#hiii gar i hope this did you justice

[mothmannnnn]

Hello sexy beautiful awesome cool swag mutuals, Gar asked me to finish a fic they wrote and we wanted to share :p Read at your own risk <3

-

If luck—a notion he’d only allowed himself to entertain after meeting James Kirk—really did exist, then it was only logical to assume its opposite existed as well. Bad luck. 

Spock couldn’t think up the logistics of the situation he and Kirk had found themselves in: why he was injured on a too-cold planet, how they had lost their communicators, how they had run into the sort of intelligent life they weren’t supposed to interact with—why they now sat, shoulders pressed together, inside a hollow alien tree. In his current, less than stellar state, he wondered if it was statistically possible to have this much bad luck.

They were able to elude their assailants through Kirk’s resourcefulness. He had eyed the hiding place while they were running from their assailants, an area near the roots they had just been able to squeeze past and fit inside. Spock vaguely wondered if the tree had rotten out, or if a creature similar to the earth woodpecker inhabited the planet and had once called the space they now sat in its home. He wondered why the wood on this planet was a pale shade of blue, the trees even more massive than the redwoods, and how this miraculous life could happen somewhere so cold. He wondered about the probability of his survival. Spock ghosted his fingers over his bloodstained abdomen. 

“Spock . . . Spock.” Kirk had his hand on his shoulder and was looking into his eyes, and Spock had to rip himself from his own mind. “You’re shaking,” He said. Spock was suddenly aware of the almost violent tremor of his own body, of the biting cold on his ears and hands and everywhere except where Kirk had his leg pressed up against his. 

“I’m very cold, Captain, and I believe—” he had to stop himself, he had to stop shaking, he had to gain back some control. He took a breath—too deep—and pain blossomed in his side, time tripping over itself. It was so cold out. “I believe I may be bleeding internally, from the injuries I sustained.” he said. 

Kirk was leaning over him then, eyes wide as they searched over him, one hand on Spock’s shoulder and the other hovering hesitantly over the blood stains on his uniform. “How bad is it? is there anything I can do? Are you—“ Spock grabbed Kirk’s wrist before he could flood him with more questions, before he could touch him and defile his hands with his blood. He didn’t like to see Kirk like this, anxious, and he especially didn’t like that he was the cause. 

“I can do something about it but . . . I must focus all my energy on healing myself.” Spock said, finally meeting Kirks eyes. He nodded, his mask of cool command back on. 

“The healing trance?” Kirk confirmed. 

“Yes but I—” There was too much going on, the cold, the bleeding, the hiding (James Kirk’s thigh pressed against his, hand in his, his worry) “I can’t regulate my body temperature while in the trance, I need some external method of—” Kirk pulled his hand away from Spock’s grip and went for the hem of his own shirt. He’d had it half way up his chest before Spock was able to catch Jim’s shirt and pull it back down. “No captain, you can’t-” Spock started, taken completely off guard but beginning to catch on to what Kirk had been thinking. 

“The extra clothing will keep you warm Spock, please just let me—“

“Your body heat is sufficient, Captain,” Spock insisted. Although he knew it was not logical, as Kirk’s body was better equipped to withstand the cold and therefore he would be able to spare the cotton shirt, Spock felt hesitant prioritizing his captain’s comfort below his own. 

Kirk looked thoughtful for a minute, his brows furrowing and his hands absentmindedly rubbing his jawline. 

Spock was getting delirious—he knew it was due to the increasing loss of blood in his body. He must begin the healing trance as promptly as possible, but a strange, illogical thought wormed itself into his mind. What will Jim do while I am gone? 

If they were to be revealed by their assailants, it would be highly unlikely that Jim could fend for himself, and it would be too dangerous to pull himself out of the healing trance. 

Before Spock could think of a solution, he felt warm hands around his waist, a strong chest against his, and the point of Jim Kirk’s chin on the crook of his neck. 

“Captain, you’ll get blood on your uniform.” 

“Tough luck,” was Jim Kirk’s eloquent reply. “We’ll have to be in close proximity for my body heat to do anything for you.” 

“Well, I . . .” Spock’s words trailed off, and he was, for perhaps only the second time in his life, at a loss for words. 

He found something akin to courage in his deliriousness, pulling away so that he might look Kirk in his eyes. “I do not like showcasing my . . . differences, as compared to you, Captain.” He motioned to the greenness of his blood, slowly darkening and expanding across his abdomen. 

“Spock, that is perhaps the most illogical thing you’ve ever said.” Astonishingly, he heard amusement in Jim’s voice, despite their current situation. When he looked over, eyes barely able to open, he saw that his captain’s lips were pulled into a ghost of a smile. His eyebrows, however, were still furrowed with concern. “What does it matter if your ears are pointed or your blood is green? Why would it ever matter to me?” There were unspoken words within that statement, even Spock was able to identify that. But he was not quite able to extract the meaning. Why would it ever matter to me? 

“I know it is not logical, but I have always envied the redness in your veins, Jim.” If Kirk had noticed the slip in formalities, he did not reveal it. “Red is the color of vitality, of passion. It is something I will never possess beyond a medicinal diagnoses. But green . . . green is the color of cowardice. Of envy.” 

“You’re not speaking any sense, Mr. Spock.”

“There are many things I do not have the courage to tell you, Jim.” 

If the silence that followed was indicative of disgust, Spock might have felt shame. But Kirk only lifted one gentle hand to Spock’s cheek, and wiped a tear that he had not known had fallen. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Spock,” Kirk reassured, prompting him to fall into his healing trance. He could not hold out for much longer. “We’ll get through this, I promise, and . . . when you’re awake, maybe you’ll feel a little more courageous.” 

Through their connection, both physical and emotional, Spock could feel the tug of emotions in Kirk’s chest. Stress, worry, regret and surprisingly—the last thing he felt before slipping off to unconsciousness—affection beyond platonic admiration. 

He slept. 

-

As promised, Jim was there when he awoke on the Enterprise again. He was still a little bruised, and his lip was split, but other than that, Spock could not discern any permanent physical harm.

“You’re awake,” 

Humans had an interesting habit of announcing something that was not in need of announcement. 

“I am,” Spock nodded, noticing that he had been relocated to a corner cot in the medical bay. “How long was I in the healing trance?”

Before Kirk could reply, a voice interrupted from the doorway. A booming, slightly southern accent that Spock recognized immediately, despite the state of his foggy memory. “A week,” Doctor McCoy said. “And what a hell of a week!”

“Hello, Doctor,” Spock greeted the newcomer. 

McCoy went on as if he had not heard him, muttering, “I thought Jim might go mad and strangle me! Waiting in here like some wartime widow, what a hassle!”

He went on like this, spewing good-natured insults until he exited the room, holding Spock’s file (which he presumed was what McCoy had originally came in the room for). 

Kirk looked at Spock, the tips of his ears red. This blush, which creeped up his neck, was what prompted Spock to remember the last conversation they had. 

The color of vigor. Of passion. The courage that Spock had lacked, until, in a lapse of judgment, he had admitted his best-kept secret: his feelings for James Kirk. 

“I’m glad you’re awake, Mr. Spock—even if Bones isn’t,” the tone of his voice was light, nothing remarkably fond, but his hand reached down and gently held Spock’s. 

The action was innocent enough, Spock knew. He had seen many humans hold each other’s hands for comfort, for solace. But to himself, a Vulcan, the intimate action made his own ears glow green.

“It’s okay if you don’t have the courage right now, Spock,” Jim continued. He smiled, and Spock found himself wanting to do the same. “You were very brave on that planet.” 

In a rare show of physical affection, Spock lifted Kirk’s hands to his lips, and kissed the soft palm. 

Understanding the meaning of this action, Kirk in turn lifted Spock’s hand to his own mouth, pressing a warm kiss on the back of his hand. 

“When you’re ready, Mr. Spock,” Kirk smiled, “I think we should take a long shore leave—somewhere warmer, preferably.” 

Spock squeezed the hands still holding his, hoping that this seemingly modest reaction could begin to express all the feelings he had for Jim Kirk. That perhaps Jim might feel, through his own human senses, Spock’s unfailing devotion to him. 

“Yes, Captain,” he said. “I would like that very much.” 

#this was fun to write #hiii gar i hope this did you justice #oh my god if any of my non trek mutuals see this i am sooo sorry #i use so many em dashes its crazy #i live and die for em dashes #they are the best punctuation i think #anyways gar wrote the first half and i wrote the last half #and also edited a little #omg gar x moth collab af #this is mostly unedited i am sorry #eep okay now i am going to tag stuff #star trek #tos #spock #kirk #spirk #uh that's it i think #bye <3 #k/s