Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters are not my intellectual property. This particular piece of writing, however, is.
A/N: So, I wrote a sequel to my one-shot, Goodnight, Captain, because so many people started adding it to their favorites after the new movie was released. I hope you enjoy!
"Good morning, Captain," Spock greeted, watching as the disoriented fluttering of James Tiberius Kirk's pale eyelids ceased to reveal the sky-blue irises that the Vulcan had dearly missed. He could not be reluctant to admit to such illogical emotions any longer. In a span of less than twenty-four hours, he had almost lost his captain—his friend—once, and the second time, he had lost him. He had watched his captain die.
If not for the tribble, if not for Doctor McCoy's quick thinking, and Uhura's intervention, Spock would have killed Khan Noonien Singh, and Jim would have been lost forever.
"Morning, Mr. Spock," Jim grunted, blinking up at his first officer.
"May I inquire as to your state of health, Captain?" Spock asked, and the blond quirked an eyebrow.
"You just did," he mumbled. "And you'd have to ask Bones about the technical details. How I'm feeling is usually different from how he tells me I'm supposed to be feeling, with whatever state I'm in. And I told you to call me Jim."
For a moment, Spock was silent. It seemed the captain was feeling well enough, as he possessed the capacity for sarcasm. Still, the Vulcan ventured, hesitantly, "How are you feeling, then…Jim?" As he awaited the man's reply, Spock made note of the tension in his body, the way his eyes darted away as he contemplated a lie—most humans looked up and to the left when they lied, but Spock had discovered long ago that Jim Kirk looked in any direction he pleased. That was one of the captain's many intriguing anomalies, which Spock had filed away in his memory for future reference.
"I'm alright," Jim said casually. Much too casually.
"You have just awoken from your first night of sleep following a two week coma, following your death and subsequent revival." Spock tried not to feel sick with guilt at Jim's nearly unnoticeable flinch, but failed. "Forgive me, Jim, if I struggle to believe that you are, as you say, alright."
"Spock," the young captain tried, and the Vulcan could see another lie forming in his eyes, so he swiftly interrupted.
"Your sleep was not restful," he said, with the intention of a simple statement of fact. It sounded more like an accusation. "You were disturbed by troubling dreams, Jim. You called for assistance. I would have woken you, but I believed your healing would benefit more from uninterrupted sleep, restful or not."
"Logic, right?" Jim snorted. Then his eyes snapped to Spock, some sense of confusion clouding the perfect blue. "Wait, I was having bad dreams, and you were going to wake me up? Shit, Spock have you been here all night?"
"Affirmative," Spock replied. "I arrived shortly after you fell asleep, and I offered to keep watch over you in order to allow Doctor McCoy time to rest. He was completely focused on your recovery, and had not slept in forty-five-point-six hours."
"So you didn't sleep at all?"
"Affirmative."
"Spock, you can't just not sleep! I'm fine. Seriously. I don't need babysitting, from you or from Bones!" Jim's exasperation was clear, but Spock only regarded him calmly.
"Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans," he stated simply. "I assure you, I am adequately rested." He paused, and a deep, steadying breath later, continued, quietly. "I also assure you, Jim, that my intention is not to babysit you. Nor, do I believe, is that Doctor McCoy's intention. We are merely…concerned."
Their eyes locked. Spock saw many things in Jim's eyes, and he catalogued each and every one, taking the tumultuous mess of emotions and picking them apart, sorting them into more manageable patterns and sequences until the message Jim was attempting to convey fell into place.
Spock saw in Jim's eyes that they had come to a mutual understanding. They were friends, very good friends. Spock's counterpart from the future had not misled them when he had said their friendship would define them both.
Spock saw in Jim's eyes that he was frightened, and while he was too proud to tell Spock that his nightmares had shaken him, he still desired companionship.
Spock saw in Jim's eyes that it was not just any companionship he desired. Jim wanted Spock.
"I'm still tired, Mr. Spock," the captain murmured, and the first officer inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Perhaps, Jim, if you would allow me…" The Vulcan trailed off, but brought his hand to Jim's face, the pads of his fingers hovering over the man's meld points, a tacit offering. Jim nodded, and Spock pressed his fingers to his captain's skin, ever so lightly. "My mind to your mind," he whispered. "My thoughts to your thoughts."
Jim drifted back to sleep, and had no more nightmares.