A/N: Part 2 of the slow-going trek of romance. The whole thing is just UST, sorry. I'm honestly not too good at coming up with uber-legit ST plotlines on the fly. MORE RESEARCH WILL BE DONE. But for now just enjoy some awkward Spirk.

Chapter 2

Jim watched his heart monitor glumly, only halfway aware of the green spikes of activity with every pump of his heart. It was the only thing of interest left in the medical bay. Everyone else on the ship was apparently disgustingly healthy; he was the only occupant. Bones had joked once that Jim should have his own private wing of the place, or even the entire medbay. Chapel wasn't in, or at least there'd be something interesting to stare at, and Bones himself was locked up in his office sorting through Jim's paperwork. If Spock hadn't left, they could have at least had a game of chess.

Spock.

Jim's heart plummeted down to somewhere around his knees. He hadn't...hadn't meant to say anything earlier. He was lucky Bones had come in, really, but there was still this odd feeling of...disappointment. Stupid. Illogical, Spock would have told him. Why should he feel disappointed about not saying the thing he never wanted to say? And to the last person he would have wanted to know? Jim knew his reputation; he wanted to be the genius captain everyone thought they knew and liked. How could he disappoint Chekov with his ridiculously effective puppy eyes and Sulu and Scotty and even Uhura and...Spock. He didn't want to disappoint Spock any more than he knew he already had. Their relationship had improved significantly since their first voyage-at least Spock hadn't attempted to strangle him since-but Jim had never been able to forget that rocky start. Even now, whenever he saw that reproach in the Vulcan's eyes...he couldn't go through that again. Knowing he had let someone down. He suddenly, desperately, irrationally wished that Spock would come back, if only to read him his stupid list of regulations and tell him that he was being reckless and stupid and call him Jim.

Jim's hand wandered under the blanket, brushed the sensitive, still-healing area on his torso. It tingled and sparked strangely, though not totally unpleasantly. Bones's pain meds, whatever they were, had worked well. He would be up and running again soon enough, he was sure. Unless Spock had finally decided to put him on a leash and tie him to the captain's chair. The thought was not completely repulsive, for whatever strange reason. Jim had long since given up on trying to understand his own mind. It was a dark and dirty place, filled with too many hidden, and not so hidden, gutters that made it a danger to traverse. He imagined Spock's mind to be the opposite. Probably all nice and lit up and right angles and all that. Completely gutter-free. It'd be warm, too. He knew how much Spock didn't like the cold..

His hand drifted down, past his stomach, brushed against his crotch contemplatively. Could he...?

His eyes fluttered shut as he slipped his hand under the loose cotton trousers, curling his fingers on the hardening flesh and giving an experimental tug. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine and he froze momentarily, hoping he hadn't reopened his wound. When a quick glance confirmed that there was not, in fact, a rapidly spreading puddle of blood on his chest, he relaxed back into the pillows and slipped back into his fantasy-surfing. A blurry face hovered in his mind's eye, features shifting uncertainly as his motions grew faster and rougher. He was reaching the peak of release, mouth half-open in shallow gasps, when suddenly, the shifting face snapped into overwhelming clarity. Dark eyes, angled eyebrows- "Spock-" Jim choked-

Bones burst from his office, eyes wild. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Jim's eyes snapped open, wilting immediately at the sound of the doctor's voice. The heart monitor, he realized, was flipping out, beeping and flashing with violent green spikes. He willed his heartbeat to slow down, depressingly aware of his lost high. He pulled his hand out meekly from under the blanket and wiped it surreptitiously against his thigh. "Bones."

Bones, who had been shaking the monitor dubiously, looked from Jim to the monitor. His pulse had slowed back to an almost normal rate, with only an occasional sudden spike of acceleration. Jim watched in fascination as the light bulb went off in his friend's mind and Bones flushed an indignant maroon. "D-D-You-" he spluttered. "Why? For God's sake, Jim, can't you hold off for a single day? You've been gored, for crying out loud!"

"Yes, thank you, I haven't noticed," Jim told him peevishly. "Now call Spock down."

"He's on duty," Bones pointed out.

Jim faltered. "I-I know that. Um. On second thought, no. Don't call Spock down." He wasn't sure if he could handle a second dose of Vulcan so quickly anyway, not after...not after seeing that in his scandalously shameless mind. Bones eyed him oddly, clearly considering administering another hypo to the neck, then shrugged and retreated to his lair.

He tried to sleep after that, but as soon as his eyes closed, all he could see was him. Spock's face. His human eyes. That damn quirky eyebrow that he wasn't sure Spock himself was fully aware of. Those weird ears. "What the hell," he mumbled under his breath, completely unnerved. The heart monitor bleeped warningly and he shot it his best Spockian death glare, sucking in deep breaths of air in an attempt to calm down. In the end, he was forced to call Bones back for a sedative.

…

Spock did not like the captain's chair. It was comfortable enough, he supposed, by human standards. Wide, round. Some degree of support. He shifted his weight for the fourteenth time, but remained unable to achieve a satisfying position. He tapped his thigh irritably, then forced himself to relax. This would not do. The chair was Kirk's. Somehow, it had always been. Sitting in it seemed like a deep violation of some form of regulation-ridiculous, as Spock was well aware of every Starfleet regulation in existence. All of which completely legalized his occupancy of the chair while Kirk was recovering. It was the presence of the man that seemed to reject him so. Somewhere, in the core of Spock's logic, a voice argued that the thought was completely irrational. Captain Kirk was in the medical bay and the chair was in the bridge. Therefore, it was utterly impossible that-

His communicator beeped. "Medbay to bridge. This is McCoy."

Spock intercepted the message immediately. "Doctor. Is everything all right?"

"He's sleeping now. Should be clear to go in twelve hours, but I'm keeping him for eighteen and you won't be telling him otherwise, you hear?"

"Affirmative, doctor. I am aware of the logic behind your decisions."

It was quiet on the other end. Spock began to feel a thin thread of concern. "Doctor?"

"It's nothing, really. I mean, it's Jim, after all. He does weird stuff."

"Doctor, I insist that you tell me what is troubling you." This was not a conversation to be had in public, Spock abruptly realized. He stood and scanned the deck. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir-" Spock was already gone. The corridor outside the bridge was relatively quiet and disturbed, but Spock slipped in the turbolift, setting the destination to the medbay.

"Spock? You still there?"

"I am on my way."

"Wait, no. Hold on, I haven't even told you yet!"

Spock slammed a hand down on the lift controls, stopping it in place. "Please enlighten me, then, doctor." He was proud to hear no sign of frustration in his voice. His control was in no danger of slipping, after all.

"He's gone a bit...odd. Not loony odd, no, just a bit off. He's asked me for a sedative, Spock. Which is a shot."

"I am fully aware of the definition, doctor."

It was a sign of McCoy's anxiety that he did not rise to the provocation. "Well, Jim hates shots. Can't stand them. So if he's asked for one himself, and a sedative at that...he's not in pain, I can say that. He's an overgrown infant about it so I've got him pumped full of the stuff."

"Perhaps he is unable to sleep."

"Of course he isn't! I've been telling you that the past five minutes!"

Spock refrained from issuing an acidic response and contented himself with altering the lift's destination. "I shall be there shortly, doctor." He snapped the communicator shut and returned it to his belt.

The doors opened to crew quarters, where Spock proceeded to enter his own rooms, retrieve his chess set carefully from its table, and carry it back onto the lift. He was given several odd looks by passing crew members, none of them commenting. He ignored them all with silent dignity.

McCoy received him at medbay personally and made his displeasure known. "He's sleeping, Spock. Finally. Don't you dare-"

"I will wait until he awakens to initiate our activities, doctor. Rest assured, I am not one to make a commotion."

"Don't you have duties? Captainy things?" McCoy looked to be on the verge of stretching himself across the entryway and barring entrance. Spock stifled a cloud of annoyance, the doctor was a friend of the captain, after all, and was merely concerned with his well being. He told himself this firmly while gently maneuvering into the room, chess set held high to avoid damage. It was a particularly fine set, after all, gifted to him by his father, who usually made a point of not gifting anything to anyone. Once through the obstacle, he turned to the doctor. "The captain, Doctor McCoy, is already here, I believe. And it is not I."

McCoy gave him an odd, measuring look, then grunted reluctantly and crossed his arms. "Just don't wake him."

The captain was indeed asleep, sunk deep in a cocoon of pillows and blankets. The IV bag dripped silently. A heart monitor, propped by Kirk's head on a trolley, beeped quietly in the delicate silence. Spock placed the chess set on the table, beside the pile of unread datapads, and seated himself once more on the chair he had vacated a mere 1.6 hours ago. How was it, he wondered, that he somehow always found his way back to his captain's side? Even when he had marooned the man on a distant planet, Kirk had found his way back aboard the Enterprise, against all odds, and stood with him on the bridge. Surely this could be explained through logic, yet Spock found himself unable to do so.

Kirk's head turned slightly towards Spock, his face wrinkling in a dream-deep frown. Spock found himself trying to mirror the expression. He smoothed his face hastily and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers before his face in an act of concentration. There seemed to be a constant weakening of his mental barriers whenever he was in the captain's presence and an inexplicable urge to stare at-to touch-the man. He could not identify the resulting emotion as mild repulsion or intense attraction. There was a fine, if not contradictory, line between the two. Either way, it could not be healthy. Nevertheless, surely it would not be detrimental to merely...experiment. The resistance his logical half put up was futile and suspiciously weak.

Spock reached out, almost too eagerly at first, then slowed when recalling, with some degree of guilt, the CMO's orders to not awaken the captain. His fingertips, trembling with some unknown energy, hovered over the back of Kirk's hand. His sensitive flesh perceived every golden hair curling up from his skin, sending electric slivers ricocheting up his forearm. He moved a millimeter closer, then another...

Kirk mumbled fuzzily and Spock snatched his hand back quickly, so fast that he almost slapped himself across the face. He gathered his frazzled nerves swiftly, watching the captain's face with intent focus. To his great relief, Kirk did not open his eyes. Instead, he nuzzled the pillow sleepily, mumbling again. "...Spock..."

Spock leaned forward, uncertain that he had heard correctly, but Kirk did not speak again.

He merely sighed, rubbed his face deeper into the pillow, and began to snore raspily. Spock frowned disapprovingly. It was just like Kirk to not complete a sentence after starting. The sheer irresponsibility was staggering. This was not the first time his impulsiveness had irked Spock in some way. The fact that he was even in the medical bay at all was a prime example. Before this occasion, Kirk had sampled the local fauna of an uncharted planet and ended up vomiting his way across two galaxies. Before that, even, he had decided to engage in a form of Terran entertainment known as "BASE jumping" with Mr. Sulu off the Cliffs of Heaven on Sumiko IV. This particular escapade had resulted in a shattered leg for the captain and an unscathed Mr. Sulu. McCoy had been suitably infuriated, Spock now recalled.

He amused himself for the next two hours by polishing every individual piece of the chess set and, upon completing the task, sorting through Kirk's work and completing his duties appropriately. He was currently Acting Captain, after all, he reasoned. It wasn't as if he wished to lighten Kirk's workload, by any means.

He had progressed to meditating on the floor when Kirk stirred and groaned, 4.2 hours after Spock's arrival. Spock, who had been drifting in a light trance, was snapped back to awareness by a groggy, "Spock?"

"Captain."

"Call me Jim." Kirk looked mildly surprised by his own words.

Spock eyed him carefully. "...Jim." He was not accustomed to the sound of the name in his own voice. Dr. McCoy addressed the captain in such a manner, as did several of the senior officers when off duty, but he had never experienced the easy familiarity as they did with Kirk and the captain had never broached the subject with his First Officer. Until now, it seemed, but it had been an odd day altogether. Spock stood, stretching his spine slightly as he straightened. He had been sitting for quite some time and was unused to the inactivity. Kirk's-Jim's-heart monitor emitted a shrill beep, and Spock swiveled around sharply. "Are you all right, Captain?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah." A slight flush of pink swept across his face. Curious. "What happened to 'Jim'? You were doing so well."

Spock gave the monitor a last wary glance and busied himself with wheeling the chess set between the chair and the bed. "I thought that you might be lacking in recreation in the medical bay...Jim."

Jim's eyes brightened at the sight of the set. "Chess?"

"It has been approximately 5.76 evenings since our respective schedules have allowed time for a match, and as you are currently indisposed of any current duties, it would be most logical to pursue one at this time." Spock shifted the set so that Jim was on his usual white side and waited.

Jim played as brazenly as he commanded, barely pausing before moving his pieces. Spock, on the other hand, preferred to study the board carefully before making a move, considering all possible outcomes and scenarios and selecting the one most logically sound. The game progressed silently for seventeen moves, except for the faint clinking of pieces against the glass tiers. Jim broke the silence, as expected. "You haven't forgotten, have you." It was not exactly a question, but Spock understood his meaning.

"I have not," he replied, sliding his rook forward and collecting a white pawn.

"What, is this a test or something?"

"It is not an evaluation of any kind, no."

Jim eyed him shrewdly. "You're a tricky hobgoblin." There was an odd tone to his voice...affection? No, impossible. Spock sat back. "It is your move, sir," he pointed out. "You are in check."

Jim glanced down at the board, evidently surprised, and moved his king out of danger before looking back at his First Officer. "Forget I said anything."

Annoyance returned swiftly and without warning. Spock realized he was frowning, but couldn't bring himself to smooth his face. "I...am unable to do so."

"I didn't mean anything before. Just me running my mouth off. You know how I can get when I'm hooked up on drugs." Jim lifted an arm to show off his drip and tried a short, awkward laugh. Spock did not unfreeze his face. "You're angry," Jim said quietly.

"I do not feel anger, Captain, therefore it is illogical to accuse me of such."

"You're lying."

"Vulcans do not-"

"Well, humans do!" Jim snapped. "And the last time I checked, you can get angry!"

"If you are referring to the incident on the bridge, Captain, I assure you that-"

"Stop! Stop that!"

"I do not know to what you are inferring, Captain."

"Stop...going all Vulcan on me like that. Say what you're really thinking."

"You would not like it," Spock said coldly.

They had unconsciously leaned forward, their faces now a mere 6.3 inches apart, Spock noted distantly. Jim's eyes really were a remarkable shade of blue. Like the sky. Illogical, as the blueness of the atmosphere was only due to the reflection of sunlight off of-

"How would you know," Jim asked softly, "what I would like."

The tension between them had shifted to something...more, and perhaps something less.

"I..."

"What?"

"I find myself...displeased by your actions. You display no care for your own body and disregard the concern of your colleagues. Dr. McCoy has shown great-"

"Just Bones?"

"Other members of the crew have-"

"What about you?"

"Me?"

The distance between them had narrowed to 4.8 inches. Spock could feel Jim's breath on his face. His hand tightened on the forgotten knight he still held, the stone almost creaking in his grip. Half of him strained forward, yearned to close the distance. But his other half, the stronger half, kept him frozen in the chair.

"Were you worried about me?" Whispers against his skin. Cool breath.

Spock could not answer. Or would not. Something hot and violent trembled impatiently within him, barely held back by weakening restraints. None of this made sense, none of this he could explain through logic. He could not begin to grasp what the conversation was even about anymore. His Vulcan education, he despaired, had poorly prepared him for the storm that was James Kirk. "I..."

The black knight cracked in half, a surprisingly loud sound, and with it, the tension dissolved. Both Jim and Spock looked in surprise at the now headless horse in Spock's hand. Spock blinked once, twice, pulled back from Jim. "My apologies, Captain."

"No, no, it's my fault. Shit, Spock, I'm sorry." Jim reached out vaguely, perhaps to take the broken knight from Spock, but he moved farther away and slipped the pieces in his pocket. Jim's hand hovered uncertainly, then lowered back to his side. "Sorry," he repeated. "Sorry."

…

Spock left after that, and Jim couldn't blame him. What was he thinking, acting like that? He slammed a fist down on his thigh, in utter despair of his stupidity, and winced as his abdomen twinged obnoxiously. Even my own damn body thinks I'm a class-A dick. The truth was, he just wanted Spock to...what? What had he wanted Spock to do? The guy was his friend, or, at least, almost one. He didn't expect him to...I don't even know.

He needed to have sex. That was probably it. Since he had become captain, he'd imposed a self-campaign against relationships with other crew members and had so far succeeded. Surely he was just in need of a hot date. After all, he hadn't really meant to jerk off to Spock earlier. That just meant that he was extremely sexually frustrated. After all, Spock was a man. And a Vulcan. With stupid hair. But it wasn't that stupid, really. If anything, it was actually kind of hot in a dorky way. And the way he always called him Captain...it was kinda kinky.

No. Noooooooooo. He wasn't thinking this. There was no way he could be attracted to Spock in that way.

So why did you want to kiss him? whispered the dark and dirty gutters of his deviant mind. Kirk told the gutters to shut up. I don't want him like that.

Then how do you want him? The gutters offered several images in rapid succession: Spock on his back, Kirk on his back, Spock naked, in the shower, flushed green-

This was getting out of hand.