Weary, dejected and unable to think clearly, Jim let himself into his quarters.

For a long time, he simply stood in the middle, not doing anything but breathing and staring ahead.

His uniform shirt was torn and caked with blood. The pants were ripped at the knee. He needed a shower and sleep. Food. Shower, food, sleep.

But his stomach roiled and he couldn’t make his legs move.

When his door chimed, he didn’t remember responding, but the door opened anyway and in walked Spock.

Jim held up a shaking hand.

“Save it. I can’t hear I shoulda, coulda right now. And I sure as hell don’t want to hear what you would have done.”

Spock pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his head.

“That is not the purpose of my visit.”

Jim waited for him to state what the purpose was then.

But he didn’t immediately continue.

“I can’t hear a Spock lecture right now.”

Spok sighed then and came forward. His gaze lowered. “Were you injured?”

“No. It’s…you know. Their blood.”

Spock’s gaze softened as moved ever closer. His gingers curled under the hem of Jim’s shirt, and he lifted it up and over Jim’s head. Spock threw it toward the trash and of course he made it.

Next Spock removed Jim’s black undershirt and tossed that too, though it was not torn and Jim imagined it could be laundered.

“We will need to remove your boots.”

Jim just stared numbly at Spock.

So Spock lifted him in his arms and pulled off one and then the other boot. Took off Jim’s socks too.

And then before Jim could protest, and he wasn’t sure he would have anyway, Spock carried him into the bathroom.

His first officer turned on the water shower and then moved to finish undressing Jim.

“Get in,” Spock told him.

Naked, Jim complied, closing his eyes as the warm water cascaded down him.

He heard Spock leave.

He stayed in the shower too long, honestly. He did wash himself, he did not cry, but somehow the whole thing cleansed his soul.

Spock had left him pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he dressed in that and returned to his main cabin.

Spock was still there and he pointed to the table where Jim saw there sat a plate of fettuccini alfredo, one of his favorite indulgences. He almost cried then, but he simply walked over and sat down.

His first office sat beside him with a small salad. They ate in silence.

When he had eaten his fill, Jim looked at Spock. “Thanks. You know. For everything.”

“It is time for you to sleep now,” Spock replied.

“I should—”

“I will do the reports.”

“But surely Uhura will want—”

Spock sighed again. “We are not together.”

“Since when?”

“Since I got together with you.”

Jim laughed. “Okay.”

“I know you know this.”

“I just like to hear you say it again, I know.”

‘It is illogical.”

Jim smiled faintly and allowed Spock to lead him to the bed. “Are you coming?”

“After I finish the reports and meditate.”

Jim was too tired to argue, so he got into bed, waited for Spock’s kiss, and then closed his eyes.

Another Enterprise day.