So, I wrote this late at night because I was kind of experiencing this mood myself. I just didn't have much will to go to bed. I did eventually, but I got some writing in first, because I write my best stuff at the most inconvenient times. ^^; So have some Spirk~
DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and these ridiculously lovable characters are the glorious creations of Gene Roddenberry, not I.
Spock is obviously tired, and his chocolate eyes drift about aimlessly for a bit as he reclines in the chair. Then they close altogether, though he seems to put up a fight; they open again a few times before he resigns. You love him, you suddenly remember. Not that you'd ever forgotten.
Pity there isn't room in that chair for two. Instead, you crouch next to it and lean forward onto its plush arm, crossing your own arms beneath your chin. You know he's aware that you're there; his sharp hearing and pristine reasoning skills wouldn't allow otherwise. There's also simply a sense coming off of him, one of... knowing. You cannot surprise him. Not anymore.
Yes, Spock is tired, and perhaps somewhat depressed (for him, there is a thin line between the two,) and you find yourself reaching up to rub his arm gently. You tell yourself this is to comfort him, but it's more to make you feel better. It's just... saddening. The Vulcan seems so heavy, leaning back and letting his eyelids fall shut and furrowing his pointed brows in discomfort or discontent. You'd like him to come to bed.
"I should meditate first," he responds when you vocalize this. But minutes go by, and he does not move.
"Spock... let's just go to bed."
His reply is delayed. "I suppose that suggestion is logical..."
You shake your head slowly, gazing into his distant eyes and searching for answers. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't even have the energy to deny that anything is wrong. "I do not know," he muses on an exhale, sounding both melancholy and interested by his own mysterious slump. You smile slightly. How comfortingly like him.
You take a breath. "...You get sad when you're really tired."
Spock finally meets your eye. "This is something you've observed?"
"Yeah. Seems to be a pattern, at least. I think you like having energy, feeling... responsive. Alert. Being able to reason and problem-solve. So running out of steam for those things is depressing for you." You smirk. "But that's just my theory, of course."
Spock seems to genuinely consider it, and there is something else in his gaze now, some difficult to decipher thought or emotion. "...Your theory may very well be correct, Jim." Maybe he's surprised; taken off-guard that you may have hit the nail on the head. That you understand him better than he understands himself.
"Well..." you trail off, stretching your back as best you can in this position, "if it is correct, you know what'll help?" The Vulcan awaits the answer. "Sleep," you finish.
He glances away. "I expected you would say that." Now, to your relief, he stands, as do you. You hear some joint pop, but do not notice if it is one of his or one of yours.
You lead the way into the turbolift, and once he is beside you, you take his hand intimately - reassuringly. The lift whirrs as you both vertically approach your quarters.
"I do not know why I am so hesitant to sleep," Spock states quietly, almost sheepishly.
You consider this. "Neither do I. But I do know you'll be yourself again tomorrow morning."
The hand you are holding squeezes yours warmly. You know your first officer is thanking you with this gesture. "I agree," he utters.
You smile. You just remembered again - you love him.