Note: Thankyou LP..thankyou, thankyou, thankyou...

Jim gasped, his eyes flying open, and his head whipping upwards, to stare straight at the dark ceiling above him, panicking momentarily as he tried to discerned nightmare from reality. His chest heaved as his breathing came ragged for a few moments before finally evening out. He swallowed. He was not in the dark room. Not alone there. He bit his lip before it quivered. Nightmares always seemed to affect him this way. They were always so much more potent and strong than actual reality, ironically enough. It was probably because you couldn't control your subconscious, couldn't control what happened or what you saw. He was all but helpless in the darkened land of dreams.

A feeling he really didn't like.

Since the age of about eight he had all but taken control of his life. Some would say that at that age, you didn't even know what control was. Jim disputed this. Kids knew what it was- they just didn't really need to worry about it because they had parents to do everything for them. It wasn't that he was saying that his mum hadn't been any good at looking after him when he was younger, just that sometimes she...lapsed, and when such a time came it was either get yourself your own food or just not eat at all. Consequently, he found himself becoming inderpendent early in his life; a feeling which, after awhile, he actually started to like. He liked not having to do things when people told him to. Call him a rebel, okay, but seriously, why tell someone to go brush their teeth, when in all reality it was just common sense to do so? So yes, he liked control- it was a huge part of him, and he always felt particularly uncomfortable when it was taken from him.

But he wasn't a control freak by any means.

Jim sighed, settling his thoughts, forcing a method to replace the mass of coiling madness. He turned his head to the side looking for the blue wall to stare at aimlessly in the process.

He blinked...

...then instantly turned his head back and scrunched his eyes shut.

He breathed in deeply... and then out, before opening them again and then warily turned his head to the side as before.

The dark figure which had blocked his view of the wall the first time was still there.

"Oh," he said lamely, voice croaky. "You're real."

The dark figure, otherwise known as Spock and First Officer of the U.S.S Enterprise looked at him impassively before raising an eyebrow.

Jim cleared his throat uneasily. "Well, you know," he said in reply to the silent question, turning his head to look at the ceiling again, He raised his hands, palms turned upwards and shrugged, before letting them fall again, onto the blanket below him. "I had kind of hoped you were just a part of my warped dream." He closed his eyes again. "Really hoped," he muttered.

There was a very evident silence during which Jim ran his hands agitatedly through his hair and really, really wished Spock would say something. No reply came. It didn't look like the Vulcan was going to let him off easily this time. So much for coming up with a good reason, Jim thought cynically. Man, he was so dead. Jim grimaced and slung an arm over his eyes. He spoke, breaking the silence himself, the words coming out with a heavy sigh.

"Bloody hell, I'm sorry Spock; I don't have a clue what I'm doing." He snorted. "Not that you probably haven't already figured that out for yourself. I hardly know what I'm doing half the time anyway. "

Inside his head Jim was kicking himself. It may not have been a physical pain but hell; he had a good imagination, so it was pretty damn well close. There he was all worried about the guy walking in on him when he was all but snooping around his room, or smelling him, smelling him, of all things afterwards. Of course for a man such as James Kirk, such a thing would be much too mundane. And fair.

Oh, no. For Jim, Spock had to walk in on him curled up and nice and warm and asleep on the guy's bed.

Fucking brilliant.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to even mention the Bible which he had noticed wasn't weighing down his hands anymore, leaving him feel just slightly empty. No way was he going to set that possible fuse. He struggled fervently for a moment within his head for something which was least likely to end in fireworks.

"Please don't kill me," he settled on finally, moving his arm down to peer helplessly and pleadingly out from underneath it. It not have been eloquent, but at least it was forthright.

That got a reaction as Jim watched two eyebrows fly upwards.

"I do not intend to perform an act of treason in the near future Captain."

Jim snorted, and then started laughing. God, that was actually pretty funny considering the circumstances. Or his sleep deprived head was mucking everything around.

"So...what? If it wasn't considered treason it would be all steam ahead?" Jim asked, looking at him in mock surprise. "Spock," he said seriously. "Do I need to sleep with one eye open from now on?" he asked, not even knowing if the guy knew what the phrase meant. He then started to laugh again, now at the indignant expression his First Officer was giving him.

"I believe you are deliberately twisting my words."

Obviously he did.

Jim put on his best angelic look, eyes wide and pouting slightly "Who, me?" he asked and then, not being able to resist, proceeded to turn the expression slightly more seductive and winked.

The tips of two pointed ears turned slightly greener and dark eyes were quickly averted. Jim grinned wickedly at the reaction, and then almost instantaneously felt bad. He was the one who gate crashed the Vulcan's quarters after all; the least he could do was not make him feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry Spock, can't help it sometimes," he said and shrugged, trying to look sympathetic. "Flirting with people is kind of a fact of life for me."

His first officer looked up, moving his gaze from the floor to his face. Jim himself had always thought that Spock's eyes were black due to them being so dark. In his defense he had never really gotten close enough to the guy to actually look and dispute the assumption. Now however, looking up at the Vulcan who was sitting on a chair next to the bed he was lying on, he could see slight flecks of brown dispersed within the black, drawn to the glassy surfaces by the wierd lighting of the room. Jim wondered, with a twinge of sadness if his mother had had brown eyes.

"I have noticed that tendency within you quite often, Captain," Spock said, quirking an eyebrow as Jim drew himself back to reality. "Though the action itself is not completely logical I have observed numerous times when it has seemed to serve as a positive trait on certain missions."

Yeah, okay, he could roll with that, he thought. It was definitely better than some other things people had said about certain characteristics of his before. But really, missions? Either he flirted so much with people that he didn't even notice when he did it now, or....Spock was complimenting him.

He would go with the first for know, unless he was otherwise indicated.

"Really?" Jim couldn't help but ask him though, still slightly bewildered at the suggestion.

"Indeed."

Jim's eyebrows rose when he waited for more of an explanation but none came. Well okay, if his Vulcan first officer wanted to play the one word response game and withhold information from him we wasn't going to get annoyed at that or anything. Instead he remained silent, frowning at Spock like he was some interesting puzzle.

"This is kinda weird, isn't it," he stated simply, rather out of the blue, the words intended more as a silence breaker than as any particular conversation starter. But then the statement got to him; annoyingly so. His mind could be a bitch in that regard sometimes. So, what did he actually mean when he said 'weird'? Sneaking into Spock's room? Falling asleep in his bed? Being found in said bed by actual owner? Or how about a bit of each just to round out the experience? He didn't have a clue. He was too enigmatic for his own liking sometimes; something he had somehow picked up from a guy with pointy ears. All he knew or sure was that he didn't feel as strange as he thought he would have been if someone had randomly come up and told him that this was going to happen and then asked him how he thought he would feel about it like some damn annoying psychologist.

Spock's only physical response was to quirk an eyebrow. "Yes," he agreed the answer just as plain as Jim's question and keeping with his one word stigma.

And what exactly did he mean? And why was Jim even wondering? And why hadn't he all but run from the room when it didn't look like Spock was going to eat him alive? And why did he feel surreally comfortable with the entire scenario?

And why was he once again mentally asking himself questions when he already knew that he didn't know the answers?

He really had to stop internally monologing; it was becoming a bad habit of his.

Shut the hell up Jim!

"Captain?"

He grunted, unconsciously ignoring the title, still deep in thought. His head was playing bloody Russian roulette with itself or something. There was this memory that had been tugging at his mind the entire time since he had woken. It was just there in his head, but for some reason he couldn't reach it. He could remember feeling warm and tired and particularly happy however, and then...then...

....then God spoke to him, he remembered suddenly, from out of a random side street of pulsing neuron tracks of his mind.

His eyebrows flew up. Well that was an absurd thought. It must have been a dream. Of course it was. A holy sentient being hadn't just floated down for a bit of a chat and tea. Jim somehow didn't think that was how it worked. It would be more cryptic and through lots of signs and things. But then again...

....would it be?

He struggled to recall the sequence of events from when he had fallen asleep. Yet...what else...what...

"Jim?"

The concerned word broke into his thoughts and at the familiar timbre it was as if a bright flash had just lit up the dark sky of Jim's mind. He shot upright, his head whipping around to stare at the half Vulcan, mouth gaping open. Spock pulled back slightly at his sudden movement and was looking distinctly startled and worried. That voice...it was so familiar. The memory which had brushed quietly and almost hidden at the corners of his mind slammed into him and he didn't know whether to cry with disappointment or in relief that he wasn't going insane. Or maybe just laugh?

Man, he was such an idiot.

"You...you're..." he stuttered, epically failed to form a coherent sentence. Spock's gaze became even more worried as he continued to stammer around a few ideas for awhile. He gave up, finally closing his mouth and promptly slumping back down onto the bed, numerous different emotions flitting through him. He closed his eyes.

"...you're not God," he finally managed, mumbling into his hands that now covered his face.

Spock's eyebrows flew upwards, expression evidently perplexed, as if caught by surprise.

Nah, really?

"...I...am not," he heard the Vulcan finally reply, somewhat uncomfortably. Even with the distinct pause, Jim could also still here the confusion worked almost irremovably within the words.

His mind was whirling. Spock had been the one who spoke to him. Spock was the one who had told him to sleep and had initiated the temporary mind meld to do so. He remembered the warmth and security which seemed to come with such a contact.

Spock; his stoic, half-Vulcan First Officer who corrected his spoken grammar on a daily basis and fired the words logical and illogical around like he was trigger happy phaser; the latter of which usually was sent in his own direction.

That Spock...

Jim blinked and the corner of his mouth unknowingly twitched from the strength of emotion building inside him. His eyebrows lowered and his eyes squinted slightly as if he was concentrating hard on something or was in a lot of pain.

Oh man...

His mouth twitched again.

...Spock.

Unable to stop, he rolled onto his stomach, gripping tightly onto the pillow and burying his face within it, trying to contain the waves of unexpected emotion as they rolled through him. His whole body was shaking. It really wasn't the feeling he had expected to feel, but it hit him solidly. Strong and hard.

It was amusement.

He was damn well laughing and found he couldn't stop once he started.

Oh God..or rather....

Spock!

Jim's laughter doubled as he realised just how stupid he had been. He felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, as the humour turned slightly hysterical- well, come on-, and then a tingly sensation as they ran down his cheeks before being absorbed by the material of the pillow. He gasped; trying desperately to breathe, realising the action was made particularly harder when you were practically eating a bed feature.

He felt a warmth blossom against his back as a distinctly hand shaped weight was settled there.

Rolling onto his side in reaction, Jim relinquished his hold on the pillow to grab, with one hand, his side which had started to hurt and with the other, grabbed the offending arm attached to said hand. Gasping in breaths, he smiled up at Spock who was balanced almost precariously on the side of the bed and looking down at the hand in more surprise than one would usually give such a limb. Jim saw his throat move as if he had swallowed, before looking at him wide eyed. Jim grinned.

"I thought you were God," he said in explanation, sitting upright and smiling into the shocked face. He laughed, squeezing the arm briefly trying to convey his amusement to his First Officer, before releasing it.

What he did next he just really couldn't help.

Spock just looked so shocked- though Jim hardly blamed him, he would be too if positions were swapped. Actually, more so considering the guy was Vulcan and all. But Spock just looked so shocked, worried and even slightly helpless like he didn't have a clue what was going on- which in all likelihood he probably didn't- that Jim felt terrible.

And so he hugged him.

Which probably made everything worse, but at that point in time Jim didn't have a mind to care since he was probably only about two minutes away from being thrown into a room with padded walls.

He threw his arms around his first officer and held him, his hands resting on the warmer than normal back, his head buried in the hollow at the base of Spock's neck and chuckled as he felt the shoulders he was holding onto stiffen. He closed his eyes. Man, he may not get killed for sneaking into his room but Spock sure as hell was going to chase him to the end of the world for this.

Yet he really couldn't care.

Really.

Because for some reason that warmth and security he had felt inside his head when Spock had briefly melded with him seemed to still radiate from his First right at the moment, and with it came an infinite urge to hold onto the guy and never let go.

As illogical as it may be.

There was a moment whereby Jim should have been self-conscious to be doing what he was and receiving no response, but didn't, and only tightened his hold. He felt Spock's long arms which he had trapped at the Vulcan's sides move from underneath his own as he did so, shifting as if to get free. Jim mentally berated himself, knowing the guy would be, without a doubt, uncomfortable- in the least. He knew he should let go, but just couldn't. Despite his laughter he still felt, somewhere, deep within him that cold lurching dread of walking into that room on Archous and seeing nothing but death; a sight and smell which clung to him like a chilling presence, following him everywhere. Jim would never forget above all the silence; the silence of dozens of lifeless eyes staring at him, unseeing and blank. He knew this and it sent a shudder involuntarily through his body. He swallowed, clenching his eyes tighter shut and hardly containing a whimper, holding onto the warmth for all it was worth- now for a much different reason than before.

The movement beneath him stopped. And then the arms were being withdrawn quickly and suddenly they were encircling him. Jim stiffened at the unexpected movement, before relaxing into the secure embrace, resting his head more comfortably against the warm hollow, his nose skimming slightly over the hot skin as he did so. He felt the beating of a heart against his lower stomach and it was comforting; comforting to feel the life radiating strong and consistant. He sighed as the heat slowly burned away the chill from his body and he began to warm within....