Work Text:
Jim felt like he was dying and considering his history, this wasn’t exactly an exaggeration. There was a slow, heavy numbness spreading in his mind that signaled the beginning of the end. Starvation was no stranger to him, nor dehydration for that matter. Tarsus IV was in part to thank for that. The amount of times he had been down this road before almost made him chuckle and gave Bones gray hairs. Each inhale grated along the back of his throat, chest barely moving enough to indicate life at all. The humid air did little to help his thirst and only made breathing more difficult. A creeping beam of light shot down from the small window at the top of the cell, indicating the first sun was near its zenith. Pouring out from twin suns, the heat of midday was nearly unbearable. Jim had long ago curled into the shadiest corner of his cell, pressing into the cool dirt floor in hopes of some solace. In his mind he knew that he couldn’t have been here more than a week, if that, but the days stretched much longer than those on the ship. The blessed breeze that came with the night was a rare commodity. There was no stirring in the air at noon nor was there any from Jim, save for the irregular thunking of his heart. Everything was stagnant and sticky on his skin. He had ceased to sweat some time ago and could no longer muster the energy to lift himself off of the floor. The weakness had started in his hands, spreading to his knees and throughout the rest of his body. It certainly wasn’t how he wanted to die but there were worse ways to go. His eyes closed of their own accord, lulling him into the numbness, and for a moment he almost gave in. A shout broke the stillness of his quiet prison. The voice was familiar, one he knew and ached for, but it was so far away. The numbness pulled at him, soothing the ache and washing away the heat. Jim exhaled and let go.
Soft lights shone between Jim’s eyelashes as he struggled to open them. The first thing that he noticed was the absence of the heat. The second was the gentle hum of his silver lady, an ever present background noise that accompanied life on a starship. His cracked lips twitched to form a smile as relief consumed him. A sharp inhale to his right indicated that he wasn’t alone, which was unsurprising. Either Bones woke him up intentionally or Spock refused to leave the ward until he came out of whatever coma he had landed in this time. There were footsteps followed by whispering, and then a damp cloth was being brushed over his forehead by a gentle hand. It had to be Spock; no one else took such care to avoid his psy-points. Jim opened his eyes fully to be greeted by Spock’s calm face haloed by the soft whiteness of Sickbay. He looked tired beyond all reckoning but there was a smile lingering near the surface of his stoic demeanor.
“Spock, can you run and grab me a bowl of ice chips? He’s bound to be thirsty,” McCoy’s gentle drawl drew both of their attention and the cloth left his forehead. Spock’s retreating figure was replaced in an instant with Bones’s smile and clear, blue eyes.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” McCoy said, smoothing the hair back from Jim’s now damp forehead. “You gave us a bit of a scare, Jim.”
“Hi, Bones,” Jim managed to croak out, voice hoarse with disuse.
“Do you have any idea about what happened after we beamed down or do you need me to fill in the gaps?” he asked, pulling over a chair.
“Fill in the gaps, please,” Jim rasped, closing his eyes. Bones proceeded to brief him about what went wrong for such a simple mission.They were ambushed after beam down and Jim had been separated from the group. He had taken some severe blows to the ribs and the natives had a long standing tradition on not feeding their prisoners. Their government was planning to use him as a bargaining tool with Starfleet, but Spock never let them have the chance.
“You should have seen him, Jim, it was incredible. For all the pacifistic logic he preaches, it seems to be void when it comes to you. He was like a one man war machine the way he tore through the prison guards. He lifted one of them with only his -” Bones was cut off by the arrival of Spock and the ice chips. He placed them in McCoy’s waiting hands, hesitated a moment before reaching over to tap two of Jim’s fingers with his own, before turning on heel and leaving. McCoy was ogling Jim’s hand with a half amused half astonished look. “You didn’t tell me that you two were together now.”
“We’re what?!” Jim started, almost sitting up before McCoy’s firm hand on his shoulder was pushing him back down.
“What do you mean you’re what? He just kissed you for Pete’s sake! I know you’ve been pining after him for months and I-… Jim, tell me, how do Vulcans kiss?” The ensuing silence was evidence enough for Dr. McCoy. “You mean to tell me that that was Spock’s open declaration of his love for you and you completely missed it?! My god man, its no wonder y’all have been dancing around each other for about a year now!”
Jim, not hearing much after the “kissed you” and "open declaration of his love” parts, sat dumbfounded in his bed as Bones raved and ranted in the background. Of course he was thrilled that his affections for Spock were reciprocated. Man, was he ever thrilled, but Spock had done something completely unexpected. He had made the first move and that meant Jim was going to need a plan.
It would be almost a week later before Jim set his plan into motion and Spock was beginning to lose hope. He understood that Jim was still recovering and likely needed time and space, but the more emotional side of him was winning out. Had he been forward enough in his courtship? Was the kiss enough to express his interest to Jim? Were his feelings shared or was this all a grand mistake on his part? The answer would come in the form of a nervous invitation to dinner and chess in Jim’s quarters after shift. Normally, they participated in these activities in public areas, such as the mess and the rec-room, but the seclusion implied something more. Either Jim wanted to return his feeling in a personal setting or he wanted to make the rejection as painless as possible by keeping it out of the public eye. Spock had a sinking feeling that it was the latter. Logic could do little to help him other than remind him that the fact Jim would make a decision was inevitable.
Jim tugged at his shirt, the cloth feeling unfamiliar against his skin. He told Spock to wear casuals for tonight, but perhaps that wasn’t the best idea as he now felt like tearing off his shirt. Uhura had hand picked it from his closet two days ago and he had to admit he looked attractive. Deep blue was supposed to accentuate his eyes or something like that and right now he needed all the accentuation he could get. Starvation didn't look good on anyone. He fiddled with the buttons in the mirror, finally deciding to leave the top one undone. The table was set, the chess set waiting nearby, all he need now was Spock and a confidence boost. The door buzzed and he tore out of the bathroom.
“Enter,” he called, trying to arrange himself to appear as casual as possible. The door slid open to reveal Spock, wearing a strange cross between a tunic and a robe. Whatever it was, the black material suited Spock so well that Jim had to remind himself that staring was rude, no matter how attractive someone was.
He cleared his throat, gesturing to the dinner table, “I...I thought I might as well go ahead and make dinner. Bones has me on this weird diet to get my body completely back to normal and I have a general idea of what you usually eat now and I, um, I made the tea you like.” Dear lord, he was already tripping over himself and Spock hadn't been in his quarters a full five minutes. Spock gave a small nod of approval and took the seat across from Jim’s.
Dinner was quiet, the conversation kept to casual ship’s business, discussing what all was going on while Jim was still on light duty. As the atmosphere became progressively more awkward, Jim was struggling to do much more than push his vitamin enriched food around on his plate and feel embarrassed.
“So do you want to start the game? I’ll take white, you take black like usual?” he asked in an attempt to clear the air. Spock set down his fork and stood, straightening his tunic. Jim felt a sinking ache in the center of his chest.
“I appreciate your hospitality, but there are other matters I should be attending to,” Spock swept past him, heading for the door. Jim stood, knocking over his chair, and grabbed the Vulcan’s hand without thinking. A small gasp floated through the silence of the room and Spock froze in place.
“Spock, please wait. I know that I’ve been-” he trailed off, noticing the rigid astonishment on Spock’s face. He glanced down to their joined hands and then back to the Vulcan, realization dawning over him. “I can expla-”
Spock raised a hand to his face, cupping the back of Jim’s neck. “I thought I was going to lose you on that planet. I thought I might never have the chance to tell you.” Jim knew what he meant, knew how that felt, and whatever unspoken wall there was between them fell. Their lips brushed, not quite a kiss but enough to give Jim the courage to place a hand on Spock’s waist. With closed eyes, Jim placed a chaste kiss on the corner of Spock’s mouth. Spock reciprocated in kind, soft kisses pressed again and again all over. Jim's hand tightened on Spock's waist and his fingers twitched against his, fumbling in a desperate attempt to understand what he should be doing. It was all too overwhelming and wonderful. They spent the rest of the evening on Jim’s couch showing each other how to express affection in the other’s culture, content to love and be loved.
McCoy sat alone in the quiet of his office, brandy and chocolate laid out side by side in case of emergency. Not receiving a distress call from either of his friends, he took it upon himself to put them both to good use, gathering his supplies up and waltzing over to M’Benga’s office. All was well on the starship Enterprise.