[FIC] Don't Worry (i'm okay now) - Part 8/8
And One That Didn't
When Jim was younger, he’d liked to close his eyes and imagine what his life would have been like if George Kirk had survived the destruction of the USS Kelvin. He’d liked to imagine long summer days spent in the sun running away from an imaginary monster, only to have his father come to his rescue amidst the tall fields of green and gold. He’d liked to think that he’d have been a calmer boy, less prone to rebellion and fist fights. He’d liked to pretend that he’d have been more candid about his intelligence, about his feelings, about himself.
But George Kirk hadn’t survived. And instead of summer days in the sun, Jim got years of loaded silence as he crept about the house avoiding Frank, and months spent in mud and rotting corpses as Tarsus IV fell apart around him. He got a distant mother, an absent brother, and a string of meaningless relationships until he was twenty-two, when a bad-tempered Georgian had sat down next to him and offered him a drink from his flask. He got self-defense and martial arts lessons and instead of relying on others for help, he helped himself. There had been no journey of self-discovery for him; instead, he had developed a ruthlessly efficient suppression mechanism which, he had to admit, had left him emotionally stunted in various aspects of his life.
But, for better or worse, those experiences had shaped him; and, try as he might, there was only so much he could do to change now. Those who knew him best, his bridge crew, had come to realize that most of him was a front, a wall, a mirage where people saw only what they wished to see. They had come to understand that he was always plotting, always calculating probabilities and strategies. And while it had been disconcerting when he’d first realized that he was an open book to them, he couldn’t deny that it came in handy.
Especially in moments like these when he was stuck on the bridge after a disastrous mission and all he wanted to do was to go back to his quarters and bury himself under the covers and pretend that the day had never happened. He’d seen the not so subtle looks his officers had shared and had heard Uhura whispering into her head piece. So when Bones commed the bridge and mandated he come down to sickbay, he wasn’t the least bit surprised; in fact, he was kind of disappointed that it had taken his crew so long to stage an intervention.
“Mr. Spock, you have-”
“If you would permit, sir,” Spock cut him off as he stood from his chair and walked the short distance between the science station and the captain’s chair. “I would request to accompany you to sickbay.”
Kirk felt his eyebrow go up in surprise. “Really?”
“Really, sir,” Spock deadpanned.
Kirk shrugged. “Suit yourself, then. Mr. Sulu, you have the con.”
“Aye, sir.”
They made their way to the infirmary in silence, hands and shoulders brushing occasionally. When they crossed the threshold into McCoy’s domain, Kirk sighed softly and made his way to his usual bed. All he wanted was to curl up in his own bed and sleep for the next week, but he knew that the chances of that happening were close to none. So instead he stared at his hands, examining his short, bitten nails and the way the light made his hands seem paler than usual. He could feel Spock’s presence at his side, but he decided not to acknowledge it.
Loud, heavy footsteps announced McCoy’s arrival and Kirk took a deep breath before looking up. Before he could even open his mouth McCoy was shoving the end of the tricorder in his face and staring at the readings, all the while grumbling to himself. Kirk blinked in surprise and looked at Spock, a small grin spreading over his lips at the doctor’s actions. He choked back a laugh when Spock very deliberately rolled his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” McCoy demanded, glaring up at Kirk and then at Spock. “And what are you doing here?” he asked, glowering at the half-Vulcan.
“I wished to make sure the Captain was in good health,” Spock replied serenely.
“I’m sure you did,” McCoy retorted as he looked back at his readings.
Jim bit his lower lip in a useless attempt to stop himself from smiling, and coughed softly in a poor attempt to regain his composure. “So, doc? What’s the verdict?”
McCoy glared at him. “You’re exhausted. And you’ll have some interesting bruises in the morning, but there’s nothing I can do for you here. I’ll give you some painkillers and muscle relaxant you can take in the morning so you can function, but I’m taking you off duty for a day so you can recover,” McCoy shouted, shutting up Kirk as soon as he’d opened his mouth to protest.
Kirk crossed his arms and glared at his friend.
“Stop pouting and get out of my infirmary before I decide you’re overdue for your allergy shots,” McCoy grumbled as he threw a bottle of pills at Kirk, who caught it easily.
“Geez, Bones. It’s always a pleasure to come down to see you. You’re always such a ball of sunshine. Let’s go, Spock, before our good Dr, Jenkyll turns into Mr. Hyde.” Kirk hopped off the bed and grinned at Spock’s raised eyebrow and McCoy’s loud snort.
As Kirk made his way out of the infirmary and headed toward his quarters, he knew, without having to look, that Spock would follow him. One year into their five year voyage and this thing between them had shifted first into a comfortable and easy friendship, and then had grown and evolved until it had become something more. It was in the way Spock looked at him across the bridge when he thought Kirk wasn’t looking; in the way his eyes followed Spock as he rose and bid him goodnight after their games of chess; in the way they just couldn’t stop touching each other. And Kirk wasn’t going to lie: he liked that something more. But sometimes he felt like they could be even more than what they had become, and he had a feeling he was the one holding them back from getting there.
As soon as the door to his quarters opened he made his way to their shared bathroom, intent on taking a quick shower and then going to bed; if he was on medical leave, then he was going to take full advantage of it. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when he spotted Spock working from his terminal as he exited the bathroom ten minutes later. He made his way to his bed and slipped under the covers, curling into a fetal position and watching Spock work silently. There was something inherently soothing about Spock being in his room, and without conscious thought he closed his eyes and let the soft sounds wash over him.
***
Jim jerked awake, his breath hitching and cold sweat coating his clammy skin. He lay absolutely still for a few seconds, disoriented, staring at the bookshelf across his bed. He could make out a few titles, all of them bound and some of them in better condition than others. Slowly he moved his gaze to his bedside table and the book that sat on it. Peter Pan. He could feel his muscles relaxing and his breathing easing as he took deeper breaths. Right. The Enterprise.
The unexpected sound of rustling bed sheets startled him and his muscles tensed back up as adrenaline flooded his system, kicking in his fight or flight response. But his mind stopped short of it when it registered the inhuman heat radiating from the body next to him and the sweet smell of desert and spices. He closed his eyes and with a soft groan, he rolled over, seeking out heat and soft skin. He splayed himself over his bedmate and let out all the pent up stress and anxiety in one long exhale.
“Spock,” he murmured, tightening his hold on the man momentarily.
“Jim,” Spock whispered, long fingers running through sweat-damp hair. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
Spock waited silently for Jim to make up his mind. Despite Spock’s best efforts, this was not an uncommon situation for them to find themselves in. Spock had learned of Jim’s recurrent nightmares and bouts of insomnia early on in their friendship and had, on more than one occasion, used his override codes to access the captain’s quarters and shake the man awake. It was the nature of the beast that Spock had always caught glimpses of Jim’s dreams as he sought to wake him; the captain liked to sleep in his boxer shorts and little else.
At first, he had kept quiet, accepting Jim’s thanks and apologies and leaving the man to calm himself in peace. But, as their friendship grew, Spock began to linger. First it was a short vigil after Jim had fallen asleep again to make sure the captain was well and truly asleep before he went back to his quarters to finish his own sleep cycle. Then it was a longer vigil, dragging a chair and a PADD over by the bed and staying put until he was sure the other man would be fine. Then a chair became the side of the bed, became the bed, became shared bed times and Jim curled up in a ball around him, shaking silently as he jerked awake from a dream. It was only once they had begun to take the tentative steps towards becoming something more that Jim had finally opened up. And even that was an overstatement. Jim rarely said more than two sentences about his dreams, preferring instead to wrap himself around Spock’s warmth and bury his face in the crook of the Vulcan’s neck, the faster heartbeat lulling him back to sleep.
“He would have waited,” Jim whispered into Spock’s skin.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “You are being more enigmatic than usual, Jim. Please clarify.”
Jim sighed. “The other Kirk. You know, the other Spock’s Kirk.”
“You are referring to my alternate self’s James Kirk,” Spock stated as he tightened his grip on Jim. As illogical as it was, he preferred to forget there was another Spock sharing his universe; it made him thoroughly uncomfortable to think that there were two of him, and one of Jim.
“Yeah. He would have waited for backup,” Jim mumbled again.
“Jim, you cannot know for certain-”
“Yes, I can,” Jim said, cutting him off sharply. “I know because I saw it, saw him.” Jim pushed himself up on one elbow and sighed. Spock raised an eyebrow as Jim worried his lower lip, brows furrowed in thought, as if his next words were something he had never wanted to divulge. “On Delta Vega, the other Spock mind melded with me.”
“He did what?” Spock exclaimed, unable to stop himself from showing the blatant horror he felt coursing through him. “That was highly inappropriate of him considering the circumstances and the fact that you did not know him nor could you have comprehended the enormity of what a mind meld entailed.”
“I knew he was you,” Jim defended. “But no,” Jim grimaced as he recalled the painful meld, the flashes of color and raw emotions that had bled and colored his mind along with the overload of information. “I had no idea what a mind meld would do to me. And it didn’t help that he was completely emotionally unstable.” Jim felt Spock shift next to him and put a hand on his chest, pushing down, silently asking the Vulcan to lie still. “Spock,” Jim said, lifting his hand to rest on the Vulcan’s cheek. “Just, let me finish first before you decide to verbally eviscerate yourself, okay?”
Spock deflated immediately. “Very well, Jim.”
“Thanks,” Jim said, taking in a deep breath. “So, we melded. And… I think it was probably because he’d found me, or I’d found him, and Vulcan had just, well. He let some… things, about his Kirk, slide through in the meld. I never told him, though. I figured it was just an accident since he was so compromised.”
“How much did he show you?” Spock asked, fascinated.
“He had a son, his Kirk. With this lady I’ve never met.” Spock tightened his hold on Jim at the wistful tone of his voice. “And he knew his father. And he was so much calmer, Spock. He stopped to think, you know? He didn’t just jump into a situation. I saw so many glimpses where that Kirk just planned everything down to the T. He knew exactly how people were going to react and he… He was amazing, Spock.”
“Jim, you cannot -”
“But I’m not him,” Jim continued as if Spock had never spoken, sprawling himself back onto Spock’s chest. “He might not have chased after those ships until backup had arrived, and he might not have engaged them without knowing for certain what their firing capabilities were, but I couldn’t do it, Spock. I couldn’t wait. And my impatience and stubbornness and just general lack of self-control cost us lives today.”
Spock just barely held his tongue but could not stop himself from tightening his arms around Jim. He felt the Human squirm a little in the embrace and eased up a little; just enough for Jim to slide more fully into him.
“I know it’s stupid, thinking about it. About the things I do versus the things the other Kirk would have done.”
“It is very illogical on your part,” Spock agreed, unable to stop himself. He nearly yelped in surprise when Jim flicked one of his nipples in reprimand. “I apologize, Jim. I will not longer interrupt.”
“Liar,” Jim chuckled. “There’s nothing for you to worry about, Spock. I won’t try to act like him.”
“I am relieved to hear you say that,” Spock said, his hand going back to Jim’s hair to pet it. “It would be highly illogical for you to try and emulate the Kirk from my counterpart’s universe. Your trials and tribulations in this life have made you into the James Kirk most suited to best any adverse situation you might find yourself in. It would not be inconceivable that, should you attempt to curb your impulses to fit into the other Kirk’s mold-”
“The universe would collapse on itself and everyone would die?” Jim asked, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Spock scoffed quietly. “I would not have phrased it as such.”
“But that’s essentially what you’re saying.” Jim leaned up and pecked him on the lips before sprawling over the Vulcan again. “Either way, it wouldn’t matter.”
“And why is that, Jim?” Spock asked curiously.
Jim looked up then, blue eyes bright and mischievous, a lazy smile curling on his lips. “Because, Mr. Spock, I don’t know how to be anything else.”