Very strange indeed. Worrying to say the last, but he wasn't alone and he didn't think he was dying, so it was something that could be addressed another day. Who knew? Maybe a good night's sleep would finally fix that, and he hoped it was that easy of a fix. He did not wish to be a burden.

Kirk tossed the blankets back over Sam when he settled, watching him for a moment through his eyelashes, sleep tugging at him heavily now. There was no use fighting it, not when he was warm and there was someone else beside him - someone adorable with their foot peeking out the bottom of the blanket. It made him smile as he let sleep claim him, breathing evening out...

And he dreamed.

Flashes of his life, this dream. Another of the jagged ones, like his brain couldn't settle on a place to rest. Flashing red lights. Heavy panting. Cries of panic. Running through silver-red halls that sparked, sometimes past wounded men and women in their primary colored uniforms. A bright, glowing light. The shock of being thrown back. Glass, someone beyond, two hands trying to reach other and not quite reaching. Pain, everywhere. The shadowed memory of it. Darkness...

Kirk woke with a sharp intake of breath, not quite jerking away from Sam's chest, which he had somehow shifted onto during the night, arm tossed across his stomach. He licked his lips, closing his eyes, listening to the beat of Sam's heart to calm his own (and also trying to not wake Sam).

Damn it, why did he have to dream of that?