Spoke awakens as he always does, which is to say, all at once. It takes him approximately .23 seconds to realize that he’s been startled out of sleep earlier than expected by a vibrating weight on his chest. There is moisture as well, he realizes, as he glances down at the cornfield blond head laying on his chest–trails of salty moisture trickling from his lover’s screwed tight eyes–and onto his bare chest.
Jim…Jim is weeping in his sleep again, for the fourth night this month. Spock suppresses a sigh, dragging his hands from where they lay on the bed to Jim’s back, coming to let them rest on his lover’s shoulder while he considers his options.
He could wake Jim, rouse him from his nightmare, but they are enjoying shore leave for the first time in months, and his Captain has been desperately exhausted and overworked, of late. He could allow the nightmare to play out its natural course, but the thought of letting Jim suffer sends a pang of something hot and painful shooting through the back of his mind.
He decides on a surface meld, smoothing his hands over Jim’s shoulders and rubbing some of the tension out of them as he prepares his mind to dive inward and siphon off the excess emotions pouring from Jim’s heated skin. Before he can get any further than that, Jim takes the choice from him, coming awake with a gasp and a shudder. He looks up at Spock, azure eyes meeting chocolate brown, just staring for a moment. The moment breaks when he yawns and his jaw cracks.
“Good morning, Jim.” Spock allows, just for a moment, for his utter affection and delight at this being to shine through his eyes. “Nightmares?”
“Nnngh.” Jim grimaces and rubs his face into Spock’s chest. “Yes”
“I see. Tarsus IV? Or the reactor core?”
Jim sighs. “The reactor core.”
Spock nods. “I had calculated the odds of it being one or the other to be 78.6482%.”
“That high? What’s the remainder?”
“Suplervious spontaneous amalgams of random stimulus picked up throughout the day.”
“So, stress dreams, basically.” Jim nods to himself and flops his head back down on Spock’s chest. He closes his eyes again, remaining still for a long moment as though willing himself back to sleep, before sighing again and beginning to fidget. “Might as well get up; don’t think I’ll be able to get back to sleep after that one.”
Spock quickly tightens his arms around Jim, and he stills. “Captain, if you would, I have an alternative suggestion.” He pauses until it becomes clear that Jim is listening. “Rather than beginning the day, I can instead guide you through a light meditation that may ease you back to sleep. It is still quite early for us by ship’s time.”
Jim thinks for a moment, snuggling back down into Spock’s arms, before nodding. “Okay, Spock, I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?”
The Vulcan resumes stroking his lover’s back, running his fingertips ever so lightly over the contours of his trapezius and supraspinatus muscles.
“Close your eyes. Picture our home as you see it in your mind’s eye. Our earth domicile–not our ship. Picture yourself walking through the entryway, and how the lighting falls on the floor, giving everything in the room an orange glow. Picture walking through our living room, and out to the gardens. Feel the stone tile beneath your feet, cool and smooth. Smell the favinit and the bluebells in the air. Feel the texture of the Ches'lintak’s leaves slide through your fingers, the warmth of the sun on your eyelids. Picture my hand on the small of your back. I am here with you. I am guiding you. I will keep you safe.”
He continues in this fashion for some time, describing soothing scenarios to Jim, and reassuring him of his continued support, love, and acceptance of the other man. Finally, Spock feels through touch the last bit of Jim’s conscious mind slip into a soothed rest. Only then does he allow himself to think the word he dares not yet speak aloud.
‘Rest, now, t'hy'la. I am here with you.’
(an amazing story written by @just-tea-thanks)
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