Nothing to Fear (except losing you)
Title: Nothing to Fear (except losing you)
Rating: G
Pairing: K/S pre-slash
Jim Kirk has never feared death. His mother believes it's because he was born within the midst of it, but regardless of anyone else’s opinions, it's not something that Jim worries about in the least. It means he has the ability and willingness to jump into the fray head-first while other people waste time saying goodbye or making plans in case of a failure to survive. Jim doesn’t necessarily commend himself for his lack of regard for his own mortality, and it doesn’t stem from an illusion of immortality. It simply is what it is: something that makes others worry needlessly once they catch on to what’s going on in Jim’s mind.
Fortunately, the only person on the Enterprise who knows him well enough to worry is Bones, but he worries about everyone, and he knows how much this captaincy means to Jim. No point in reporting reckless behavior and get command involved when he can just keep an eye on Jim himself.
So when, shortly after leaving port for a second - and much more ceremonious - time, Jim gains a partner in reckless behavior, he’s surprisingly pleased. Spock does not demand he wait to take a security team down to dangerous planets when crewmen are in peril; he simply steps up onto the transporter platform with Jim and hands his captain a phaser. And, if Jim is being honest, it’s nice to know he can count on Spock to be there with him, occasionally reminding him of the illogic of having both the captain and first officer on the away team, but never forcing him to stay behind, as Jim might have assumed he would early on in their partnership. And yes, there are times when Jim experiences first hand how stupid it is to have them both away from the ship: when they’re locked away and Jim is bleeding from the chest and all he can think of is that he hopes Spock makes it back to the Enterprise, because she needs him to be captain.
They always make it out, though, so Jim lets himself assume that Spock doesn’t fear death either, because he is always there, ready to jump as soon as Jim says it’s time.
But then Jim learns of the change in Spock’s relationship status. He learns that it was not the cleanest of breaks - which is why the one thing Jim does fear is love - and a horrible thought occurs to him. Perhaps it is not that Spock doesn't fear death. Perhaps it is that he welcomes it. Spock has lost so much in such a short amount of time and Jim does not pretend to relate, but he knows how he would feel in Spock’s place: like maybe there was nothing left to live for. Jim, of course, has the Enterprise, but he can’t assume that she means the same to Spock.
He debates bringing it up because 1: it could get awkward, or worse, emotional, and 2: he doesn’t really know how, but the longer he watches Spock, the more he worries. He starts behaving more cautiously - more like the captain Starfleet regulations expect - with the hopes that Spock will cool down too. It seems to work, at least for a little while.
But then Spock takes a poisonous barb to the chest in his place, literally pushing Jim out of the way to receive the venom himself, and Jim decides that he has to say something.
The medical bay is quiet when Jim's shift is finished. For once, there is only one patient, and Jim is glad. He wants to get this over with and a lack of an audience means they can talk here.
Spock’s eyes are closed, but Bones had assured Jim that he was awake, so he takes a seat and waits. Eventually, the half-Vulcan’s eyes open and focus on him neutrally. Jim wants to smile and ask his first officer how he is, but he keeps his expression as blank as Spock’s.
“We need to talk about today.”
Spock nods minutely. “If you will retrieve a PADD for me, I will finish my portion of the mission report now.”
“No,” Jim shakes his head, wondering if Spock really has no idea what this conversation is going to be about. “We need to talk about your sudden propensity for self-sacrifice and how that’s been affecting your performance on away missions.”
One of Spock’s eyebrows rises slightly in genuine surprise and Jim realizes that this will be more difficult than he had hoped.
“Spock,” he starts again, more gently, before Spock can respond, “I’m worried about you. I’m worried that you may have it in your head that you don’t have anything to live for, and that that perception has been directly related to some of your recent actions on away missions. I’m worried that you’re trying to get yourself killed.”
Spock stares at him for several long moments, but it is not a stare of a half-Vulcan trying to formulate a fabricated response. Instead, it is most definitely Spock’s ‘You are being highly illogical’ stare. Jim forces himself not to fidget under it.
“Jim,” Spock begins and Jim immediately knows he’s made some sort of logic faux pas. “Your conjecture is not only inaccurate, but is also desperately lacking in insight.”
“What?” Jim demands, “How much more insightful can you get?”
Spock ignores him. “I have much to live for. If it has appeared to you that my behavior during away missions is in any way reckless, I suggest that you consider your own actions first and the fact that anything I have done in the past has been to first and foremost ensure your safety.”
Now it is Jim’s turn to stare. He doesn’t know if Spock can get a read on his thoughts based on facial expression, but he probably can, so he probably knows that Jim is feeling the unfamiliar burn of flustered embarrassment. He can feel the heat creeping across his cheekbones as one thought runs through his mind on repeat: Spock doesn’t not fear his own death - he follows Jim around because he fears his captain’s death. Though he would of course deny such a Human emotion as fear, Jim can see it clearly now. It shows in the things he says and does when Jim’s hurt: in the way he calls him by his name softly, and presses his hands a little too hard to Jim’s bleeding wounds. It shows in the way he’s always ready to go even when Jim’s plans are half-formed and ill-explained. It shows now in the way Spock has become Jim’s shadow on away missions, and sometimes even during the times in between, too.
“Oh,” is all he can think to say. Spock, he can tell, wants to roll his eyes.
“I will admit that I am concerned over your conclusions. Why is it that you imagine me so swayed by the emotion of loss when its emotional opposite is considered, by your species, so much more powerful?”
“Well…” Jim hedges, still flustered, “you’re always going on about how I can’t keep analyzing other species’ actions and reactions within a Human paradigm, so…”
It’s total bullshit and Spock seems to know. “I see.”
“So… you’re not trying to get yourself killed?” Jim asks after a significant amount of awkward silence.
“Correct.”
“Awesome. Good talk.” He moves to stand, but ends up perched at the end of the chair, ready to leave but unable to.
“Indeed?” Spock teases.
“Yes. A bad talk probably would have ended with mandatory psychiatric sessions and an exceptional amount of time confined to quarters or sickbay.”
“I see.” Spock says, like he does now when Jim is being obvious or an idiot. He parts his lips like he is about to speak, but nothing comes out for several beats.
“What?” Jim prompts, still positioned to leave, and still staying.
“Does this mean you have realized that the reckless behavior is actually your own and will begin to act within regulations concerning away missions?”
Jim laughs because Spock should know better. He probably does.
“Yeah right. Why would I want to change anything when we have such a good thing going?
Spock looks at him and Jim knows the ‘you are insane’ look when he sees it.
“Jim, either you or I or both of us must be attended to medically after almost every away mission. Is this something you enjoy?”
“No,“ Jim assures him quickly, horrified momentarily that Spock would think he doesn’t care about his first officer’s well-being. “But you yourself told me that away mission casualty rates decrease by 60% when one of us is in the away team, and 80% when both of us are there. Those aren’t statistics I can just ignore.”
After a pause, Jim asks, “Would you really expect anything else from me?”
Now it is Spock’s turn to answer quickly, “No, Jim.” He pauses, and then says, “I understand,” and Jim knows that he does.
There’s something warm and tight in Jim’s chest, so he stands at last.
“Good,” he says, smiling, “It’s settled then: we’ll keep the crew alive, Bones will patch us up, you’ll keep Starfleet off my back and I’ll stop accusing you of ridiculous things like an unhealthy intent to die.”
Spock’s eyes do that funny thing that Jim thinks might be a smile on anyone else.
“Very well,” he agrees. Jim wants to offer his hand to shake and seal the deal, but settles for gripping Spock’s blanket-covered ankle instead.
“See you tomorrow.” Spock nods.
“Good night, Jim.”
Jim smiles and glances over his shoulder. “Good night, Spock.”
Rating: G
Pairing: K/S pre-slash
Jim Kirk has never feared death. His mother believes it's because he was born within the midst of it, but regardless of anyone else’s opinions, it's not something that Jim worries about in the least. It means he has the ability and willingness to jump into the fray head-first while other people waste time saying goodbye or making plans in case of a failure to survive. Jim doesn’t necessarily commend himself for his lack of regard for his own mortality, and it doesn’t stem from an illusion of immortality. It simply is what it is: something that makes others worry needlessly once they catch on to what’s going on in Jim’s mind.
Fortunately, the only person on the Enterprise who knows him well enough to worry is Bones, but he worries about everyone, and he knows how much this captaincy means to Jim. No point in reporting reckless behavior and get command involved when he can just keep an eye on Jim himself.
So when, shortly after leaving port for a second - and much more ceremonious - time, Jim gains a partner in reckless behavior, he’s surprisingly pleased. Spock does not demand he wait to take a security team down to dangerous planets when crewmen are in peril; he simply steps up onto the transporter platform with Jim and hands his captain a phaser. And, if Jim is being honest, it’s nice to know he can count on Spock to be there with him, occasionally reminding him of the illogic of having both the captain and first officer on the away team, but never forcing him to stay behind, as Jim might have assumed he would early on in their partnership. And yes, there are times when Jim experiences first hand how stupid it is to have them both away from the ship: when they’re locked away and Jim is bleeding from the chest and all he can think of is that he hopes Spock makes it back to the Enterprise, because she needs him to be captain.
They always make it out, though, so Jim lets himself assume that Spock doesn’t fear death either, because he is always there, ready to jump as soon as Jim says it’s time.
But then Jim learns of the change in Spock’s relationship status. He learns that it was not the cleanest of breaks - which is why the one thing Jim does fear is love - and a horrible thought occurs to him. Perhaps it is not that Spock doesn't fear death. Perhaps it is that he welcomes it. Spock has lost so much in such a short amount of time and Jim does not pretend to relate, but he knows how he would feel in Spock’s place: like maybe there was nothing left to live for. Jim, of course, has the Enterprise, but he can’t assume that she means the same to Spock.
He debates bringing it up because 1: it could get awkward, or worse, emotional, and 2: he doesn’t really know how, but the longer he watches Spock, the more he worries. He starts behaving more cautiously - more like the captain Starfleet regulations expect - with the hopes that Spock will cool down too. It seems to work, at least for a little while.
But then Spock takes a poisonous barb to the chest in his place, literally pushing Jim out of the way to receive the venom himself, and Jim decides that he has to say something.
The medical bay is quiet when Jim's shift is finished. For once, there is only one patient, and Jim is glad. He wants to get this over with and a lack of an audience means they can talk here.
Spock’s eyes are closed, but Bones had assured Jim that he was awake, so he takes a seat and waits. Eventually, the half-Vulcan’s eyes open and focus on him neutrally. Jim wants to smile and ask his first officer how he is, but he keeps his expression as blank as Spock’s.
“We need to talk about today.”
Spock nods minutely. “If you will retrieve a PADD for me, I will finish my portion of the mission report now.”
“No,” Jim shakes his head, wondering if Spock really has no idea what this conversation is going to be about. “We need to talk about your sudden propensity for self-sacrifice and how that’s been affecting your performance on away missions.”
One of Spock’s eyebrows rises slightly in genuine surprise and Jim realizes that this will be more difficult than he had hoped.
“Spock,” he starts again, more gently, before Spock can respond, “I’m worried about you. I’m worried that you may have it in your head that you don’t have anything to live for, and that that perception has been directly related to some of your recent actions on away missions. I’m worried that you’re trying to get yourself killed.”
Spock stares at him for several long moments, but it is not a stare of a half-Vulcan trying to formulate a fabricated response. Instead, it is most definitely Spock’s ‘You are being highly illogical’ stare. Jim forces himself not to fidget under it.
“Jim,” Spock begins and Jim immediately knows he’s made some sort of logic faux pas. “Your conjecture is not only inaccurate, but is also desperately lacking in insight.”
“What?” Jim demands, “How much more insightful can you get?”
Spock ignores him. “I have much to live for. If it has appeared to you that my behavior during away missions is in any way reckless, I suggest that you consider your own actions first and the fact that anything I have done in the past has been to first and foremost ensure your safety.”
Now it is Jim’s turn to stare. He doesn’t know if Spock can get a read on his thoughts based on facial expression, but he probably can, so he probably knows that Jim is feeling the unfamiliar burn of flustered embarrassment. He can feel the heat creeping across his cheekbones as one thought runs through his mind on repeat: Spock doesn’t not fear his own death - he follows Jim around because he fears his captain’s death. Though he would of course deny such a Human emotion as fear, Jim can see it clearly now. It shows in the things he says and does when Jim’s hurt: in the way he calls him by his name softly, and presses his hands a little too hard to Jim’s bleeding wounds. It shows in the way he’s always ready to go even when Jim’s plans are half-formed and ill-explained. It shows now in the way Spock has become Jim’s shadow on away missions, and sometimes even during the times in between, too.
“Oh,” is all he can think to say. Spock, he can tell, wants to roll his eyes.
“I will admit that I am concerned over your conclusions. Why is it that you imagine me so swayed by the emotion of loss when its emotional opposite is considered, by your species, so much more powerful?”
“Well…” Jim hedges, still flustered, “you’re always going on about how I can’t keep analyzing other species’ actions and reactions within a Human paradigm, so…”
It’s total bullshit and Spock seems to know. “I see.”
“So… you’re not trying to get yourself killed?” Jim asks after a significant amount of awkward silence.
“Correct.”
“Awesome. Good talk.” He moves to stand, but ends up perched at the end of the chair, ready to leave but unable to.
“Indeed?” Spock teases.
“Yes. A bad talk probably would have ended with mandatory psychiatric sessions and an exceptional amount of time confined to quarters or sickbay.”
“I see.” Spock says, like he does now when Jim is being obvious or an idiot. He parts his lips like he is about to speak, but nothing comes out for several beats.
“What?” Jim prompts, still positioned to leave, and still staying.
“Does this mean you have realized that the reckless behavior is actually your own and will begin to act within regulations concerning away missions?”
Jim laughs because Spock should know better. He probably does.
“Yeah right. Why would I want to change anything when we have such a good thing going?
Spock looks at him and Jim knows the ‘you are insane’ look when he sees it.
“Jim, either you or I or both of us must be attended to medically after almost every away mission. Is this something you enjoy?”
“No,“ Jim assures him quickly, horrified momentarily that Spock would think he doesn’t care about his first officer’s well-being. “But you yourself told me that away mission casualty rates decrease by 60% when one of us is in the away team, and 80% when both of us are there. Those aren’t statistics I can just ignore.”
After a pause, Jim asks, “Would you really expect anything else from me?”
Now it is Spock’s turn to answer quickly, “No, Jim.” He pauses, and then says, “I understand,” and Jim knows that he does.
There’s something warm and tight in Jim’s chest, so he stands at last.
“Good,” he says, smiling, “It’s settled then: we’ll keep the crew alive, Bones will patch us up, you’ll keep Starfleet off my back and I’ll stop accusing you of ridiculous things like an unhealthy intent to die.”
Spock’s eyes do that funny thing that Jim thinks might be a smile on anyone else.
“Very well,” he agrees. Jim wants to offer his hand to shake and seal the deal, but settles for gripping Spock’s blanket-covered ankle instead.
“See you tomorrow.” Spock nods.
“Good night, Jim.”
Jim smiles and glances over his shoulder. “Good night, Spock.”