Chapter 25. Amends.
Jim does not come to visit him until the following evening. Spock finds he is constantly reminding himself that it is of no consequence, that the human has experienced very traumatic events recently, and needing some time alone to process them is to be expected.
Yet he still cannot prevent himself from feeling a little… hurt. Jim's clenched jaw, tight expression and inability to look him in the eye seem to haunt him, surfacing in his mind every time he hears footsteps approaching.
So, it comes as somewhat of a surprise to look up and find the object of his thoughts actually standing there that evening, somehow both earlier and later than anticipated.
It takes him longer than normal to mask his surprise, and he sees Jim see it. Feels an external wave of crushing guilt mingled with residual anger wash over him. He feels nausea rise in his throat, forces it down as much as he can, suddenly extremely aware that he has just consumed another supervised-but-not-supervised meal with McCoy and can ill afford to regurgitate it in the Captain's presence.
He gathers what little reserves he has and tries to direct them towards his shields, but the effort is taxing. Jim is still hovering in the doorway, uncertain. Spock can still feel his emotions – they are so strong, given recent events – but it is more manageable now.
He offers Jim a careful nod. "Captain."
"Spock." The word comes out slightly strangled, and Jim clears his throat self-consciously.
Spock watches the Human as he walks slowly into the room. He notices that he is still in command gold - he must have come to Sickbay directly from the Bridge.
The gold seems to weigh less heavily on him, now, though Spock knows from what he can feel of Jim's emotions that this is mostly a front. He senses a background of desperate sadness and profound loss, the sensation of suddenly being cut adrift and thrust back into a world that is at once wholly strange and wholly familiar. In the background only because present circumstances have brought other, equally strong emotions to the fore: intense shame, stabbing concern, a throbbing undercurrent of blunted anger.
Like McCoy, he too bears the appearance of a man who has had insufficient rest, but to a greater degree. Though he still moves with his usual command poise, the movements are slow and tired, his shoulders slumped. There are dark shadows under his eyes that the forced energy of his actions cannot hide, and the eyes themselves...
They always did reveal everything.
Spock feels his own sense of shame rising in his gorge, feels his stomach continuing to churn… He fights the urge to react, knowing that any sign of physical distress now could alter the course of what already promises to be a difficult conversation.
He is not sure whether he should speak first. He does not know what to say, what to do… It does not escape him that he is feeling increasingly lost among these humans, when he had originally thought that more experience with them would reconcile him with his own heritage. Perhaps this is what his mother means when she references 'opening a can of worms'.
"I'm sorry I didn't come by earlier."
Strange, how those 7 simple words could markedly lighten the atmosphere in a room.
Spock swallows, his own voice sounding slightly less than steady. "It is entirely understandable."
Jim seems to relax slightly and takes this as an invitation to pull over a chair, settling into it with what Spock assumes is a self-deprecating sigh. "I should have been here."
"Jim… You cannot blame yourself for your reaction to recent events, when some might say that you have performed beyond what duty requires of you."
Jim snorts softly. "By 'some' you mean Bones."
"I am aware that the good doctor has been somewhat… vocal, regarding your return to duty."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I believe he is correct."
Jim's expression turns sharp. "You think I shouldn't be in command?"
He feels the atmosphere thicken again, finds himself overwhelmed by a hurt that is not his own. He is so tired, himself, so unable to control…
"I'm sor-" He breaks off, tries again, steadier this time but not by much. "I misspoke. I intended to say that I regret my weakness has not provided you with time to grieve."
Jim's expression softens somewhat and the fight goes out of his stance. He looks down at his hands, clasped awkwardly together between his knees. Spock feels most of the hurt subside to mingle with the dull anger.
Jim says nothing. Spock swallows. It is natural, he tells himself. It is to be expected that Jim, too, wishes he had time to grieve. That he is angry at this needless risk.
Then, unexpectedly, Jim looks up at him and seems to see him clearly for the first time since he entered the room. Seems to fully register the guilt and shame that Spock is failing to hide. The anger and hurt begin to ebb and his expression softens.
"You did the best you could."
He cannot reply. Jim is searching his face intently.
"Spock… You did all you could. You just got lost… But you're not alone. Bones and I will help."
He finds himself looking at his lap again, studying the thread count of his blanket. He does not deserve this. "As I will you."
Always.
"I know you will."
He is surprised to feel something ease, then, as though a weight is lifted from his chest. He might not deserve this Human's loyalty, but he resolves to earn it.
He looks back up at Jim.
"You probably know this already," Jim says, "but only me and Bones know. The rest of the crew – those that know about your condition – think that you're suffering from exhaustion. Obviously, it has had to be added to your medical record… But I'll personally see to it that it doesn't impact your career."
"Thank you."
Jim gives him an attempt at one of his normal smiles. "I thought you didn't thank logic?"
Spock raises an eyebrow. "I do not."
Jim's smile deepens, hearing the full depth of what Spock cannot say. "McCoy says you've started a treatment plan?"
"That is correct."
"And you chose him over everyone else?"
This time, Spock raises both eyebrows, willingly falling for the bait. "Of course."
Jim actually snorts. Spock is gratified to feel some of the man's deep depression lifting. "Well, good luck with that. I…"
He seems to hesitate, for a moment, growing sombre again. Spock knows what is coming, has expected it ever since Jim first saw him in sickbay, since he first realised part of the reason why Jim could not look at him.
"What I said earlier, about being here for you. I mean it. But I-"
"You find it reminiscent of the events on Tarsus IV."
Jim looks relieved at not having to say it. "It's difficult for me to understand," he confirms. "As Bones says, I have the opposite problem… Food was so scarce, I just…" He trails off, clears his throat.
"I understand. Jim… I regret causing you additional distress."
Incredibly, Jim snorts again. "Only you could sound so clinical while apologising. It's fine, Spock, really. I'm not made of glass – I can handle it. I'm just glad you're ok. The thought of losing you…"
He lapses into silence again, and Spock knows that he is thinking of his dead wife and unborn child, left behind on the planet they had saved.
Spock opens his mouth to tentatively broach the subject, but the mood shifts and Jim reaches out and clasps his shoulder, as if reassuring himself that Spock is really there. His expression tightens slightly when his hand grasps almost pure bone, but he pushes through it and offers a small smile.
"Get some rest, Spock. I'd better go anyway, or Scotty will hunt me down so he can corner me about the repairs again." He shakes his head ruefully, smirks. "That man just doesn't understand that I'm a captain, not a mechanic."
Spock's eyebrows fly to his hairline. "Indeed."
Jim chuckles, moves towards the door. "I'll come by again tomorrow."
Jim's emotions are distinctly lighter than they were when he had entered the room, and Spock somehow knows that while their normal situation has not quite resumed, it will all be… 'ok'.
As he pushes a measured breath out through his nose and leans back into the pillows, his headache beginning to ease somewhat, he resolves to do better. For Jim.