Spock glanced up from the book he was reading to the sound of a key jiggling inside the lock. He was still quite unaccustomed to the antiquity of it all - proper books with pages and ink rather than Starfleet issue PADDs, doors that required metal keys to open rather than a programmable door. Keys and locks were quite illogical; each one had to be manufactured uniquely.

"Spock!" Jim's muffled voice came from behind the door to their apartment. "Little help here?"

It had been several months since Spock and the Captain had been stranded in 21st century Terra's New York City - the city on the edge of forever. For some reason, Jim insisted on heading out each morning to a coffee shop called "Starbucks," where he typically spent an exorbitant amount of money on a beverage of some sort. Not exorbitant as in actually expensive, but several dollars over what Spock had determined to be the value of a typical coffee beverage. He was still rather uncertain; money wasn't used in the 23rd century.

"Comeon Spock let me in. I know I have a key but my hands are kind of full here..."

Spock shut his book after committing the page number to memory and stood gracefully, pushing his chair away from the kitchen table. He strode across the small room and turned the knob to reveal his Captain, who was carrying a very large cardboard box.

"Mornin', Spock," Jim said, stifling a yawn. Indeed, it was only 6:27, and Jim had left the house at 5:43. He had gotten considerably less sleep than was considered necessary for optimal human performance, but his eyes were still bright and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Jim." Spock replied, inclining his head slightly in greeting. "May I ask about the contents of the package?"

"Surprise," Jim grunted as he pushed through the doorway and set the box down on the floor with a resounding thud.

"Surprises are illogical," Spock replied, quirking an eyebrow at his Captain.

"You're illogical." Jim muttered, clearly not intending for Spock to hear his musings yet forgetting the sensitivity of Vulcan hearing.

"As a Vulcan I am a member of the most logical species of the Federation," Spock supplied helpfully. Jim groaned.

"Have you had breakfast?" Jim asked. Confused by the unprecedented change in subject, Spock rose a single eyebrow once again.

"Affirmative," he said.

"Good. Then go take whatever it was you were reading into the other room for a bit." Spock's other eyebrow quivered, threatening to jump toward his hairline in an expression of the confusion he was experiencing.

"Go on!" admonished Jim. Spock gave him a look, yet walked back to the table to retrieve his book and into the other room, closing the door behind him. Several minutes later, he heard a clattering sound, followed by some of Jim's more colorful metaphors. Spock listened as the series of sounds repeated itself in cycles, until a large crash emanated from the adjacent room, followed by a swift intake of breath and several curses. Slightly alarmed to hear his Captain's typical reaction to painful stimuli, Spock swiftly opened the door to find Jim cradling his right hand with his left, standing over a disheveled pile of wooden boards.

"What were you attempting to construct, Jim?" he asked as his eyes continued to survey the mess before resting on the source of his Captain's pain.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Jim repeated with a pout spreading over his features. "It's a bookshelf, but I couldn't figure out how to put it together." Spock bent down to retrieve a piece of paper from the ground.

"It seems that Ikea has provided step by step instructions," Spock said drily.

"I'm captain of a fucking starship Spock I think I can handle a bookshelf."

"Obviously not," Spock replied. He took his Captain's injured hand in his own and turned it over gently running his hand over Jim's and checking for signs of damage. He stole a chaste kiss from Jim's fingers before returning his hand.

"Your hand will not suffer any damage from when decided to take your frustration out on an unyielding piece of wood," Spock announced. "However, I recommend that you apply ice to the area in order to mitigate any possible swelling."

Jim seeming frozen in place, so with a raise of an eyebrow, Spock strolled back to the kitchen and made a bag of ice, returning to the living room with it and a long piece of cloth. Spock deftly tied the ice over Jim's hand, occasionally brushing his fingers against his Captain's own.

"Um, Spock?" Jim said tentatively.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Isn't that... Well aren't Vulcans... Doesn't that mean... Don't Vulcans kiss with their hands?" Jim managed, turning a brilliant shade of red.

"Yes, Jim," Spock replied softly, and pressed his lips to Jim's forehead.

"Oh," Jim said. He walked a few feet to his right so he could flop down on the couch, cradling his injured hand against his chest and using his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he usually did when he had a headache. Spock's gaze lingered on his Captain before he turned his attention back to the pile of boards on the floor. He assembled the bookshelf in a matter of minutes, following the instructions he had committed to memory, and then rose to assess his construction abilities. Satisfied, he turned to Jim.

"The bookshelf has been constructed." Jim opened his eyes sleepily and could swear he saw Spock's eyes soften just a little bit.

"Unf" Jim murmured unintelligibly as his eyes closed once again. Spock continued to look at the sprawled form of his Captain and nearly jumped when he heard a single syllable escape the lips of the sleeping man.

"Spock," Jim murmured softly. Spock hesitated slightly before moving over to the couch and sliding down beside the still form. He pulled Jim's body closer to him, and Jim burrowed his face into his chest. Spock stroked his Captain's - his Jim's hair until they both were sound asleep.