Watching Jim Kirk Sleep
He was restless.
She watched him, gently; available in case he wished to speak. He said nothing; but after a minute, he set aside his work. Rising to his feet, he stood a moment, before deliberately beginning to pace.
The day had been a hectic one, a busy one, for her; and she had hoped to find peace in his usual serenity.
But serenity was not to be found here. He paced, and his strides were long, eating up the floor.
The day, for him, had been worse. She knew this because he would not speak of it. She knew this because she had heard, if only the smallest amount.
Watching him, she considered the bits and pieces she had gathered as the day progressed – His initial request, promptly relayed, for data from the Science Section; the frantic appeals from the Security team, and the answer as more men went down; his cool level voice, as he called for Doctor McCoy.
Yes, his day had certainly been worse.
He had come to the Bridge after Transport, with his face still smudged and a thick streak of something - surely not human blood – across his bicep. He issued orders; and his calm, unhurried voice convinced them all that it was going to be fine.
It was all going to be fine.
She watched him, gently, and at the far wall, he turned. He hesitated, and his eyes met hers.
She found herself rising to her feet.
She went to him, and as her arms encircled his body, his hands came up to rest on her back. A moment later she could feel each of his long fingers, pressing her gently into greater contact with his form. She turned her cheek to rest against his chest, felt his chin come down on the top of her head.
She held him until she could feel the restless shudder begin again in his bones – She leaned away to look up into his face; and smiled, just a little, in understanding, or sympathy. "I don't think either of us feels much like sleeping tonight."
His eyes rested, unmoving, on her face, and she thought maybe he wondered what question she had answered. She reached up to kiss him, hand on his neck - his chin lowered in response.
His eyes closed.
When at last she pulled away, his head remained bowed; now, perhaps, he had a touch of peace - but no serenity, here.
Her arms tightened around him then released; and he gazed at her once more, still silent - as he too often seemed to be.
"Spock," she said, with one last caress, one last kiss, "You should go to the Bridge. I'll go to Sickbay, and watch over Jim."