Mindful

There was never a moment of silence on the ship. It was constantly abuzz with mutterings from the crew members, the steady hum of the air circulation, the hollow clack of regulation boots as their owners strode down the sterile white corridors.

Which is what made this moment so special.

Alone in an observation gallery, closed for repair, Jim sat on the floor, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform where construction was halted. His bright golden shirt turned a deep mustard color in the darkness, lit only by distant unnamed stars.

His arms began to grow weak from having propped up his body so long. His hands ached, his wrists burned, his whole body hurt - but not as much as his mind.

When he first heard footsteps he felt tempted to turn around, but he didn't need to look to know who it was. Two shiny black boots came to a neat stop next to his right hand. "Spock," he said, still staring out the reinforced observation window.

The Vulcan looked down at his captain, who stared off into deep space. Jim finally cocked his head up and gave Spock his most convincing smile; but he knew it wasn't working.

Spock looked at the ground for a moment, as if considering whether its level of cleanliness was acceptable to make contact with his jet black uniform pants. Then the moment passed, and he neatly brought his lithe muscular body down to sit next to Jim.

"Why are you here captain?" Spock gently probed.

The weight of the question hung in the silence between them. Jim knew that Spock wasn't really asking what he was asking.

"I'm okay, if that's what you are worried about," Jim said, face still fixed on the nearest star.

"It is moments like this when I wish that humans could not lie," Spock said. The rare personal admission caught Jim off guard, his blue eyes turning to meet Spock's.

"You think I'm lying?"

"I think that you are neither lying nor telling the truth."

"So a half truth then?"

"Perhaps," Spock resigned.

Jim shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to yield the information that he knew his first officer sought. Spock just sat, stone still, perched in the same position on muscles that wouldn't grow tired for days. He took in the profile of his closest friend, outlined by stardust, focused on the spot that Jim was focused on only moments ago.

The silence between them was rarely uncomfortable, but tonight it sat on Jim's chest, it made it hard to breathe.

"What you experienced this week was undoubtedly traumatizing," Spock finally said.

But Jim didn't really have a response. Mainly because he was too traumatized to discuss it at the moment.

"Is this the part where you tell me I need to get a psych eval and spend the night in sick bay and send my official report to Starfleet as soon as possible?"

"That is not what I was going to say, but I cannot argue with the fact that you are more than overdue for a psych evaluation."

"Why Spock…" Jim twisted his body towards his friend, "was that a joke?" Jim beamed for the first time in three days. The whites of his teeth gathered up what little light was in the space and shone brightly beneath the taut pull of his bow-strung lips.

"All jokes aside captain…I am concerned for your well being."

"Way to kill the moment," Jim muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind," Jim chuckled.

"Look…Spock…so what?! So I basically got mind tortured by telepathic aliens…happens to every great captain right?"

Spock apparently didn't get the joke, a frown brewed beneath his impartial countenance.

"You were held and mentally tortured for three days."

"Thank you captain obvious…" Jim spat. "I don't need to talk about this."

"I think you do," Spock countered. "And if you are uncomfortable sharing the details of what transpired with me, I would advise you to seek the appropriate council."

Spock's eyes were nearly black in the darkness, and although his voice remained steady, Jim knew that disappointment lurked behind the corners of the words.

'Friends share things with each other' Jim once explained to Spock after being kept in the dark about his and Uhura's two month old break up.

And now, in this moment, Jim knew that by not confiding in Spock, he was showing a lack of trust, and therefore a lack of friendship.

He sighed into the large room. Just couldn't catch a break, could he?

"I don't know what you want me to say…" Jim conceded. "They got inside my head, they twisted my thoughts and played on my nightmares…they saw what I care about most and used it to torture me."

Spock's flawless visage began to crack. It groaned beneath the weight of the fury that someone would dare hurt his friend. But he kept his anger to a dull roar that vibrated between his ears and burned beneath his ribcage, trying to remain focused on Jim's words.

"It was so easy for them to find Starfleet's agenda for the fourth quadrant in my head…and once they did, they just kept at it anyway… they must really hate Starfleet for some reason."

Jim sat up, folding his legs indian style, wringing his hands together.

Spock waited for him in the silence, desiring that Jim to continue, and he did.

"My entire life I have made it a goal to never let fear control or consume me," he stopped, gulping. "But they took my greatest fears and played them out in my head for me to see," his brows furrowed, mind reaching back to things he'd rather leave untouched.

They made him face how much he feared Spock's death. They tugged at things from a past life, where he watched Spock die, his hand pressed up against the glass. And from there, once they realized the intensity of the emotion behind the event, they spawned a hundred new scenarios that played out in his head; that all ended with Spock dead.

Things like clutching Spock on the ground, green liquid pouring out of inch-deep gashes. His uniform soaked in the blood of his friend. Gently rocking back and forth, clutching to a dying being, mumbling "don't leave me, you can't leave me, don't do this." Even though it had already been done.

"Jim," the familiar voice called him back to reality. Even in the black room, Jim could see the concern rolling beneath Spock's angular features.

Kirk cleared his throat.

"They were just…scary scenarios…like bad dreams. They didn't actually physically hurt me."

"No, but they breached your mind."

"It's late Spock, can we talk about this later?"

"Only if by later, you do not mean avoiding the issue now to put it off entirely later." Jim huffed, that's exactly what he meant.

He stood to leave, and Spock stood also.

"Captain," Spock said, reaching for Jim's golden arm before he could disappear. "What is it that you so greatly fear? That you will not share with me."

The question gnawed at Kirk's resolve. He was exhausted and running out of ways to evade Spock's questioning.

"I don't have to share shit with you Spock. In case you forgot over the past three days, I'm the captain of this ship," he growled, yanking his arm away from a hand that wasn't even trying to restrain him.

A cacophony of emotions battled for dominance in his chest as he hurried out of the observation room. He didn't even know why he was angry…which only made him angrier.

For once, fear threatened to change the course of his actions, he had already let it alter his demeanor.

He had failed to keep pertinent Starfleet secrets by being absurdly susceptible to mental infiltration, he nearly got himself and two other crew members killed, and now he was pushing Spock away, probably hurting his feelings. Vulcans felt things just like humans…maybe even more intensely. Jim felt things he wish that he didn't. He was too attached to his crew and it would be used against him. A shot of fear jolted his stomach and disseminated throughout his body.

He wasn't familiar with fear - not like this.

And as he strode down the halls, serving up automatic greetings to passing crew members, he realized that in this moment, what he feared most, was having to close his eyes and be greeted with the soul-wrenching scenarios that awaited him in slumber.