More than once Spock is pulled out of sleep or meditation by the sound of Kirk suffering through a nightmare in the cabin next to his.
At first, Spock does not recognize the sounds for what they are: low moaning, the rustle of sheets, a hissed intake of breath. He frowns at what he deduces to be amorous activity and turns to lie on his other side. The action does nothing to block the sounds from reaching him, but he finds he does not wish to face the wall. On the other side of it, Jim is touching someone, and that someone is not Spock.
Jim repeats his behavior the following night and the one after that. With each moan, Spock digs his hands into his bedsheets and clenches his jaw. He takes in a full breath and holds the air in his lungs until it is painful, until his face grows warm. This is not logical, he tells himself and exhales, gasping in another breath only to hold it too. He repeats this until he is exhausted, until he is able to close his eyes, and Jim is not moaning any longer.
On the sixth day, Jim appears tired at breakfast, poking at a bowl of oatmeal and blinking as if distracted.
"You are not receiving enough sleep," Spock tells him crisply. Jim mumbles something into his juice, and Spock asks him to repeat.
"I said it’s not a big deal," Jim replies without meeting Spock’s gaze. "Nothing coffee can’t fix."
Spock frowns. “Your productivity is reduced,” he says.
"What’re you gonna do," Jim challenges, looking up. His eyes are hard. "Report me?"
"Perhaps you should concentrate on overcoming your biological urge to procreate with as many individuals as possible.”
"As you are aware," Spock says dryly, "our cabins are adjacent."
He sighs and places his hands on the table in front of him. “They are divided by a thin partition, which is not soundproof. The sounds from your cabin are explicit.”
Jim narrows his eyes, and his frown matches Spock’s in intensity. “You think I’ve been up all night fucking someone?”
"Do you offer another explanation?"
Jim balls up his napkin and throws it onto his tray. “Commander,” he says curtly and exits the mess.
The knock on the door is quiet. Jim sets down his toothbrush and sighs, presses the button that lets the adjoining door open. Spock appears hesitant and doesn’t move from the door frame where he stands stiffly in blank pants and a nightshirt. The captain and commander spoke to one another as necessary on the bridge, but Jim and Spock haven’t talked since breakfast.
"Hey," Jim says quietly, ignoring the stutter of his heart.
"I wish to apologize," Spock offers. "I have spoken with Dr. McCoy. I understand that you are experiencing dreams which cause you emotional distress.”
Jim shrugs and shakes his head. "Don’t worry about it," he mumbles and fusses with his shirt. "I shouldn’t have snapped at you this morning."
"And I should not have made such an assumption without asking for clarification."
"The doctors told me I might have some trouble adjusting," Jim says after a long pause, looking away. "Bones has been trying different sleep aides, but they don’t always work. I wake myself up, a lot. That’s…I guess that’s what you heard."
Spock nods but doesn’t speak.
"It’s kind of funny you thought I was sleeping around," Jim says with a laugh. "Truth is, I haven’t had sex in months."
"I am glad," Spock answers.
Jim’s head jerks up. Spock looks so sincere, his face more open than Jim has seen since…well, since that day in Engineering. Did Spock just say—? God, maybe…maybe. Jim breathes in what feels like hope and nods to his cabin. There’s a smile on his face which probably gives all of this away, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
"Chess?" he asks shyly, and it’s not really what he’s asking, but Spock seems to understand. He nods.
