They really were a pair, weren’t they? Round and round they go. Jim knows all too well how Spock likes to dress up his decisions in logic, but it’s not logical, is it? Not when the facts are that Jim can last longer in the water, bloody trickle on his arm or not. If it is logic (allegedly), Jim remains unconvinced.
He resigns himself to the ensuing debate later, setting it aside for now in favor of focusing wholly on the task at hand. This Spock - sometimes, Jim is guilty of forgetting that he’s not the same as his own, in certain respects, and this self-sacrificial streak making itself known is concerningly familiar. That it’s directed at Jim so specifically is not surprising, if predictably frustrating - and that’s not to mention the infuriating fondness that bubbles in the background of his mind, despite himself. Stubborn bastard. He’d be ever more annoyed if it weren’t so kind.
Jim wasn’t used to having someone look out for him, before Starfleet. Before the Enterprise, really, and her dynamic crew. And Spock - somehow, the Vulcan rivaled only Bones in determination on his behalf. If only he would accept the same in return when it mattered.
Spock’s reaction is worryingly slow on the uptake, and Jim’s brow knots in the middle in concern. Where Spock’s grip is loose, Jim grasps back tightly, unyielding; if Spock’s not making it up onto the debris too, then back in the water Jim commits to tumble. But he does make it, even if the whirl of limbs is more uncoordinated than not (as if that’s not worrying, that their four minute estimate is closer to two and a half, taking into account the effects of the water temperature). Spock splays out on the wood, water surging and then settling around them - Jim only spares one look to confirm they’re not too heavy for floatation before his gaze is drawn back to Spock, anxiety shining in his eyes.
The emotion does not bleed to his actions, however; Jim’s fingers wrap around Spock’s bicep, helping him to the upright position. He’s cold to the touch and not shivering, which is not a good sign, moving into stage two? Or is he past that headed for stage three - if he passes out I swear to God -
“I’m fine,” Jim says on autopilot, though it seems Spock isn’t stopping to ascertain the veracity of his claim. Spock rips the soaked fabric like it’s paper, which, alright, at least he wasn’t headed for stage three, but he still seems pretty out of it - “Spock, for fuck’s sake - ”
Jim huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, sending water every which way from the dripping ends of his hair. It’s all he can do; at least they’re both out of the water now. It’s just a scratch, it doesn’t even hurt - he’s so cold, heat won’t dry us out fast enough, might get tipped into the water again who knows -
Jim’s hand moves down, resting against Spock’s side, the steady thrumming of his heart. It’s a relief to feel it just as much as it is a practical move - Jim starts rubbing his palm over the area, creating as much friction as he can manage without being rough. Chest, neck, head, groin - pretty sure they mean heart and lungs, get circulation going -
“Here, you pertinacious bat. Ah, yes, big word from Jimbo here, bet you didn’t expect that one, eh?” He’s chattering, but it’s fine, because Jim turns obligingly, offering his cut arm to Spock. See? He can accept help; maybe it’ll set a decent precedent. Maybe.
no subject
He resigns himself to the ensuing debate later, setting it aside for now in favor of focusing wholly on the task at hand. This Spock - sometimes, Jim is guilty of forgetting that he’s not the same as his own, in certain respects, and this self-sacrificial streak making itself known is concerningly familiar. That it’s directed at Jim so specifically is not surprising, if predictably frustrating - and that’s not to mention the infuriating fondness that bubbles in the background of his mind, despite himself. Stubborn bastard. He’d be ever more annoyed if it weren’t so kind.
Jim wasn’t used to having someone look out for him, before Starfleet. Before the Enterprise, really, and her dynamic crew. And Spock - somehow, the Vulcan rivaled only Bones in determination on his behalf. If only he would accept the same in return when it mattered.
Spock’s reaction is worryingly slow on the uptake, and Jim’s brow knots in the middle in concern. Where Spock’s grip is loose, Jim grasps back tightly, unyielding; if Spock’s not making it up onto the debris too, then back in the water Jim commits to tumble. But he does make it, even if the whirl of limbs is more uncoordinated than not (as if that’s not worrying, that their four minute estimate is closer to two and a half, taking into account the effects of the water temperature). Spock splays out on the wood, water surging and then settling around them - Jim only spares one look to confirm they’re not too heavy for floatation before his gaze is drawn back to Spock, anxiety shining in his eyes.
The emotion does not bleed to his actions, however; Jim’s fingers wrap around Spock’s bicep, helping him to the upright position. He’s cold to the touch and not shivering, which is not a good sign, moving into stage two? Or is he past that headed for stage three - if he passes out I swear to God -
“I’m fine,” Jim says on autopilot, though it seems Spock isn’t stopping to ascertain the veracity of his claim. Spock rips the soaked fabric like it’s paper, which, alright, at least he wasn’t headed for stage three, but he still seems pretty out of it - “Spock, for fuck’s sake - ”
Jim huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, sending water every which way from the dripping ends of his hair. It’s all he can do; at least they’re both out of the water now. It’s just a scratch, it doesn’t even hurt - he’s so cold, heat won’t dry us out fast enough, might get tipped into the water again who knows -
Jim’s hand moves down, resting against Spock’s side, the steady thrumming of his heart. It’s a relief to feel it just as much as it is a practical move - Jim starts rubbing his palm over the area, creating as much friction as he can manage without being rough. Chest, neck, head, groin - pretty sure they mean heart and lungs, get circulation going -
“Here, you pertinacious bat. Ah, yes, big word from Jimbo here, bet you didn’t expect that one, eh?” He’s chattering, but it’s fine, because Jim turns obligingly, offering his cut arm to Spock. See? He can accept help; maybe it’ll set a decent precedent. Maybe.