotten what he desired.
It was a hundred thousand moments wrapped together, and it ultimately ended in heartbreak.
But it had been good between them once, even if that hadn't lasted very long. And so Jim held onto that time, when things were bright and hopeful. When he thought Spock was his to keep.
It had started with a kiss.
Three months ago, on a night that Jim would never, ever forget. He was alone in his quarters, and Spock had come to bring him a report or some such—concerning what exactly, Jim had never found out.
He'd had a few drinks, but he wasn't drunk, per se. Tipsy, maybe. Bolder, definitely.
Just do it, he told himself. Fucking do it and who gives a shit what happens. You'll never know what might've been if you don't go ahead and spit it out.
"Something on your mind?" Spock asked.
Jim opened his mouth, unable to form the words. They jumbled on his tongue and twisted together, begging to remain unsaid. Shaking off his reluctance, he stood up and crossed the room.
He couldn't let this moment slip away. He'd already wasted so much time by allowing his insecurities to rule him. It was time to take his shot, let the chips fall where they may.
"Jim." There was a hint of concern in Spock's tone, though it was slight enough to be undetectable to anyone else's ears. But Jim knew Spock better than anyone. "Would you like me to leave?"
"No," he blurted out, sheer desperation soaking the single word. "Don't go."
Spock raised an eyebrow. He remained still. "Tell me what you need."
"You." Adrenaline rushed through Jim's veins. His palms grew clammy, but he forced himself not to take it back. This was his chance. It was now or never. "I need you."
Before Spock had a chance to respond, Jim pulled him into a tight embrace. A second elapsed, their breaths crashing together, and then he brushed his lips over Spock's.
Closing his eyes, Jim waited for the inevitable. Spock would surely push him away, saying he had no idea where Jim got the idea from, but he wasn't interested. And that would be that.
Spock didn't push Jim away. Not even close.
It couldn't have been longer than a couple seconds. At the time, it seemed more like years passed between them before Spock kissed Jim back, very softly.
Jim's heart hammered in his chest, its pace so rapid it hurt. He sighed against Spock's mouth, pressed up against him. He parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Spock's arms looped around Jim's waist, and that was when Jim lost the little semblance of control he had left.
He cupped his hands around Spock's face, slammed them both against the wall. The kiss departed from careful and controlled, their passion taking over. Jim silently cheered. This was everything he wanted.
He slid his fingers into the waistband of Spock's pants. In retrospect, maybe he'd moved too fast. If he'd relaxed more, let Spock call the shots, maybe things would have gone the way he'd hoped.
His mind fuzzy, Jim stumbled back a few steps. Spock edged away from him, his arms outstretched. Oh God. Talk about a delayed reaction.
"It's late, Jim," Spock said quietly.
Jim swallowed. "Yeah."
"Good night." He left.
Jim tried to forget about it. It really was late, and Spock hadn't specifically said he didn't like the kiss, either. They could talk about it in the morning, he figured.
Except, they didn't. Oh, sure, they talked, but they didn't say anything. Instead, their conversation was strictly limited to work.
"What does it mean when you kiss somebody, and they kiss you back, but then they never mention it again?" Jim asked Bones that evening.
"He's just not that into you."
Jim's eyebrows scrunched together. "I never said it was a guy. Hell, as far as you're concerned, this is a hypothetical situation."
Bones smirked. "I have eyes, you know. We all do. I see the way you look at Spock."
At the time, Jim thought maybe Bones had it right. Until a few days later, when it became apparent that he didn't.
There were voices all around Jim. He strained his ears, listening for one in particular. Unfortunately, it was the only one he couldn't hear.