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The steady beep of the biobed monitors filled the silence of medbay like a metronome counting the seconds. Spock sat rigid in the chair beside Jim's bed, his hands folded precisely in his lap, his eyes fixed on the captain's pale face.
He had not moved in 4.7 hours.
"Mr. Spock," Dr. McCoy's voice cut through his meditation — if it could be called that. "You need rest."
"I am a Vulcan, Doctor. My need for rest is considerably less—"
"Don't give me that." McCoy moved closer, hypo in hand, though his eyes were gentle. "I've seen combat fatigue before. Species doesn't matter."
Spock's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze never left Jim's face.
The captain was sleeping — finally — sedated after hours of pain that even McCoy's medications couldn't fully suppress. The neural disruptor the aliens had used left damage that would take days to heal, perhaps longer. Purple-black bruises mapped his ribs. Dermal regenerators could only do so much.
Spock's hands clenched.
Jim's scream echoed off the stone walls—
He blinked, forcing himself back to the present. The medbay. Safe. The Enterprise.
"Spock." McCoy's hand landed on his shoulder. "He's going to be fine."
"I am aware of the medical prognosis, Doctor."
What he didn't say: I watched. I could do nothing.
The Draylon had been methodical. They'd wanted information about Federation defenses, and when Jim refused, they'd simply... begun. They'd bound Spock with energy restraints calibrated specifically to disrupt his nervous system—research, they said. They'd studied Vulcans.
They'd made sure he couldn't look away.
Every impact. Every cry Jim tried to stifle. Every time his captain's voice broke—
"Spock."
He looked up sharply. McCoy was staring at him with that penetrating doctor's gaze that saw too much.
"The security team got you both out. It's over."
"I am cognizant of the timeline of events, Doctor."
Jim's voice, hoarse: "Don't... don't give them anything, Spock. That's an order."
Another shock from their device. Jim's body arching—
"Stop."
Spock realized he'd spoken aloud only when McCoy crouched beside his chair.
"Flashbacks?" the doctor asked quietly.
Spock said nothing. Vulcans did not experience flashbacks. Vulcans controlled their minds with perfect discipline. Vulcans did not have eidetic memories that replayed trauma in excruciating detail against their will.
His hands were shaking.
He pulled them beneath the edge of the chair where McCoy couldn't see.
"You know," McCoy said, standing, "Jim asked about you. First thing when he woke up, before I sedated him. 'Where's Spock? Is he hurt?'"
Spock's throat constricted. "I was not the one being tortured."
"No. You were the one being forced to watch someone you love be hurt while you were helpless. That's its own kind of torture, and those bastards knew it."
The words landed like physical blows. Spock had not allowed himself to frame the experience in such terms. To do so would be to acknowledge—
Jim stirred, a small sound escaping him even in sleep. Instantly, Spock was on his feet, at the bedside, his hand hovering over Jim's.
"It's just the dreams," McCoy murmured. "The sedative's wearing off. He'll wake soon."
Spock's hand finally settled on Jim's, careful of the IV line, his fingers finding the familiar warmth. Jim's hand turned instinctively into his touch even unconscious, and something in Spock's chest eased fractionally.
"I should have—" he began, then stopped. Logic dictated there was nothing he could have done. Logic was currently insufficient.
"Should have what? Broken through restraints designed by a species that's been studying Vulcan physiology for years?" McCoy shook his head. "Even you have limits, Spock."
"Please—" Jim's voice breaking. "Please, stop—"
Spock closed his eyes.
"I heard him," he said quietly. "I heard everything. Every—" His voice failed.
McCoy was silent for a long moment. Then: "I'm going to get you both some tea. You're going to drink it. And when Jim wakes up, you're going to let him see that you're okay, because that stubborn fool won't rest properly until he knows you are."
After McCoy left, Spock remained standing, Jim's hand in his, counting heartbeats. Seventy-two per minute. Strong. Steady. Alive.
"Spock?"
The voice was rough, barely a whisper. Spock's eyes snapped open to find Jim looking up at him, confused and hurting but undeniably present.
"Jim." His name was a prayer. "Do not attempt to move. You have sustained significant injuries—"
"'M okay." Jim's fingers squeezed his weakly. "You? You're... they didn't..."
"I am unharmed."
"Liar." But Jim's lips quirked slightly. "Can hear it in your voice. You're shaking."
Spock looked down. His hand was indeed trembling where it held Jim's.
"I..." He paused, gathering himself. "I was unable to prevent—"
"Hey." Jim's other hand lifted shakily to touch his face. "Not your fault. Not your job to be invincible."
"You screamed." The words escaped before Spock could stop them. "You screamed and I could not — I was forced to observe while they—"
"I know." Jim's thumb brushed his cheek, and Spock realized with distant shock that it came away wet. "I know, love. I'm sorry."
"You... apologize? Jim, you were—"
"Made you watch. That's what they wanted. To hurt you through me." Jim's eyes were fierce despite his weakness. "But we're here. We got out. We're both alive."
Spock nodded slowly. Then, with great care, he lowered his head to rest on the biobed beside Jim's shoulder, keeping their hands intertwined. Highly unprofessional. Completely illogical.
Jim's hand came up to thread through his hair.
"Stay?" Jim murmured.
"I have no intention of leaving."
"Good." Jim's breathing was evening out, medication and exhaustion pulling him back toward sleep. "Need to know you're real. That we're safe."
"We are." Spock turned his head to press his lips to Jim's knuckles. "I will not leave your side."
As Jim drifted off, Spock remained as he was, feeling his captain's heartbeat steady and strong, letting the reality of their survival slowly penetrate the horror of his memories.
When McCoy returned with the tea, he found them like that. He set the cups down silently and dimmed the lights, and if he noticed the way the Vulcan's shoulders finally relaxed as he listened to his captain breathe, the doctor said nothing at all.
Some vigils were meant to be kept.