Jim was not aware of the transition from dreaming to wakefulness. One minute he was in Iowa, carefully constructing a model replica of the Enterprise in the living room of the old house, and the next he was lying in his bed, the urge to do anything to get warm combating the desire to remain motionless and slip back into sleep.
He frowned in distaste as he became aware of the wet patch under his cheek, and quickly lifted up his pillow to bury his head beneath it, the coolness of the sheets unpleasant, but the lesser of two evils. He pulled the blankets up higher with one hand and reflexively reached out with the other, remembering a split second before he made contact with empty mattress that his personal bed heater was working Gamma.
He pouted for a brief moment and then sighed, rolling onto his back and dragging his arm over to lie across his body when he noticed a strange yet familiar texture beneath his skin. Jim propped himself up on an elbow and squinted in the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust to the feeble light the chronometer spilled across his quarters.
For a moment, he blinked in confusion. On Spock’s side of the bed a single regulation tunic had been spread out flat, it’s blue hue only just visible. A smile slowly began to light his face as he fisted the material and brought it to his face, then turned to a full-blown supernova as he confirmed that it did, indeed, smell like his Vulcan lover.
Jim fell back to the bed, shaking with silent laughter before rolling onto his side, and bringing his arms up to cradle his head, the shirt stretched out across them. He buried his nose in the soft material and smiled, the faint aromas of Starfleet issue soap, meditation incense, and dry desert sands lulling him back to sleep.