In honor of Memorial Day (aka my day off), here's some fluff! First time writing for this fandom, so please be nice :]

Note: I've posted this twice, once in the TOS archive and once in the 2009 one. Sorry for any confusion.

Spock lets people believe that he doesn't know what love is. He lets Doctor McCoy pity him and ignores Lieutenant Uhura's soft, sad looks, when he knows she is thinking of all the things he will miss out on in his affection-starved life. He allows his family, his coworkers, and his crew to think that he, as a Vulcan, will never know what it is to love.

What people forget is that Spock is not all Vulcan. They forget that he has a human side, with emotions running deeper than McCoy's or Uhura's ever could. And they never see how hard their First Officer has to work to push that emotional part of him to the back of his mind, or how often he finds himself forcing it behind walls, when the feelings he has been told to hide his whole life come bubbling to the surface. They don't see the way Spock's body tenses as he tries to contain his emotion, whether it is annoyance at a brainless remark made by an ensign, or affection at seeing the face of his best friend— the man he loves.

Since they first met, Spock's connection to James Kirk grew from purely professional to one of close friendship, and, in time, to that of the most utmost affection and longing. Jim is the one person who can make Spock really feel; the Vulcan knows his already precarious control will shatter as soon as Jim enters his vicinity. He is familiar with the sensation of joy at seeing his Captain catch his eye from across the room, or hearing his open laugh at one of Spock's remarks.

The Vulcan finds himself going out of his way to appeal to Jim's sense of humor, and looking to him for approval of nearly all his actions. One part of his mind – the rational, logical part – tells him that these actions are perfectly reasonable: Captain Kirk is his commanding officer, and he should naturally concern himself with the man's opinion. The other part, the one where he contains his pent-up feelings, insists that Jim is his friend, his other half, the perfect balance to everything that Spock is. This is the side of Spock's mind that feels light and giddy when the Captain smiles at him, that allows him fly to Jim's side in the heat of action and refuses to let him leave until he is safe. This is the side that informs Spock, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what he feels for Jim.

And contrary to what Doctor McCoy may think, Spock has felt it all; the ecstasy and the misery, the desperate thrills and the fear of loss, all the warring emotions that come with being in love. He has experienced it all and more, and Jim has too, through the soft yet unbreakable bond that he and his First Officer share. Jim may not know of its existence, and Spock himself is hardly aware of it, but the connection that the two share is undeniable. The crew of the Enterprise may not see it, but it is there, in the way the pair's eyes linger on one another for just a moment too long, the way they see to each other's needs before all else, and the countless hours off-duty spent together, content to play chess and talk about nothing.

And when meditation is no longer enough and the emotions are simply too much to handle, Jim is the first— the only one Spock turns to. He slips wordlessly into the Captain's chambers, letting the barriers of his mind fall away, if only for a while. As Jim looks up at him, worried, already asking what he can do for his 'favorite commander', Spock allows his exhaustion to show. He knows his hands are trembling and his eyes shine with tears, and he trusts that Jim will not judge him for it. He lets his Captain pull him into his arms, stroking his hair and murmuring nonsensical assurances against his skin.

Spock follows Jim willingly as the other man pulls him to the bed and gently relieves him of his boots and over-shirt. He slumps against the Captain's chest, causing them both to fall into bed. Jim shifts them both into a more comfortable position, and Spock ends up tucked securely in his friend's arms, with fingers lightly stroking the tips of his ears – Jim knows how it comforts him – and small kisses being pressed to his face. The shorter man runs his lips along Spock's meld points, softly guiding his own emotions into the Vulcan's overwhelmed mind. Spock opens himself to his friend's feelings, letting them run through his tired head.

Warmth. Warmth and comfort and unbridled affection, like sunlight warming his skin and filling his heart.

Seems a bit illogical, don't you think, a familiar voice teased. No, it wasn't. This was their mind, their emotions; logic needn't apply here.

Fair enough. Are you feeling better? The cold was seeping back in, the sunlight was fading. NO! STAY.

It came back. It was alright, it was all okay, he would never be alone, he would never have to deal with his feelings alone… I love holding you like this.

They both lose track of time, lost in their joint thoughts. It is not a true mind meld, and they share no official bond, but for Spock, this is all he needs. Jim lets his First Officer drift to sleep curled by his side, stroking his hair absently as he reads or files a report. This scenario plays out often enough that both have become accustomed to it. They both secretly look forward to these times, when they can just be together, with no excuses or ran order attached.

They never talk about their relationship, never try to reason out just what they mean to one another. Spock knows that he should never feel this emotionally dependent on another, especially a human, and Jim has had enough experience with romance to recognize that he and Spock are more than 'just friends.' Even so, despite the longing looks and stolen touches, the nights spent in hopeless passion, too desperate to ever let go, neither one tries to attach a label to what they have. They do not need to. Jim has his Vulcan – his First Officer, his best friend, the man he loves more than anyone he can remember having before. He wishes to keep Spock by his side, now and forever, and he knows, through sloppily shared thoughts and feelings, through the discreet brush of Spock's fingers against his as he passes on the bridge, that Spock knows this and accepts it.

And Spock, for his part, keeps his love quiet. He lets people believe that he doesn't know what it is. He lets Doctor McCoy pity him and ignores Lieutenant Uhura's looks. And in the soft, hidden moments, tucked away in the safety of Jim's arms, he admits to his Captain every hidden thing he feels; the warmth and the sunlight, the joy and the pain, the desperate longing when he and Jim are parted, and overwhelming relief of being by his side once more. Spock tells Jim just how much he knows about love, about what it is and how it feels, and Jim, ever his supportive everything, listens.

Hope you enjoyed!

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