Missing Scene I | STXI | PG-13
Title: Missing Scene I
Series: STID
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~920
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR STID.
Summary:[This summary contains a massive spoiler.]Following the death of Pike.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Can I just say how freaking psyched I am for the return of Trek fandom? Bring on all of the fic!
Link to AO3
“Commander?”
On another occasion, the word would have had Jim flinching. The title sounded like an alien language to him; in no way reflecting who Jim was or what he’d done. He had gone from Cadet to Captain almost overnight. Zero to sixty in half a second - now he was screaming to a halt, spinning-out into a vast, jagged gorge where he was still fucking falling.
Vaguely, Jim recalled that he was, yet again, a Captain. But fuck if he was going to remind Spock or himself of how that came to be by saying it aloud.
Sighing, Jim ignored Spock’s voice from behind the door and continued to strip out of his smoke and dirt-caked uniform. He just wanted to shower; get clean. Wipe away everything that had happened, and maybe when he next stepped from the fresher, it would turn out that he’d been wrong. Pike hadn’t died and the world wasn’t plunging from beneath his boots.
His jacket thudded to the floor, muted in Jim’s ears as he struggled to tug his shirt over his head when his arms would barely lift. His limbs felt numb, his head abuzz like white noise, like open space and nothingness.
Shower - just get into the shower. Everything would be better if he got into the shower.
Distantly, Jim registered the sound of the door to his quarters hissing open, then shutting. He didn’t flinch at the sound of Spock’s voice - didn’t think he’d flinch at the sound of a bomb.
“You are in shock.”
“Hm?” Jim’s head was stuck in his shirt. When had shirts become so difficult to take off?
“I do not think they have,” Spock said from behind the thin layer of material. “Your system is simply draining of adrenaline.”
Apparently Jim had been talking out loud. Before he could muster a reply, warm fingertips brushed at his bare arms, his shoulders, as Spock efficiently lifted the shirt away and dropped it to the floor. Had Jim been of sounder mind, he’d have tried to muster a sufficiently inappropriate comment. But as it stood, all he wanted to do was - well, cry. Shit.
“Great, thanks,” Jim said with a croak. He couldn’t meet Spock’s eyes - no, not couldn’t, just couldn’t care to do so. Suddenly, a shower sounded infinitely difficult. Maybe he could just sleep on the floor for a few hours. “You can go.”
Spock’s beat of silence had Jim looking up, searching that stony façade. It was Spock’s turn to look away, past Jim’s ear. “You should not be alone. In your state -”
“In my state, I’d love some fucking peace,” Jim said. He began to unbutton his pants with numb, fumbling fingers. “Now, unless you want the full show here, you should probably get the hell out, Spock.”
“Comman-”
“Jim. Just… just Jim.”
Spock actually may have sighed, however softly, but said nothing. He looked on, appearing generally disapproving, but unmoving. Goddamn Vulcan statue.
Jim looked down, gritting his teeth at the sheer difficulty he was experiencing opening his fucking fly. Christ, this wasn’t rocket science - and he knew rocket science.
“Jim,” Spock said, his fingers twitching at his side as his gaze fell to Jim’s openly shaking hands. The dark crescents of his eyelashes shadowed his eyes, masking any emotion that may have come through. “Tell me what you need.”
Eyes wide, Jim’s attention snapped from his fingers to Spock’s face. His heart swelled in his throat, his cheeks burning. “I - what? Er, I mean -”
Spock looked up, dark eyes locking with Jim’s. “In a time of great distress, someone once placed the same query towards me. I found it to be -” Spock pressed his lips together briefly, something he did when calculating something particularly complicated, “Constructive. To my… emotional health.”
Eyebrows shooting up, Jim’s laugh was more of a cough. “Your emotional health.”
It might’ve just been Jim’s delirium, but Spock’s cheekbones almost looked a bit green. “Neverm-”
“No,” Jim said quickly, hand reaching out to touch Spock’s elbow. “I mean, thanks.” Jim scraped his palms over his face, felt grit and blood and dried, crusted tears. “Thanks. I just - this is all unreal. With -” Jim found he couldn’t yet say Pike’s name, “And now you’re being all -” Completely amazingly exactly what I need.
Spock flicked a look to the side, then back to Jim. He cleared his throat softly. “Shall I wait here while you refresh yourself? I am hesitant to leave you alone until you appear more stable.”
“I - yeah.” Jim sighed, shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll just…” He motioned towards the fresher. “Do that. Thanks. I mean, yeah, thank you.”
Because Spock was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable and Jim wasn’t in any mood to have fun with that, Jim slipped away to the stark white confines of the fresher.
And if, after struggling for some time to undress and slip under the fierce, fiery spray of the shower, Jim rested his forehead against the tile wall and cried like a baby, Spock later showed no indication of having heard, despite his excellent hearing. Instead, Spock didn’t blink an eye as Jim strode past him, dropped his towel to the floor, and slipped naked under the sheets of his bed.
Jim heard Spock pick up the towel and cross the room. “I will wake you when necessary.”
Despite the damp behind Jim’s closed eyelids, the tears were thankfully free from his voice. “Thanks, Spock.”
There was a long pause, and then soft, familiar fingertips at his temple.
“Sleep, Jim.”
Somehow, he did.
Series: STID
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~920
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR STID.
Summary:[This summary contains a massive spoiler.]Following the death of Pike.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Can I just say how freaking psyched I am for the return of Trek fandom? Bring on all of the fic!
Link to AO3
“Commander?”
On another occasion, the word would have had Jim flinching. The title sounded like an alien language to him; in no way reflecting who Jim was or what he’d done. He had gone from Cadet to Captain almost overnight. Zero to sixty in half a second - now he was screaming to a halt, spinning-out into a vast, jagged gorge where he was still fucking falling.
Vaguely, Jim recalled that he was, yet again, a Captain. But fuck if he was going to remind Spock or himself of how that came to be by saying it aloud.
Sighing, Jim ignored Spock’s voice from behind the door and continued to strip out of his smoke and dirt-caked uniform. He just wanted to shower; get clean. Wipe away everything that had happened, and maybe when he next stepped from the fresher, it would turn out that he’d been wrong. Pike hadn’t died and the world wasn’t plunging from beneath his boots.
His jacket thudded to the floor, muted in Jim’s ears as he struggled to tug his shirt over his head when his arms would barely lift. His limbs felt numb, his head abuzz like white noise, like open space and nothingness.
Shower - just get into the shower. Everything would be better if he got into the shower.
Distantly, Jim registered the sound of the door to his quarters hissing open, then shutting. He didn’t flinch at the sound of Spock’s voice - didn’t think he’d flinch at the sound of a bomb.
“You are in shock.”
“Hm?” Jim’s head was stuck in his shirt. When had shirts become so difficult to take off?
“I do not think they have,” Spock said from behind the thin layer of material. “Your system is simply draining of adrenaline.”
Apparently Jim had been talking out loud. Before he could muster a reply, warm fingertips brushed at his bare arms, his shoulders, as Spock efficiently lifted the shirt away and dropped it to the floor. Had Jim been of sounder mind, he’d have tried to muster a sufficiently inappropriate comment. But as it stood, all he wanted to do was - well, cry. Shit.
“Great, thanks,” Jim said with a croak. He couldn’t meet Spock’s eyes - no, not couldn’t, just couldn’t care to do so. Suddenly, a shower sounded infinitely difficult. Maybe he could just sleep on the floor for a few hours. “You can go.”
Spock’s beat of silence had Jim looking up, searching that stony façade. It was Spock’s turn to look away, past Jim’s ear. “You should not be alone. In your state -”
“In my state, I’d love some fucking peace,” Jim said. He began to unbutton his pants with numb, fumbling fingers. “Now, unless you want the full show here, you should probably get the hell out, Spock.”
“Comman-”
“Jim. Just… just Jim.”
Spock actually may have sighed, however softly, but said nothing. He looked on, appearing generally disapproving, but unmoving. Goddamn Vulcan statue.
Jim looked down, gritting his teeth at the sheer difficulty he was experiencing opening his fucking fly. Christ, this wasn’t rocket science - and he knew rocket science.
“Jim,” Spock said, his fingers twitching at his side as his gaze fell to Jim’s openly shaking hands. The dark crescents of his eyelashes shadowed his eyes, masking any emotion that may have come through. “Tell me what you need.”
Eyes wide, Jim’s attention snapped from his fingers to Spock’s face. His heart swelled in his throat, his cheeks burning. “I - what? Er, I mean -”
Spock looked up, dark eyes locking with Jim’s. “In a time of great distress, someone once placed the same query towards me. I found it to be -” Spock pressed his lips together briefly, something he did when calculating something particularly complicated, “Constructive. To my… emotional health.”
Eyebrows shooting up, Jim’s laugh was more of a cough. “Your emotional health.”
It might’ve just been Jim’s delirium, but Spock’s cheekbones almost looked a bit green. “Neverm-”
“No,” Jim said quickly, hand reaching out to touch Spock’s elbow. “I mean, thanks.” Jim scraped his palms over his face, felt grit and blood and dried, crusted tears. “Thanks. I just - this is all unreal. With -” Jim found he couldn’t yet say Pike’s name, “And now you’re being all -” Completely amazingly exactly what I need.
Spock flicked a look to the side, then back to Jim. He cleared his throat softly. “Shall I wait here while you refresh yourself? I am hesitant to leave you alone until you appear more stable.”
“I - yeah.” Jim sighed, shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll just…” He motioned towards the fresher. “Do that. Thanks. I mean, yeah, thank you.”
Because Spock was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable and Jim wasn’t in any mood to have fun with that, Jim slipped away to the stark white confines of the fresher.
And if, after struggling for some time to undress and slip under the fierce, fiery spray of the shower, Jim rested his forehead against the tile wall and cried like a baby, Spock later showed no indication of having heard, despite his excellent hearing. Instead, Spock didn’t blink an eye as Jim strode past him, dropped his towel to the floor, and slipped naked under the sheets of his bed.
Jim heard Spock pick up the towel and cross the room. “I will wake you when necessary.”
Despite the damp behind Jim’s closed eyelids, the tears were thankfully free from his voice. “Thanks, Spock.”
There was a long pause, and then soft, familiar fingertips at his temple.
“Sleep, Jim.”
Somehow, he did.