Chapter Rating: PG-13
When Trelane emerged from the turbolift about five minutes after Jim relieved Uhura from command, Jim was more surprised than if he had simply flashed into existence. He hoped it was a sign that Trelane was trying, at least superficially, to make his hosts more comfortable around him. He stood up to greet the showy figure, and crossed his fingers that Spock had worked his usual inhuman speed on the databanks.
"Captain, I'm disappointed." Trelane said as he swept out of the lift, his arms crossed and his tone accusatory. "A mere henchman, escorting me around your vessel?"
Jim tried to pretend he was expecting Trelane's early appearance. "She's my ship, but she's Mr. Scott's baby. Did you enjoy the–"
Suddenly the turbolift doors slid open again, and Scotty stumbled out. He leaned against the bulkhead, panting with exertion, looking vaguely alarmed at everything around him. His eyes focused on Jim, and he blinked rapidly. "I tried, sir. He got away."
Meanwhile, Trelane was ignoring Jim, strutting onto the bridge as if he were master and commander. He had just caught sight of a certain communication's officer, frozen wide-eyed at her station.
"Ah, my desert queen, my fair Cleopatra! How good to see you again!" Trelane seized Uhura's hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. She leapt up, jerked away, and backed against the wall of consoles, her gaze snapping between Jim and their visitor.
"Captain? Do you… are you seeing…"
"Yes, lieutenant."
"Oh. I thought I was losing my mind." She calmed down a bit and stared at Trelane, arms wrapped protectively around herself. "I'm not sure I wouldn't prefer that option right about now, sir."
Believe me, I know, Jim thought, but he held his tongue. "The circumstances are a little out of the ordinary, but he'll be visiting us for the next few days. He claims he's here to observe." The subtext, of course, being that mostly everyone thought Trelane was lying like a snake in the grass. Jim saw the wary glint in Uhura's eyes and knew she got the message.
"I see. You didn't get enough of observing us before?"
"Why, fair mademoiselle, your tone cuts me to the quick!" Trelane clutched at his chest, and seemed on the verge of a dramatic, lengthy monologue. Fortunately, he still had the attention span of a goldfish, and when he glanced toward the navigator's station, his building theatrics fizzled out with a frown. "Good sir, I do believe I recognize you."
He made a beeline for Sulu, who as far as Jim could tell, had been facing resolutely forward, pretending to be invisible. Jim flinched and started after Trelane, but Uhura tugged at his sleeve, and he turned back around. She seized his collar and pulled him down so his ear was level with her mouth. "Captain," she whispered urgently, "what about the party tomorrow?"
"Party?"
"The Valentine's party, sir! The party we've be planning for a month. The party with about 98% of the crew attending. Is it still–"
"A party? In my honor?" Trelane forgot all about Sulu and bounded back across the bridge, swooping down on them like a Neuralian spear-bird, so fast Jim was almost sure he teleported. He made a mental note that Trelane's hearing was now better than Spock's.
Uhura shot him a frantic look, and he considered the possibilities. At this point, it seemed like a good idea to keep their unsolicited guest as entertained as possible. The more they amused him with illogical human ritual, the less likely he would be to cause trouble. Jim gave her a brief and reluctant nod, and she faced Trelane. "No, but of course you're invited," she said slowly, recovering her composure. "It's for Valentine's Day. An Earth holiday."
"Why, I've never heard of such a thing, but I would be remiss to turn down a party invitation. Tell me more about this holiday, this," Trelane paused, probably for pure dramatic flair, "Valentine's Day." Despite having heard the name spoken aloud, he managed to pronounce it like it was an exotic and dubious-looking alien casserole.
"I can do better than that," she said, turning up the charm. "I can show you where we'll be celebrating." Trelane appeared quite effectively captivated by her, and Jim decided to present Uhura with a medal of valor when all was said and done.
"We'll take you to your room, afterwards." Jim suggested, as they headed toward the turbolift. And hopefully contain him there with another distraction to keep concentrated crazy from getting all over the ship. "Mr. Scott, keep an eye on things here."
"Aye, sir." Scotty nodded, wiping his forehead on a sleeve, and Jim wondered exactly what kind of wild goose chase Trelane must have led him on. Judging from Scotty's dazed expression, it was likely a story that required plenty of alcohol to tell.
Just before they had reached the lift, the doors hissed open for the third time in as many minutes, and Spock stepped out right on cue. Judging from the slight shift in his eyebrows when he saw that Trelane was already present, if he were human he'd be grumbling obscenities under his breath.
"And where has the killjoy half-breed been lurking?"
"Mr. Spock, perfect timing," Jim interrupted, shooing Trelane along after Uhura before things could escalate. "Why don't you come with us? I think you should be there when we establish some ground rules."
"Yes, Captain." Spock nodded stiffly, but he only followed Uhura's small entourage back into the lift when Jim took his arm and steered him along.
Jim took a second to channel Admiral Nogura, his mother, and his meanest academy professors all at once. "Trelane," he said sternly, as they began to descent to G deck.
He was ignored in favor of the flashing lights on the control panel.
"Look at me." He snapped his fingers in front of Trelane's face, which earned him a flinch and a slight attitude adjustment. "While you're here, you won't harm or threaten anyone. There will be no teleportation of my crew without their consent. No teleporting yourself either."
"No changing the fundamental composition of the ship's equipment." Spock added.
"No taking control of the ship or altering our course."
"No interfering with the duties of the crew."
"If we tell you to do something, you do it. Break any of the rules, and you will no longer be welcome here. Understood?" Jim prayed to a few dozen alien gods that he didn't ask about consequences.
Trelane rolled his eyes. "Yes father. Yes mother. But wait – which is which?" He gave them each a cheeky grin, with a hint of something fiendish that Jim recognized all too well. It seemed Trelane had discovered the bawdier side of human culture since they last met.
"I'm the mother," Uhura said promptly, before Spock could start puzzling out Trelane's question. "And these are my boys. I know because they're always getting into trouble."
A very shiny medal, Jim thought as he gave her a look of intense gratitude on their way out of the lift. Or maybe something delicious and Earth-grown. Permission to give him the birthday spanking she teased him about every year. She chatted with Trelane about several ridiculous away mission mishaps as they made their way down the hall, and Jim exchanged a glance of mingled amusement and concern with Spock behind their backs.
She took them to the crew lounge, the largest of the ship's recreational areas. It had been decorated over the past few days with crepe paper, balloons, and festive table cloths to suit the occasion. Heart-shaped cookies and cakes were lined up on the buffet table, near an empty chocolate fountain and a wide assortment of cocktail ingredients. The chairs had red slipcovers that looked suspiciously like repurposed security uniform fabric. All in all, the unofficial Morale Committee had done a respectable job at disguising the room's bland grey appearance with their limited resources.
Uhura led Trelane in a circle around the room, commenting on and explaining the holiday trappings as best she could. He, in turn, claimed he adored almost everything he saw, and had a curiosity streak to rival any toddler. If Spock weren't so grim from his displeasure at Trelane's presence and/or existence in general, Jim was sure he would be amused, because most of their guest's exchanges with Uhura followed a particular pattern:
"Surely your primary circulatory organ does not look like this."
"They're not based on the real thing."
"Than what are they based on?"
"Umm… there's a few theories, but I don't think anyone knows for sure."
"Oh, how quaint! How delightfully ignorant!"
Trelane also demanded to know things like the exact significance of the exchange of candy and flowers, and how a day honoring a Christian saint could become associated with a pagan god of love. Uhura finally gave up and showed him how to use a PADD to search the ship's databanks, which had almost none of the answers he was looking for, an issue independent of Spock's security protocols.
"What an absurd holiday," he concluded, after a minute or so of blessed silence. Jim stood up straighter, jolted back to attention after spending that minute composing a memo to inform the crew of their predicament. Spock, on the other hand, hadn't taken his eyes off Trelane the entire time, as if he thought the second he did the ship would explode.
Trelane leapt from his chair, thrust the PADD back into Uhura's arms, and rubbed his hands together. "Absurd indeed. Oh, but this will be such great fun." Then his expression shifted, and Jim doubted the devil himself could mange such a devilish grin. "I think I know a way to make it even better."
There was a brilliant flash of light, so bright Jim had to close his eyes.
His skin tingled unpleasantly, and he was seized by a knot of panic, the awful knowledge that he had been wrong in the worst way. Trelane was going to do something horrible to them all, trap them like rats in a maze and experiment on them for the rest of their lives.
Then the light faded, and he could see again, albeit a hundred extra feet in every direction. Instead of the lounge, they were standing in a ball room complete with Corinthian columns, a coffered ceiling, classical murals, and mahogany wood floors. Pink and white silk garlands looped between and spiraled around the columns. An exquisite chandelier hung from the center of the room, adorned with delicate flowers and unnaturally bright candles. Lace curtains framed each of the towering windows that looked out onto the moving star field beyond. Impossibly and absurdly, some of these views included part of the Enterprise, and Jim could only assume they were sticking out of the ship like a bizarre extra appendage, held together by God only knew what kind of reality-bending forces.
Equal parts anger and wonder took hold of him, and neither one managed to gain precedence. "What is this?" He demanded, turning to Trelane. "How?"
Trelane spun in a slow circle, hands on his hips, admiring his work. "Once I knew enough about your strange holiday's customs, I simply designed a space fit for such a fine crew. Do you like it?" He bore a striking resemblance to one of Admiral Archer's beagle puppies Jim had played with last shore leave, waiting for a pat on the head. It was disarming.
Spock, naturally, was the first to respond. "I see you have taken it upon yourself to break our rules so soon."
"Do you think so?" Trelane cocked his head to the side. "I didn't change anything fundamentally, you see, I only made a small addition. Details, details, Mr. Spock." He pounced on Jim again. "Well, Captain? Does it suit your taste?"
Jim didn't want to be impressed, truly he didn't – if anyone believed in the merits of hard work over magic lamps, it was him – but it would be like feigning boredom at a giant purple elephant. He tried to speak before he had completely navigated his way through this mental battlefield. "Well, it's…"
"It's spectacular!" Uhura filled in for him from where she had been standing to the side, practically squirming with glee.
"It's spectacular," Jim echoed, and he was sincere when he said it. He hadn't seen such a fine room since he was dragged to the Admiral's Ball three years ago, and the crew would no doubt love it. Hell, after almost three weeks of nothing but charting new star systems, they could all use a little excitement. He released the smile that had been waiting for permission to escape, and turned to face Spock.
"I find it disingenuous to congratulate someone on a task which, to them, is as simple as breathing," Spock said, staring down Trelane in a blatantly obvious challenge, so aloof that Jim felt a residual chill by proxy.
Trelane, amazingly, remained in good spirits. He took a self-deprecating tone for a moment or two, which sounded odd in his voice. "Well, it wasn't very strenuous, I'll admit, but it did require a bit of aesthetic thought. Besides, I did it for your diversion."
"The previous state of the room was sufficient."
"Sufficient, perhaps, but not grand. Surely you think that love should be celebrated in a grand manner?"
"I do not."
"Come now, don't be silly. Everyone wants to celebrate love."
"Vulcans do not believe that emotions are something to be celebrated."
"Truly? Then by fair Andromeda, what do you celebrate?"
"Logic. Reason. Restraint. Qualities in which you appear to exhibit a deficiency."
"Now, now, Mr. Spock." Uhura laughed nervously and looped her arm around Spock's, patting him on the shoulder. "He likes to be contrary," she stage-whispered to Trelane, and started to lead Spock away, back toward the main body of the ship, saying some nonsense about a broken subspace relay.
Jim did not like the way Trelane followed Spock with his eyes at all. His look was far too calculating for comfort. They were both silent until Spock and his escort were out of sight. Jim was considering how best to reiterate the rules when his guest spoke.
"He is rather fond of his stoicism, isn't he?" Trelane folded his arms, leaning against a nearby column. "Looks down on the rest of you, methinks."
"Spock doesn't look down on us," Jim said, almost automatically. He knew this conversation by heart, as people tended to misinterpret Spock on a regular basis. "It's just the Vulcan way."
"I see. Is it also the Vulcan way to treat honored guests like the scum of the galaxy?"
Here was the opportunity Jim had been waiting for to teach Trelane about tolerance and understanding. "He doesn't think you're scum. He just doesn't trust you," he said.
"Why ever not?"
"Trust has to be earned. You can't expect someone to trust you when in the past, all you've done is manipulate them."
Trelane looked at Jim as if he had just explained that his command shirt was yellow. "That's why I did something nice for all of you! All right, so I may have teased him a bit, but what's a few jests between sporting men?"
"That's part of the problem. You can't tease Spock unless you know him very well."
"Well, that's not fair." A hint of old Trelane reared up once again, but it seemed like only the petulant child part, not the sadistic brat part.
Jim shrugged. "Give it more time. If someone doesn't like you despite your best efforts, treat them with respect and keep your distance. Sometimes two people have different ideas about what course a relationship should take, and there's nothing you can do to change that."
Silence fell for a moment, oddly comfortable, considering that Jim was sharing it with a godlike yet juvenile alien. Dare he think that he was getting through to Trelane, that he had just given him something to think about?
"You're a very lonely man, aren't you, Captain?"
Jim's hopes for a breakthrough stumbled to a halt. "Pardon?"
"Oh, it's not an unusual state for those in power, but you're a particularly bad case if ever I've seen one. And it's exactly that sort of attitude that keeps you there, I expect."
"What attitude?"
"You'll fight till your dying breath in the line of duty, but when it comes to private affairs, there's nothing you can do to change things. You, good sir, are a slave of the status quo. That explains why you haven't–"
"Hey, hold on now." Jim's face was hot with embarrassment and annoyance. "You've got it all wrong. I have my crew, many of whom are good friends, and…" He forced himself to stop. He didn't have to justify his life choices to an entity whose grasp of human nature was tenuous at best.
"But shouldn't a Captain have a consort?" Trelane started to pace the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the cavernous chamber. "That is in the spirit of this peculiar holiday of yours, correct? I mean, it has absolutely no real coherency, so the only point of keeping it alive must be to facilitate that strange corporeal mashing of body parts you mortals enjoy so much."
Jim thought briefly that if Spock could see past his prejudice, he would discover an unlikely rapport with Trelane in a few choice areas. "Romantic love is complicated," he said after a moment. "Corporeal mashing is complicated. I don't have time to deal with that sort of thing. Certainly not with my crew."
"But Captain–"
"Enough." Jim raised a palm, and although Trelane rolled his eyes, he kept his mouth shut. "Now come on. Your quarters are ready."
He started out of the room at a brisk pace, and Trelane had to trot after him to catch up. He tried to stay one step ahead whenever possible, so if Trelane wanted to keep bothering him, at least he would have to work for it. But there was no further incident the whole way to E deck, and Jim wasn't sure whether he was glad for the silence or concerned that Trelane could be busy concocting another scheme.
He showed Trelane to the empty officer's quarters, vacated last month by a retiring science lieutenant. Trelane adopted a look of supreme distaste as he was shown around, but must have realized that changing it to suit his whims right away would be impolite. Jim set about explaining the room's amenities after he was sure suits of armor and priceless art objects weren't going to be waved into existence any time soon.
"There's the bathroom, and the bed alcove, but I don't expect you'll be needing those."
Trelane sniffed. "Certainly not."
"The console connects you to the databanks. This button here is for communication. Don't use it unless there's an emergency, or we will shut it off."
"That won't be necessary." Trelane lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "As I said, I'm merely here to learn."
"I'll ask my department heads if you can shadow them," Jim said. "They'll need some time to rearrange their work schedules, but until then, you stay here. Are we clear?"
"As clear as the finest lead crystal."
Jim nodded and started for the door, eager to catch at least ten Trelane-free minutes with some coffee and a doughnut to make up for his missed breakfast. McCoy wouldn't approve, but as far as Jim was concerned, he had earned it.
"Oh, and Captain?" Jim paused at the threshold, collected the fraying threads of his patience, and glanced back. "I shall remain on my best manners with every member of your crew, for the time being. But if the disrespect continues, well…" Trelane's smile was brilliant, but his eyes took no part. "You really must do something about your subordinate."
Jim was almost tempted to stop by sickbay for a headache hypo. Almost.
Halfway through the afternoon, Jim went to check on Trelane, and found him riveted to old 20th century cartoons on his console. He proceeded to trap Jim for half an hour asking ridiculous questions and waxing poetic about the ingenuity of Bugs Bunny. For reasons Jim didn't bother asking, the sonic shower was on full blast.
A few hours later Jim checked in again to find Trelane playing dress-up with a slightly undersized 'Fleet uniform that had been left in the vacated quarters. It was stretched over his Napoleonic garb, as if it hadn't even occurred to him to take off one set of clothes before putting on another. Both times, Jim left Trelane baffled by the harmlessness of it all.
Later still Dr. Gail in astrometrics offered to let Trelane follow her around on her duties, and Lieutenant Jacobson suggested that he tag along with night shift security, bless their hearts. It wasn't long before other departments followed the example, whether out of curiosity, selflessness, or ignorance, it was impossible to say. Jim suspected it was the latter, although his memo had made it abundantly clear that the entity was at best a handful and at worst outright dangerous.
But by the end of the day, after many hours spent in finger-tapping, foot-bouncing, and constant pacing anxiety on the bridge, Jim's nerves were beginning to settle. Either he was starting to believe Trelane's intentions, or his neurons had simply clocked out. The illusion of control settled over him, and he was too tired to fight it any longer. He had planned out a detailed schedule that would, in theory, keep their guest occupied until the next afternoon. There was still one last issue to deal with before his shift ended for the night.
He found Spock at a console in one of the computer labs, examining the first rounds of scans to come in since Trelane's arrival. The room was dark except for the various terminal screens, and Jim picked his way carefully across the floor by that weak light.
Trelane's blithe and self-absorbed attitude had seemed to entrench Spock in his inflexible core of Vulcan values. It reminded Jim of whenever Spock had too much contact with his father, and he didn't like it one bit. He had to snap his first officer out of that mindset before it got worse.
"Mr. Spock."
"Captain."
Spock's desire to be left alone was almost tangible, like a weak force field prickling the back of his neck. Jim had ignored it plenty of times before, and he would ignore it now. "Anything telling?" He peered over Spock's shoulder at the screen.
"Aside from a massive energy discharge this afternoon in addition to several smaller ones, nothing of use."
Spock fell silent again, and Jim hesitated, but forged ahead. "Are you all right?"
"I am well." The fact that Spock hadn't even looked up to greet him begged to differ.
Always a battle, Jim thought. When it came to the personal arena with this man, he had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of information. "I know he's not your favorite alien we've ever met, but you need to watch yourself around him. Don't give him any excuse to get angry with you."
"I will not lie to placate an unruly, egomaniacal individual." Only Spock could deadpan a statement like that.
"I'm not asking you to lie," Jim said. "I'm just asking you to be careful. If you don't have anything nice to say, well… I think you know the rest."
Finally, Spock turned away from his console and looked Jim in the eye, his physical attitude betraying irritation even if his face did not. "Why do you defend him?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
"He threatened your life. That fact still remains." Ah, here was the crux of the issue. Jim had his suspicions, and the hint of bitterness in Spock's tone was the confirmation he needed to broach the topic.
"He used you against me," Jim said gently. "I remember."
"Only because you allowed it," Spock murmured, and trained his eyes back on the screen. His demeanor softened, and the tips of his ears seemed to darken, but it was probably just the light of the shifting measurements on the screen. "Captain, I… dislike the thought of being your Achilles' heel."
Jim knew he should deny it, but Spock would never make such a statement without the evidence to back it up, and he knew full well there was plenty to be had. "If I'm Achilles, then you're Patroclus," Jim said. "But let's not try to fulfill that prophecy. I don't have time to desecrate a body and play games in your honor."
Spock bowed his head so that Jim could barely see his face. "I expect Starfleet would disapprove of that course of action."
Joking and teasing was something Spock had started doing around the second year of the mission, but every time he did it, Jim was still mildly amazed. He grinned in relief and leaned against one of the taller processors, feigning thoughtfulness. "Do you think so? There would be mitigating circumstances."
Spock looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "But your lack of a chariot could complicate the desecration issue."
"My God, you're right. In that case, I think I'll just mope around and wear ugly tracksuits." Jim pushed himself upright and crossed his arms, and Spock's eyebrow soared even higher, as if to declare the whole of humanity mentally unsound. He returned to his work, visibly more at ease than before.
Jim allowed himself to savor the fondness that gripped him for a breath or two, but he snapped out of it before it could progress any farther. "You should go to bed," he said. "No point in staring at 'nothing of use' all night."
"Need I remind you, Captain, that Vulcans do not–"
"Don't try to pull that on me. I know you've been up for days working on the data from that red giant system."
"May I point out that you require rest as well."
"No, you may not, because you're just trying to divert my attention."
Spock didn't sigh, but his shoulder sagged a little in defeat. He stood up and shot the display one last, agitated glance. "Computer. Lights on."
Jim bit back a particularly nasty Aldebaran curse and shut his eyes at the pain that blossomed behind his eyelids.
"Captain? What's wrong?" Spock was at his side, a gentle hand clasping his arm.
"It's nothing. Tension headache." Jim shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times in a vain attempt to clear the throbbing haze. "Just the day catching up with me."
"Lights to fifty percent," Spock said, and the sharpness of the pain subsided. "Should I accompany you to sickbay?"
"No need. It'll go away after a good night's rest." Jim would have turned to lead the way out, but Spock hadn't let go of his arm yet.
"I was under the impression that most humans find 'a good night's rest' difficult to initiate while experiencing physiological strain."
"Spock, please. Small words."
"I'm asking that you let me help. Captain."
The title sounded like a hasty afterthought, and Jim's brain was still stuck back around 'physiological.' "What do you mean?"
"I may be able to give you some relief, as you have an irrational aversion to sickbay." Jim waited for further explanation, but Spock didn't offer any. "If you would sit down, Captain."
"Mind meld?" He asked, even as he was approaching a chair.
"No. Something less invasive should be sufficient."
That took away a great many of Jim's planned objections. He had never melded with Spock outside of deadly, focused circumstances, and with very good reason. But even though he still lacked real clarification, Spock rarely reached out to him like this, so Jim took a seat. He listened to the contemplative footfalls as Spock stepped behind him.
Then Spock pressed his index fingers against the edges of Jim's face, just in front of his ears. "Relax your jaw." His voice carried the same kind of authority he used when they were on the bridge, but it was quieter than usual.
Jim hadn't even realized that his teeth were clenched until then. Simply being made aware it allowed him to let go of the tension there, and the stinging lines along the sides of his head eased. Spock's fingers trailed a little higher and pushed inward, splaying above and below Jim's eyebrows. "Close your eyes."
Half-formed thoughts slid to the surface of his mind, shifting and changing like the corona of a star, too fast for him to pin down. All that was definite was the feeling that he should be refusing this, because physical contact meant something far different to him than it did to Spock. He pushed down the strange disquiet before it could coalesce into anything more than vague impressions. He shut his eyes and was calmed by the darkness.
He could feel the gentle tug of his eyelids against Spock's fingers as his gaze shifted restlessly beneath them, the faint push of his own pulse through the fragile skin. Then Spock placed a thumb at the top of his nose, right between his eyes, pressing out the small knot of tension there. It was as though the rest of his forehead followed suit, unraveling around that single point, and he allowed his expression to go slack.
Spock's hands left his face and started skimming along the tendons of his neck, brushing the edge of his hair so lightly it almost tickled. He stopped every now and then to backtrack over a particular spot, and if anything, Jim's muscles grew even more constricted out of uncertainty, and the strange tingling sensations of the light touch. But soon after Spock pushed into his shoulders with intent, and Jim bit back a hiss of discomfort.
He realized that Spock had been scoping him out, learning where the worst spots were, and had set about attacking those first. Jolts of pain that were both unbearable and exquisite gripped Jim, and time and time again, they were forcibly smoothed away beneath strong fingers. In under a minute, his pounding headache faded to nothing more than white noise.
"I am surprised." Spock said, his voice drifting to Jim through a growing dopamine haze. "How have you been able to perform your duties while subject to such a high degree of physical stress?"
"Guess I didn't realize I was this bad." Jim chuckled hoarsely.
"I find it highly illogical that your species is so unaware of your own bodies."
Jim wanted to protest that a lack of awareness and intentionally shutting out pain were two different things. He was aware of his body when he wanted to be. He was aware of the fact that he was enjoying this a little too much, for instance, that every exclamation of gratitude he wanted to make would sound indecent.
He finally recognized what was happening and balked, rolling his shoulders and leaning out from that magic touch. Before Spock could react, he stood briskly and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. I feel much better now."
Spock let him go, but did not lower his arms completely, resting them on the back of the chair instead. "Your trapezius muscles are still quite tense."
"That's all right. I'm good enough to function."
The computer beeped behind them, and Jim was so grateful for the interruption he almost sighed in relief. Spock brushed past him to lean over and examine at the screen. "The program has worked faster than I anticipated. I have isolated an energy signature that is particular to Trelane's work."
"Will that help us?"
"Unknown."
Indefinite answers from Spock were disconcerting, but nothing was sure when it came to Trelane. Jim nodded slowly and shifted his weight from foot to foot, eager to leave and put some serious physical distance between himself and his first officer. "Well, just try your best to make some sense out of it. Keep me posted."
"Captain?" Spock glanced from the screen to Jim. "What course of action do you recommend at this point?"
It took Jim far longer than it should have to realize that Spock was talking about the new development in the scans. "If you're looking for my blessing to stay up all night again, you won't get it. But I'll turn a blind eye if I have to."
"And if nothing useful has presented itself by tomorrow?"
He shrugged. "Then we have a party, Mr. Spock."
