How We Are (but not how we're going to be) Part 4
Artist: insideapollo
Mixer: jazzy_peaches
Summary: Even when they hate each other, they're still sort of falling in love.
Link to Art: This is how we are (but not how we're going to be)
Link to Mix: Judging From Picture Books
Masterpost[part four]
A yeoman from Engineering pages Spock four hours before Alpha shift, and as it is Commander Scott who has specifically asked for his expertise, Spock is unable to refuse. He breathes deeply for a moment, willing away any lingering effects of sleep-he only just attained one hour of restful sleep before the call-before standing and reaching for a fresh uniform. In five-point-four minutes, he is down in Engineering, where Lieutenants Kho and Im’pha greet him.
“Commander,” Kho says, saluting smartly.
Im’pha likewise salutes, but the effect is dimmed slightly by the yawn she unsuccessfully tries to stifle.
“Sorry, Commander,” she says, pulling out the stylus that keeps her hair in its place as she speaks. With several efficient flicks of her wrists, the cascade of brilliant red is back in a sloppily constructed bun. “Scotty put us in charge of the problem, and we’ve been working on the replicator’s coding since the start of Beta shift.”
“What, precisely, is the problem?” Spock asks.
“All the replicators on Deck Seven started malfunctioning,” Lieutenant Im’pha explains. She points to a container balanced precariously on the little desk space available, near the rows of computer terminals. “They can’t replicate anything more than simple protein supplements.”
“Have you located the coding error?” Spock asks.
“It’s not a coding error,” Kho answers, leading them to the nearest console and pulling up the lines of code. “It took us nearly seven hours to figure out, but as far as we can tell, the coding’s fine.”
“We think it might be a problem with the generative core matrix,” Im’pha says. She types something on the console quickly and three line graphs replace the block of code. She superimposes one onto what must be the baseline. “You see where there’s a peak in ionic production? We think it might be the cause.”
“Yeah, Gaila and I were thinking that ion buildup is jamming the electromagnetic currents, which frayed the circuitry.”
“I see,” Spock says. “Have you located the frayed circuit?”
“We were actually hoping you could help us with that, sir,” Im’pha says. When she smiles, she bites her bottom lip and casts a sideways glance at Kho, who flushes and looks away. “Scotty’s been working with us all of last shift, but he got called up to the bridge to-um…”
“He’s updating the universal translator for the upcoming diplomatic mission,” Kho supplies when Im’pha appears to flounder.
“Yes, right,” Im’pha says, beaming. “Ishtar’s right. He won’t be back for the rest of Gamma shift at least.”
Spock very pointedly ignores the fact that Nyota had specifically asked for Gamma shift rotation today. As her commanding officer, it is not his business. As her friend, however, he is curious, and makes a mental note to himself to inquire of it later.
For now, it will be a meticulous process to manually check every replicator circuit to discover the source of the malfunction. Narrowing the search to those located on Deck Seven still leaves two thousand, six hundred and forty seven separate circuits which must be individually troubleshot. Spock believes it will take sixteen-point-seven hours to thoroughly examine them. Once the faulty circuit has been found, it might take as long as two hours to safely reach it and eradicate the problem, depending on the accessibility of its location. He stops himself from sharing this information with the lieutenants, as he is beginning to understand that such details can often overwhelm certain members of the crew.
“Let us begin then,” Spock says.
He stays with Kho and Im’pha for longer than he originally anticipated. Spock would be lying if he said he had not, in fact, lost track of time. In fact, hours pass before Spock realizes that both Kho and Im’pha have at last succumbed to exhaustion and excused themselves for some much needed sleep. Likewise, Spock misses the fact that the rest of Gamma shift, all of Alpha and three point seven hours of Beta shift have passed without his knowledge. It is only Commander Scott’s arrival on the Engineering deck that pulls Spock out of his work. He leaves hastily afterwards, once he is sure Scott understands which sections of circuitry Spock has checked.
This is how Spock finds himself running late for his now weekly appointments with Doctor Jones. The irony does not appear to be lost on Kirk, as he leans against the doorframe of the counselor’s office with his arms crossed. However, it is strange that Spock can notice his defensive stance seems to be merely for show. When Kirk looks up from his study of the floor upon Spock’s arrival, he is smiling.
“I apologize, Captain,” Spock begins. “I was held up by-”
“Hey, Spock, don’t worry about it,” Kirk responds, pushing himself away from the wall with one foot. “Everyone hits the snooze every now and then.”
Spock does not employ the use of an alarm clock, and therefore has no possible way to ‘hit the snooze.’ However, he believes that Kirk does not mean the statement literally, and so does not mention it. At that moment, a yeoman motions for them to enter the counselor’s office, and so he has no time to come up with a response to Kirk’s attempt at levity.
Doctor Jones is not in her office when he and Kirk are led in. Spock remembers their last session, where the two of them hardly spoke a word to each other until the disastrous exchange minutes before their dismissal. Kirk, who must also have that counseling session in his mind, shifts in his seat, discomfort obvious in the tense line of his shoulders.
Nyota has told him on numerous occasions that he is terrible at small talk.
“I find that I am unskilled in some of the intricacies of interpersonal communication,” Spock says into the resounding silence suddenly. “The most mundane of which, small talk, seems a particularly hard concept to grasp.”
Kirk laughs at that, and something terse and tense relaxes around his sternum at the sound.
“I never quite got the point of it either, to be honest,” Kirk replies, turning slightly in his chair so his knees point in Spock’s direction. “Like, if you don’t have anything important to say, why even bother?”
Not three weeks previous, Spock would have taken offense at Kirk’s statement, believing him to be making a thinly veiled insult on Spock’s attempts at communication. Now however, Kirk does not give off an impression of hostility. On the contrary, Kirk sits up, his full attention on Spock. His eyes are bright in light of this shared admission, hands spread in open supplication. Inviting Spock’s opinion.
“A logical assumption, Captain,” Spock says. “Indeed, it is one that we share.”
Kirk grins widely and leans forward, until he rests his elbows on his knees. He interlaces his fingers and rests his chin in them.
“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” he says redundantly and huffs out a single laugh. “Two things. First did you just compliment me?”
“I merely state facts, Captain-”
“Which brings me to bullet point number two,” Kirk says, interrupting him. Spock takes a deep breath, not as irritated as he once was at the Captain’s unfortunate habit of interrupting. “We’re in relationship therapy, Spock. Been in it for weeks now. I think you should really call me Jim.”
Spock has no chance to reply, as at that moment Doctor Jones enters from a side door. She does not offer any excuse for her tardiness. Instead, she smiles calmly at them both.
“How are you both?” she asks, sitting before them and clasping her hands in her lap.
“Great,” Kirk says, casting a sideways glance towards Spock. “Really great.”
“Wonderful,” the doctor replies, smiling warmly. She turns her milky gaze on Spock. For a moment he feels a flash of her telepathy, but it is gone quickly, no doubt due to his previous issues with Counselor Vrinda. “And you, Spock? How are you today?”
“I am functional,” Spock says. The statement is perfunctory, as he has no name for the bubbling feeling that has been rising low in his stomach since he began conversing with Kirk-Jim today.
“That is, of course, acceptable,” Jones says. The statement, for some reason, causes Jim to grin again, a quick flash of teeth that Spock may have missed if he had not been studying the Captain so intently. “What do you two have to tell me?”
He shares a look with Jim; somehow he surmises that he wants Spock to explain. Spock takes a deep breath before beginning.
“After our last session, the captain-” here he nods to Jim once in acquiescence, “Jim and I shared words. We found the conversation to be quite enlightening.”
“Yes, very productive,” Jim says, biting his lip, perhaps in an attempt to stifle his near-manic grin. “We’ve had two coinciding shifts between then and now, and it was-um-refreshing? I guess? That we managed the whole shift without arguing.”
Truthfully, that Monday’s Alpha shift had been awkward. With the sudden realization that the captain was not willfully antagonizing him, Spock had been forced to change his reactions accordingly. Once this had been achieved, however, Spock noticed a marked increase in not only their individual productivity, but in the work output provided by the entire bridge crew.
As long as he does not have to admit as much to Doctor McCoy, Spock is coming to realize that therapy has indeed proved to be fortuitous in his relationship with Jim.
“I believe we have come to an understanding, of sorts,” Spock finally decides to say.
Doctor Jones looks momentarily surprised before she smiles at them again.
“That’s really…unbelievable. Encouraging, of course, but quite sudden.”
For a moment, she purses her lips, seemingly perturbed by their progress.
“Is that a problem?” Jim asks, his smile fading into uncertainty.
“Oh, no of course not,” she says forcefully. “Facilitating an emphatic experience, or communicating in an environment that is welcoming to differing opinions, is a higher priority than any conceptual insights or principles of relationship functioning. I just didn’t expect you two to reach this level of communicative intimacy so soon.”
“Okay,” Jim says. He mouths the phrase communicative intimacy to himself before speaking aloud. “So, what does that mean for us, exactly? Within the context of these meetings?”
“Ideally, I would still like to observe you two interacting,” Jones says, seeming to regain some of her previous composure. “I’ve read of cases where once the initial conflict was resolved, previously unknown conflicts rose to the surface.”
“That is acceptable,” Spock answers. “How should we begin?”
The doctor leads them through multiple exercises, most of which Spock remembers from their first meeting with Jones. Spock is surprised, however, to note that their responses do differ from the initial meetings.
Now, when the Doctor asks Jim to describe Spock, he begins with;
“Spock is a scientist, and he’s also my First Officer.”
It is not a significant difference, but it is a difference nonetheless.
“Your progress is encouraging,” Jones says forty three point five minutes later, after they have spoken of multiple subjects without a sign of hostility from either of them. “I know it’s difficult for the two of you to get any mutual free time, with how often your schedules conflict, so I thought we could shorten our sessions to every other week for four more weeks. After that, I would require a follow up session after one standard month and then again at the six month mark to make sure you’re both adhering to your commitments.”
“What commitments?” Jim asks.
“Well, that’s what I wanted to explain right now.” She studies them both intently for a moment before continuing. “I want you to take an interest in each other’s work or out-of-work activities. Sustaining a mutually benefiting relationship takes effort, even outside of counseling. You need to orient yourselves towards the other, meaning you need to take the time and energy required to make sure your relationship is healthy and equal.”
“How would such a state be attained?” Spock asks.
“I need you both to make a commitment to continually evolve your newly budding rapport. To do this, you need to maintain mutual influence by being attentive, observant and interested in the other. You’ll both need to make an effort to share vulnerability and relational responsibility.”
“Wait, what does that mean, exactly? Relational responsibility?”
“It means that you’re both responsible for the ultimate outcome of your relationship, Captain,” Jones responds. “Both of you need to make it safe for the other to be vulnerable, meaning cultivating a nonjudgmental environment, to make it easier for you two to risk emotional engagement.”
“Right, of course,” Jim answers, in a way that suggests he does not entirely understand the Doctor’s response.
“You have to take this seriously,” Jones says, with the first hint of offense she has shown throughout their counseling sessions. “Captain, Commander, I need full assurance that you’ll both conform to my parameters.”
Spock turns to Jim and they lock eyes for a long, interminable second.
“I do not believe your request to be unreasonable,” Spock finally says without breaking eye contact.
“Yeah, I think I can do that.”
Doctor Jones dismisses them shortly afterwards, still with a small amount of her dissatisfaction present around the tight press of her lips.
Once they are both in the turbolift and it is speeding towards their destination, Jim breaks the somewhat awkward silence.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re living in the Twilight Zone?” Jim asks, not quite meeting Spock’s gaze. “I mean, we just made a commitment to our relationship counselor to remain fully committed to working out our differences and maintaining a relationship where we-what did she call it-‘risk emotional engagement.’ I mean, I kinda feel like we might have just gotten married without knowing it.”
If Spock were completely human, he would admit to feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the counselor’s somewhat intimate suggestion. However, being unable to adequately express such a thought, Spock opts for a slight redirection of their conversation.
“The statistical probability of the Enterprise being witness to any anomaly resembling ‘twilight’ is-” Spock stops himself before calculating the exact probability. He knows it is so small as to be negligible. The Captain does however snort and put a hand up to stay his response, which was the purpose of Spock’s statement.
“It was a vague, pre-warp, Terran pop culture reference,” he says, and it is almost an apology. “You work gamma shift in a few hours, right?”
“In approximately three hours and twenty five minutes, yes,” Spock answers, reminding himself to look up the aforementioned pop culture reference at a later time.
“Do you want to do something in the interim?” he asks hopefully. “We could go to the mess and grab something to eat?”
The offer is tempting, as Spock has not eaten since-since 17:00 yesterday, he realizes with some astonishment. However, he knows that he cannot safely resume his position on the bridge with less than four hours of sleep within a 36 hour period.
“I was planning on using the little available time I have left for sleep,” Spock admits. He finds he does not like the way Jim’s smile dims ever so slightly. “I have been working with engineering on an ionic disruption in Deck Seven’s replicators since last gamma shift, and I am not eager to return to work without adequate rest.”
“Oh, of course,” Jim says. “Very logical of you, Mr. Spock.”
“I am sorry, Captain,” Spock says, and finds that he means it. “Perhaps some other time?”
“Yeah, definitely. Maybe you can tell me a little about that replicator malfunction that Scotty still hasn’t told me about.”
“I would find such a conversation satisfying,” Spock answers, is rewarded by another flash of Jim’s brilliant white smile.
When the turbolift stops on the officer’s deck, Spock steps out sedately.
“Goodnight, Spock,” Jim says.
“Thank you, Captain. And you, as well.”
It is unfortunate that Spock never in fact reaches his quarters. Ensign Ortiz is waiting for Spock at the end of the hallway, standing at attention despite the fact that before Spock turned the corner, the corridor had been empty save for her. Unlike Kirk, Spock does not take his communicator with him to therapy, although at the moment he suspects that this decision might have proven to be an error. Ortiz salutes upon catching sight of him, and immediately explains that his presence is required in engineering again. Spock only delays enough to retrieve his communicator before he is down in engineering again.
Im’pha and Kho greet him somewhat nervously; Spock notes that Scott is also present this time, although he is deeply immersed in a readout at the moment, and does not appear to notice anyone around them. Ortiz joins them moments later, and together they await Scott in increasingly tense silence.
“There’s an ion storm heading our way,” he finally says.
“Is the acting bridge crew aware of this?” Spock asks him.
“It’s where I got the info from now, isn’t it?” Scott answers, waving his arms in the air unnecessarily. “Figure it’s about twenty minutes from here.”
“Will it affect the replicators?” Kho asks, a frown marring his face.
“Aye, no way around it,” Scott responds.
“What are our options, Scotty?” Im’pha asks, taking a hesitant step towards the man. Scott frowns.
At that moment, the turbolift doors open again and Jim rushes over to them, his blue eyes like twin shards of titanium alloy, determined and unwavering like Spock has not seen since Nero.
“Heard about the ion storm,” he says by way of explanation. “And Spock said something about ionic disruption in our replicators?”
Im’pha, Kho, Ortiz, and Scott all wince nearly simultaneously, and turn to Spock with perfectly matching exasperated looks.
“Did he?” Im’pha asks, her half-frown turning thoughtful.
“Scotty, I’ll have words with you about not reporting this to me once the crisis is averted,” Jim says, causing Scott to grimace again, “but first, I need to know what we’re planning on doing, or if we need to do anything in the first place.”
“The ionic charge up there is already becoming critically unsafe,” Koh explains. “That ion storm could electrically discharge in our mainframe, short-out our life support, even get the engines offline.”
“We could get exploded, too,” Ortiz adds, holding up a spanner at this as if to gain everyone’s attention. “Could blow off decks seven and up from the engines. Tear us straight apart. Ion energy is nasty that way.”
Scott makes a truly pained expression and shakes his head desperately.
“Don’t even think such unspeakable things, Gloria!” he says, leaning an arm against a nearby bulkhead for support.
“Yeah, I don’t exactly want to picture us exploding into oblivion because of our replicators,” Jim says tightly. “Which, while we’re on the subject, what the fuck, seriously?”
“Captain, did you know that if there was a method of harnessing ionic energy would be six times more powerful than a dilithium crystal?” Im’pha asks.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she responds. “The ionic charge our replicators are giving off is positive right now, and with a small build-up like what we’re experiencing is no big deal, but mix them with a massive concentration of negative ions, like in an ionic storm, and you’ve suddenly got a really big deal.”
“Think of shocking yourself with a small discharge of static electricity,” Ortiz says after a moment. “And then multiply it by ten to the power of fourteen.”
“Can we fix it?”
“We were going to have our lass Ortiz go up and fix the circuit board through one o’ the Jeffries tubes.” He motions to Ortiz, who tosses the spanner in the air and catches it again. “But with the ion storm coming, we cannae risk it.”
“I think I can get to it in time,” Ortiz says stubbornly. She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
“Don’t be stupid, Gloria,” Im’pha says. “The safety protocol itself takes over ten minutes to get through properly. By the time you reach it-”
“I can do it,” she says, turning to the Captain then. “The problematic circuit board isn’t too far up; I can reach it and get out of there before the ion storm ever reaches us, if we stop wasting time arguing about it.”
Kirk watches her for a long time-five point two seconds-searching her face. Whatever he is looking for, he seems to find, as he nods once and orders tersely, “Do it.”
Ortiz turns on her heel and hurries away; Im’pha makes a frustrated noise and follows her down to the farthest Jeffries tube, calling out to her as she goes.
“Kirk to bridge,” Jim says into his communicator after the two disappear. “I need a status report on that ion storm.”
“ETA eleven minutes, Captain,” Nyota’s voice responds. “Captain, is there a reason why you’re down in engineering right now?”
“The replicators are about to explode us all, Lieutenant,” Jim answers, albeit a bit dramatically.
“Captain, what-”
“Keep me updated, yeah?” With that, he flips his communicator closed. “Scotty, what can we do?”
“Not much now,” Scott answers. “It’s up to our lass now, isn’t it? See if she’s up to getting bumped around a bit.”
Jim grins at that statement.
“I think she can take it.”
“Enterprise is a lady, Captain,” Scott answers, looking scandalized. “She’s not used to getting manhandled!”
“Who is manning the science console at present, Captain?” Spock asks when Jim appears ready to continue on with this perplexing conversation.
“Don’t know; Dasher?” he answers, turning to Spock and frowning. “I’m sure whoever it is knows by now that whenever there’s a life-threatening phenomenon going on, you’ll want them to scan it for future science-ing.”
Spock does not know which part of that sentence he needs to amend first.
“Judging by Lieutenant Uhura’s curiosity earlier, I would surmise that the bridge is unaware of the severity of our situation.”
“All the more reason for whoever’s at your station to be science-ing!” Jim exclaims.
“Science is not a verb, Captain.”
“I just turned it into one, Spock.”
“Of course, sir.”
Commander Scott is speaking into his communicator, conferring with Lieutenants Im’pha and Ortiz. Jim runs a hand through the back of his hair.
“I guess I’m not really needed down here,” he says, after a moment. “You’ll tell me how my engineers saved the day, right?”
Spock is about to answer in the affirmative, when he is momentarily distracted by the overhead lighting, as it begins to flicker on and off. Beneath their feet, Enterprise begins to rumble, tiny tremors that Spock feels in the souls of his feet and nowhere else.
“We’ve entered the ion storm,” Nyota’s voice says.
For a moment it appears as if nothing detrimental will happen to the ship at all; Jim smiles brilliantly, clearly relieved. His relief is short-lived, however, as exactly four seconds later there is a sudden flare of energy in the mainframe. The lights flash impossibly bright and then they are plunged into darkness. The engines give a weak groan as auxiliary power comes online.
“Well, at least we didn’t explode,” Jim says into the silence, his face only half-bathed in the eerie red lighting. “Scotty!”
Spock is surprised to realize he did not notice when Scott had left. He comes running towards them now, with Im’pha and Ortiz several steps behind.
“I thought you said you could fix it,” Jim says when they are within earshot.
“I did,” Ortiz answers. “Why do you think we’re not all dead?”
“Most of the damage was to the outer hull,” Im’pha explains.
“Captain, we’re receiving minimum power to the bridge,” Uhura’s voice says from Jim’s communicator.
“Did we just get hit by phaser fire?” Sulu’s voice chimes in, incredulous. “Shields at eighty-four percent. Captain, Uhura’s saying our replicators are what just tried to blow a chunk out of-”
“They did,” Jim responds into his communicator. “I’ll be up in ten.”
“Auxiliary power only,” Scott says. “Phasers’ll be offline. Warp four at the most.”
“Great,” Jim answers, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “With our luck a Klingon warbird’ll show up just in time to fuck us all over. Can we fix it?”
“Aye,” Scott says, attention already buried in a nearby console. “We can have main power online in four hours.”
“If Klingons show up in three and a half hours, Scott, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Aye sir,” Scott answers. Already many engineers have crowded around Scott, and when he looks up again, he begins to bark out orders to them all.
“I will remain here,” Spock says. “With my help, I estimate repair time will be sped up by fourteen point seven percent.”
Jim watches him for a long time, before finally nodding. He turns and exits engineering, already speaking into his communicator again.
“Mr. Scott,” Spock says calmly. “How may I be of help?”
Two hours and five minutes later, Spock looks up from his work. A tentative hand clasps him on the shoulder, and Jim is standing there, smiling somewhat apologetically.
“When was the last time you slept, Spock?” he asks gently.
Spock is not sure. He assumes it has been over forty hours, but he cannot be quite certain. Rather than admit this to his Captain, however, he remains silent. Jim correctly interprets Spock’s silence to be a lie of omission and shakes his head.
“Go get some rest, Commander.”
“I cannot,” Spock answers, standing with some difficulty. His knees protest movement after spending so long in a crouched position, but Spock only clasps his hands behind his back and assumes parade rest. “I must report to the bridge in twenty minutes and forty one seconds.”
Spock notices then that Jim has not removed his hand from Spock’s shoulder. In fact, he gives Spock a small shake at his proclamation.
“It is prudent for a starship commander to be well rested, Spock,” Jim says softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll have someone cover your shift for you.” He smiles, suddenly, as if an amusing thought has occurred to him. “I’m sure the Captain won’t be too upset with you.”
He wants to tell Jim that under extreme duress, Vulcans are able to function adequately for weeks without sleep.
“Don’t make me make it an order, Spock,” Jim says again.
“I will rest,” Spock finally says, ultimately deciding that engineering can continue on without his presence and that their current situation does not precisely constitute an episode of ‘extreme duress.’ “I will, however, make arrangements with Commander Taras to compensate for the hours I will not work.”
“You’re gonna drive our quartermaster crazy, you know,” Jim says. His arm drops away from Spock’s shoulder. It feels strangely bereft afterwards. “Just go.”
Spock nods once and turns to go.
“Thank you, Captain,” he says, without turning back to face him.
“Thanks are unnecessary,” Jim says, a hint of irony evident in his voice, and he wonders if the man is smiling, if his eyes are as warm as the sound of his voice.
***
The weeks pass in much the same manner. Spock and Jim’s visits with Doctor Jones become more infrequent as their working schedules begin aligning. Since Spock has been responsible for drafting up his own schedules for the entirety of this mission, he cannot quite call this a coincidence.
“It is not difficult for a determined individual-particularly one versed in ancient Terran ciphers-to decrypt such a message,” Spock says one afternoon apropos of nothing.
They are on the recreation deck, seated in an unobtrusive corner and indulging in a method of interpersonal bonding. They are still hesitant around each other, and when the Captain requested they spend one afternoon in each other’s company, Spock found it illogical to refuse him.
Spock has a meeting with one of his coworkers in Sciences in fifteen point seven minutes, a young Tellarite who is working closely with the security department to upgrade the ship’s firearm power. It is interesting work, and yet he finds himself reluctant to end this encounter with Kirk-Jim, as he wishes to be called.
Jim is shuffling a deck of cards. Spock watches the play of emotions flitter across his face as he concentrates on his task.
“What such message?” he asks, looking up from his hands and quirking both his eyebrows.
“The messages you have been sending me once I revealed my inexperience with decryption.”
“Oh,” Kirk says, a small upturn at the corners of his lips. “If we’re calling it Cipher-Decryption For Practical Reasons instead of Let’s Educate the Vulcan Instead of the Other Way Around For Once, then yeah, I get your point.”
“Your predilection for turning entire phrases into proper nouns is quite illogical, Captain.”
“If by ‘illogical’ you mean either ‘awesome’ or ‘vaguely horrifying,’ then yes, I agree with you, Commander.”
Here, Jim bites his lip and turns away. The sight is very becoming, Spock notes, particularly the way the wrinkles around his eyes are thrown into sharp relief, clues to the permanence of emotion on such an alien being.
“If you want something original, tedious, and full of randomly complicated rules, I’ve got something that’ll match that criteria.”
“Indeed?”
“Yeah,” Jim responds, dealing out six cards to each of them, full of his previous excitement again. “When I was a kid, my brother had a habit of going through my things. So that forced me into hiding everything and inventing my own language for notes that I didn’t want him to see. That way, if he did find my journal or something, he couldn’t use it against me.”
“When you were ‘a kid,’” Spock repeats, picking up the cards he has been given. “Approximately what age were you?”
“Eight,” he says automatically. Spock raises an eyebrow.
“If you believe such a code-one that you created to thwart the mind of a preteen-to be unbreakable, then I believe it will suffice.”
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Commander?” Jim asks on a laugh. When Spock says nothing in response, he only laughs louder. “So confident,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “But all right. I’ll send you a message later on tonight. Now, come on; let me teach you how to play Fizzbin.”
Ten minutes later, Spock is eighty percent certain that Jim is creating the rules to this game as he goes. Yet Spock can hear the joy in Jim’s voice, a tremor that is not quite a laugh but exudes mirth in much the same way, and Spock finds that this alone is enough to make him overlook some of the more illogical rules of the game. In fact, he finds himself reluctant to depart after just ten minutes.
However, Spock is still Chief Science Officer aboard this vessel, and he must attend to his duties. So he says goodbye to the captain and spends exactly one hour and thirty two minutes conversing with his subordinates.
When he returns to his quarters, Spock finds a message from Jim awaiting him. Spock would be lying if he did not admit to experiencing a certain amount of anticipation over this new problem. He will meditate on the phenomenon accordingly, but not before he has slaked his curiosity and opened Jim’s uniquely encrypted message.
***
Lately, Jim has been adding on more complex aspects to the code he devised, versus sending Spock messages encrypted in different ways. Now it more closely resembles a complex series of equations, with counterintuitive symbols representing a mathematical function. Spock must solve each equation for a designated numerical value that represents each letter.
It is a tedious process-not because the set of “equations” has changed but because Jim prefers to use different numbers and mathematical methods to reach the same result. Therefore, To Spock: may appear one day as
(5.2*3-,1*5 ; 6%2.4*3)(6+/2*1 ; 4-,3.2 ; 7.2*2.1 ; 8%2,1 ; 3+*2):
And sometime later as
(5.4 ; 3.5)(2.9*1 ; 4.4 ; 3.5 ; /9 ; 5.2*1):
Today when Spock unscrambles the message he is surprised to find that instead of Jim’s usual greeting, Spock’s Vulcan clan name is written across the top of the message (written with Standard characters, of course). In fact, the entire message is written in Vulcan. Spock had not previously been aware that Jim is fluent in Spock’s first language.
Na’etwel Worl’Qjunirr, the message begins, and he wonders if Jim knows the significance of using a Vulcan’s clan name, that within the very words lies an implication of brotherhood. For we of the clan Worl’Qjunirr is the literal translation of that opening line, which implies that Jim is either already part of Spock’s clan or would like to become so.
Jim is very smart. Even among Enterprise’s crew-which has already been nicknamed “The Genius Boat” by Starfleet-Jim’s intelligence rating is still comparatively high. Nevertheless, Vulcan has always retained a level of privacy for many of its traditions and cultural practices. It is statistically more probable that Jim used Spock’s clan name as a clue to decode the message in Vulcan.
Spock is moved by the gesture. He remembers Sybok, being young and sitting on the veranda of their home, Spock rubbing absently at the cut on his eye and Sybok sprawled against the railing.
(“They said Mother was different,” Spock had explained, his voice small and unsure after the conversation with Sarek. “They said we were different.”
“What’s the use of being similar?” Sybok said, scowling in a way that Spock had never grown accustomed to. “Everybody’s different, Spock. The only thing that holds any of us together in cultural context is our clan name.” He pushed away from the railing and dropped heavily to the step beside Spock, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Spock squirmed, but Sybok’s stubborn strength kept him in place. “Will you listen for a moment, Brother? We are all just a conglomerate of differences, floating around in a pool of strangers, and any Vulcan who would want you to pretend at similarity is a liar. The only constant in the galaxy is this: etwel Worl’Qjunirr.”
He had made Spock repeat it, over and over until it almost began to sound logical; the only constant in the galaxy is a clan, the only constant in the galaxy is that we are clan.)
Spock blinks out of the memory and forces away the unavoidable up swell of emotion regarding Sybok. Jim’s use of Spock’s clan name at the very least shows that he has genuine interest in Spock’s heritage. He tries not to calculate the odds of Jim wanting to be considered Spock’s clan. However, etwel Worl’Qjunirr stares up at him from his PADD, we are clan hiding just behind the name.
Often Spock has mentioned to anyone who would care to ask that his surname is unpronounceable, a very human method of misdirection that he learned early on in his schooling at the academy. For humanoid vocal chords, it is indeed easy to trip over the glottal stops within Spock’s clan name. However, such a task is achievable; his mother accomplished the feat after much practice. The reason for Spock’s subtle misdirection is tangled with memories of Sybok, with acceptance and kinship.
Jim, ha, he thinks. etwel Worl’Qjunirr.
Jim, yes. We are clan.
***
Spock finds it curious that during meditation his relaxed mind will indeed turn back to the subject of James Kirk during light meditation sessions, and so now Spock breathes deep, lets his mind open up until it is as the valley of Keht’ennar on the outskirts of Shi’kahr. He lets his mind expand until all is flat and motionless, with not a thought to sift through the desert of his mind. He thinks briefly that he will never again see those flat planes of rust-colored bedrock, but lets that grief slowly dissipate and reminds himself to wonder about his captain.
That he can put aside his grief so easily now is due in part to his meditation, and he thinks that at last, the gaping wound Vulcan left behind in his psyche is finally beginning to heal. But solace is not the purpose of this meditation, although Spock has spent countless hours slowly coming to terms with the loss of Vulcan and its accompanying grief.
Jim Kirk is changeable. He is ephemeral or, more figuratively, fluid, like the oceans of Earth that rise and fall at predictable times throughout the course of a single day. A certain amount of changeability is in the nature of all humans, Spock thinks. Adaptation and perpetual motion were bred over millennia by extreme variations in living conditions not present on Vulcan. But there is something altogether extraordinary about James Tiberius Kirk that makes him so fascinating. Perhaps not one “thing” alone but rather an amalgamation of his unique personality traits that, added up, equal something greater than the sum of his parts.
Here among the confines of his mind, it is easy to see the logical answer. Jim Kirk is an attack of the senses. Visually, he is aesthetically pleasing. The rounded curve of his lips is lush and soft-looking, while the bright blue of his expressive eyes is alluring. When he smiles, his whole presence exudes mirth and suffuses the mood of those around him. He is gorgeous.
There is more to him than this, however. It has now been six months, fourteen days since Spock first accused Jim of cheating at Starfleet Academy, and in that time-mostly in the last two months-Spock has seen firsthand Jim’s genius. It is present on away missions gone awry, in dealing with angry Admirals, but the scope of his brilliance is most breathtaking on quiet evenings alone, where they sit across from each other and play chess for hours on end.
Jim is sensual, yes, as well as mentally stimulating, but that is not all. Jim exudes a sexual confidence that is hard to fabricate and likewise hard to ignore. Spock realizes now that he has perhaps always thought of Jim in a sexual way. It is so now, when Jim enters his quarters late during Gamma shift looking for “distraction” from his overactive mind, and it was so as far back as their diplomatic failure on Catulla. Jim had been polite and accommodating to the High Governor, yet Spock had expected the worst, had experienced what he now recognizes as the beginnings of jealousy.
Everything about Jim is extraordinary. More than that-here he must strive for precision-Jim is everything Spock would look for in a mate. He-loves him.
It is enough to pull Spock abruptly from his light meditation. He blinks open his eyes and lets out a deep breath. His inner chronometer tells him it is 0120. Spock stands and heads into the kitchen alcove and orders a Terran herbal tea from the replicator.
He thinks that maybe, he has been falling in love with Jim since the very beginning. The replicator beeps, signaling to Spock that his tea is done. Spock grabs it and moves to sit at his work desk, refreshed from his meditation session. He opens his inbox and finds a message waiting for him from Jim.
***
“The thing is, anybody who’s trying to intercept our transmissions would expect a message in Vulcan to be literal,” Jim says, letting his fingers linger over the soft curves of his queen while he contemplates Spock’s tri-d chess board.
Spock and Jim’s schedules are almost completely aligned by now, and so they are spending their evening together, as Counselor Jones has requested. Spock likes to believe that their relationship has grown in weeks since their last meeting with the counselor, and that now they spend time with each other simply because they enjoy the other’s company. However, being unused to making assumptions, Spock quashes that illogical thought and quirks an eyebrow at Jim’s non-sequitur.
“Assuming of course that they were able to decode the number sequences correctly to reveal the message itself?” Spock queries.
“Yeah,” is Jim’s response. He chooses then to move his rook to the fourth tier. “Check. Numbers are easy, Spock. There’s no meaning to them except the ones they’re given. Words, they can mean anything.”
Spock fights a frown from blooming on his face as he counters Jim’s move and contemplates his previous statement.
“On an espionage mission, it is crucial to keep the integrity of your purpose hidden,” Spock agrees. “To accomplish this, one must designate a specific ‘code name’ to certain high-risk objects or individuals.”
“Exactly.” Jim frowns at the board for forty-seven seconds. He then stands and crosses to Spock’s kitchen area, a ploy he frequently uses when he needs more time to ruminate on his next move and is unwilling to let Spock know. “I’m gonna get some coffee; do you want anything?”
“Caffeine at this hour will hamper your ability to sleep tonight,” Spock says instead of answering Jim’s question.
He knows that no matter Spock’s response, Jim will unfailingly bring him a cup of replicated tea, a brew that Jim manually programs into the replicator that Spock has been unable to successfully duplicate. As expected, Jim sets a cup down on the table beside Spock with a quiet chink of ceramic on metal, and shakes his head as he sits opposite Spock, a steaming cup in his hands.
“Right, like it’s coffee that keeps me up at night,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
“It is your move, Jim,” Spock gently reminds him, as Jim seems content to sip his coffee leisurely.
“Yeah, I know.” He sets his cup down and moves his only remaining knight down to the bottom tier. “Okay. So let’s say we have one of those ‘high-risk’ situations you were talking about earlier. And we need to talk about it, but we haven’t had sufficient time to designate a code name to whatever it is we’re doing.”
“Do you know of a situation where such an occurrence has come to fruition?” Spock inquires, moving a pawn.
“Not the point, Spock,” Jim answers. “Let’s just say it happens. Or that there was a possibility of someone leaking info from our ship to a theoretical enemy.”
Jim bites his lip for a moment as he studies the board. Spock finds the gesture to be illogically fascinating.
“What would be our plan of action should such an incident come to pass?”
“Sometimes people say one thing and mean another,” Jim responds. He moves his rook up from the second tier to the first and takes Spock’s knight. “Really inane things have way more meaning that way, and you have to really pay attention if you want to figure out what someone’s talking about.”
He takes another drink from his cup and watches Spock over the rim, waiting for his response. Spock looks away from those bright blue eyes, their gaze so intense they almost burn.
“Yes,” Spock says, still inspecting the teacup by his side. “Is this what you propose?” Jim smiles brilliantly around his cup and nods. “In that case, I believe the suggestion to be not without some merit.”
“You and your double negatives,” Jim says, but his voice is soft and warm, almost fond as he says this. “You know they’re grammatically in bad taste, right?”
“Not as much, I find, as the illogical proclivity towards contractions.”
Jim laughs at that, nearly spills his remaining coffee from the force of it. After a moment, he regains his composure enough to speak again.
“So I’m gonna try this out, and when you find out the message is about roses or something, don’t freak out and send me to medbay, okay?”
“Of course, Captain,” Spock says, and moves his queen. “Checkmate.”
The message Jim sends him later that night, after Jim excuses himself on the pretext of sleep, does not contain any mention of roses. It does however, have a rather long treatise on the nature of Haurok, an avian species native to Vulcan-that-was that had much the same use as a chicken. Spock spends fourteen point fifty two nonconsecutive hours pouring over the message before he realizes that Jim was in fact referring to Doctor McCoy. He rereads the final phrase, which once decoded and translated says something along the lines of
The Haurok trains its young well, and their beaks are sharp.
Spock imagines the trip to medical that had no doubt spurred the comment, the disgruntled look on Jim’s face when he realized the nurses would dare not disobey the CMO’s orders over even Jim’s cajoling, and Spock finds he must cover his mouth with the back of his hand to hide a small, insuppressible smile.
(>>>next>>>)
Mixer: jazzy_peaches
Summary: Even when they hate each other, they're still sort of falling in love.
Link to Art: This is how we are (but not how we're going to be)
Link to Mix: Judging From Picture Books
Masterpost[part four]
A yeoman from Engineering pages Spock four hours before Alpha shift, and as it is Commander Scott who has specifically asked for his expertise, Spock is unable to refuse. He breathes deeply for a moment, willing away any lingering effects of sleep-he only just attained one hour of restful sleep before the call-before standing and reaching for a fresh uniform. In five-point-four minutes, he is down in Engineering, where Lieutenants Kho and Im’pha greet him.
“Commander,” Kho says, saluting smartly.
Im’pha likewise salutes, but the effect is dimmed slightly by the yawn she unsuccessfully tries to stifle.
“Sorry, Commander,” she says, pulling out the stylus that keeps her hair in its place as she speaks. With several efficient flicks of her wrists, the cascade of brilliant red is back in a sloppily constructed bun. “Scotty put us in charge of the problem, and we’ve been working on the replicator’s coding since the start of Beta shift.”
“What, precisely, is the problem?” Spock asks.
“All the replicators on Deck Seven started malfunctioning,” Lieutenant Im’pha explains. She points to a container balanced precariously on the little desk space available, near the rows of computer terminals. “They can’t replicate anything more than simple protein supplements.”
“Have you located the coding error?” Spock asks.
“It’s not a coding error,” Kho answers, leading them to the nearest console and pulling up the lines of code. “It took us nearly seven hours to figure out, but as far as we can tell, the coding’s fine.”
“We think it might be a problem with the generative core matrix,” Im’pha says. She types something on the console quickly and three line graphs replace the block of code. She superimposes one onto what must be the baseline. “You see where there’s a peak in ionic production? We think it might be the cause.”
“Yeah, Gaila and I were thinking that ion buildup is jamming the electromagnetic currents, which frayed the circuitry.”
“I see,” Spock says. “Have you located the frayed circuit?”
“We were actually hoping you could help us with that, sir,” Im’pha says. When she smiles, she bites her bottom lip and casts a sideways glance at Kho, who flushes and looks away. “Scotty’s been working with us all of last shift, but he got called up to the bridge to-um…”
“He’s updating the universal translator for the upcoming diplomatic mission,” Kho supplies when Im’pha appears to flounder.
“Yes, right,” Im’pha says, beaming. “Ishtar’s right. He won’t be back for the rest of Gamma shift at least.”
Spock very pointedly ignores the fact that Nyota had specifically asked for Gamma shift rotation today. As her commanding officer, it is not his business. As her friend, however, he is curious, and makes a mental note to himself to inquire of it later.
For now, it will be a meticulous process to manually check every replicator circuit to discover the source of the malfunction. Narrowing the search to those located on Deck Seven still leaves two thousand, six hundred and forty seven separate circuits which must be individually troubleshot. Spock believes it will take sixteen-point-seven hours to thoroughly examine them. Once the faulty circuit has been found, it might take as long as two hours to safely reach it and eradicate the problem, depending on the accessibility of its location. He stops himself from sharing this information with the lieutenants, as he is beginning to understand that such details can often overwhelm certain members of the crew.
“Let us begin then,” Spock says.
He stays with Kho and Im’pha for longer than he originally anticipated. Spock would be lying if he said he had not, in fact, lost track of time. In fact, hours pass before Spock realizes that both Kho and Im’pha have at last succumbed to exhaustion and excused themselves for some much needed sleep. Likewise, Spock misses the fact that the rest of Gamma shift, all of Alpha and three point seven hours of Beta shift have passed without his knowledge. It is only Commander Scott’s arrival on the Engineering deck that pulls Spock out of his work. He leaves hastily afterwards, once he is sure Scott understands which sections of circuitry Spock has checked.
This is how Spock finds himself running late for his now weekly appointments with Doctor Jones. The irony does not appear to be lost on Kirk, as he leans against the doorframe of the counselor’s office with his arms crossed. However, it is strange that Spock can notice his defensive stance seems to be merely for show. When Kirk looks up from his study of the floor upon Spock’s arrival, he is smiling.
“I apologize, Captain,” Spock begins. “I was held up by-”
“Hey, Spock, don’t worry about it,” Kirk responds, pushing himself away from the wall with one foot. “Everyone hits the snooze every now and then.”
Spock does not employ the use of an alarm clock, and therefore has no possible way to ‘hit the snooze.’ However, he believes that Kirk does not mean the statement literally, and so does not mention it. At that moment, a yeoman motions for them to enter the counselor’s office, and so he has no time to come up with a response to Kirk’s attempt at levity.
Doctor Jones is not in her office when he and Kirk are led in. Spock remembers their last session, where the two of them hardly spoke a word to each other until the disastrous exchange minutes before their dismissal. Kirk, who must also have that counseling session in his mind, shifts in his seat, discomfort obvious in the tense line of his shoulders.
Nyota has told him on numerous occasions that he is terrible at small talk.
“I find that I am unskilled in some of the intricacies of interpersonal communication,” Spock says into the resounding silence suddenly. “The most mundane of which, small talk, seems a particularly hard concept to grasp.”
Kirk laughs at that, and something terse and tense relaxes around his sternum at the sound.
“I never quite got the point of it either, to be honest,” Kirk replies, turning slightly in his chair so his knees point in Spock’s direction. “Like, if you don’t have anything important to say, why even bother?”
Not three weeks previous, Spock would have taken offense at Kirk’s statement, believing him to be making a thinly veiled insult on Spock’s attempts at communication. Now however, Kirk does not give off an impression of hostility. On the contrary, Kirk sits up, his full attention on Spock. His eyes are bright in light of this shared admission, hands spread in open supplication. Inviting Spock’s opinion.
“A logical assumption, Captain,” Spock says. “Indeed, it is one that we share.”
Kirk grins widely and leans forward, until he rests his elbows on his knees. He interlaces his fingers and rests his chin in them.
“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” he says redundantly and huffs out a single laugh. “Two things. First did you just compliment me?”
“I merely state facts, Captain-”
“Which brings me to bullet point number two,” Kirk says, interrupting him. Spock takes a deep breath, not as irritated as he once was at the Captain’s unfortunate habit of interrupting. “We’re in relationship therapy, Spock. Been in it for weeks now. I think you should really call me Jim.”
Spock has no chance to reply, as at that moment Doctor Jones enters from a side door. She does not offer any excuse for her tardiness. Instead, she smiles calmly at them both.
“How are you both?” she asks, sitting before them and clasping her hands in her lap.
“Great,” Kirk says, casting a sideways glance towards Spock. “Really great.”
“Wonderful,” the doctor replies, smiling warmly. She turns her milky gaze on Spock. For a moment he feels a flash of her telepathy, but it is gone quickly, no doubt due to his previous issues with Counselor Vrinda. “And you, Spock? How are you today?”
“I am functional,” Spock says. The statement is perfunctory, as he has no name for the bubbling feeling that has been rising low in his stomach since he began conversing with Kirk-Jim today.
“That is, of course, acceptable,” Jones says. The statement, for some reason, causes Jim to grin again, a quick flash of teeth that Spock may have missed if he had not been studying the Captain so intently. “What do you two have to tell me?”
He shares a look with Jim; somehow he surmises that he wants Spock to explain. Spock takes a deep breath before beginning.
“After our last session, the captain-” here he nods to Jim once in acquiescence, “Jim and I shared words. We found the conversation to be quite enlightening.”
“Yes, very productive,” Jim says, biting his lip, perhaps in an attempt to stifle his near-manic grin. “We’ve had two coinciding shifts between then and now, and it was-um-refreshing? I guess? That we managed the whole shift without arguing.”
Truthfully, that Monday’s Alpha shift had been awkward. With the sudden realization that the captain was not willfully antagonizing him, Spock had been forced to change his reactions accordingly. Once this had been achieved, however, Spock noticed a marked increase in not only their individual productivity, but in the work output provided by the entire bridge crew.
As long as he does not have to admit as much to Doctor McCoy, Spock is coming to realize that therapy has indeed proved to be fortuitous in his relationship with Jim.
“I believe we have come to an understanding, of sorts,” Spock finally decides to say.
Doctor Jones looks momentarily surprised before she smiles at them again.
“That’s really…unbelievable. Encouraging, of course, but quite sudden.”
For a moment, she purses her lips, seemingly perturbed by their progress.
“Is that a problem?” Jim asks, his smile fading into uncertainty.
“Oh, no of course not,” she says forcefully. “Facilitating an emphatic experience, or communicating in an environment that is welcoming to differing opinions, is a higher priority than any conceptual insights or principles of relationship functioning. I just didn’t expect you two to reach this level of communicative intimacy so soon.”
“Okay,” Jim says. He mouths the phrase communicative intimacy to himself before speaking aloud. “So, what does that mean for us, exactly? Within the context of these meetings?”
“Ideally, I would still like to observe you two interacting,” Jones says, seeming to regain some of her previous composure. “I’ve read of cases where once the initial conflict was resolved, previously unknown conflicts rose to the surface.”
“That is acceptable,” Spock answers. “How should we begin?”
The doctor leads them through multiple exercises, most of which Spock remembers from their first meeting with Jones. Spock is surprised, however, to note that their responses do differ from the initial meetings.
Now, when the Doctor asks Jim to describe Spock, he begins with;
“Spock is a scientist, and he’s also my First Officer.”
It is not a significant difference, but it is a difference nonetheless.
“Your progress is encouraging,” Jones says forty three point five minutes later, after they have spoken of multiple subjects without a sign of hostility from either of them. “I know it’s difficult for the two of you to get any mutual free time, with how often your schedules conflict, so I thought we could shorten our sessions to every other week for four more weeks. After that, I would require a follow up session after one standard month and then again at the six month mark to make sure you’re both adhering to your commitments.”
“What commitments?” Jim asks.
“Well, that’s what I wanted to explain right now.” She studies them both intently for a moment before continuing. “I want you to take an interest in each other’s work or out-of-work activities. Sustaining a mutually benefiting relationship takes effort, even outside of counseling. You need to orient yourselves towards the other, meaning you need to take the time and energy required to make sure your relationship is healthy and equal.”
“How would such a state be attained?” Spock asks.
“I need you both to make a commitment to continually evolve your newly budding rapport. To do this, you need to maintain mutual influence by being attentive, observant and interested in the other. You’ll both need to make an effort to share vulnerability and relational responsibility.”
“Wait, what does that mean, exactly? Relational responsibility?”
“It means that you’re both responsible for the ultimate outcome of your relationship, Captain,” Jones responds. “Both of you need to make it safe for the other to be vulnerable, meaning cultivating a nonjudgmental environment, to make it easier for you two to risk emotional engagement.”
“Right, of course,” Jim answers, in a way that suggests he does not entirely understand the Doctor’s response.
“You have to take this seriously,” Jones says, with the first hint of offense she has shown throughout their counseling sessions. “Captain, Commander, I need full assurance that you’ll both conform to my parameters.”
Spock turns to Jim and they lock eyes for a long, interminable second.
“I do not believe your request to be unreasonable,” Spock finally says without breaking eye contact.
“Yeah, I think I can do that.”
Doctor Jones dismisses them shortly afterwards, still with a small amount of her dissatisfaction present around the tight press of her lips.
Once they are both in the turbolift and it is speeding towards their destination, Jim breaks the somewhat awkward silence.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re living in the Twilight Zone?” Jim asks, not quite meeting Spock’s gaze. “I mean, we just made a commitment to our relationship counselor to remain fully committed to working out our differences and maintaining a relationship where we-what did she call it-‘risk emotional engagement.’ I mean, I kinda feel like we might have just gotten married without knowing it.”
If Spock were completely human, he would admit to feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the counselor’s somewhat intimate suggestion. However, being unable to adequately express such a thought, Spock opts for a slight redirection of their conversation.
“The statistical probability of the Enterprise being witness to any anomaly resembling ‘twilight’ is-” Spock stops himself before calculating the exact probability. He knows it is so small as to be negligible. The Captain does however snort and put a hand up to stay his response, which was the purpose of Spock’s statement.
“It was a vague, pre-warp, Terran pop culture reference,” he says, and it is almost an apology. “You work gamma shift in a few hours, right?”
“In approximately three hours and twenty five minutes, yes,” Spock answers, reminding himself to look up the aforementioned pop culture reference at a later time.
“Do you want to do something in the interim?” he asks hopefully. “We could go to the mess and grab something to eat?”
The offer is tempting, as Spock has not eaten since-since 17:00 yesterday, he realizes with some astonishment. However, he knows that he cannot safely resume his position on the bridge with less than four hours of sleep within a 36 hour period.
“I was planning on using the little available time I have left for sleep,” Spock admits. He finds he does not like the way Jim’s smile dims ever so slightly. “I have been working with engineering on an ionic disruption in Deck Seven’s replicators since last gamma shift, and I am not eager to return to work without adequate rest.”
“Oh, of course,” Jim says. “Very logical of you, Mr. Spock.”
“I am sorry, Captain,” Spock says, and finds that he means it. “Perhaps some other time?”
“Yeah, definitely. Maybe you can tell me a little about that replicator malfunction that Scotty still hasn’t told me about.”
“I would find such a conversation satisfying,” Spock answers, is rewarded by another flash of Jim’s brilliant white smile.
When the turbolift stops on the officer’s deck, Spock steps out sedately.
“Goodnight, Spock,” Jim says.
“Thank you, Captain. And you, as well.”
It is unfortunate that Spock never in fact reaches his quarters. Ensign Ortiz is waiting for Spock at the end of the hallway, standing at attention despite the fact that before Spock turned the corner, the corridor had been empty save for her. Unlike Kirk, Spock does not take his communicator with him to therapy, although at the moment he suspects that this decision might have proven to be an error. Ortiz salutes upon catching sight of him, and immediately explains that his presence is required in engineering again. Spock only delays enough to retrieve his communicator before he is down in engineering again.
Im’pha and Kho greet him somewhat nervously; Spock notes that Scott is also present this time, although he is deeply immersed in a readout at the moment, and does not appear to notice anyone around them. Ortiz joins them moments later, and together they await Scott in increasingly tense silence.
“There’s an ion storm heading our way,” he finally says.
“Is the acting bridge crew aware of this?” Spock asks him.
“It’s where I got the info from now, isn’t it?” Scott answers, waving his arms in the air unnecessarily. “Figure it’s about twenty minutes from here.”
“Will it affect the replicators?” Kho asks, a frown marring his face.
“Aye, no way around it,” Scott responds.
“What are our options, Scotty?” Im’pha asks, taking a hesitant step towards the man. Scott frowns.
At that moment, the turbolift doors open again and Jim rushes over to them, his blue eyes like twin shards of titanium alloy, determined and unwavering like Spock has not seen since Nero.
“Heard about the ion storm,” he says by way of explanation. “And Spock said something about ionic disruption in our replicators?”
Im’pha, Kho, Ortiz, and Scott all wince nearly simultaneously, and turn to Spock with perfectly matching exasperated looks.
“Did he?” Im’pha asks, her half-frown turning thoughtful.
“Scotty, I’ll have words with you about not reporting this to me once the crisis is averted,” Jim says, causing Scott to grimace again, “but first, I need to know what we’re planning on doing, or if we need to do anything in the first place.”
“The ionic charge up there is already becoming critically unsafe,” Koh explains. “That ion storm could electrically discharge in our mainframe, short-out our life support, even get the engines offline.”
“We could get exploded, too,” Ortiz adds, holding up a spanner at this as if to gain everyone’s attention. “Could blow off decks seven and up from the engines. Tear us straight apart. Ion energy is nasty that way.”
Scott makes a truly pained expression and shakes his head desperately.
“Don’t even think such unspeakable things, Gloria!” he says, leaning an arm against a nearby bulkhead for support.
“Yeah, I don’t exactly want to picture us exploding into oblivion because of our replicators,” Jim says tightly. “Which, while we’re on the subject, what the fuck, seriously?”
“Captain, did you know that if there was a method of harnessing ionic energy would be six times more powerful than a dilithium crystal?” Im’pha asks.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she responds. “The ionic charge our replicators are giving off is positive right now, and with a small build-up like what we’re experiencing is no big deal, but mix them with a massive concentration of negative ions, like in an ionic storm, and you’ve suddenly got a really big deal.”
“Think of shocking yourself with a small discharge of static electricity,” Ortiz says after a moment. “And then multiply it by ten to the power of fourteen.”
“Can we fix it?”
“We were going to have our lass Ortiz go up and fix the circuit board through one o’ the Jeffries tubes.” He motions to Ortiz, who tosses the spanner in the air and catches it again. “But with the ion storm coming, we cannae risk it.”
“I think I can get to it in time,” Ortiz says stubbornly. She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
“Don’t be stupid, Gloria,” Im’pha says. “The safety protocol itself takes over ten minutes to get through properly. By the time you reach it-”
“I can do it,” she says, turning to the Captain then. “The problematic circuit board isn’t too far up; I can reach it and get out of there before the ion storm ever reaches us, if we stop wasting time arguing about it.”
Kirk watches her for a long time-five point two seconds-searching her face. Whatever he is looking for, he seems to find, as he nods once and orders tersely, “Do it.”
Ortiz turns on her heel and hurries away; Im’pha makes a frustrated noise and follows her down to the farthest Jeffries tube, calling out to her as she goes.
“Kirk to bridge,” Jim says into his communicator after the two disappear. “I need a status report on that ion storm.”
“ETA eleven minutes, Captain,” Nyota’s voice responds. “Captain, is there a reason why you’re down in engineering right now?”
“The replicators are about to explode us all, Lieutenant,” Jim answers, albeit a bit dramatically.
“Captain, what-”
“Keep me updated, yeah?” With that, he flips his communicator closed. “Scotty, what can we do?”
“Not much now,” Scott answers. “It’s up to our lass now, isn’t it? See if she’s up to getting bumped around a bit.”
Jim grins at that statement.
“I think she can take it.”
“Enterprise is a lady, Captain,” Scott answers, looking scandalized. “She’s not used to getting manhandled!”
“Who is manning the science console at present, Captain?” Spock asks when Jim appears ready to continue on with this perplexing conversation.
“Don’t know; Dasher?” he answers, turning to Spock and frowning. “I’m sure whoever it is knows by now that whenever there’s a life-threatening phenomenon going on, you’ll want them to scan it for future science-ing.”
Spock does not know which part of that sentence he needs to amend first.
“Judging by Lieutenant Uhura’s curiosity earlier, I would surmise that the bridge is unaware of the severity of our situation.”
“All the more reason for whoever’s at your station to be science-ing!” Jim exclaims.
“Science is not a verb, Captain.”
“I just turned it into one, Spock.”
“Of course, sir.”
Commander Scott is speaking into his communicator, conferring with Lieutenants Im’pha and Ortiz. Jim runs a hand through the back of his hair.
“I guess I’m not really needed down here,” he says, after a moment. “You’ll tell me how my engineers saved the day, right?”
Spock is about to answer in the affirmative, when he is momentarily distracted by the overhead lighting, as it begins to flicker on and off. Beneath their feet, Enterprise begins to rumble, tiny tremors that Spock feels in the souls of his feet and nowhere else.
“We’ve entered the ion storm,” Nyota’s voice says.
For a moment it appears as if nothing detrimental will happen to the ship at all; Jim smiles brilliantly, clearly relieved. His relief is short-lived, however, as exactly four seconds later there is a sudden flare of energy in the mainframe. The lights flash impossibly bright and then they are plunged into darkness. The engines give a weak groan as auxiliary power comes online.
“Well, at least we didn’t explode,” Jim says into the silence, his face only half-bathed in the eerie red lighting. “Scotty!”
Spock is surprised to realize he did not notice when Scott had left. He comes running towards them now, with Im’pha and Ortiz several steps behind.
“I thought you said you could fix it,” Jim says when they are within earshot.
“I did,” Ortiz answers. “Why do you think we’re not all dead?”
“Most of the damage was to the outer hull,” Im’pha explains.
“Captain, we’re receiving minimum power to the bridge,” Uhura’s voice says from Jim’s communicator.
“Did we just get hit by phaser fire?” Sulu’s voice chimes in, incredulous. “Shields at eighty-four percent. Captain, Uhura’s saying our replicators are what just tried to blow a chunk out of-”
“They did,” Jim responds into his communicator. “I’ll be up in ten.”
“Auxiliary power only,” Scott says. “Phasers’ll be offline. Warp four at the most.”
“Great,” Jim answers, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “With our luck a Klingon warbird’ll show up just in time to fuck us all over. Can we fix it?”
“Aye,” Scott says, attention already buried in a nearby console. “We can have main power online in four hours.”
“If Klingons show up in three and a half hours, Scott, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Aye sir,” Scott answers. Already many engineers have crowded around Scott, and when he looks up again, he begins to bark out orders to them all.
“I will remain here,” Spock says. “With my help, I estimate repair time will be sped up by fourteen point seven percent.”
Jim watches him for a long time, before finally nodding. He turns and exits engineering, already speaking into his communicator again.
“Mr. Scott,” Spock says calmly. “How may I be of help?”
Two hours and five minutes later, Spock looks up from his work. A tentative hand clasps him on the shoulder, and Jim is standing there, smiling somewhat apologetically.
“When was the last time you slept, Spock?” he asks gently.
Spock is not sure. He assumes it has been over forty hours, but he cannot be quite certain. Rather than admit this to his Captain, however, he remains silent. Jim correctly interprets Spock’s silence to be a lie of omission and shakes his head.
“Go get some rest, Commander.”
“I cannot,” Spock answers, standing with some difficulty. His knees protest movement after spending so long in a crouched position, but Spock only clasps his hands behind his back and assumes parade rest. “I must report to the bridge in twenty minutes and forty one seconds.”
Spock notices then that Jim has not removed his hand from Spock’s shoulder. In fact, he gives Spock a small shake at his proclamation.
“It is prudent for a starship commander to be well rested, Spock,” Jim says softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll have someone cover your shift for you.” He smiles, suddenly, as if an amusing thought has occurred to him. “I’m sure the Captain won’t be too upset with you.”
He wants to tell Jim that under extreme duress, Vulcans are able to function adequately for weeks without sleep.
“Don’t make me make it an order, Spock,” Jim says again.
“I will rest,” Spock finally says, ultimately deciding that engineering can continue on without his presence and that their current situation does not precisely constitute an episode of ‘extreme duress.’ “I will, however, make arrangements with Commander Taras to compensate for the hours I will not work.”
“You’re gonna drive our quartermaster crazy, you know,” Jim says. His arm drops away from Spock’s shoulder. It feels strangely bereft afterwards. “Just go.”
Spock nods once and turns to go.
“Thank you, Captain,” he says, without turning back to face him.
“Thanks are unnecessary,” Jim says, a hint of irony evident in his voice, and he wonders if the man is smiling, if his eyes are as warm as the sound of his voice.
***
The weeks pass in much the same manner. Spock and Jim’s visits with Doctor Jones become more infrequent as their working schedules begin aligning. Since Spock has been responsible for drafting up his own schedules for the entirety of this mission, he cannot quite call this a coincidence.
“It is not difficult for a determined individual-particularly one versed in ancient Terran ciphers-to decrypt such a message,” Spock says one afternoon apropos of nothing.
They are on the recreation deck, seated in an unobtrusive corner and indulging in a method of interpersonal bonding. They are still hesitant around each other, and when the Captain requested they spend one afternoon in each other’s company, Spock found it illogical to refuse him.
Spock has a meeting with one of his coworkers in Sciences in fifteen point seven minutes, a young Tellarite who is working closely with the security department to upgrade the ship’s firearm power. It is interesting work, and yet he finds himself reluctant to end this encounter with Kirk-Jim, as he wishes to be called.
Jim is shuffling a deck of cards. Spock watches the play of emotions flitter across his face as he concentrates on his task.
“What such message?” he asks, looking up from his hands and quirking both his eyebrows.
“The messages you have been sending me once I revealed my inexperience with decryption.”
“Oh,” Kirk says, a small upturn at the corners of his lips. “If we’re calling it Cipher-Decryption For Practical Reasons instead of Let’s Educate the Vulcan Instead of the Other Way Around For Once, then yeah, I get your point.”
“Your predilection for turning entire phrases into proper nouns is quite illogical, Captain.”
“If by ‘illogical’ you mean either ‘awesome’ or ‘vaguely horrifying,’ then yes, I agree with you, Commander.”
Here, Jim bites his lip and turns away. The sight is very becoming, Spock notes, particularly the way the wrinkles around his eyes are thrown into sharp relief, clues to the permanence of emotion on such an alien being.
“If you want something original, tedious, and full of randomly complicated rules, I’ve got something that’ll match that criteria.”
“Indeed?”
“Yeah,” Jim responds, dealing out six cards to each of them, full of his previous excitement again. “When I was a kid, my brother had a habit of going through my things. So that forced me into hiding everything and inventing my own language for notes that I didn’t want him to see. That way, if he did find my journal or something, he couldn’t use it against me.”
“When you were ‘a kid,’” Spock repeats, picking up the cards he has been given. “Approximately what age were you?”
“Eight,” he says automatically. Spock raises an eyebrow.
“If you believe such a code-one that you created to thwart the mind of a preteen-to be unbreakable, then I believe it will suffice.”
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Commander?” Jim asks on a laugh. When Spock says nothing in response, he only laughs louder. “So confident,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “But all right. I’ll send you a message later on tonight. Now, come on; let me teach you how to play Fizzbin.”
Ten minutes later, Spock is eighty percent certain that Jim is creating the rules to this game as he goes. Yet Spock can hear the joy in Jim’s voice, a tremor that is not quite a laugh but exudes mirth in much the same way, and Spock finds that this alone is enough to make him overlook some of the more illogical rules of the game. In fact, he finds himself reluctant to depart after just ten minutes.
However, Spock is still Chief Science Officer aboard this vessel, and he must attend to his duties. So he says goodbye to the captain and spends exactly one hour and thirty two minutes conversing with his subordinates.
When he returns to his quarters, Spock finds a message from Jim awaiting him. Spock would be lying if he did not admit to experiencing a certain amount of anticipation over this new problem. He will meditate on the phenomenon accordingly, but not before he has slaked his curiosity and opened Jim’s uniquely encrypted message.
***
Lately, Jim has been adding on more complex aspects to the code he devised, versus sending Spock messages encrypted in different ways. Now it more closely resembles a complex series of equations, with counterintuitive symbols representing a mathematical function. Spock must solve each equation for a designated numerical value that represents each letter.
It is a tedious process-not because the set of “equations” has changed but because Jim prefers to use different numbers and mathematical methods to reach the same result. Therefore, To Spock: may appear one day as
(5.2*3-,1*5 ; 6%2.4*3)(6+/2*1 ; 4-,3.2 ; 7.2*2.1 ; 8%2,1 ; 3+*2):
And sometime later as
(5.4 ; 3.5)(2.9*1 ; 4.4 ; 3.5 ; /9 ; 5.2*1):
Today when Spock unscrambles the message he is surprised to find that instead of Jim’s usual greeting, Spock’s Vulcan clan name is written across the top of the message (written with Standard characters, of course). In fact, the entire message is written in Vulcan. Spock had not previously been aware that Jim is fluent in Spock’s first language.
Na’etwel Worl’Qjunirr, the message begins, and he wonders if Jim knows the significance of using a Vulcan’s clan name, that within the very words lies an implication of brotherhood. For we of the clan Worl’Qjunirr is the literal translation of that opening line, which implies that Jim is either already part of Spock’s clan or would like to become so.
Jim is very smart. Even among Enterprise’s crew-which has already been nicknamed “The Genius Boat” by Starfleet-Jim’s intelligence rating is still comparatively high. Nevertheless, Vulcan has always retained a level of privacy for many of its traditions and cultural practices. It is statistically more probable that Jim used Spock’s clan name as a clue to decode the message in Vulcan.
Spock is moved by the gesture. He remembers Sybok, being young and sitting on the veranda of their home, Spock rubbing absently at the cut on his eye and Sybok sprawled against the railing.
(“They said Mother was different,” Spock had explained, his voice small and unsure after the conversation with Sarek. “They said we were different.”
“What’s the use of being similar?” Sybok said, scowling in a way that Spock had never grown accustomed to. “Everybody’s different, Spock. The only thing that holds any of us together in cultural context is our clan name.” He pushed away from the railing and dropped heavily to the step beside Spock, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Spock squirmed, but Sybok’s stubborn strength kept him in place. “Will you listen for a moment, Brother? We are all just a conglomerate of differences, floating around in a pool of strangers, and any Vulcan who would want you to pretend at similarity is a liar. The only constant in the galaxy is this: etwel Worl’Qjunirr.”
He had made Spock repeat it, over and over until it almost began to sound logical; the only constant in the galaxy is a clan, the only constant in the galaxy is that we are clan.)
Spock blinks out of the memory and forces away the unavoidable up swell of emotion regarding Sybok. Jim’s use of Spock’s clan name at the very least shows that he has genuine interest in Spock’s heritage. He tries not to calculate the odds of Jim wanting to be considered Spock’s clan. However, etwel Worl’Qjunirr stares up at him from his PADD, we are clan hiding just behind the name.
Often Spock has mentioned to anyone who would care to ask that his surname is unpronounceable, a very human method of misdirection that he learned early on in his schooling at the academy. For humanoid vocal chords, it is indeed easy to trip over the glottal stops within Spock’s clan name. However, such a task is achievable; his mother accomplished the feat after much practice. The reason for Spock’s subtle misdirection is tangled with memories of Sybok, with acceptance and kinship.
Jim, ha, he thinks. etwel Worl’Qjunirr.
Jim, yes. We are clan.
***
Spock finds it curious that during meditation his relaxed mind will indeed turn back to the subject of James Kirk during light meditation sessions, and so now Spock breathes deep, lets his mind open up until it is as the valley of Keht’ennar on the outskirts of Shi’kahr. He lets his mind expand until all is flat and motionless, with not a thought to sift through the desert of his mind. He thinks briefly that he will never again see those flat planes of rust-colored bedrock, but lets that grief slowly dissipate and reminds himself to wonder about his captain.
That he can put aside his grief so easily now is due in part to his meditation, and he thinks that at last, the gaping wound Vulcan left behind in his psyche is finally beginning to heal. But solace is not the purpose of this meditation, although Spock has spent countless hours slowly coming to terms with the loss of Vulcan and its accompanying grief.
Jim Kirk is changeable. He is ephemeral or, more figuratively, fluid, like the oceans of Earth that rise and fall at predictable times throughout the course of a single day. A certain amount of changeability is in the nature of all humans, Spock thinks. Adaptation and perpetual motion were bred over millennia by extreme variations in living conditions not present on Vulcan. But there is something altogether extraordinary about James Tiberius Kirk that makes him so fascinating. Perhaps not one “thing” alone but rather an amalgamation of his unique personality traits that, added up, equal something greater than the sum of his parts.
Here among the confines of his mind, it is easy to see the logical answer. Jim Kirk is an attack of the senses. Visually, he is aesthetically pleasing. The rounded curve of his lips is lush and soft-looking, while the bright blue of his expressive eyes is alluring. When he smiles, his whole presence exudes mirth and suffuses the mood of those around him. He is gorgeous.
There is more to him than this, however. It has now been six months, fourteen days since Spock first accused Jim of cheating at Starfleet Academy, and in that time-mostly in the last two months-Spock has seen firsthand Jim’s genius. It is present on away missions gone awry, in dealing with angry Admirals, but the scope of his brilliance is most breathtaking on quiet evenings alone, where they sit across from each other and play chess for hours on end.
Jim is sensual, yes, as well as mentally stimulating, but that is not all. Jim exudes a sexual confidence that is hard to fabricate and likewise hard to ignore. Spock realizes now that he has perhaps always thought of Jim in a sexual way. It is so now, when Jim enters his quarters late during Gamma shift looking for “distraction” from his overactive mind, and it was so as far back as their diplomatic failure on Catulla. Jim had been polite and accommodating to the High Governor, yet Spock had expected the worst, had experienced what he now recognizes as the beginnings of jealousy.
Everything about Jim is extraordinary. More than that-here he must strive for precision-Jim is everything Spock would look for in a mate. He-loves him.
It is enough to pull Spock abruptly from his light meditation. He blinks open his eyes and lets out a deep breath. His inner chronometer tells him it is 0120. Spock stands and heads into the kitchen alcove and orders a Terran herbal tea from the replicator.
He thinks that maybe, he has been falling in love with Jim since the very beginning. The replicator beeps, signaling to Spock that his tea is done. Spock grabs it and moves to sit at his work desk, refreshed from his meditation session. He opens his inbox and finds a message waiting for him from Jim.
***
“The thing is, anybody who’s trying to intercept our transmissions would expect a message in Vulcan to be literal,” Jim says, letting his fingers linger over the soft curves of his queen while he contemplates Spock’s tri-d chess board.
Spock and Jim’s schedules are almost completely aligned by now, and so they are spending their evening together, as Counselor Jones has requested. Spock likes to believe that their relationship has grown in weeks since their last meeting with the counselor, and that now they spend time with each other simply because they enjoy the other’s company. However, being unused to making assumptions, Spock quashes that illogical thought and quirks an eyebrow at Jim’s non-sequitur.
“Assuming of course that they were able to decode the number sequences correctly to reveal the message itself?” Spock queries.
“Yeah,” is Jim’s response. He chooses then to move his rook to the fourth tier. “Check. Numbers are easy, Spock. There’s no meaning to them except the ones they’re given. Words, they can mean anything.”
Spock fights a frown from blooming on his face as he counters Jim’s move and contemplates his previous statement.
“On an espionage mission, it is crucial to keep the integrity of your purpose hidden,” Spock agrees. “To accomplish this, one must designate a specific ‘code name’ to certain high-risk objects or individuals.”
“Exactly.” Jim frowns at the board for forty-seven seconds. He then stands and crosses to Spock’s kitchen area, a ploy he frequently uses when he needs more time to ruminate on his next move and is unwilling to let Spock know. “I’m gonna get some coffee; do you want anything?”
“Caffeine at this hour will hamper your ability to sleep tonight,” Spock says instead of answering Jim’s question.
He knows that no matter Spock’s response, Jim will unfailingly bring him a cup of replicated tea, a brew that Jim manually programs into the replicator that Spock has been unable to successfully duplicate. As expected, Jim sets a cup down on the table beside Spock with a quiet chink of ceramic on metal, and shakes his head as he sits opposite Spock, a steaming cup in his hands.
“Right, like it’s coffee that keeps me up at night,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
“It is your move, Jim,” Spock gently reminds him, as Jim seems content to sip his coffee leisurely.
“Yeah, I know.” He sets his cup down and moves his only remaining knight down to the bottom tier. “Okay. So let’s say we have one of those ‘high-risk’ situations you were talking about earlier. And we need to talk about it, but we haven’t had sufficient time to designate a code name to whatever it is we’re doing.”
“Do you know of a situation where such an occurrence has come to fruition?” Spock inquires, moving a pawn.
“Not the point, Spock,” Jim answers. “Let’s just say it happens. Or that there was a possibility of someone leaking info from our ship to a theoretical enemy.”
Jim bites his lip for a moment as he studies the board. Spock finds the gesture to be illogically fascinating.
“What would be our plan of action should such an incident come to pass?”
“Sometimes people say one thing and mean another,” Jim responds. He moves his rook up from the second tier to the first and takes Spock’s knight. “Really inane things have way more meaning that way, and you have to really pay attention if you want to figure out what someone’s talking about.”
He takes another drink from his cup and watches Spock over the rim, waiting for his response. Spock looks away from those bright blue eyes, their gaze so intense they almost burn.
“Yes,” Spock says, still inspecting the teacup by his side. “Is this what you propose?” Jim smiles brilliantly around his cup and nods. “In that case, I believe the suggestion to be not without some merit.”
“You and your double negatives,” Jim says, but his voice is soft and warm, almost fond as he says this. “You know they’re grammatically in bad taste, right?”
“Not as much, I find, as the illogical proclivity towards contractions.”
Jim laughs at that, nearly spills his remaining coffee from the force of it. After a moment, he regains his composure enough to speak again.
“So I’m gonna try this out, and when you find out the message is about roses or something, don’t freak out and send me to medbay, okay?”
“Of course, Captain,” Spock says, and moves his queen. “Checkmate.”
The message Jim sends him later that night, after Jim excuses himself on the pretext of sleep, does not contain any mention of roses. It does however, have a rather long treatise on the nature of Haurok, an avian species native to Vulcan-that-was that had much the same use as a chicken. Spock spends fourteen point fifty two nonconsecutive hours pouring over the message before he realizes that Jim was in fact referring to Doctor McCoy. He rereads the final phrase, which once decoded and translated says something along the lines of
The Haurok trains its young well, and their beaks are sharp.
Spock imagines the trip to medical that had no doubt spurred the comment, the disgruntled look on Jim’s face when he realized the nurses would dare not disobey the CMO’s orders over even Jim’s cajoling, and Spock finds he must cover his mouth with the back of his hand to hide a small, insuppressible smile.
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