The holo vision flickered blue light across the room (Jim had built up the will to turn it on) and onto Spock as he walked out of the twilight, brushing residual dirt off his hands.

He stopped when he saw Jim on the couch, entering the family room, hands tight behind his back, exasperation gently pressed into his almost still face. A face that was beginning to darken across the jaw. "Captain, you should retire."

"We haven't eaten dinner."

"Then I will replicate one."

"I already did," Jim said, gesturing to the the coffee table, where two trays waited, one obviously Spock's, one obviously Jim's.

His first officer stood in the door for a moment, observing the creation. "Thank you," he sounded vaguely pleased, which diffused a minority of the tension that strung them together like vulcan bruise colored yarn.

They ate in semi-uncomfortable silence, neither really watching the HV but neither really looking at each other. Before Jim could protest Spock took his tray and cleaned up both their meals, adding the trays to their growing collection of replicated kitchen ware. When Spock returned, he spoke the first words in over half an hour.

"Now, Captain, you should retire." Jim didn't move from his position staring at the HV.

"I'm not tired." He lied. Really he was too emotionally wound to sleep, even though his body screamed at him to fall unconscious.

"I highly doubt that Captain." Spock stated, standing above him like he was the captain, or his mother, and ordering Jim to bed.

"I'm not tired. I've been sleeping too much lately, I'm not going to sleep my life away." Spock seemed to stand straighter. But instead of attempting another order, he took two steps, turned sharply, and sat on the couch to the right of Jim. The couch was small and sagged in the middle, therefore Spock slid towards him until their thighs brushed together, each light flutter sending a trill through Jim as he tried to remain indifferent and aloof. Spock really shouldn't affect him like this. And there was no hope, after what he had just done.

He was nothing now. How could he be Captain of the Enterprise if all he did was fall apart?

"Since you continue to remain obstinate, I am forced to remain here with you to assure that you do indeed go to sleep." Jim had no problem with that—oddly enough, it was in this set up that he first kissed a girl—but Spock probably wasn't up for kissing, as his jaw and lower face were probably swelling but definitely sore.

"Fine."

Jim flickered through the HV, trying to find something mind numbing to watch. He decided on a show about the flora and fauna of known alien planets and settled in to watch it, trying to ignore the warm figure sitting uncomfortably straight right beside him. It took all his strength not to lift his arm, wrap it around those shoulders, and run his fingers through that black hair as it glittered in the 3D light. To apologize in a soft voice and kiss that jaw .

After an hour Jim's entire body was nearly immobile, and after an hour and a half his eyelids were drooping heavily. He wasn't sure quite when he fell asleep, just that he did.

"Jim," someone murmured, rocking his shoulder. "Jim you should retire." The hand holding his shoulder was so hot and warm he turned towards it, finding a sturdy shoulder and hot torso to lean on. He missed being touched, he missed touching people. He was so lonely, now.

He fell back asleep to a sighing "Goodnight, Jim."

He did not awake so peacefully.

Someone was calling his name. A loud , panicked, piercing call as his world rocked back and forth quite violently. Consciousness slammed into him like a motorcycle and he jerked forward, eyes popping open as his living room and Spock's wide eyed face jumbled together in sharp angles. Someone was screaming at the top of their lungs, a note that seemed to go on forever. When Jim opened his mouth to ask who it was, what had happened, the note stopped.

It was him.

He could tell now. His lungs were almost empty of air, his throat was sore and his neck released its tight contraction. Jim Kirk had been the one screaming.

"Jim, are you alright?" Spock asked, voice at a faster tempo than usual. Jim blinked in the light, because it was dawn and the sun was rising. He swallowed, easing the uncomfortable scratch in his throat, blinking a couple times. "Jim," Spock snapped, shaking him again and jostling his vision.

"Spock, I'm fine." Jim grabbed both of Spock's forearms, preventing him from shaking him anymore. He met those eyes, dark brown swirled with eddies of gold, flecks of black, and threaded with a red? That pigment must be Vulcan. "Really, I'm fine." He restated, in a much softer voice. Spock's tendons shifted under the material of the star fleet shirt, and Jim could feel the heat that radiated off his body. Unconsciously he found himself leaning forward slightly, eyes flickering down to Spock's lips which had a nice M shape, and though the upper lip was rather thin, the lower lip looked like it would fit perfectly between Jim's teeth.

And a dark green-purple bruise stretched its dark tentacles right to the edge of those lips.

"I'm sorry I punched you," Jim nearly whispered, but released his hands from their grip on Spock's arms, letting his fingers trail unnecessarily slowly away. Then ever so carefully, watching Spock the entire time, he reached up, and with the back of his hand brushed from the corner of Spock's lips across the plane of his cheek.

His commander remained perfectly still, he didn't even blink as Jim's hand ran over the growing stubble, relishing the slight scratch on his new skin. He paused at the edge of Spock's face. He could keep going, drop his fingers to Spock's throat, to his hair, grab the back of his neck and pull him forward before he could react, kiss him right then and there, see if that bottom lip really fit so well between his teeth. "Does it hurt?" He murmured.

Spock swiftly released Jim's shoulders and stepped back, whipping back into attention. Jim silently swore, having broken the trance.

"It is unimportant Captain. You were not in a correct state of mind, and the bruise will heal. Now, I have prepared breakfast, if you wish to consume it." Then Spock turned and disappeared around the frame, floors creaking as he approached the kitchen.

Jim took the moment to let his head drop back to the couch and release a quiet groan. He had almost kissed his first officer. He had come within inches. Well, eleven inches, but still. What was he thinking? He may love Spock, but judging by the manner that lean back whipped around the corner, his feelings were not mutual.

Jim climbed to his feet and made his way in front of a steaming plate of pancakes, which he consumed rapidly.

"Jim," Spock tested the air in between spoonfuls of Vulcan oatmeal. "What were you... dreaming about?" Jim kept eating, the sweet, thick taste of pancake in his mouth.

"Honestly, I don't remember." He stated before tipping back more of Bones's prescribed milk. There was a chink of silverware being placed down. Jim looked over his glass to find those eyes peering at him. "What?"

"Truly? You do not remember what caused you to scream?" Jim shrugged and continued with his meal.

"No. It's odd, really. I don't remember anything from the dream, or if I was dreaming at all." Spock looks at him for a few more moments.

"I believe you."

"Good," Jim grunts, "you should." but when he sees that bruise, it just stares at him, proof his passions are overwhelming. Proof that he's not safe, not right now. Maybe never again.

The conversation lulls, until it is Jim's turn to place his fork down.

"Wait, did you stay with me on the couch all night? Sitting straight up?" This time Spock doesn't look up.

"I did Captain." A spoonful of white mush covered in blue berries passes those lips.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No, Captain."

"Well you must be exhausted! You have to go to sleep."

"No Captain. Vulcans require much less sleep than humans. I only need approximately six hours every other day to continue functioning at maximum capacity." He stands and brings his bowl and cup to the scrubber. The next words are out of Jim's mouth faster than his brain can process them and filter them, like it should have.

"Did I fall asleep on your shoulder?" Spock pauses for a second in scrapping his plate before continuing.

"Indeed, Captain." Jim had thought that was a dream. He'd never believed Spock would let him rest his head on his shoulder and clutch his arm while he slept. "You slept peacefully through the night. It was approximately eleven minutes after I left to make breakfast that you screamed. I was alarmed for I believed that you were experiencing another emotional attack. However, I became even more alarmed when you appeared to be unconscious." Spock returned his ware to the cabinets. "As Vulcans and I do not dream, it had slipped my mind that humans do so."

Jim would swear there was a faint green tint to his ears when Spock said that, but when he turned, there was no color in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry to have alarmed you," Jim said, clearing his own place, saying alarmed slightly sarcastically. "I really have no idea what caused it. Trust me, it's weird for me too."

"I do trust you, Jim." Their eyes met for longer than was strictly necessary, and Jim was once again dragged in by the fascinating color variations in those brown eyes. With eyes as blue as his, everything was open to see. But you had to work to see the intricacies of Spock's irises. They were quite beautiful.

Spock had just accepted his apology.

"I trust you too, Spock." Jim murmured, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. He hadn't broken anything between them, except a few blood vessels.

And on that note, they got to work.

I'm a few minutes late. Sorry!

Anyway, bonus points for anyone who can guess what show I borrowed the line " *Character's name*, what were you... Dreaming about?"

So who loves Spock? Is there a better friend in the galaxy? I think not. Just think, Jim almost went out to Iowa by himself. Imagine what state of mind he'd be in now without His number one.

Hopefully new Chapter up tomorrow!

-Natcat