Grim Reflections
Standing in Spock's otherwise pristine gleaming bathroom - his chest heaving as he struggled for air, and for self-control - Jim Kirk forced his mind to focus firmly on his breathing - and stay there.
He was aware that Vulcan ears had probably heard every echoing sound of his stomach violently rebelling.
He ran cool water and raised a palmful to his lips; splashed another on his face.
He distracted himself from the ghastly wide-eyed apparition in the mirror by leaning, for a moment, against the sink and looking around. It was just another Starfleet bathroom - familiar, ordinary: A mirror image of his own. This one was neater, certainly; and on the little edged shelf there were two glasses, two toothbrushes, two containers of toothpaste. Hanging by the shower, there were two sets of towels.
He stuck his hand abruptly into the cold stream of water, and drank, deeply, again.
Spock was Vulcan - but who could blame him for trying to find a little comfort - a little happiness, even - in the company of such a beautiful woman?
Ah, God. He took one last sip, and ran his damp fingers through his hair - This was as good as it was gonna get. He met his own shadowed, bruised-looking, eyes in the mirror; and wondered whether they would be too revealing when he left this small room.
What could a Vulcan know - Kirk had questioned, sometimes, in annoyance or self-justification - of sorrow, regret, remorse?
Now he doubted whether, forced to do so, he could ever satisfactorily explain his own.
He allowed himself one huge sigh, and a moment's pause, before he straightened his tunic and stepped toward the door.