Worn Thin, Held Fast

by Cadetmisty

Summary:

Months of buried exhaustion finally catch up to Jim during an away mission. Luckily Spock is there to catch him and refuses to let Jim push him away any longer.

Notes:

since I wrote this in 1 day, I will be making some small changes/edits for the next couple of days to solve any parts I feel are 'off' (so if you read this and then a paragraph changed, oops)

Jim rolled his shoulders back, the slight pop of tension at the base of his neck lost beneath the low hum of the transporter room. The away team was already assembled, standing at ease, their outlines blurred slightly in his tired vision. He moved toward the pad with the ease expected of him, no hesitation, no weakness.

But Spock always saw through him.

The Vulcan stood at the edge of the platform, one eyebrow lifted in that quietly damning way that Jim had come to know far too well. Jim felt the gentle pressure against the edges of his mind, a questioning brush of their bond, and he instinctively reinforced the careful mental shielding he'd been holding for days now. He couldn't let Spock feel the full extent of his exhaustion, not when he himself was barely willing to acknowledge it.

Spock's voice was low, even, but there was a thread of concern beneath.

“Captain,” he said quietly. “Are you certain you are fit to participate in this away mission?”

Jim huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “I’m fine, Spock.”

It was a lie, of course. And with the bond muffled and dim between them, he wondered if Spock knew it as clearly as Jim felt it. For a moment, Spock hesitated, his gaze sharpening, as if trying to read the truth through Jim's carefully constructed walls. 

But after some hesitation, Spock let it pass.

For now.

Jim stepped onto the transporter pad, feeling the hum of the machinery grow sharper around him, almost matching the tight coil of energy wound too tightly in his chest. He squared his shoulders, fixed his gaze on the far wall, and tried to pretend he wasn’t fraying at the seams.

He was the captain. He didn’t get to fall apart.

The beam-down hit with the usual disorienting jolt. Jim pulled in a breath of cool, thin air and surveyed the landscape: rough, uneven ground stretched out before them, a jagged sprawl of rocky outcroppings and brittle vegetation. Clouds pressed low against a washed-out sky, throwing the terrain into shifting patches of light and shadow.

He squared his shoulders again, forcing himself to ignore the heavy pull of fatigue weighing down his muscles. They had a job to do, survey the mineral deposits Starfleet Command had deemed of interest, and of course, Jim had volunteered to oversee it personally.

“Fan out. Standard formation,” he ordered, his voice sharp.

The team began making steady progress across the uneven terrain. Jim felt a dull throb behind his eyes, a headache threatening to creep in. He tried to shake it off, but the fatigue was there, gnawing at him. The lack of sleep and breakfast this morning was catching up with him, leaving his nerves raw and his patience thin.

He heard the soft beeping of a tricorder and glanced over at an ensign, who was crouched low, fiddling with the device.

“Ensign, what’s the reading?” Jim asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

The ensign hesitated, eyes flicking up to Jim. “It’s- uh, it’s a small deposit, sir, but it doesn’t seem to match the specifications we were given. I’m just-”

“Just what?” Jim interrupted, irritation flaring before he could stop it. 

The ensign stiffened, clearly taken aback by the sharp tone, “I was just calibrating my tricorder, sir” 

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. Jim could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air, his chest tightening as he saw the young officer’s face fall. He didn’t mean to snap. Not like that.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Sorry. I... I didn’t mean that.” The apology felt hollow even to him, but it was the best he could manage in that moment. “Carry on.”

The ensign nodded stiffly, quickly turning his attention back to the tricorder. Jim lingered for a moment, his mind already elsewhere, when he felt it, a shift in the air. Spock’s gaze was on him, steady and unwavering, like he was trying to figure out what had just happened.

Moments later, a bird-like creature burst from the rocks ahead, letting out a high-pitched shriek that sliced through the quiet like a blade. Jim flinched hard, his hand halfway to his phaser before his brain even caught up. It was instinct, a knee-jerk reaction to the unexpected noise, but it left him standing there for a second too long, breath coming harder than it should.

His pulse was racing, his body still on alert as adrenaline kicked in. He told himself to calm down, that it was just a creature, nothing to worry about. But his chest was tight, the fatigue and tension creeping back up like a wave he couldn’t hold back. Jim exhaled sharply, forcing his hand to drop from the phaser at his side.

The others had noticed, their eyes flicking between him and the creature that had now disappeared into the rocky outcrop. There was no mistaking the look they shared, silent, subtle, but there. 

Jim straightened, swallowing the knot in his throat, and tried to brush it off. 

“Alright, let’s keep moving,” Jim ordered, trying to inject some command back into his voice. But it sounded strained even to his own ears, a fragile thing that barely held its shape. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Spock.

They moved on, the rough ground beneath them proving more difficult to navigate as they pushed forward. Jim focused on each step, trying to will himself to concentrate, to ignore the persistent weight in his chest. But the silence that hung between the team, the way they kept casting glances at him, only made it harder to keep his mind from wandering.

He stepped carefully along the edge of a small drop, the rocky ledge uneven and treacherous. His eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead, but his thoughts were elsewhere, lost in the fog of exhaustion.

Then it happened, his boot caught on a jagged piece of stone, the heel catching just enough to throw him off balance. The earth shifted treacherously beneath him and for a moment, time seemed to slow, his arms flailing as he teetered on the edge.

He was undoubtedly going to fall.

A firm hand shot out and grabbed his arm, steadying him in an instant. His breath caught, sharp and shaky as the tension in his body unwound just a fraction.

Spock.

Jim grabbed onto him instinctively, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of Spock’s sleeve. For a breathless moment, they just stood there, locked together, Jim’s heartbeat pounding far too loud in his own ears. Spock’s grip was firm, anchoring, his other hand steadying Jim’s back without hesitation.

Neither of them moved.

Jim blinked up at him, feeling, absurdly, like the world had narrowed down to the warmth of Spock’s hands and the way the Vulcan’s eyes, calm and steady, searched his face for something Jim wasn’t sure he could give.

Slowly, Jim eased his grip, clearing his throat roughly as he stepped back. His cheeks burned with something dangerously close to shame.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice rougher than he intended.

Spock didn’t let go immediately. His fingers lingered on Jim’s arm a second longer than necessary, and Jim felt the subtle press of concern through their bond, clearer and deeper than words could be. He pulled his arm away abruptly, breaking their connection, and stepped back.

“You are not fine,” Spock said quietly, almost too low for the others to hear.

Jim looked away, jaw tight. Before he could respond, the away team’s voices carried toward them, breaking the fragile silence.

“Commander Spock?” An ensign called, looking up from his tricorder, brows knit in confusion. “Could you please assist? These mineral readings are unusual.”

Jim exhaled softly, grateful for the interruption. He forced a casual shrug, murmuring, “I’m just tired, Spock. Go ahead.”

Spock hesitated, clearly torn between his concern and duty, before nodding slowly. “Very well, Captain.”

Jim watched him go, the quiet footsteps receding toward the rest of the away team. As soon as Spock’s attention shifted, Jim turned his head, pretending to spot something of interest, something to justify putting distance between himself and everyone else.

He moved purposefully, gaze fixed ahead, waiting until the voices behind him had quieted. Once he was far enough, he veered off the trail, boots sliding slightly on the loose gravel as he angled toward a jagged outcrop of stone. His legs felt unsteady, the world tilting ever so slightly beneath his feet.

He reached the rocks and leaned into them, the cool, rough surface grounding him. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let his head tip back until it thudded gently against the uneven stone. He stayed there, suspended in stillness, his breath slow and unsteady.

He was losing it.

God, he was losing it.

Jim drew in a slow, trembling breath, trying to force his exhausted body back under his control. His limbs felt too loose, too heavy, like gravity had doubled, pulling him steadily toward collapse.

He just needed sleep. A few uninterrupted hours without nightmares or restlessness, without the relentless churn of thoughts he couldn't silence. He just needed to pull himself together.

Another shaky exhale.

Behind him, the faint crunch of boots on stone returned. Jim’s heart sank. That was fast.

“Captain?” Spock’s voice came low. 

Jim didn’t open his eyes. Not yet. He needed one more second, one more breath to rebuild his defenses before turning to face him. He said nothing, breathing shallowly, eyes still closed.

"Captain," Spock repeated, closer now, unmistakably concerned.

Jim forced his eyes open. The world blurred momentarily before snapping back into focus, and he shoved himself away from the rock, straightening his shoulders. His trademark smile returned, forced and brittle, barely masking the strain beneath.

"I thought I saw something over here," he lied casually, waving a dismissive hand. "False alarm."

He watched as Spock’s gaze swept the area, searching, methodical. When Spock's brow furrowed ever so slightly, Jim knew he wasn’t buying it.

Jim scoffed, starting to move past him back toward the others, but Spock shifted to block his way. It wasn't aggressive, Spock never was, not with him, but it was firm. 

“Jim.”

His name, spoken so softly, landed like a weight. Jim’s fists curled at his sides, frustration prickling under his skin. “I’m fine,” he said, too fast. 

Spock tilted his head, studying him. "You are mentally shielding yourself from me," Spock said quietly, pointedly. "Why?"

Jim flinched at the bluntness of the question, eyes darting away, his shields instinctively tightening further. "I’m just tired."

"You have been distancing yourself through our bond for days. You refuse to allow me to perceive your true condition." Spock replied evenly, the gentleness in his voice somehow making it worse.

“Spock, drop it,” Jim snapped, sharper than he intended.

For a second, there was silence. Just the whisper of the wind through the rocks and the blood pounding hot in Jim’s ears. He thought, hoped, Spock would let it go, would walk away and leave him the hell alone to get himself back under control.

Spock stepped closer, voice lowered but fiercely determined. "You cannot continue endangering yourself out of a misplaced sense of obligation, Jim. Not when I can feel your distress."

"I’m not endangering anyone," Jim ground out. "And I need you to leave me alone. That’s an order."

The command tasted bitter on his tongue. Spock’s posture stiffened, his eyes flashing briefly with hurt or frustration, something Jim rarely saw, before settling back into careful neutrality.

"As you wish," Spock murmured finally, stepping aside. He held Jim’s gaze another long, tense second, then turned and walked away, in retreat.

Jim watched him go, something twisting deep in his chest, tighter than guilt, sharper than anger. He slid down the rock, letting himself fold onto the cold ground with a kind of exhausted surrender.

His skin felt too hot, damp with sweat under his uniform despite the chill in the air. His head throbbed in a slow, rhythmic pulse behind his eyes, and his stomach rolled uneasily. But none of that compared to the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides.

He just needed to sleep.

Just a few hours. Not the shallow, restless kind that left him more exhausted than before. Not the kind where he jolted awake in the dark, drenched in sweat, lungs gasping for air.

He needed quiet. A break from the images that haunted him the second his eyes closed. The warp core. Spock’s face on the other side of the glass.

Jim dragged a hand over his face, trying to shake off the memory. His whole body ached for rest, but his mind wouldn't stop spinning.

He drew in a breath through his nose and pushed his palm against the rock behind him, forcing his legs to move. He had to get up. Had to get back to the team. Pretend everything was fine, like always.

His knees protested the movement as he unfolded from the ground, joints stiff and unsteady. He got halfway upright before a wave of dizziness crashed into him.

The world tilted.

Jim’s hand shot out, bracing against the rock. His head swam, vision smearing at the edges. He closed his eyes tight, breathing through it, jaw clenched.

Don’t pass out.

Jim gritted his teeth and pushed off the rock, willing himself forward. One foot in front of the other. That’s all he had to do.

He stumbled a few steps, heading in the general direction of the away team, though the terrain was a blur, shapes bleeding together at the edges of his vision. The sound of distant voices filtered through the haze, just enough to confirm he was going the right way.

The heat in his body had gone from uncomfortable to oppressive, like fire beneath his skin. His heart was hammering too fast, thudding in his ears. He blinked, but the edges of the world had already begun to fade to black.

Then his knees gave out.

He hit the ground hard, gravel biting through his pants, his hands catching himself just before his face met the dirt. His limbs shook under his weight, muscles trembling from exhaustion and fever. 

He shut his eyes tight and reached out for the only thing he had left.

//Spock//

His mental voice was faint, barely a whisper, unraveling like everything else inside him. But he poured the truth into it; His fear, his pain, his helplessness. Not words. Just the shape of the feeling.

And the bond flared in response.

A jolt of warmth surged through it, immediate and anchoring, steadying him even as the ground seemed to vanish beneath him. He barely registered the rapid approach of footsteps before strong arms caught him just as he slumped sideways.

"Jim!" Spock’s voice was tight, sharp with urgency.

Jim couldn’t hold on any longer. He let go completely, his body going slack in Spock’s steady grasp, surrendering to the heaviness pulling him down. His mental shields fell away, exposing every fragile corner of himself he'd tried so desperately to hide.

Somewhere far away, Spock was speaking again, his voice firm but blurred at the edges, words hard to grasp. "Spock to Enterprise," he said, sounding muffled, unreal. "Emergency beam-out—two to transport immediately."

Jim barely registered the words, his senses fading at the edges. The faint shimmer of a transporter lock brushed against his skin, distant but familiar.

Spock’s mind wrapped around Jim’s consciousness, warm and solid, sheltering him without hesitation or restraint. It was an embrace he hadn’t allowed himself to accept before now, tender and fierce at once, steadying him against the darkness pulling at the edges of his mind.

Fear. Protectiveness. L ove.

//I've got you// Spock’s voice resonated softly through the bond //Rest now//

Jim let himself sink deeper, trusting Spock completely as the darkness fully claimed him.

 

-*-

The first thing Jim became aware of was the faint, steady beeping of monitors somewhere nearby, a soft, rhythmic sound that seemed to anchor him in the thick, disoriented fog clouding his mind.

The second thing was warmth, thick, clinging warmth, and the crisp, faintly antiseptic scent of sickbay.

For a long moment, he drifted, untethered. He  was floating somewhere between waking and sleep. He was too tired to open his eyes, too tired even to move. Every breath felt like it took an effort he wasn't sure he could muster.

Then he heard it.

A voice. Low and even, threading through the haze and pulling him gently toward consciousness.

“-not unexpected given his level of exhaustion that he was attempting to conceal.”

Spock.

Jim felt something unclench deep in his chest at hearing his voice.

There was a rougher voice too, somewhere nearby, Bones. No doubt, grumbling in that way that meant he was worried. Jim couldn’t make out the words, but he caught the tone: frustration edged with fear.

Jim stayed where he was, eyes closed, too tired to do anything else.

The effort it would take to lift his eyelids, to shift even slightly, felt monumental.

So he let himself drift, letting the sounds and sensations around him fill in the blanks.

He heard the soft scuff of boots against the floor. There was the gentle rustle of fabric as someone adjusted the blanket tucked over him, pulling it higher around his shoulders with a careful, absent-minded tug.

A moment later, Jim felt the cool press of fingers against his forehead, brushing lightly along his hairline, then sliding down to check the side of his temple. Bones' touch was brisk but not rough, clinical but unmistakably gentle.

Jim caught the faint sigh Bones let out as he ran the scanner again, muttering to himself. "Damn stubborn idiot... running yourself into the ground... no wonder you went down like a sack of rocks."

Spock said nothing, but Jim could feel him nearby through their bond, steady and unmoving, a constant presence beside the bed.

Bones huffed again, louder this time, and spoke more directly. "He'll probably wake up soon," he said, his voice pitched toward Spock now. "Vitals are stabilizing. Fever’s already coming down with the meds."

There was a brief pause. Jim could almost hear Bones sizing up the situation, Spock’s rigid posture, the way he hadn’t once moved from Jim’s side.

"I’ll leave you two alone," Bones said finally, softer than before. "He’ll want to see you when he comes around."

Jim heard the quiet scrape of a stool being pushed back, the soft clatter of medical equipment being set aside. Then Bones’ footsteps retreated across the room, unhurried; lingering just a moment longer at the doorway, as if reluctant to leave.

The door hissed open, then closed again, leaving the room steeped in a heavier, quieter stillness.

Jim remained perfectly still, his breathing shallow but steady, feeling the shift in the air now that it was just Spock and him.

He could sense Spock’s presence through the bond more clearly now, an anchor, firm and steady in the haze clouding his mind. Not pressing, not intruding. Just there, like a low, steady heartbeat against the backdrop of his own battered consciousness.

Spock was waiting for him.

Slowly, Jim forced his heavy eyelids to open.

The sterile overhead lights of sickbay stabbed at his vision, and he flinched instinctively, blinking against the sharpness of it, struggling to focus.

Seated right beside him was Spock, utterly still, dark eyes locked on him with an intensity that made Jim’s stomach twist painfully.

There was no judgment in Spock’s gaze. No anger.

Only a quiet, steady presence that made something cold and heavy sink deeper into Jim’s chest.

"Jim," Spock said softly, almost reverently. "Ashayam."

The word struck Jim harder than any reprimand ever could, gentle, unconditional, undeserved.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut again immediately, a hot flush of shame burning its way up his neck. He turned his face slightly into the pillow, wishing, uselessly, that he could disappear. That Spock would just leave him be, would stop looking at him like that, like he was something worth saving, when Jim felt like nothing but failure and empty promises.

Spock’s voice came again, low and gentle, threading into the heavy silence.

"I know you feel it's your duty protect this crew. This ship. You carry burdens no one asks you to. I only ask that you allow others to protect you as well," Spock added, softer now. " To allow me."

A knot of guilt twisted low in Jim’s gut.

Jim could feel the weight of that dark gaze, burning into him, seeing everything he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

Drawing on what little strength he had left, Jim forced his voice to work, rough and brittle.

"I’m fine, really" he rasped out. "Thank you... for helping me"

He said it like a dismissal. Like an order. Like a wall slammed down between them.

The lie hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, Spock didn’t move.

Then, without warning, the chair scraped harshly across the floor as Spock stood up in one fluid, dangerous motion.

Spock was standing rigid, his entire body tense, hands balled into fists at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly Jim could see the faint tremble at the edges. 

"I carried you back in my arms," Spock said sharply. "I felt your body failing against mine. I felt your pain."

He stepped forward.

"You can't hide it from me," Spock said, stepping closer, voice like a low growl. "I know your mind, as if it were my very own"

Jim swallowed hard, every instinct screaming to retreat, to rebuild the walls faster than they could be torn down.

"You are not fine," Spock said,  "And you do not get to lie to me. Not anymore."

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t hide. Spock would not let him.

"Just leave me alone, Spock. Please." The moment the words left his mouth, he hated them.

Hated the way his heart twisted painfully at the thought of Spock actually listening, actually walking away

Spock’s hand caught his wrist, not rough, not restraining, but firm enough that Jim couldn’t pull away.

Spock leaned down, bringing himself to Jim’s eye level, his face close enough that Jim could see every tight line of control around his mouth, every flicker of emotion burning in his dark eyes.

"I won't let you order me away again," Spock said, voice low and fierce.

Jim shook his head weakly, fighting the sting behind his eyes, the raw panic clawing up his throat.

"I don’t-" His voice cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut, the shame pressing down so hard he could barely breathe. "I don’t want you to see me like this."

Spock’s fingers loosened slightly, sliding down Jim’s wrist until he was just holding his hand, open and steady, offering, not taking.

"I want to see all of you, Jim. Not just the parts you find worthy." Spock said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Jim’s throat closed up. He couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t face the depth he heard in Spock’s voice, the fierce tenderness he felt bleeding through the bond.

"I’m sorry," Jim choked.

"There is nothing to forgive. I know you have carried too much for too long. Alone. I understand. You do not have to hide it from me, Spock said softly.

Jim let out a trembling breath, the words settling heavily against the places inside of him, the ones he usually kept buried too deep for anyone to reach.

"I won’t-" Jim started, his voice cracking again. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Spock’s gaze, even through the burning in his throat. "I won’t shut you out again. I promise."

Spock said nothing, but Jim could feel the bond stir in quiet approval.

"And I’m sorry," Jim rasped, the words pulled from him, rough and aching. "For telling you to leave. For... pushing you away."

A flicker of something crossed Spock’s face, something so fleeting and tender it made Jim's chest tighten painfully.

"You are forgiven," Spock said simply, with a certainty that left no room for argument. No hesitation. "As many times as it takes."

Jim closed his eyes briefly, overcome.

Jim drew in a trembling breath, eyes slipping shut as the words settled around him, easing the ache in his chest. He felt Spock shift closer, guiding him gently back against the pillows, movements careful and unhurried.

"Rest now," Spock murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet stillness of the room.

The exhaustion Jim had carried alone for far too long rose up to claim him, heavy but gentle now, like a wave finally allowed to break. His muscles relaxed, the last threads of tension unraveling as sleep crept slowly in.

And just before he surrendered fully to it, he felt Spock’s presence brush gently against his mind, warm and steady, a promise woven tenderly through their bond.

You are not alone, Ashayam. I am here.

Notes:

Wrote this in one day because I'm insane (/jk I'm just in my feelings actually and like to take it out on Jim)