Spock looked up from what he had been doing. The Captain was on the bridge talking to the ship's No.1.
Always before, when he heard her voice, he saw nothing but her. Other people existed of course, but they were pale water colour creatures next to the bright vibrancy of her presence. His gaze lingered on her as she spoke, he felt a warm sense of pride that the Captain listened to her with an attentiveness he reserved for no other. Speaking to her as an equal, easy in her company, deferring to her judgement, respectful of her opinion.
Spock never felt at ease, but in her company he could forget his awkwardness, she made him forget it, laughing with love in her eyes when he misunderstood or misspoke. It made him want to laugh too, as he had seen his crewmates laugh when they had made themselves foolish, but it was beyond him. His discipline was too strong, too much a part of him, impossible to deny. It imprisoned him and he was complicit in his confinement, unable now to exist without it.
But the Captain laughed, throwing back his head, careless of his rank. Enjoying the freedom her company gave him to be just a man; mortal, fallible, human. Spock had seen him laugh, had seen her laugh with him, as she could not laugh with a Vulcan, as she would never be able to laugh with a Vulcan. As his mother could not laugh with his father. As his mother had never been able to laugh with him.
Now when he saw them together the Captain was always in sharp focus, a foil to her brightness, somehow completing her. And mingled with the pride was something bitter, something he didn't understand, something that cut and hurt and for which he had no words, as he had no laughter.
He remained mesmerised, his eyes fixed on their togetherness. The Captain did not recoil at the inconsequential intimacies which Spock found so difficult to navigate, Pike seemingly undisturbed that their hands collided by accident, unconcerned when their eyes met in conversation. Spock stood torn in two, the hurt within him demanding he focus only on them, duty and logic demanding the hurt be denied. That he think only of his work.
Duty and logic at length prevailing, for there was no choice but that they must, he turned away. She left the bridge, he heard her go, heard the warmth in the Captain's voice as they parted, confirming her orders and their closeness. He forced his mind to think only of his work, losing himself in the detail. Grateful for the discipline that allowed him to shut out all else and function only as an intellect.
Her orders had been clear, she was preparing a landing party. Gathering a team about her to investigate the planet they orbited. She would go herself, there would be specialists and a security detail. In addition there had been one other. The Captain would be beaming down with them. She had seemed almost gleeful at this, teasing the Captain about age and rank as she teased Spock about youth and inexperience.
He worked diligently, refusing to acknowledge the part of him that called him away from his duties, that urged him to seek her out and tell her that he was sorry that he was imperfect and flawed, awkward in a hundred different ways. That he could not laugh for her. That he was not human for her. That he was not the Captain.