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The final log for Ltye V carried a bleak description of the final moments of Lieutenant Elonne and Ensign Kop. Cradled their bravery in words too simple to hold the heavy weight of their lives. Kirk always hesitated before clicking the period mark. It never felt like anything other than pulling the trigger of a phaser: targeted and irreversible.
Kirk had held Lieutenant Elonne, pressing a hard firmly into the gaping wound, sheltered from the forest rainfall by huge, cavernous leaves. Ltye V was almost entirely swallowed by thick trees and vines - more flora than land mass. She had been excited, scanning everything, taking diligent notes, and sending it up to Spock. Spock, who was circling in a gentle orbit above them, hearing monitors whir and beep instead of the inescapable rain.
“Don’t cry, Captain.” She had said, as they both knew help would not arrive in time. Blood had bubbled and crusted at her mouth, and Kirk had wiped at it with steady fingers. Tears pricking warmly in his eyes.
He had smiled at her, tenderly, and said she was braver than he.
“Sir,” she heaved, back arching and shaking, “It’s okay.” And tears traced tracks on her cheeks. She beckoned him closer, “It’s okay. I’ve been loved.”
Love. Lieutenant Elonne had been loved so precisely and so clearly that she believed her life’s mission was complete. That her very soul and purpose was to be put on this earth, created by energy or circumstance or whatever higher being is worth begging on our knees to, to love. And to be loved in return in a matter which facilitated absolute clarity. Which caused her to look at death, eyes wide, and step into it without regret.
Kirk closed the tab of the monitor, staring at the blank screen. Tears again, brave, glazing a warm sheen over his eyes. He clenched a fist, and closed them - a single tear escaping from his lashes. The weight of her declaration aching in the centre of his chest. Pulling and pulling his mind down, swirling into the insurmountable devotion of it all. He bit his lip as his abdomen jumped, gasping.
There was no one here. No shame. And he let it well up: the ache, the devotion, the terror, the clarity, the beauty of it. He buried his face in his hands, hot and salty tears sticking to his palms and chin. Shoulders shaking under the weight, lower back screaming at the curve of his spine. Crying out in deep empathy.
Because he too knew that love. That soul-defining, unavoidable love that had him in a chokehold. For the man he would do anything for, risk it all for, knowing that in return he would never have to be anything but himself. And the love that, and to lose that, would be the profound narrative of his life.
They didn’t say it enough. Relying on the bond.
Mind made up, he dried his tears. Splashed water on his face. Changed into something comfortable. And waited for when Spock walked through their joint quarters.
—————————————————————————————-
When Spock did walk through, it was to the sight of his Captain slumped on the bed, face relaxed in the gentle lull of sleep. After going through the motions of his evening routine, he blew out the incense and settled next to Jim. Manipulating his trusting body to fit his face into the curve of his neck, moving heavy limbs to cradle him.
“Hmm” Jim murmured, further shifting sleep-warmed arms and legs to twine further around Spock. Face shifting and settling into the curve of his chest, “Spock.” And he buried his face entirely, blanketing out the world.
Bright affection pierced Spock’s mind, sending a syrupy mix of his love through the bond. Letting it settle like a fog over Jim’s mind, letting him know that he was here and he was loved.
“I wanna…” Jim breathed out, shifting slightly, trying to pull away. Spock let him, carding a gentle hand through his hair, “I want to…”
He sat up. Eyes bright, staring down, relatively alert. Balanced on his forearms, with Spock’s head tilted on the pillow, fingers curled around his wrists. Spock didn’t say anything. Just waited, drinking in the sight of him with flushed cheeks and mussed hair.
Jim took a deep breath, “I need you to know” and he bit his lip for the second time that night, eyes flickering to the ceiling, wobbling words, “I just need you to know that I love you.” And his voice broke.
He resisted Spock’s attempt to pull him closer. Making direct eye contact through the blur, blinking away the emotional response, clearing his throat. “I need you to know that whatever happens, it would have been worth it. All of it and any of it. No matter how long I live, I would do it all again in the same exact way.” His voice was thick, but bold, “If I could do it all again, I’d ask to be put right here. With you. In every universe.”
Spock had melted at this, eyebrows shifting up from his brow one, deep sigh forced from his chest as he reached up properly. Not pulling him in for a kiss, not this time, just guiding him back down - safely - against his chest. Large hand holding the back of his skull, other running soothingly across his spine.
He swallowed once, throat working, “Thank you, Jim”, hand continuing to move, “I love thee. I would ask for the same.”
There was quiet for a moment. Rustling sheets, heavy breathing, a clear significance to this moment.
“I just needed you to know.” Jim spoke against his chest, words only slightly muffled. He brought his hand up, fingers curling into the fine cotton of Spock’s sleep shirt. Jim felt Spock press a long, lingering kiss to his forehead. Didn’t need to look up, didn’t need a winding speech or declaration in return. Just to be held, like this, and to know it was his final dwelling.