Tired

He got a long look from both of them before he stalked off.

He was angry at himself and nursing a couple of broken ribs at the time, but he still should have paid more attention to it. The look they shot him, and the look they shot each other as he plastered a pleasant expression on his face, took that ass of an ambassador by the arm, and led her along after the chancellor himself.

It was a hell of a gracious gesture, considering how badly she'd aggravated the situation. He wasn't entirely sure the Capellans would have even re-entered talks if he hadn't given them such a blatant sign of Federation solidarity.

The Capellan people suffered from a surprising sense of entitlement that had irritated his CMO right off the bat. The ambassador tended to react to them even less favorably than Dr. McCoy did. Things had started out bad and gone downhill from there.

Plenty on his mind. He still should have known better. He endured the rest of the afternoon and collapsed in his suite sometime after local sundown. He was expecting Bones. He would have been ready if it had been Bones.

Spock saw through him immediately. He might've been able to keep his temper if it hadn't been so glaring. When Spock walked in he looked vaguely harassed, like he'd been forced to do a level one systems check with academy cadets, explaining every single step a hundred times. He looked up at his captain, mouth already open to speak-

He checked his stride. His eyes went soft, his body language immediately shifting. He abruptly had the look of a man proven wrong.

"Captain. Are you all right?" He approached cautiously, looking vaguely concerned. Kirk would have taken a deep breath to stem his sudden irritation but he couldn't guarantee his expression would stay steady with his ribs in their current state. The last thing he needed at that point was a couple hours in sickbay under his CMO's watchful eye.

"Yes, I'm fine." Kirk snapped off, turning away from his approach, rebuffing him with body language as well as words.

Spock paused, pressed his lips together.

"If you'll pardon me, sir, you seem..."

Tired, Kirk thought silently. I'm tired.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock, for your concern." Kirk interrupted. He looked his first officer dead in the eye and put all of their knowledge of each other into the flatness of his voice. "I can do without the sentimentality."

He winced inside a bit at hearing that come out of his mouth...he'd meant to say sentiment, he swore he had. Spock straightened like someone had yanked on his strings, some echo of past admonishments lending weight and mass to his captain's voice. Kirk had an instant's thought that perhaps that was the seed of some of Spock's respect for him; when Spock melted he really melted, it seemed like Kirk was always there to snap him back in line...

Some strange echo of Sarek trailed after his words and he flinched away from the implication.

Spock had gotten sharp, too damn sharp and it was his own fault- after so many years, he'd picked up some of Kirk's devious nature. Spock's lips parted, and he hesitated. Kirk could almost see the gears turning.

"Jim." He said then, gently.

Dammit.

"You are attempting to divert my attention." He continued, eying Kirk carefully. Probably making note of his posture, his coloring, the rate of his breathing...

Dammit, he couldn't DO this now.

"I am attempting-" His voice was nearly a shout, and he stopped, continued at a lower volume without sacrificing one iota of intensity. " I am attempting to keep my first officer's nose out of my private business."

Spock stared at him. Then, slowly...

"Dr. McCoy has concerns. Concerns that I share."

"If Dr. McCoy believes my behavior is adversely affecting the smooth running of my ship OR this mission, he can file a report or come to me directly, thank you for your time, Mr. Spock." He knew it would never happen. As far as anyone was concerned, he'd saved the mission and the ambassador nearly singlehandedly.

Spock knew that, but it didn't stop him. He paused, lifted his eyebrows, and regrouped.

"His concern is not for the ship, or the mission." He said quietly, the contrast in their tones of voice a kind of delicate blow to Kirk's spine. Spock glanced up under his eyebrows. "And neither is mine."

For Spock, that was quite an admission. Kirk's stomach sank a little. The air was suddenly thick with what Spock wasn't saying. He took a step toward Kirk, only one. Kirk wasn't entirely sure Spock was aware he'd done it. His body language shifted as he moved, until Kirk was sure a blind man could've seen Spock wanted to be touched. Some small gesture, some acknowledgment of the risk Spock was taking, leaving himself open. Kirk looked point blank into the gentleness seeping into his friend's eyes and felt a sudden black rage boil up. Now? He was doing this NOW?

"Getting a bit too close, aren't you, Spock?" Kirk said with starch. He was moving forward before the meaning of that had fully hit home. He stopped half an inch from Spock's nose. "Showing through?!" He growled.

A kind of sick suspicion flared in Spock's eyes. Kirk smiled a tight little smirk that had nothing to do with happiness.

"It's getting hard to ignore, Mr. Spock." He said, quietly, and stepped back.

Spock had gone white.

"I...I beg your pardon?"He said faintly.

"Your concern," Kirk said with delicate emphasis, "went beyond friendship a long time ago."

Spock jerked, just slightly. As if the words had actually struck him. His eyebrows went down in a sharp V. He shook his head.

"I...have not..." he protested weakly. He looked like he'd been shaken hard, right down to the roots.

"Haven't you?" Kirk said coldly. He watched whatever color that remained in Spock's face vanish. Shame tugged at his face so blatantly he might've held up a sign. Kirk struggled for a moment with the taste of bile in his mouth and forced the words out.

"Get out." He said sharply, sounding disgusted to his own ears. "Before it's too late."

Spock looked up at him with bleak recognition in his eyes.
"Yes, sir." He choked.

Kirk was ready. He was good to go. He glanced up, as his first officer left.

He glanced up.

On his way out, just for a moment, Spock rested his hand on the ledge by the door, where Kirk was currently keeping some horrendous gifts he'd been presented by the chancellor and his wife. Spock rested his hand there as he faltered, leaning his weight on it as if he couldn't possibly go on. Then he straightened, curled the offending hand into a fist, and moved to leave.

There was something so poignant in that small loss of control. Something hideous in the fragile stiffening of his posture. Bracing himself for the world. The world, Kirk abruptly realized, without Jim Kirk in it.

"Spock." He said and nearly twitched in surprise. He hadn't meant to speak. He really hadn't. Spock shuddered to a halt. Very stiff.

There was something wrong with Kirk's chest. He couldn't breathe properly.

"It's already too late, isn't it." He said quietly, his anger drained. Spock said nothing. Maybe a little shake of his head? Kirk took two long strides across his suite and caught his first officer by the arm, swinging him around.

For a moment Spock flared, jerking his arm; then froze, looking shocked with himself, composing his face savagely.

Kirk pressed his lips together. Too late. He bowed his head a moment. He had some time, some leeway. Some. He looked up. Spock was breathing unevenly. He would say something in a moment. In a moment the chance would be gone.

Jim Kirk sighed from the bottom of his weary soul, leaned in, and kissed his friend. He shoved his head up and pressed his mouth against Spock's with a savage simplicity.

Spock yielded to it, his lips parting, his body stumbling back against the closed doors. He made a soft little sound, swallowed by Kirk's lips. It said everything that needed to be said about longing and wanting and what was felt in the quiet darkness of the early morning hours. It raised gooseflesh all down the backs of Kirk's arms. He was doing this now. They were doing this now.