Entering Orbit (Kirk/Spock AOS)

Epilogue

Spock opened the front door to the house and pushed it with his shoulder as he half carried, half dragged a semi-conscious Jim inside. It was well past midnight. They'd grabbed the last transport out of California. It had been impulsive, a desire to escape after Jim had been released from the hospital. No one could blame them for leaving after the stress of the past few weeks. Jim still couldn't think about Pike without crying and was himself a walking miracle. They would inform Starfleet and their friends of the sudden vacation in the morning. For now, it was just the two of them.

Jim smiled lazily as the familiar smell of home hit him, and he opened his eyes fully, gaze falling on the framed portrait of his family. He rubbed the side of his face as he stretched. He had fallen asleep on the transport from San Francisco and again during the taxi ride from Iowa City, his head on Spock's shoulder. Spock hadn't seemed to mind.

"I still can't believe you wanted to come back here," Jim said through a yawn, dropping his duffel bag in the hallway. Spock slipped off his own jacket and helped Jim out of his, hanging them both in the hall closet. "If I didn't know better," Jim said, "I'd think you were secretly romantic."

Spock was quiet as Jim led him up the staircase and into Jim's old room. Jim took sheets from the hall closet, and together they made up the bed. Spock allowed Jim to undress him; Jim removed his own clothes, and their bodies met as they lay back on the mattress and pulled the covers over their entangled legs.

Jim switched off the bedside lamp. Spock's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Jim across the pillow in the darkened room. Jim was just able to make out his features in the dim glow from the porch light.

"Spit it out," Jim said gently, stroking the side of Spock's face, smoothing a thumb over that crease as if to erase it. He had seen it too often lately.

"You do not understand what it was like, for me," Spock said slowly. He let out an unsteady breath and regarded Jim with wide, imploring eyes. Jim wrapped his arms around Spock and breathed in against his neck until Spock stopped shaking.

"Hey," Jim said, smoothing his hands over Spock's back. "It's okay."

"I could not touch you," Spock said, his voice breaking as he buried his face in Jim's shoulder. "I could not—"

"Spock, it's okay," Jim whispered, reaching a hand to cradle the back of Spock's head. "It's okay."

I'm alive, he continued in thought.

I am immeasurably grateful.

Their mouths met, chaste and soft.

Jim held up a hand, palm outward, facing Spock, whose eyes traced the outline of Jim's fingers. Spock understood his meaning, because his eyes shone. He raised a hand and pressed his palm against Jim's in return. Jim closed his eyes and focused on the reality of Spock's body against his, the coolness of Spock's hand, his own heart beating steadily in his ears. Spock was unshielded, and Jim felt waves of his anguish as he remembered their last moments. Jim opened his eyes to find Spock's squeezed closed.

"Hey," he said. "Look at me."

Slowly, Spock's eyes opened, pained. Jim stared into them and lightly stroked Spock's fingertips. Their hands entwined, the anguish ebbed, and Jim filled with a sense of peace.

"This is where I fell in love with you," Jim murmured.

"That is why," Spock whispered, "I wished to return."

Raising an eyebrow, Jim smirked. "I thought it was because you don't want to share me."

"That is true," Spock agreed. "I do not."

Laughing, Jim kissed him for long moments, until he could fight off exhaustion no longer. They closed their eyes, and through the hum of the bond, they reached for one another. Palms touching, they slept.