Slumber, my Darling
Title: Slumber, my darling
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Uhhh... M for language? Pre-Slash, but just barely.
Summary: The world almost ended. Kirk just wants to sleep for a few hours.
Author's Notes: Um, so yeah, my first fanfic in about... 8 years? I love this fandom, and I would love to hear your thoughts. Unbeta-ed, so I apologize for any errors.
“Computer, lights,” he rasped, his throat aching from being choked to the edge of death thrice over that day.
The room became dim, but still, his head hurt.
He closed his eyes. Surely, that would help the headache. Images swarmed him. His heart clenched, then sped up, and he started to sweat.
Bursting forth into the Vulcan atmosphere to be met with the sight…. Everyone was dead. People died, sure, but not everyone, all at once like that, floating pieces of once beautiful ships heading towards them in a fucking metaphor of grief and what it could do to you.
Jim Kirk didn’t do poetry, but fuck if it wasn’t tragically poetic.
Gaila was dead. “I love you,” she’d told him. He’d been stunned, then shoved under her bed hurriedly. He hadn’t seen her since then, and now she was gone, gone like his father, sucked into… Well. Into nothingness.
His heart clenched again and he grit his teeth, groaning aloud.
“Fuck me,” he groaned breathlessly, unaccustomed to being owned by these feelings. He couldn’t get it out of his head. The floating pieces of wreckage. The implosion of Vulcan. The grief of the older man who had touched his mind.
“I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” He’d said that. Who said shit like that, huh? What was it, a fucking cheeseball movie, like the kind that used to come on Saturday afternoons back in Iowa?
Fuck him, indeed. Iowa. Fuck. His mother, he hadn’t called her.
It was too much, all of it, threatening to overwhelm him. He gasped. What the hell was this? A panic attack? Hysteria? Captain of a fucking starship for ten goddamn minutes, was he breaking already?
There was a chirp at his door. Someone found him? What the fuck.
He stumbled out of bed. Stumbled sideways, lulling like he was on a boat on the lake where his grandparents had owned a cabin. He groaned, swallowed the bile - painfully, his throat… Ugh. He straightened, and inhaled, straightening himself.
“Yeah. Enter.”
The light spilled in from the hall and he recognized that silhouette.
“Spock,” he rasped. “Something wrong?” Instantly, Kirk’s muscles were tense. His heart was pounding. His knees were shaking from… from what, exhaustion, fear, pain, adrenaline?
Spock watched him, his cool eyes adjusting to the dark. “Captain,” he said softly. “Dr. McCoy is looking for you. It would seem you have not been examined.”
“Ahh. Ah,” he laughed a little, rubbing his hand over his bare stomach, leaning slightly against the desk. “Ah, Bones. Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just gonna… I’m gonna…” He couldn’t breathe. This was fucked up, he was James T. Kirk, everything was fine. He closed his eyes, his knees buckling as he began to slide to the ground.
Spock didn’t hesitate, merely reached out, catching him, holding him easily at arm’s length. “Captain,” he frowned, as Jim’s head lolled, and he looked up, his breathing irregular and heavy.
“I just uh… I just need to uh… I… “
“I will call for the doctor.” It was only logical, of course.
“N- no, no, just… I… Uh…” He closed his eyes, his forehead coming to rest against Spock’s chest.
Spock didn’t move, merely stood perfectly still, his fingers clenched gently around the captain’s arms.
“You need to sleep,” Spock said finally, when he could no longer hear the pounding of the other man’s heart. He was silent, easing Kirk - his captain, for crying out loud, how that had happened, well, it was, suffice to say, illogical and ridiculous, but a seeming fact - back into the bed.
Kirk exhaled, shuddering, his eyes sliding shut. “Don’t tell Bones, k?” He mumbled.
Spock felt… was that the hint of tenderness? He mentally shook that feeling off, attributing it to the day’s rather… unsettling events.
“Sleep well, Captain.” He turned on his heel, and strode out.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Uhhh... M for language? Pre-Slash, but just barely.
Summary: The world almost ended. Kirk just wants to sleep for a few hours.
Author's Notes: Um, so yeah, my first fanfic in about... 8 years? I love this fandom, and I would love to hear your thoughts. Unbeta-ed, so I apologize for any errors.
“Computer, lights,” he rasped, his throat aching from being choked to the edge of death thrice over that day.
The room became dim, but still, his head hurt.
He closed his eyes. Surely, that would help the headache. Images swarmed him. His heart clenched, then sped up, and he started to sweat.
Bursting forth into the Vulcan atmosphere to be met with the sight…. Everyone was dead. People died, sure, but not everyone, all at once like that, floating pieces of once beautiful ships heading towards them in a fucking metaphor of grief and what it could do to you.
Jim Kirk didn’t do poetry, but fuck if it wasn’t tragically poetic.
Gaila was dead. “I love you,” she’d told him. He’d been stunned, then shoved under her bed hurriedly. He hadn’t seen her since then, and now she was gone, gone like his father, sucked into… Well. Into nothingness.
His heart clenched again and he grit his teeth, groaning aloud.
“Fuck me,” he groaned breathlessly, unaccustomed to being owned by these feelings. He couldn’t get it out of his head. The floating pieces of wreckage. The implosion of Vulcan. The grief of the older man who had touched his mind.
“I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” He’d said that. Who said shit like that, huh? What was it, a fucking cheeseball movie, like the kind that used to come on Saturday afternoons back in Iowa?
Fuck him, indeed. Iowa. Fuck. His mother, he hadn’t called her.
It was too much, all of it, threatening to overwhelm him. He gasped. What the hell was this? A panic attack? Hysteria? Captain of a fucking starship for ten goddamn minutes, was he breaking already?
There was a chirp at his door. Someone found him? What the fuck.
He stumbled out of bed. Stumbled sideways, lulling like he was on a boat on the lake where his grandparents had owned a cabin. He groaned, swallowed the bile - painfully, his throat… Ugh. He straightened, and inhaled, straightening himself.
“Yeah. Enter.”
The light spilled in from the hall and he recognized that silhouette.
“Spock,” he rasped. “Something wrong?” Instantly, Kirk’s muscles were tense. His heart was pounding. His knees were shaking from… from what, exhaustion, fear, pain, adrenaline?
Spock watched him, his cool eyes adjusting to the dark. “Captain,” he said softly. “Dr. McCoy is looking for you. It would seem you have not been examined.”
“Ahh. Ah,” he laughed a little, rubbing his hand over his bare stomach, leaning slightly against the desk. “Ah, Bones. Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just gonna… I’m gonna…” He couldn’t breathe. This was fucked up, he was James T. Kirk, everything was fine. He closed his eyes, his knees buckling as he began to slide to the ground.
Spock didn’t hesitate, merely reached out, catching him, holding him easily at arm’s length. “Captain,” he frowned, as Jim’s head lolled, and he looked up, his breathing irregular and heavy.
“I just uh… I just need to uh… I… “
“I will call for the doctor.” It was only logical, of course.
“N- no, no, just… I… Uh…” He closed his eyes, his forehead coming to rest against Spock’s chest.
Spock didn’t move, merely stood perfectly still, his fingers clenched gently around the captain’s arms.
“You need to sleep,” Spock said finally, when he could no longer hear the pounding of the other man’s heart. He was silent, easing Kirk - his captain, for crying out loud, how that had happened, well, it was, suffice to say, illogical and ridiculous, but a seeming fact - back into the bed.
Kirk exhaled, shuddering, his eyes sliding shut. “Don’t tell Bones, k?” He mumbled.
Spock felt… was that the hint of tenderness? He mentally shook that feeling off, attributing it to the day’s rather… unsettling events.
“Sleep well, Captain.” He turned on his heel, and strode out.