👀
He shifted his head, trying in vain to settle down, to feel comfortable enough to sleep, even a little. He had a long day tomorrow.
“Captain, is something wrong?”
“We’re going on two hours now, Spock. I think you can call me Jim.” His voice was muffled in the bedclothes. “And besides, you’re holding my hand.”
He wasn’t just holding his hand, Kirk realized. Spock's hand was resting atop his, fingers intertwined, pressing down lightly in the center of his chest.
“I will stop. The physical contact lessens the most troublesome symptoms, but if you are uncomfortable--”
“No, it’s…I’m just used to feeling a heartbeat under my hand when it’s resting on someone’s chest. That’s all.”
But the awareness of where his hand rested and the absence of any heartbeat kept waking him when he began to doze, knowing that there should be movement there, knowing its absence indicated death. He’d adjust.
He felt his hand being lifted in a gentle and slow movement, and pressed against Spock’s side.
“There,” he said softly. “Vulcan physiology differs from that of humans.”
Kirk sighed as he felt the strong pulse and then frowned and lifted his head. “Does it always beat that fast?”
“The rate is within the range of normal for a Vulcan.”
“You're Vulcan all over, aren't you?"
There was an awkward, weighty pause. "I suppose."
"What I mean is, you have the Vulcan physiology, a Vulcan metabolism. What did you get from your mother?”
“I do not understand the question.”
“You’re half-human, Spock."
"I am aware."
"So what is it specifically that’s human about you?”
A very personal and probing question but lying with his pulse under his fingertips, soft light surrounding their bed, it seemed less an intrusion than it might have at another time.
“I am told I have my mother’s eyes.”