Jim's Personal Quarters

Pock was quiet for a moment.

Jim was on Tarsus. It explained many things about Jim's personality, about his stranger quirks, and yet it drove a blade of ice into her chest and strangled her from within. This Jim, her Jim, had seen the pains of war and hunger. She ached at the knowledge of what he had seen.

"Jim..." she whispered.

She pulled him close to her, enveloping him in a hug.

He buried his face in her neck again. Why wasn't she running away like a normal person would? Why wasn't she leaving him? He held onto her tightly, confused and scared. Shouldn't she be leaving him?

"I grieve with thee," she said softly. Pock held him close to her and pressed her cheek against the side of his head. She held him so tightly she felt like he would shatter right there in her arms, though she knew this was not actually something that might occur outside of an averse chemical phenomenon. "Jim, I am so sorry."

Jim bit his lip to keep the words from spilling out. He failed at that. "Why haven't you left yet?" he asked, his confusion and fear coloring his voice.

Crap. He hadn't meant to actually ask her that. Shit.

Pock pulled back, her arms still around him but her eyes now in front of him, making contact. They were confused and hard. "Why would I leave?" she asked genuinely. "You asked me to stay."

He gave her a confused look. "Because. Anyone in their right minds looks at Tarsus Survivors and runs away. Even the ones that weren't on the list that was scheduled to die like I was. I got those look when I was on the Potemkin, being transported back to Earth."

So why not you too?

Pock couldn't believe what she was hearing. The words that slipped from Jim's mouth made no sense to her as she stared at him, eyes wide and tinged with a heartbroken sadness.

"I am not looking at a Tarsus Survivor, Jim," she said, steel in her voice. "I am looking at you. Captain Jim Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, of whom I hold in the highest regard, who apparently went through a terrible hardship in his youth that understandably continues to disturb him on occasion. I think no less of the man before me for this, but more of him now that I know the things he has braved in order to become who he is."

Jim stared at her, awe and amazement clearly written in his eyes, if not his whole body. He didn't care that he probably looked ten sorts of fool doing so.

He pulled her back in for a hug, unable to speak the words of gratitude that were floating around in his head.

Jim pulled her back in for yet another embrace, and Pock reciprocated.

"Shhh," she said, pressing a light kiss to the side of his head. "I am sorry. All is well now."

He might have mumbled "Thank you," a few times, tightening his grip on her with each repetition. He eventually pulled back, cupped her face with his hands and pulled her in for another kiss.

This sealed it. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

This wonderful, beautiful woman whom he adored.

Pock kissed him back, happy that he was convinced. She hated that he had thought, even for a moment, that she would leave him over something like this. It only expanded the affection and regard she held for him to know just how strong he really was.

Jim pulled back, hands still framing her face. He brushed a piece of hair out of the way, to look into those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes he adored. "Thank you," he murmured, dropping another sweet kiss on her lips. He smiled at her. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone.

Pock smirked, her eyes warm.

"There is nothing to thank me for," she said softly. Her own hand raised up to drape itself over his. His skin was warm, and she could feel the relief as it reached out to her, enveloping her with its strength and intensity.

Jim realized then that the sling was hanging awkwardly around his neck. He dropped his forehead to hers, smiling softly. He dropped his hands from her face, and settled his arm back in the sling. "Yeah, there's a lot to thank you for." He used his good arm to pull her into a hug.

She chuckled.

"No," Pock said. "It is I who should be grateful to you. I thank you for trusting me enough to share this with me."

Jim smiled. He knew he should have told her long before. And he still had skeletons in his closet that he had to tell her. But right now, he wanted to do nothing more than to hold her and remind himself that she was alive.

Alive and not dead. And not staring at him with accusation in her eyes.

Pock buried her head into Jim's shoulder, placing light kisses against his neck. "If it suits you," she said into the bell curve of his clavicle, "we can lay down once more."

He failed at suppressing a shiver at the attention she paid to his neck. "Yeah. Yeah. Good plan," he murmured, laying back down. He trailed his fingers up and down her back, letting his fingers catch for a moment on her bra before moving on.

Pock lifted her eyebrow as his fingers caught her bra. She shivered slightly at it, but decided it was best to say nothing. Instead, she curled around him, draping her arm over his torso once more and laying down directly beside him. She gently placed a kiss just above his heart, then laid her head on the pillow.

Jim smile slightly. He shifted his injured arm to lace their fingers together again, squeezing. Affection for this woman curled around him bloomed in his heart. His good arm continued to trail his hand up and down her back.

"I am sorry for your hardships, Jim," Pock murmured, resting her head against his chest. She pressed a gentle kiss to the skin. Her words were honest. She could not fathom the weight of such a trauma, equal even to the loss of her home world, resting on the shoulders of such a young, impressionable, and good-natured soul. It was heartbreaking. "I truly am."

Jim continued trailing her hand up and down her back. "Thanks, kitten," he murmured, smiling at the top of her head. He was sincere in his words, still wondering what he'd done to deserve a woman such as this. He paused in his ministrations to press a kiss to the top of her head.

He resumed trailing a his fingers up and down her back, just thinking. He had never seen her with her hair down, and he wondered to himself what she would look like.

Pock remained in that position for some time, just letting herself bask in the feeling of Jim's movements. It was amazing to her that she had ever managed a fulfilling sleep without him there. Such a strong feeling for having only shared his bed two nights in a row.

"I still do not see the romantic connotations of your feline comparison," she muttered tiredly.

Jim let out a silent chuckle, one that shook his chest. He wasn't going to tell her his real reason for calling her kitten. With her ears and general facial features, she'd always reminded him of a cat that he'd had growing up. The cat had run the barn with an iron fist, and she'd always given Jim this look of pure disdain. Pock had given him that same look the first time they'd met when she'd brought him up on charges of academic dishonesty.

Eventually the cat had warmed up to him, as had Pock.

"It's just a nickname that some people give their romantic partners," he murmured, fingers catching on her bra again before continuing their path along her back.

Pock liked the way his chest felt under her as it shook with laughter.

She shivered again as his fingers brushed her undergarments. Again, she chose not to comment on it. It was best not to, she figured. He would be far more direct if he were trying to initiate anything. Jim Kirk, in all the time she had known him, was not known for his prodigal patience or subtlety.

"As you have said," she replied. "I am not arguing against it, but merely stating a lack of understanding at the phrase's origin."