Notes: Another version of Declarations for VeeDub, who requested a version 'with Jim doing the declaring.' Can be read as a standalone. (Also, another quote that really does belong to me. No thefting please, kthnxbai.)

Five times Spock was made certain of how much Jim loved him.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009, and I make no profit from this work.

"He's never said he loves me, and I don't think he ever will, unless it's a deathbed situation. But I know, all the same. And I'd rather know, than get a phrase that is, in the end, just meaningless. I'd rather know."


The Captain's quarters had a personal replicator that could produce any of the meals that the replicators in the mess hall churned out, and usually of the same slightly substandard quality. Much as Spock thought of humans as too decadent, and prone to complain when there was little need for it, even his Vulcan preferences in food protested at the 'wet cardboard' (Jim's words, not his) that the replicators produced.

As such, he had largely ignored Jim's replicator, and so had not noticed the change in programming for some time.

Any that Jim was allergic to was, of course, not programmed into this replicator. The good doctor had made sure of it. But unless his demands upon Jim's diet were escalating, this new programming was not from Dr. McCoy, and Spock found himself intrigued.

"Jim," he questioned the next morning, as he watched Jim stumble blearily through his morning routine. "Have you changed the programming for your replicator?"

"Huh?" Jim asked eloquently.

"There has been a systematic replacement of several meals."

Jim paused for a moment before he seemed to catch on, and nodded. "Yeah. I did that a couple of weeks ago. You didn't notice?"

"Until 1930 hours, I had not," Spock admitted. "May I ask your reasoning?"

"On what?" Jim asked.

"You have eliminated meat products from your meals."

"Yeah," Jim shrugged, wriggling into his shirt and crossing the room to wrap his arms around Spock's waist. "You don't like the smell. So I'm not going to eat it any more. Easy."

The odd warmth in Spock's side was possibly something to be alarmed about, but he elected to disregard it in favour of returning Jim's embrace. Quite illogical (one should not ignore possible health risks) and yet...oddly satisfying.


The box on Jim's bed had Spock's name and rank written on it in Vulcan script, and Spock recalled Jim's vague warnings about a package arriving for him today. Spock suspected another one of Jim's fits of generosity - it seemed to be a human trait, to lavish material gifts upon one's significant other, and one that Jim gave into approximately every two point three months.

However, Spock's last gift had been less than three weeks ago, and so the prompt arrival of another was an oddity.

He deftly stripped the thin cardboard from the objects it held, throwing away the packaging before exploring the tissue-wrapped contents.

And paused when his hands encountered the familiar thick texture of a meditation mat.

He had begun meditating in Jim's quarters four months previously, alternating between his own quarters and Jim's floor. The advantage of Jim's quarters was that he could progress smoothly from meditation to sleep, and curl around Jim as the human preferred. It had also, Spock discovered, had the distinct advantage of prolonging the soothing effects of the meditation until well into the next day's work shift. Beneficial, then, to all parties involved.

Yet, Jim had seen fit to procure another mat.

He shook it out - it was a standard mat, available from any place with a substantial Vulcan population, and even most tourist destinations or areas of scientific interest. The weight was familiar in his hands, and he placed it almost reverently on the floor by the side of Jim's bed, to be used later.

The candles thumped against each other, and Spock paused.

Jim had also bought fresh candles.

That was quite unnecessary. Spock had a plentiful supply of candles. In any case, he did not use them every time he meditated - only for especially long sessions requiring much to process. He knew that Jim was aware of this.

The Vulcan script glimmered on the pale labels, and that odd warmth in his side alerted Spock to his internal emotions. If he had been human, he would quite possibly have smiled. Jim had gone to the lengths of procuring candles of the same scent.

When Jim returned to his quarters, two point four hours later, the room was dim and silent, and the air spiced with the light scent of Vulcan candles.


The tray landed squarely on top of Spock's precarious pile of datapadds, and he glanced up over the microscope to eye Jim warily.

"Brought you a snack," Jim said, eyeing the reams of lab notes with equal wariness. "How's it going?"

"Adequately," Spock said shortly. "Jim, it is..."

"Sulu's got the conn, nothing's happening, and you haven't eaten since 0600. Don't argue with me."

"It is uncanny how, at times, you come to resemble Dr. McCoy..."

"Don't even joke about that," Jim said, but he snickered anyway. "Come on, take ten minutes out to eat something. I know you. You've been all wound up about this thing for days - you won't stop for dinner unless I come down here and haul you out."

Spock opened his mouth to protest again, but was prevented from speaking when Jim simply came around the desk and kissed him soundly. As there was nobody else in the lab at this point, Spock elected not to prevent the contact, and relaxed into Jim's hold easily.

"Just a short break, then I'll leave you alone," Jim murmured against his lips, before breaking it off and retreating again, reaching out with two fingers over the table top.

Spock met them with his hands, in a carressing Vulcan kiss, and allowed a small portion of the smile he felt to show.

"So, come on. Tell me about your progress."

For twenty - not ten - minutes, they talked and kissed over the table top. A complete lapse in work ethic, to be sure, but not one that Spock could find himself regretting.


Sometimes, finding the balance between their species was harder than it seemed.

Jim was human, and a clingy one at that. He thrived on touch - Spock had rapidly found that physical contact eased many mental or emotional burdens that Jim carried, and that maintaining it was key to gaining an explanation as to his thoughts and moods. Touching Jim made him relax, made him amiable and, often, the positive mental feedback settled any stray concerns of Spock's as well.

But Spock, generally, did not appreciate touch. Humans had very untrained minds, and even if the mind in question was an affectionate and desired one, such as Jim's, the constant pressure of it upon Spock's mental shields could prove taxing after overexposure. Often, meditation was as much a chance to take brief relief from the pressure as it was a technique of calming.

Finding the balance had been...more challenging than Spock had expected.

It was Jim who found a way around the issue. Often, he desired physical contact, however innocent, after particularly trying shifts, and equally often, Spock found himself in dire need of meditation.

He had come out of one trance to find a weight at his back, and the silence of no touch.

Jim, it transpired, had stripped the sheets off the bed and wrapped himself around Spock, so that the Vulcan ended up sitting between Jim's legs and resting against his chest, but their entire bodies separated by the thin surface sheets from the bed. Spock had returned to consciousness both being touched, and not being touched at all.

It was a brilliantly simple plan.

Jim did not do it often, preferring to have his touch reciprocated, but on the occasions that he gave in to temptation, Spock would marvel at his care to avoid skin-to-skin contact, and his patient, contented waiting for Spock to have completed his necessary rituals before they moved to take care of Jim's needs. be the recipient of such care, and Spock came to recognise and cherish the weight at his back when he achieved the much-needed serenity.

If he smiled before turning to take Jim in his arms, the human would not see.


When Winona Kirk dies, several padds of photographs end up in Jim's possession. Spock already knew about their family history, and was unsurprised when the padds remained largely untouched. Occasionally, Jim would flick through a few files of photographs, usually from his very early childhood or his late adolescence, and extremely rarely at any point in-between.

One photograph, however, he showed to Spock - two young men on a skiing holidays, with traditionally odd-shaped tans on their faces.

"That's my brother Sam," Jim said, and that seemed to be his entire intention.

"I was unaware that you could ski," Spock said, not entirely interested in the brother that he had never met. Jim spoke of Sam little more than he spoke of his mother, and showed no inclination to get back in touch with him. Spock had decided that it was probably none of his business.

"Yeah," Jim shrugged. "Used to go with some Academy buddies as well."

Spock frowned. As far as he was aware - which was with ninety-nine percent accuracy - Jim had not skiied since attaining the Captaincy, and yet had been given numerous opportunities.

When he voiced that analysis, Jim snorted.

"Yeah," he said, "but I've got you now. You can't tolerate temperatures that low, so I don't go anymore."

"Jim, there is no need to cease an activity because I cannot..."

"Yes, there is," Jim said flatly, twisting in Spock's arms to look up at him seriously. "I'd just miss you all the time, and leave early, and there wouldn't be any point. I wouldn't enjoy myself. I never do when you're not around."

Spock was not aware of his facial expression changing, but it must have, because Jim's fierce look softened and he twisted further to press a kiss to Spock's jaw.

"Don't look so surprised," he murmured gently, pushing the padd away and turning over entirely to straddle Spock's lap and kiss him properly. "It wouldn't be right without you. And hey, maybe when they get those holodecks they're dreaming up to work, I can take you skiing where it isn't cold."

"I still think..."

"Yeah, well, I don't care," Jim said, kissing the protest short again. "I'm not taking you out in sub-zero temperatures without a damn good reasoning, and skiing isn't good enough."

As the kisses turned heated, and Jim's hands began to trail from Spock's face down to his chest and stomach, Spock got the distinct impression that lack of heat was not going to be a pressing issue for some time yet.