A/N: -clears throat- Well, now! After just recently discovering the wonderful fandom of Star Trek, I couldn't resist sitting down and playing with these characters... so yes, this is my first Star Trek 2009 fic. Sure hope I did the characters justice! I had a lot of fun writing it, and so I believe this will not be my last foray into Star Trek. To any of my regualr readers who may have stumbled here, and haven't watched the latest Star Trek film - I thoroughly recommend it! Just trust me ;) And to any new readers - HAI! -waves manically-

The title of this fic is taken from The National's song 'Think You Can Wait', as I first got inspired to write this fic upon hearing the song. It's not particularly relevant, but the melody and some of the lyrics just work. Youtube it! Anyway. Enjoy! :)

Think You Can Wait

I'm out of my mind
Think you can wait?
I'm way off the line
Think you can wait?

All in all, the mission could scarcely have been any worse.

They'd been taken by surprise, disadvantaged, right off the bat. It was meant to be a simple rescue of half a dozen scientists stranded in the Fervula Jungle, so Jim had just sent down a regular landing party, with instructions to secure the site and contact Scotty when they were ready to beam back aboard the Enterprise.

Ironic, really. Turned out to be an ambush.

A damned skilfully planned ambush, at that. Jim had yelled at the rescue crew to just run before scrambling together weapons and security in order to beam down himself. Spock, naturally, had stubbornly ignored Jim's order to stay on the Bridge, and beamed down with Jim and the security guards.

It was... chaos, to say the least. The trees, the green, blurring with bright phaser sparks, with smoke... with screams, with groans, with pain. Jim was sprinting, his rescue crew needed backup, damn it, and they needed it now – but the jungle was so dense, he couldn't help stumbling every few metres, slowing him down.

And in the end, it mattered. Jim was still sprinting when his foot connected with something very solid, and he would have been sent flying had it not been for Spock's lightning reaction to catch him, to steady him.

He'd tripped over one of his crewmen.

His now dead crewman.

Jim couldn't do anything more than stare for a second, before he forced himself to raise his head and face the scene laid out in front of them. They'd reached a clearing, and oddly, the first thing that stood out was the stark contrast between the green jungle and the red blood painted everywhere. Then, his brain helpfully noted that whoever had ambushed his men had fled. Why? God. Why had they been ambushed in the first place? Jim had no freaking idea.

"Kirk to Enterprise," Jim had intoned in his best 'Captain' voice into his automatically raised wrist – although, something told him he was sounding particularly robotic. "Prepare to beam up both rescue and security parties."

"Aye, Captain."

Scotty's voice had crackled through the silent clearing, and Jim couldn't look away from the mangled mess. Jumped when something touched his frozen, outstretched wrist.


Jim had slowly blinked up at Spock, who had circled to stand in front of Jim, blocking out his view of some of the clearing. Spock was still holding onto his arm, lowering it gently as if unwilling to make any sudden movements. It had helped to snap Jim back into his role, his duty as Captain, and he pushed a hand through his hair, letting out a tired breath.

Bones was waiting, when Scotty beamed them back, hurrying over to them all – and then cursing under his breath when he realised.

There were no patients.

Well. Jim's head hurt where he vaguely remembered bashing it against a branch while running, but he suspected that it would hurt regardless. Barely sparing a glance for either Bones or Spock – both of whom were watching him cautiously – Jim had swept out of the transporter room.

That was yesterday. Since then – continual work. Why the hell had his crewmen been ambushed and killed, why had they been lured there – were there even any 'stranded scientists'? The hours became obscured, until finally, they were on a set course to tehe nearest base for further investigation.

Which brought him to his current catatonic state, sprawled over his desk in his private quarters. He didn't know the exact time, but Jim would hazard a guess that it was past midnight, at least.


A hand? There was a hand, moving, directly in front of Jim's face. A hand. And... those fingers. He'd know those fingers anywhere...


Jim whirled around in a half-panic, his chair spinning so fast that he made himself jump. His knees jolted against Spock's legs, and Jim clutched at the chair's armrests. Spock's eyes widened near imperceptibly, and his extended hand twitched as if he wanted to rest it on Jim's shoulder. But he swiftly tucked it behind his back, as if his hesitation had never been there in the first place.

"What are you –"

"Forgive me for entering without permission, Captain, but you did not respond to the buzzer."

Huh. Buzzer. Jim hadn't heard anything.

"Uh, sorry, must have spaced out for a minute there."

"Indeed. During the entire 12.6 seconds that I have just spent standing next to you, you did not blink once."

Jim blinked now, staring up at Spock with a fuzzy and delayed sense of incredulity.

"Oh. Right. Well. Sorry."

Jim shoved a hand through his hair and sighed, trying to hide the sudden urge to slump back onto his desk. Who knew that sitting up straight could require so much effort?

"Captain, are you well?"

Spock's eyes were somehow more intent now, fixed upon Jim's own eyes unwaveringly. Far, far too much effort. Jim repressed a small shiver and averted his gaze to his desk. He waved a hand in Spock's vague direction.

"I'm just fine, Spock."

"Because I estimate that you have not received more than 5.7 hours of sleep over the past 48 hours," Spock continued in his even tone.

"Yeah, well we've kinda had our hands full lately, haven't we?" Jim couldn't stop himself snapping in reply, and ripped his eyes from his desk to focus once again on Spock. His gaze was just as steadfast.

"Nevertheless, Captain, I must insist that you rest. These reports can wait."

Jim firmly ignored the icy swirl in his gut and clenched his jaw. Usually, Spock's ability to speak with only the barest of intonations was pretty awe-inspiring, but right at this moment, Jim was battling irritation. How could Spock – pointy eared bastard – mention those reports without the slightest hint of remorse, regret? Reports about their now dead crewmen?


"Look, Spock, I don't need you telling me what to do, I'm not putting these off."

"It will make little difference if you complete them tomorrow –"

"I said, I'm not leaving them!"

Spock hesitated for just a moment, while Jim closed his eyes briefly against a cringe at the double meaning.

"Then I ask that you allow me to assist you in completing them, so that they will be finished much sooner and –"

"Spock! I don't need your help!"

Jim flinched at the volume of his own voice, and even the slow blink that Spock gave could be counted as a reaction (of sorts). He dug his nails into the palm of his hand and glared up at Spock defiantly.

Neither spoke. Spock was still standing there, looming over Jim. He felt even smaller than he did already. All too quickly, that cold, sick feeling in Jim's gut was joined by a hot splash of guilt at having yelled at his First Officer. He'd been trying so hard to keep his temper, keep his cool – the crew wouldn't benefit by having a wild, uncontrollable captain. But... it was all just getting too hard. Too hard to keep it up, to keep the mask covering the pain and the anger and the guilt and the grief, and the fatigue, god. So. Tired.

Jim looked away first, blinking measuredly.

"I... damn it, I... I'm sorry, Spock. Please, just ignore me, really. Don't pay any attention to what I say. Really nothing worth listening to."

Spock shifted slightly in the corner of his eye.


It was this – this one word, still so restrained and Vulcan, and yet, with so much hidden emotion rolled into it, the tone softer and gentler than Jim had ever heard Spock – this that made Jim's eyes snap back to Spock's.

Burning. Burning black. But not anger? No. Not anger. Spock was... whatever that was, swirling around in Spock's dark eyes... Jim really did shiver this time, and Spock noticed, of course he did. His eyes tightened slightly.

"To the contrary, I can remonstrate several points in evidence that what you say is highly important and 'worth listening to'."

Jim swallowed with difficulty, unable to rip his eyes away – did he even want to? Oh, hell. This was worse than he'd thought.

"I... I just really need to finish these reports, okay?"

His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew Spock would hear him easily. A distant reprimand inside his mind injected a tiny sliver of disgust into Jim, disgust at how weak and pathetic he must sound – but Jim honestly couldn't bring himself to do much about that. A lost cause.

"You do not need to do so alone, Jim."

Spock's deep voice curled around his name, so much richer than 'Captain'. Jim blinked, finally, and belatedly realised he should have blinked earlier – what else could explain the sudden burn in his eyes?

But – no. No. Spock was wrong, for once. He did have to do this alone – he was the Captain, for God's sake! It came down to him. He was responsible – no one else should have to write a report about how unprepared they had been, how he'd ordered his men to go, how Jim had sprinted as fast as he could, how it was too late, always too late, he was just too damn slow –

He should have saved them. Captain's duty. But, he hadn't, and so – so Jim had to write these bloody reports.

"I should have –" he heard himself saying, but that voice – his voice – didn't sound like him at all. "They shouldn't have – I, I didn't mean to..."

Jim blinked again, and again, and that burning wasn't going away. He bit his lip forcefully to stop that rambling – that was not how a Starfleet Captain behaved. Spock's eyes took on a different shine.

"Jim? Jim."

But Jim couldn't reply, couldn't speak – not unless he wanted to continue blurting out stupid, stupid things.

"I – I can't –"

God, shut up! Jim's teeth dug deeper into his lip, because apparently he wasn't trying hard enough. Instead, he pushed his head down to stare at his hands. They were trembling, but he couldn't entirely control that either.

And then, there was a bright heat spreading from his chin – what? Jim blinked to focus his blurry vision, and found himself looking straight into Spock's face. He had moved to crouch directly in front of Jim, so that they were level with each other. And that warmth on his chin – that was Spock's fingers, lightly tilting Jim's face upwards, handling him with an extreme gentleness.

"Jim, it is illogical to blame yourself for a situation that was out of your control."

Jim wondered, distractedly, for a moment – had he ever heard a Vulcan whisper before? Well, it seemed like Spock was pretty near to it. Jim swallowed heavily, the movement jolting Spock's fingers ever-so-slightly. He didn't remove them, though, and the warmth was starting to heat Jim's whole face. The burning in his eyes got worse.

"Please, do not burden yourself with this."

Spock's eyes – god, his eyes, they were so close, absorbing every drop of Jim's vision, never blinking, staring right into Jim, into his very core –

– but Spock really shouldn't do that, because he wouldn't like what he found. Spock was so good, and Jim... Jim had just lost his crewmen. He couldn't taint Spock with that. It was his mistake, his failure. He really couldn't share it.

He shouldn't.

A sudden, sharp pain jolted him from his thoughts somewhat – ow. He'd bitten right into his lip. Ow. He liked his lips, damn it... Jim swiped his tongue over it, fought a wince at the taste of blood. He prepared to meet the tell-tale sign of disapproval in Spock's eyes, but... wait.

Spock wasn't looking at his eyes anymore.

Instead, Spock was focused on his lips, the bottom one, the bleeding one. There was a strange distant look to his irises... and his pupils seemed blacker than usual. Before Jim could even begin to open his mouth to say (say what, exactly?) –

"You are hurt."

His tone was a touch strangled, but then Spock's gaze flicked back to Jim's eyes, focused once more, and leaving Jim wondering if he'd imagined it.

"It's nothing, Spock." Jim gave a humourless snort.

"You are bleeding, and you are hurt."

Jim sighed.

"Just forget about it, alright?"

"Captain, it is impossible for me to erase –"

Back to Captain, then? Jim gritted his teeth against another push of fatigue.

"Yeah, yeah, alright, I know – it was just an expression."

A tense silence followed. Spock, amazingly, seemed just as uncertain about what to say as Jim was. What could be said, though, really? Honestly? Spock's eyes snapped back down to Jim's lip, for the barest of seconds, before he abruptly removed his fingers from Jim's chin. The warmth that Spock took away seemed to be drawn out from Jim's very soul – all that was left was the ice that trailed through his blood. It was just too much. Jim's eyes slipped shut on their own accord.

Which mean that Jim had zero warning for what came next.

Jim found himself suddenly being jerked forwards from his chair, losing his balance, half raising his arms in reaction. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him, and pulled him flush against a hot body. Spock's fingers gripped his shirt, but not too hard, burning small patches through the fabric.

Holy fuck. This was so insanely weird.

And... so completely perfect.

Their bodies fitted against each other neatly, folding together, kneeling on the ground. Jim managed to curl his arms around Spock's waist, and pressed his palms firmly on his back. As for his chin, Spock's shoulder seemed the ideal height – and hell, what did he have to lose? Their cheeks brushed as he let his head drop, being shocked with a brief electric charge.

So warm, so hot... Jim's eyes were burning even more now. He squeezed them shut as a shudder ripped through his flesh, and absently registered Spock tightening his hold on him, so tight, it was getting hard to breathe, not enough air –

Oh... Jesus. A Captain wasn't meant to fall apart like this. Spock should be telling him to get a hold of himself, to man up, to... but he wasn't, why not? Surely Spock couldn't approve of such a display of emotion – an embarrassing display at that.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Spock," Jim forced out, the words coming out like gasps as he struggled to breathe normally. He could feel his puffs of air touching Spock's neck, his cheek brushing Spock's jaw-line with every breath.

It didn't make any sense, but... although Spock was holding him so tightly, Jim felt like it was because of his embrace that he was able to breathe at all.

"There is no need to apologise, Jim."

Jim felt rather than heard the gentle rumbling voice next to his ear. In fact... had Spock's lips just accidentally touched his ear? God, how was Spock even tolerating this much contact? Never, never in all the time Jim had known Spock had he seen him so willing to endure so much touch. So. Much.

...so, Jim should really push Spock away, right now.

Any second now.


But Spock's hold was so strong, he probably wouldn't have stood a chance even if he did try. One of Spock's hands had crept up to lightly cradle Jim's neck, his fingers carefully caressing the tiniest amount of Jim's hair. It was all so measured. Jim's lips – could he still taste blood, or was that just the taste of giving up everything? – bumped against Spock's shoulder, the fabric of the shirt not enough to trap the heat radiating from Spock's body –

There was a quick rush of something, some feeling, through Jim, and Spock's fingers clenched noticeably for a moment. Jim's breath hitched, and his eyes flew open – what? Next moment, it had passed, and Spock's fingers relaxed again. What the hell was that? It had definitely been Spock, that warm fire... but it was different, somehow...

Before Jim even had the chance to say anything, however, Spock deliberately slid the hand that had been at Jim's neck upwards into Jim's hair, slowly letting his locks run through his fingers. He couldn't help but let out a sigh at that, and felt his body involuntarily sink into Spock – like he'd lost feeling in his flesh, like his bones had been turned to liquid.

And this thing, whatever Spock was doing... it was a sort of calm, spreading steadily through his entire being. Tingled through his arms, in his chest. He realised that he'd been trembling, but now his limbs slackened – if Spock hadn't been holding him, Jim wasn't completely sure that he wouldn't be lying on the ground right now.

"Spock? What are – what'a'ya doin'..." Whoa, slurring? Damn. James T. Kirk didn't even slur when he was drunk – well, not really. Not often. That time on Tebras VI totally didn't count – how was he to know that stuff had been 80% alcohol?

"Shhhh, Jim. Do not try to speak."

Had he just been shushed? By Spock?

Clearly, there was something wrong with the universe today.

"Why not?" Jim mumbled into Spock's skin, barely able to hold his head up properly – he may or may not have nose dived into the warm gap between Spock's neck and shoulder. And he most definitely did not nuzzle closer.

"I am attempting an emotional transference, a projection of calm. I believe you may benefit from it."

"Mmmm..." Jim lost track of his thoughts for a moment as it all started to feel a little overpowering, overwhelming. This feeling – this loss of control – it was wrong. He was the Captain, he was in control of the whole Enterprise... god, what was he doing, allowing this? He couldn't, shouldn't –


If Jim had thought about it, he might have said that Spock's voice was a tad alarmed. As it was, Jim was having a little trouble breathing again, his mind thumping frantically, scrambling, trying to regain control of himself, his emotions – he couldn't let Spock, he couldn't –

"Captain, your heart rate is above normal –"

Before he could blink, Jim was being wrenched away from Spock, Spock's hands still firmly holding his shoulders, so that Spock could see Jim's face. Jim gritted his teeth and fiercely tried to even out his breathing.

"Too much," he choked out, unwillingly shuddering with the effort. There was silence for a long moment, silence save Jim's harsh gasps. Thankfully, though, he was able to reign in some control.

"I apologise, Jim." Spock's eyes were turned upon the floor, and his mouth was set more stiffly than normal. "I was wrong to perform such an action – I did not consider the consequences sufficiently."

Jim blinked, mouth dropping open slightly at the half-Vulcan who refused to meet his gaze.

"Spock – what? Don't be stupid. You were doing fine – it was good, felt good, until I – it was my fault, I just freaked out a bit –"

"Humans do not possess the ideal temperament to experience such intense mind transference. I should not have attempted it."


Jim was almost shocked that Spock's head snapped up straight away – he must have gathered his 'Captain' voice back after all.

"I..." Jim swallowed against his suddenly hoarse throat. "You did nothing wrong, Spock. I... needed it. Need it. Because... well, there's no way in hell that I'll be able to feel that way on my own."

This time, it was Jim who avoided Spock's eyes, letting his gaze drift instead to Spock's chest, which just happened to be in his eye-line, of course. Spock didn't reply, but simply lifted one hand, and slowly dragged his thumb across Jim's cheekbones – wiping away tears. Bloody great – Jim thought he'd been able to prevent that from happening. Just what he wanted his First Officer to see.

"I..." Spock hesitated – and this in itself was weird enough to make Jim meet Spock's eyes again. They were half distant again, but at the same time, he appeared to be studying Jim as if it were the first time he'd ever seen him. It was... a bit unnerving, and a lot confusing.

"I could try to assist you once more, if you would allow it." Spock's fingers twitched on Jim's shoulders. "But this time, I would not transfer a mental state so directly."

Jim shrugged easily, muscles tensing beneath Spock's hands.

"Sure, whatever you want. I trust you."

There was the briefest tug at the corner of Spock's lips – hang on, was that a smile? A smile, from Spock? The insanity of it all. Jim's marvel was soon replaced with indignation, however, when Spock scooped Jim up into his arms and seemed to fly onto Jim's bed. They landed with a soft 'thump!' on the mattress, Spock holding himself on all fours above Jim.

Jim blinked up at Spock with wide eyes. And stared.

"Uh... Spock?" Huh. His voice was a little deeper than usual. "What...?"

"I suggest that you refrain from talking, Captain."

Back to the 'Captain' again, but this time, Spock's tone was warm, gentle... was Spock teasing Jim? Ohh, there would be hell to pay for this.

"And why would I do that, Spock?" Jim resisted the urge to poke out his tongue, settling for rolling his eyes instead. Turns out, he really should have stuck his tongue out – Jim could have used all the ammunition he could get for what Spock had planned.

Before he could really register anything beyond a dizzying blur above him, Spock had somehow ripped Jim's golden shirt up over his head and deftly unfastened his belt to tug his regulation black pants down past his knees.

Jim couldn't open his eyes any wider.


The half-Vulcan in question presented Jim with eyes that were rounder than normal, and much more innocent than was legal, Jim was certain.

"Yes, Captain?"

And Jim had to quickly grip the sheets beneath him as Spock pulled his pants off with a speed that nearly dislodged him entirely. Lying there, pinned down by his First Officer in a scarily exposed state of undress... Jim was almost too lost for words.


"If you wanted to see me in my underwear, you know, you could have just asked!" Jim made a valiant attempt to control bubble of inappropriate laughter, and to rebuild his sudden lack of dignity.

"I do not believe that would have had the exact same results as my present actions." Was Jim imagining the smug undercurrent to Spock's voice?

Apparently, though, Spock wasn't done with the surprises. One blink later, and Spock was throwing his own Starfleet uniform onto Jim's desk, mirroring Jim in wearing just boxers and a white singlet.


Hmmm. Jim liked himself better when he was making awkward attempts at tension-defusing jokes. Making incoherent noises just wasn't on. So, damn it, Jim waited for Spock to explain himself. Which he would do. Soon.

However, at that moment, Spock's body seemed to still, suspended over Jim's with barely a foot between them – and his knees were nestled on either side of Jim's thighs, skin meeting skin where his boxers cut off, the heat of Spock's flesh radiating straight into Jim's bloodstream –

And his eyes – they were fixed, unblinking, upon Jim's. It was all Jim could do to keep a hold of that gaze, even though Spock was pretty much undecipherable. He was just... staring. At Jim.


The word reverberated gently between them – perhaps they were so close that Spock felt the word on his face – and Spock's eyes softened in kind. He carefully raised one hand and traced Jim's jaw-line. Jim barely had time to shiver in response before he found himself tucked under the blankets on his bed, and – Jim surely must be hallucinating, god – swiftly joined by Spock.

"Errr –"

Spock murmured something, and the lights dimmed to around five percent. It was then that Jim realised that Spock, the sneaky bastard, must have switched off his computer at some point, because the main prick of light was now the shine of Spock's eyes – who happened to be staring at him. Again.

"Forgive me if this appears somewhat unconventional..." Pfft, Spock could not have sounded less apologetic! "...but you did give me permission. Captain."

Jim blinked slowly, and mentally groaned.

"Uh, yeah, and... tell me, Spock, what exactly have I given you permission to do, here?"

Spock's answering smirk – well, the smirk that wasn't on his face but was so in his eyes – was beyond frustrating and, Jim discovered with a jolt, attractive as hell. Damn Spock. Screwing with his brain. Ah. Unfortunate word choice, there...

A hand slid over Jim's hipbone and turned him onto his side, his body curling up slightly by reflex. Jim anticipated Spock's next move by a second, but it still wasn't preparation enough for the warm engulf, the perfect alignment, all of... Spock, there, beside Jim, slotting against Jim, anchoring him more powerfully than gravity.

"I believe amongst humans, this is referred to as 'cuddling', Jim."

A huff of laughter slipped from Jim's lips. Of all the things he'd ever heard Spock say, ever dreamed of hearing Spock say... his chuckle merged into a shiver as Spock's fingers tightened against Jim, trailed over his chest. Jim was aware of every point of contact through his singlet as if Spock were touching his bare skin.

"Is this... acceptable, Jim?"

The quiet words sunk into Jim's shoulder, sending a warm wave of air down his back. Jim smiled to himself and let his eyes close, and then realised that he was expected to answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely... more than acceptable."

The utter encapsulation of the warmth, the way Spock's body made every single neuron that Jim owned fire – and Spock's perfect, measured breathing – it was all coaxing Jim into an undeniably sleepy state. He was nearing the calm and relaxation that Spock had been transferring earlier, but without the panicked grasp for control. And, now, it felt like there was more touching.

Which, Jim was somewhat-but-not-altogether surprised to discover, was not at all displeasing.

Jim heard himself try to mumble something, but it really only just came out as a sigh. However, it seemed that Spock understood anyway – Spock's lips pressed against the nape of Jim's neck, and the universe was set right again.

"Good night, Jim."


Let me know what you thought of it! And whether I should explore this fandom more... ;)