Trigger Warning: Story includes brief description of torture.

Spock was exhausted. Since he had been relieved from Medical Bay, sleep had become the enemy. Every time his head hit the pillow, he found himself back in the cell. Shivering in the bitter cold. Waiting. Listening. Hoping they wouldn't return; but they always did. Whispering and running their long, claw like nails against the rusted metal walls.

He wished the pup was still wrapped around him, lulling him to brief cycles of sleep with her heavy breathing and warm coat. He missed her earthy smell and the feel of her soft fur between his fingers. Without her, the cold had embedded itself deep into the marrow of his bones.

Collapsing on his bed, he rubbed his eyes. They felt hot and swollen beneath the heel of his hand. His limit had been reached. Spock stretched out on his bed, an ache moving through his body; slow and deep. And the buzzing. Constantly, his head buzzed with unfocused, shifting thoughts.

If he could just stay awake a bit longer-

Whispering. Snow drifting through the cell window. The screaming of their claws dragging along the wall. Tongues clicking in excitement. They were coming. Of course. They would come and drag him out of the cell. Maybe poke and prod at the pup, try to hurt her. But he would defend her until the knocked him down and took him to that dark little room in the back. Smelled of death and decay.

So cold. Bitter like the blood on his tongue. She cried, howled in the still of the night; only the echo would return in reply. Sometimes the wind would catch the howls of the other beasts. Calling for her to come home. 'They will come. They will come,' She whimpered and snuggled closer. It was wrong to have faith in something so unlikely.

If he didn't answer, they would force his head under water. Ice cold water flooding his mouth and lungs. They held him under until spots formed behind his eyelids and his head screamed. He'd only break the surface long enough to gasp. Cough up as much water as he could before they submerged him again. And again. And again.

"Spock."

Snow was beautiful, yet so cold. Spock hated it. It made him sick for the heat of home. The rich red soil pouring between his fingers. But there was no home now. His arm snapped. Like a brittle twig. Loud and wet. Bone jutted from the skin. Green blood flowing freely. It took everything to not scream himself into oblivion. Cackling. They grabbed him by the hair and pulled hard. Ripping. Cutting.

"Spock!"

A dark figure loomed over him, shaking him by the shoulders. Panicked, he grabbed the figure and tackled them to the ground with every bit of power he had. A deep growl sounded from his throat and he drew his fist back. "Spock! It's me, Jim! Hey! It's me!" Spock blinked and focused his gaze on the form pinned beneath him.

It was dark in his room, but the spill of light from the bathroom illuminated the intruder. Jim looked up at him with startled, cerulean eyes. His hair was damp and he smelt of fresh soap. Pink lips parted slightly. "Hey… It's okay. It's just me." Jim finally whispered. Both of them were breathing heavy.

"Captain. I- I'm sorry. You startled me," Spock tried to explain. Standing quickly, he helped Jim to his feet. "I was getting dressed when I heard you shouting." Spock adjusted his shirt. His face felt oddly hot.

"Looks like you've got a lot of your strength back," Jim joked with a friendly smile, rubbing the back of his head. Spock cast his gaze to the floor. "You alright?" Spock cleared his throat. "To be honest, Captain, I am not so sure myself…" A sudden sway of his body made his voice catch. His body tilted forward into Jim. Strong arms tightly encased him, holding up the weight that he suddenly couldn't. "Whoa. Get a head rush?" Spock leaned heavily against Jim, his head spinning.

"Spock?" The concern in Jim's voice was overwhelming. It made his broken arm ache. Cold. He was so cold. "I am just exhausted, Capt-" Jim stopped him. "Jim. Call me Jim." Spock finally regained himself and pulled away.

"Insistent as usual," Spock mumbled, sitting down on his bed. He rested his good hand on his knees, tucking the other close to his stomach. "Maybe we should get you to Med Bay." Spock shook his head. "No, I just need to rest." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The ache for the pup turned his stomach. She always helped him sleep.

"Nightmares, huh?" Jim asked, sitting next to him. Spock was quiet for a long time. "I find myself unable to sleep. I am-" he hesitated, "haunted." His fingers tensed and dug into the fabric of his pants. Ice water rushing past his face. His throat constricted briefly.

"It won't be easy. Going back to the way things were. And to be honest, nothing will ever be the same." Jim's voice was soft, barely a whisper. Spock's gaze flickered over to the other man. His eyes seemed distant. A blue haze. "You speak from personal experience." Jim smiled faintly. "There's a lot about me that you don't know. Or anyone, for that matter." Spock felt a twinge of curiosity. His right eyebrow lifted.

"Do you remember having bad dreams as a kid? You'd wake up so terrified that you'd run to your parent's room and jump into bed-" Jim turned to see a completely blank look on the Vulcan's face. He let out a soft chuckle. "I guess that's not something Vulcan children would do." There was a pause. "I guess I never did that either. My mom was constantly off planet and Frank was… Well, he wasn't the type of guy you would jump into bed with because of a bad dream." Jim fidgeted, a dark look flitted through his eyes. "Anyway, I shared a room with my brother, Sam. He'd bitch about being woken up in the middle of the night, but he would tell me stories. Or just talk. Anything to get me back to sleep. It made me feel less alone."

Spock only replied with a blank look. He knew Jim was being obvious, but his state of mind was too foggy to catch on. With a sigh and a soft smile, Jim gave Spock a light squeeze on the shoulder and stood. "Try to get some sleep. A nap at least. Or else Bones will sedate you and he isn't too friendly with that hypo."

As he went to leave, Spock reached out and grasped onto his wrist. He finally understood. Jim was offering to stay and help him sleep. It was an inappropriate (and slightly insulting) offer. He felt as if Jim was implying that Spock was a like a child. Snot nosed and sobbing. Which he clearly was not.

Under any other circumstance, he would have declined the offer with ease. Yet the feeling that burned at the bottom of his stomach, the fear of being alone, overpowered every part of his being. He needed something to anchor him down and put his mind to rest.

Jim was still. His irises caught the light, becoming a thin, glowing ring of blue. Spock released him quickly. He tried to apologize, but his voice caught in his throat. Instead, he moved to the other side of the bed and laid down. Flat on his back. For a brief moment, the room was completely still. Then, he felt the weight of Jim lying next to him. The space between them tense with nervous energy. Jim made sure to keep his distance, one arm down at his side and the other pillowing his head.

The awkward silence between them was brief. Jim soon began talking. About nothing really. His dull day at work, what Sulu had said during lunch, how Scotty almost fell off one of the pipes. Spock was only partially listening. He was trying to stop the sudden quake that had started in his abdomen. Soon, it worked it's way down his legs and to his knees. The more he tried to hold still, the harder he quivered. His heart pounded furiously against his side.

Without thinking, he grabbed Jim's hand. Jim's voice trailed off. "You're shaking. Are you cold?" He didn't know. He couldn't tell anymore. It hurt. Everything hurt. A feeling swelled in his throat and his eyes began to sting. Why couldn't he breathe? Gasping, he tried to stop the tremors.

He felt fingers intertwine with his and the heat of a body crushing him. "Hey, it's okay. Spock, you gotta breath. Slowly." He hadn't even realized he was hyperventilating. He clutched onto Jim's hand tighter. "Just relax. I want you to breath nice and slow. I'll breath with you." Jim inhaled slowly and then exhaled. Spock did his best to repeat after him.

It was hard. Too hard.

Jim continued to breath in a rhythmic pattern of slow, deep breaths. He placed his hand lightly on Spock's belly. It's warmth sunk in deep, spreading through his abdomen. "Deep. All the way into your stomach. Everything is going to be okay. You just have to breath." Jim's breath was hot on his jaw. Smelt like cinnamon.

Spock closed his eyes tightly. He listened to how the air flowed into Jim's lungs, oxygenating his blood, before being forced back out. Becoming carbon dioxide along the way. He felt how Jim's fingers slightly flexed against his knuckles, thumb rubbing his wrist. The smell of Jim; clean with a subtle aftershave.

Soon, his breaths matched rhythm with Jim's. And they breathed. For seven point five two minutes, they inhaled and exhaled in unison. Until the quiver faded. Until Spock's mind went blank.