"You are eating my prescribed amount of daily calories?"
"Yes," Jim placated, rolling his eyes playfully and winking at the nurse attending to his daily scans.
"And you're undergoing two hours of electrolysis to build your muscle strength back up?"
"Yes,"
"And you are-"
"Yes, yes and yes! Bones, stop. I'm following your instructions to the letter. I want to get back into condition just as much as you want me to. Besides, if I tried to skimp, Nurse Wang here would put me in line, wouldn't you?" He shot her one of his I'm-this-handsome-and-a-starship-captain similes, to which she replied with a I'm-not-having-any-of-it smile, addressing Bones.
"Don't worry Doctor McCoy. His recovery is progressing smoothly and ahead of schedule. We should have him out of here in two, three days tops. Good thing too, we need his bed," Kirk frowned at her and she tossed him a wink of her own, pushing her cart out of the room and on to the next patient.
"I'm sorry Jim, it's just that I'm guilty as hell for leaving you so soon after you woke up." Kirk reclined in his pillows, glad he had ordered the bed turned around so he could look out his windows instead of at a blank gray wall.
"Bones, you are one of the best physicians in Star Fleet. You should be where you're needed most, and right now that's San Francisco, dealing with the carnage Kahn caused, not doting on me." Bones sighs on the line, faint clicking a sure sign he's tapping his stylus on his Padd again, portraying his own agitation and undoubtably inspiring it in those around him.
"I hate it when you're right Jim, which happens too often," there was a crackle that Jim determined was shouting in the background. "I'm sorry, I've got to go, a woman's just gone into early labor."
"Go, do your job, and stop worrying about me. Besides, Spock hasn't taken his eyes off me since you left,"
"That's what I'm worried about," the doctor grumbled, which was followed by more, louder shouts. "I do have to go. Don't forget to take your vitamins!"
"God," Jim chuckled and flipped his communicator closed, leaving it beside his head as he reclined fully onto his pillows. He hated leaving the damn thing in his bed, but he was tired, more so than he let on to anyone. New life was difficult, and he had just been in a two week coma. Still, he preferred only to sleep on medication, because otherwise, while he may not dream about it, the space between waking life and sleep was haunted by phantom pain and phantom panic that had him sitting strait up in bed, gasping, all previous thoughts of sleep gone.
His eyes slid closed as he relaxed in the heat of the sun, stretching his face up slightly to feel it on his face, relishing the softness of the blankets and his general, empty bliss.
A shadow slid across his face what might have been a minute or a hour later, time had lost a lot of meaning for him as he lay in bed all day. Cracking an eyelid he saw a familiar silhouette edged in light.
"I am sorry if I woke you Captain, I did not mean to disturb your slumber."
"No, no Spock. I was just resting." Jim said as he slid his arms back and began to push into a sitting position, glaring at Spock as he moved to help. His first Officer relented, letting him struggle on his own into an acceptable upright position. A heavy tray was placed on his lap and Spock returned to his chair, repositioning it so he could converse more easily with Jim, as he did everyday after Nurse Wang insisted on moving it back.
"They finally let you bring my food, hunh?" Jim said, digging into his overloaded tray, beginning with the chicken noodle soup, hoping to get away with not eating the salad.
"Yes," Spock said lightly, a new tone for him Jim had only picked up on after the 'Wrath of Khan', as the media had come to call the travesties committed by the war criminal. "They now trust me to carry your tray from the kitchens to your quarters. However, they do not yet trust me enough to let me bring you a meal from the outside the hospital."
"That didn't stop you," Jim baited, and he grinned when his wish was granted. Spock handed him the white styrofoam cup, and Kirk eagerly forgot the soup in favor of sipping the forbidden milkshake.
"Captain I advise you finish your main course before you consume dessert."
"And I advise that you do not advise until you have to eat four thousand calories a day and none of them can be tasted ," he says in between slurps. "Compare this," holds up his replicated multigrain roll, "to this," emphasizing his milkshake. Spock raises his eyebrow.
"As I have not tasted the later, I pass no judgement on the validity of your statement."
"Then Let's rectify the situation. Here," and Kirk, brashly, unthinkingly, in the manner others define him by and he was beginning to recognize in himself, popped the top off the cup, scooped some ice cream up with the straw and held it to Spock's face for him to sample.
The man scientifically wrapped his lips around the straw, removed the ice cream, and then sat back to consider the flavor.
"Interesting," he finalized, "But I still believe you should consume the healthier portions of your meal prior to this milkshake."
"You're starting to sound like Bones," Jim grumbled and put down his shake, picking up his roll.
"That is illogical, for the doctor speaks with an accent caused by his learning of standard in Georgia-"
"Not literally Spock." Jim sighs goodnaturedly.
They make pointless conversation while Jim finishes his meal and Spock sets up the 3D chess board he had taken to brining, giving them both something to talk about other than his death, current health, and the "Wrath of Khan".
"So how's the ship?" Kirk asked, putting his tray aside, waiting for the usual "your health is more important at this time" redirect.
"She is... Unwell Captain. While your efforts saved all our lives, the Enterprise sustained heavy damage. She is awaiting repair now in Space Dock 1, but I'm afraid that due to the extensive destruction on Earth, her repairs will not begin for some time."
"Well that's not too big a deal. Once I'm well enough, I'll call Scotty up and the three of us will go up there and start work."
"Captain," Spock paused, dark eyes flicking over his face, examining its strength, he knew that look, " I'm afraid that is not possible. The Enterprise's gravity generators are inoperable, and due to many instances of hull breach and explosive decompression, the atmospheric seals did not work properly."
Jim paused, removing his eyes from the board to look into Spock's own, which held definite sadness.
"So you're saying she's and open ship."
"Yes, sir. Scotty and I took a shuttle to examine her yesterday. She is already beginning to freeze over, Captain."
Jim leaned back into his pillows, stunned. His ship, open to the harshness of space. Every deck, airless and frozen, his crews personal belongings, memories floating down corridors and out into Space. The Enterprise, dead.
"I died to keep that ship alive," he murmurs, staring out into the sun.
"She is still alive Captain. The crew is still alive," a warm hand grips his shoulder, and he meets those dark, human eyes. "The hull does not a ship make. The people who fly her, that is the Enterprise."
He couldn't look at those eyes anymore. All he saw was them through three centimeters of plastic, blurring as his eyes burned away.
"Thank you Spock."
"You are welcome, Jim."
They sat in silence for many moments, Jim focusing on the warm hand gripping his shoulder, for it provided some comfort. Despite his best efforts to hide it, or distract people from it, he was not comfortable. Far from it, he was anxious-half from what had happened and half from being cooped up in a hospital bed so long.
Spock's communicator beeps, and he answers it with his opposite hand. "Acting Captain Spock to temporary Star Fleet Command immediately," the terse message ends before Spock has even fully opened the device.
"Acting Captain hmm?" Jim interjects to hide the unexplainable internal jerk that accompanies the removal of Spock's hand.
"They insist on referring to me as such, despite my imploring otherwise." Spock removes the un started chess game from the bed and places it in his seat. "I do not know when I will return, but I will do so Mr. Kirk."
"Okay Mr. Spock, see you later," Jim contented himself with returning his gaze out the pleasantly fogged window. Footsteps snapped across the tile floor, paused at the door, and then faded down the hall as his number one reported for duty while he lay in bed.
"Unfog glass, one hundred percent, view, street level," he ordered, and took up his new habit of people watching. He'd only been to New York City once before this, during his years as a cadet. Star fleet kept a lot of its lower level bureaucracy and Earth specific headquarters in this city, which is why it made sense to move the main command here and out of one of the worst terrorist attacks in Earth history. Why it made sense to move him here, he supposes.
Alone again.
Not that he minded, really. Except that it gave him time to think. Time to think about Khan. Time to think about his first time viewing of a truly bloody death as Khan shattered Admiral Marcus's head right before his eyes, spraying him with the mans blood and fragments of his brain. Time to think about the horribly iron and fatty taste and the smell of blood and shit that came with a death like that. Time to think about the burning. The horrible pain as he-
Jim shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders a couple times, trying to force his mind away from the horrible memories. Spock. Spock was a safe thought.
And now he saw those lips wrapping around the straw, the quick flash of Vulcan tongue as he swiped the ice cream off, the pull back off the straw, the very edges of the lips glistening while the majority of their surface was dry and soft looking. Jim shivered again, closing his eyes with a sigh.
Damn it he was doing it again. Thinking about the man in a very less-than-platonic manner. It started happening after Bones had returned to San Francisco to aid in the tent hospitals popping up across the devastated down town and he came back into his mind a little bit. Spock was the only one stationed in New York, and the only one able to visit him on a daily basis, which probably had something to do with his slightly-less-than an obsession. Every little move he made had taken on a new meaning. An eyebrow up tick, for instance, had to be analyzed as a humorous inquiry or and agitated display of misunderstanding. An accidental brush of the hands was either unwanted physical contact or a secretive way to display affection that Spock thought Jim didn't know or care about. A comforting hand on the shoulder was either the duty of the first officer or friendly support.
But licking the ice cream off his offered straw was hard to misconstrue. That was flirtatious, sexual.
But did Spock know that? Did Spock understand that aspect of human interaction? He was dating Uhura, he had to know something.
Jim groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Right. He was dating Uhura. He may have put that out of his mind to ease some of is guilt for his un platonic attraction to his number one.
Before Khan's attacks, sure he'd noticed Spock. They were together all the time, and he was intriguing in that he was Vulcan, and Kirk enjoyed finding out what made him tick, intellectually, physiologically, socially. He really hadn't had a chance to poke at the sexual side of the equation, however. He hadn't been against it, but just had the sense his idea of sexual experimentation would not have been met with enthusiasm and probably resulted in the deterioration of their budding friendship. And Spock was dating Uhura, who also wouldn't have appreciated his ideas on sexual experimentation, though in that case, he knew from trial and error.
So what if he looked at Spock's ass when he bent over, so did Uhura and the nurses and the ensigns and McCoy for Christ's sake, it was human (and alien too). So what if he looked at his lips when he licked them and at his ears when they flushed and at his neck when he swallowed. He did the same with anyone and everything he found appealing, and yes Spock was a man but it wouldn't be the first time he'd found a man attractive, though he did tend to prefer women.
Plain and simple, he liked Spock. He was a friend, a very good friend who he found attractive but was comfortable leaving it at that.
He wasn't sure when that had changed. When friend changed into something more for both of them-especially for Jim. When they became so in sync they operated more like one unit (with a few kinks that needed straightening now and again, and of course their fair share of arguments) bonded by experience and need. Though Jim may have called it love then, and only to his closest of confidants and definitely not to Spock's face, it was nothing compared to what he felt now.
Thinking about it, had he not died, he probably would have never realized what he felt. It would have been there, lurking, but it never would have surfaced. He never would have had to face it, wrangle it, and try and take control of it like he was now. Those final words, left unsaid, in response to "Because you are my friend."
"More than that. Because I love you."