Tveshu t'Kunan

"Incunabulum?" Captain James Kirk sat back and looked at his stoic First Officer in astonishment. "Did you just say 'incunabulum'? Are you fucking kidding me?"

The Vulcan's only response was a slow blink. Then he looked away.

When he saw that, Jim felt kinda bad – When Mr. Spock averted his face, it was never a good thing. Jim had begun to think of it as the equivalent of somebody else shouting, or swearing, or storming off. He leaned toward the other, over the table. "It's 'fuck,' right? Geez, Spock, I'm sorry. You just surprised me, is all."

Commander Spock was eying his Captain. (Doubtfully? Jim wasn't sure.)

When Spock had walked in to the Rec Room this evening, at the Captain's request, Kirk had played diplomat and officially stated that he thought he and Spock should each relax and communicate in his own way.

The Vulcan had deliberated, then nodded his agreement.

Honestly, though, Jim just didn't think that it would be so difficult. For one thing, he hadn't considered the possibility that 'relaxed' would mean even more big words than usual. For another, he hadn't really counted on all of the silence.

There was a lot of silence.

Jim raised his hands and shoulders in a small shrug. He smiled, but it was an apologetic smile.

He tried again. "Sorry I said 'fuck,' Spock." Then, "Sorry I said it again – twice."

Spock still didn't speak, and Jim wondered whether his First Officer was going to stay silent the rest of the evening. That would be a bummer. The game they were playing was actually pretty fun, and he thought he was beginning to get the hang of the strategy. Not to mention, Spock was sorta interesting to talk to, when you could understand him.

Spock was gazing at him as though he were a botanical specimen, or a mildly intriguing chemical equation – or a particularly stupid student. After a full minute had passed, the Vulcan spoke, his lips forming the words carefully. Spock's tone, when he repeated the offending words, was stripped of spontaneity; and Jim had the uncomfortable feeling that he was facing a test. "What I said was 'Congratulations, Captain, I recognize within your actions evidence indicating an incunabulum of deliberate tactical consideration.'"

Jim knew he couldn't say what he was thinking, because that would have him saying 'fuck' again.

Apparently, Spock thought that perhaps the silence was purposeful: He waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, the Vulcan spoke again.

"I am not certain that your experiment is proving to be as successful as you had hoped." His tone was a little flat.

"Excuse me?" Jim said.

Spock neither shrugged, nor sighed.

He gazed at Jim again for another long moment, before leaning back in his chair. He looked a little tired, even defeated - which was different. Spock's eyes moved around Rec Room Eight for a minute, then back to his Captain. His spine straightened again, and he was Spock-the-Intimidating once more.

Or would have been, except that now Jim had seen him slump in a chair – well, sorta, anyway.

When the other asked, in his calm, reticent way, "Sir, why did you ask that I meet you here?" Jim still wasn't sure whether it would bother him if the query went unanswered.

But he had asked.

"Uh, because I wanted to hang out with you." The Captain's voice turned it into a question, without him telling it to. "And, honestly, I think it might be good for some of the crew to see us hanging out - You know, being buds…"

"What reason did you offer for asking me to join you?"

Hmm. "I wanted to try to figure out where you're coming from."

"That is not, precisely, what you said."

No, probably not, Jim thought. He figured if he stayed quiet Spock would help him out.

"You expressed the opinion that you and I could strive to understand one another more completely."

"Yeah." He was pretty sure Spock had Vulcan-ized that, but it sounded closer to what he might have said… "It seemed like it should be worth a try."

"I agreed." Spock was looking down at the table, long fingers righting one of the out-of-play pieces scattered across it. "I still do."

"You did - do?" He knew his surprise made him sound like an idiot, but he didn't really care at the moment. "Really?"

"Yes." Spock seemed mildly amused by his astonishment. "Such understanding would, indeed, be worth considerable effort. And this," His tiny gesture took in the game and the Rec Room, "did seem an excellent way to begin a rapprochement."

"A…"

"A rapprochement: An accord. Harmonious relations. A friendship, Jim."

"Oh," Jim said, "Cool."

"'Cool'?"

"Uh, 'cool': Good, excellent, worthy…" He looked up and saw that Spock's eyebrow had risen, just by a fraction of an inch. "You know exactly what 'cool' means!"

Any amusement was erased from Spock's voice by the time he spoke. "Indeed I do. As an adjective, 'cool' means moderately cold. 'Cool' means composed, deliberate, lacking in enthusiasm or warmth, aloof or unresponsive, and unaffected by emotions. It also means calmly audacious, though that particular usage is more rare."

It occurred to Jim that this was a word that Spock had heard – or, more likely, overheard – a lot, and not when it mean anything good.

Jim held back this 'fuck' pretty easily. He really wanted to say 'I'm sorry, Spock, about all the assholes you've had to deal with', but that didn't seem quite right, either.

Spock was watching him not speak.

"That word does not offend me," Spock said.

"What?"

"'Fuck.' The word 'fuck' does not offend me. I have little cause to use it; and…" Spock was still talking, but Kirk did not hear a single word.

Jim was aware that he must look like an idiot now: His mouth was practically hanging open. "Mr. Spock, did you just say 'fuck'?"

"I did. Twice."

Jim raised his eyes to the deep brown ones that were looking at him very levelly. Even coolly. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out.

"Captain. Please try to focus."

Jim took a deep breath; then exhaled. "Listen, Spock, I'm sorry: You lost me at the first… you-know." He tried to look apologetic, and then decided he'd have better luck just letting his face do what it wanted. "Would you please repeat the rest of it – without saying 'you-know' – 'Cause that'd probably just short-circuit my brain again."

Amazingly, Spock nodded complete understanding. "Of course, Captain. I appreciate your honesty."

Jim realized that was simple truth.

People hanging out around Spock pretty much started to mimic his behavior – standing stiffly, talking formally, trying to school their faces and hold back their emotions, pretending to comprehend what he said… For a while now, the Captain had found it hysterical. It hadn't occurred to Jim before, but it must be pretty weird for Spock. Even though it was an unconscious thing, they were still pretending to be something they weren't – and to somebody like Spock, who valued truth almost more than anything, it must seem a lot like lying.

Looking at him, Jim shrugged. "Sorry. I wandered off again. I was thinking about honesty."

"No apologies are necessary."

"Okay. But, still: Thanks. As you were saying…?"

"As I was saying, that word does not offend me. I have little cause to use it; and, since it is rarely used to convey its true meaning, but instead is used quite idiomatically, I would be unlikely to use it properly. Therefore, I do not make the attempt.

"In addition, I am aware that it would be jarring to others to have me use it.

"Quite frankly, Captain, I find it to be vastly overused as it is. Standard has a very large array of words that can be used in its stead, and most of those are more appealing. But the word itself is not offensive."

Jim didn't want to be insulting, but Spock did appreciate honesty: "Well, you're right," he admitted a little reluctantly, "It is jarring."

Spock didn't say anything to that, but his silence felt like an acknowledgement anyway. Maybe he just figured it was self-evident, and nothing more needed to be said.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Jim reflected, in a minute or two, "but we do substitute that word for lots of other ones that could express what we mean better."

Spock nodded, once.

"But, really, Spock, we don't use it for its meaning, or any meaning at all. It's more of an emotional thing."

Again, Spock nodded. It seemed like he wasn't going to say anything else, but then he changed his mind. Still, he didn't appear to relish saying the words a third time: "As I said, I have little cause to use it – and would be unlikely to use it properly, in any event."

God, Jim thought, that seemed kinda sad. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he couldn't blow off some steam every now and then... He was aware of being impressed a bit by Spock's self-awareness, though.

Really, he didn't think that much about this sort of thing, himself.

"Spock, can I ask you something?"

Spock looked a little wary, but he still said, "Ask."

It seemed sort of an odd way to put it, but Jim decided maybe it was Vulcan shorthand: Those guys liked to say as few words as possible, he had long since concluded. 'Those guys'? – Like the guy right in front of him? – Spock?

So, anyway, Spock looked a little wary, but he still said, "Ask."

"Do you find it jarring when we say it?" Jim wondered.

The other responded readily enough: "I no longer do, no." He made a miniscule gesture that Jim decided to interpret as a Vulcan dismissal. "Now that I understand the common Human use of the word, I am adjusting to the concept - alien though it might be - that emotional displays are not in poor taste within your culture. I must admit that they can be uncomfortable for me to witness; but as I have chosen to immerse myself in a society that finds them useful, even healthy, I am attempting to reconcile myself to the likelihood that I will be forced to do so."

After making a quick mental note to ask something else, Jim tried to digest what the other had said. He figured he could get a lot out of thinking about this, later, but he wanted to make sure that Spock had really said what he thought he'd heard: "So, emotional displays – even little ones - are rude on your homeworld - on Vulcan?"

Spock nodded, but he had turned his face away again, just a little, and his dark eyes seemed to be looking at anything but his Captain. Jim was trying to figure this out, when Spock evenly replied, "Emotional displays are uncomfortable for Vulcans, because we do consider emotions to be in bad taste." His chin came back the tiniest bit, and his eyes slid back to Jim's. "In essence, then: Yes."

Talking to Spock – or, rather, listening to Spock - could be seriously weird (and not just because he expressed ideas like 'showing emotion is rude alien behavior that gives me the very logical willies; but since you all are forcing me to see that, I'm trying to deal'). There were the things he said, which were often complicated enough. Then there were the things he didn't say – and the levels of thought that went on behind both… Hidden in silence and stillness there was a whole set of conversational conventions that Jim was only just beginning to glimpse.

At this very second, he had the disconcerting sensation that Spock was – politely, he was beginning to gather – not saying something that would cause Jim to experience and express some particular emotion: Embarrassment, perhaps? ('Oh, yeah,' a tiny part of Jim's brain whispered, 'that's an uncomfortable feeling, alright.') Spock was watching him, waiting for him to speak, but Jim's mind had hared off again. He was thinking back on what he could have said or done that would cause Spock to think that he might get embarrassed, and as he did so, he stared idly at the man in front of him. Jim played back through the last bit of their discussion: Spock looking wary, what he had asked, what Spock had said, what he - He caught a blurred movement across the table; he brought his eyes into focus. Spock was no longer watching him: Jim found himself presented with one pointed ear.

Spock had surely deduced that Jim was replaying their conversation: He knew Spock did that all the time – The Vulcan could pretty much recount entire negotiations word-for-word if he were asked to do so.

So what had Jim said next?

Oh.

In the second before he opened his mouth to stammer out words of apology, Jim suddenly got it: Spock hadn't turned away to hide his own face. No… Spock had turned away so that he wouldn't be looking at his Captain's face when Jim realized what he had said.

So totally and completely weird.

Sitting across from Spock, with his foot firmly lodged in his mouth, it occurred to Jim how strange it was to have somebody follow what you were thinking, like that.

He wondered what it would be like to live on a planet where everybody tried to be as logical as possible. He guessed that if everyone was all logical, then their thought processes would be logical, and then, logically, you should be able to figure out what they were thinking, most of the time. Yeah – half the time, you probably just wouldn't need to have a conversation at all...

Which, if you thought about it, explained a whole lot.

Jim felt like he spent half his time expressing surprise or whatever, and the rest feeling bad and apologizing for stuff.

Speaking of which… He would never know what living on a logical planet was like, and Spock might never experience it again - because Vulcan had been fucking destroyed: A fact which Jim had forgotten about 2 minutes ago.

He took a moment to breathe, and figure out what to say.

"Spock," Jim said earnestly, and Spock slowly turned his eyes, then his chin, toward his Captain.

"I apologize for what I said – You know…"

Spock was just looking at him.

Jim tried again. "Listen: I'm sorry."

Spock's head tilted a little to one side, and Jim was feeling a bit like a plant again. Spock still didn't say anything; and after a minute, Jim just couldn't stand it. "What?"

"Did I not say, some minutes ago, that apologies are unnecessary?"

"That was before I - " Jim trailed off. Once again, something in Spock's attitude reminded Jim that his First Officer was a former professor. In his head he heard 'Just answer the question, Cadet Kirk," and, really, that seemed to be a better idea than tripping all over his own tongue.

"Yes, Mr. Spock, you did."

Spock nodded, once.

Jim looked at him for a minute, again with that vague feeling that this was a test.

He took a huge breath and let it out. He tried to rid himself of an uncomfortable bellyful of jumbled feelings; and focus, instead, on his statement: "Listen, Spock, on Earth, when one person has done something to offend another person, it's only polite to apologize, and try to make it right. You know, discuss what happened…"

Spock's response was impassive: "Captain, while I appreciate your giving me an opportunity to – how is it you would phrase it? – 'talk this out,' I assure you that it is unnecessary."

"'Unnecessary', Spock?"

Spock inclined his head.

It seemed for a long time that that was going to be his only response. Apparently, he sensed Jim's incredulous staring, though, because after another minute, he spoke.

"In Vulcan society, we assert that 'there is no offense where none is taken.' I have not taken offense at your words or your actions. Therefore, whereas I recognize your Human need to acknowledge your thoughtlessness, I have no feelings in the matter that would occasion an apology."

Jim still just stared at him.

Wait a sec…

Surely Spock didn't just imply that if he got upset, it would be his own fault - Did he?

Spock continued, in his equable manner, "An apology presupposes emotional connection to a specific situation: 'I am sorry' is short for 'I am filled with sorrow.' And the customary response, also, implies an emotional attachment to one's position - which I am not comfortable, at this time, expressing, as I would be untruthful in making such a statement. 'I forgive you'?" He shook his head. "No."

Jim still had nothing. Seriously?

Spock's voice was musing, now. "Although, I suppose silence, the polite response in my culture, would seem less so in yours, if a mutually satisfying dialogue is the intended outcome of an offered apology.

"But I cannot deliberately say something I know to be untrue, even to assuage another's guilt. Perhaps I can find some response that will acknowledge the words, and the emotion behind them, without compromising my own integrity."

His eyes lifted to meet Jim's squarely. "I will meditate upon this."

Spock's eyes were amazing, Jim thought. He had noticed, but not really noticed, how much they reflected of his thoughts. Not even the emotions, really, though those were surely there, too - but with Spock, they just seemed sort of irrelevant, somehow, most of the time.

"Spock," Jim said, "People have apologized to you before. I know they have. It's not like you have been living… only among Vulcans all this time."

"That is true. They have." Spock looked away. "However – no disrespect intended – often the apologies were insincere, and usually no response was desired. Amongst my colleagues, of course, none was expected." This last was matter-of-fact.

Now Jim was pissed. "That's really pathetic, Spock."

Spock's eyebrow was rising. "Pardon me?"

Jim hunched forward, and his words emerged in a rush: "Well, that people say stuff that they don't mean, and that you have to adapt to our way of doing things all the time. It seems to me that we should be able to figure out some way of just getting it, okay?"

The tiniest trace of amusement glinted in Spock's eyes.

They sat there in silence for a long time, while Jim slowly recognized, then stewed in, the absurdity of that impulsive outburst. When the silence dragged on, he wondered whether it was possible to actually die of embarrassment.

Spock leaned back a little in his chair. Jim pictured Bones heaving his boots up on the edge of his desk: The effect was much the same.

"Indeed," Spock said, equably. "Though change is an essential process of all existence, perhaps it is fortunate that in Vulcans, just as in Humans, it is sometimes slow to proceed."

Jim chuckled at that. "Indeed."

Spock nodded that single crisp Vulcan nod, and now Jim saw it as a smile, too.

"So, if I apologized, right now…"

"I would acknowledge your need to do so," Spock said smoothly.

"Right. Thank you, Mr. Spock."

Oh, that was definitely a gleam. Spock's chin tilted down, and he shot one swift glance at his Captain before dropping his eyes to his hands. "No thanks are necessary," he said, in a cool, even tone.

Jim couldn't help it – He started to laugh.

It had been a long time. A really long time.

Once he started, it lasted a while. Every time he thought he was going to stop, he looked across the table: Spock was staring at him steadily with that completely blank Vulcan face – and it just made Jim laugh more.

Finally, in between bouts, he managed to force a few words out: "Oh, my God, Spock, stop. Seriously. Look over there, or something!"

And when Spock obligingly turned his head to look across the room at nothing in particular, Jim was able to get a grip.

Still, it was another minute before he trusted himself to speak. "So, Mr. Spock – No apologies, and no thanks?"

Spock glanced at him, then. "They are not forbidden, Captain. They are simply not necessary." He was examining the table once more, righting another game piece before lapsing again into motionlessness. "We hold that any rational person will, logically, do what he can, or must. One does not 'thank' logic.

"Perhaps you will understand if I say that it is illogical to utter words which are unnecessary?"

Now it was clear that Spock was simplifying for his benefit, again, but Jim really didn't mind. "Okay. Fair enough."

Spock gave his small, serious Vulcan nod: An acknowledgement - which Jim interpreted as 'thanks.'

They sat for a time in silence. Then a thought struck the Captain. "Spock, do all Vulcans talk like you do?"

In contemplating Spock's probable answer, Jim realized that the question was very vague, and he quickly appended it. "I mean, in Standard - using big words, and all."

"No, of course not." Spock's glance was swift. "Do all Humans exhibit similar speech patterns?"

Jim shook his head. Duh.

"Neither do Vulcans."

Indecipherable eyes were directed past Jim's shoulder - studying, apparently, something only Spock could see.

"However, those of us who do have opportunity to converse, at length, with native speakers of Standard do have a propensity for formal structure - as that is both natural to us, and an acquired habit of diplomacy. And we do tend toward the multi-syllabic." He glanced at Jim, momentarily, to see if he was following. Jim nodded, and Spock's gaze returned to the middle distance. "The Vulcan language is comprised, primarily, of basic roots and affixes. Such words are used in combination, with the result that we are accustomed to utilizing compound words of many syllables."

"Root word choice in Vulcan is limited. It is a very literal language – designed, now, more for exchange of fact, than personal expression." He had shifted, a little, so that he was sitting much as he did in the Briefing Room. His eyes were on his templed fingers; yet, as he continued, Jim was able to see his eyebrows draw together the tiniest bit (belying the businesslike pose) before smoothing out again. "Some of us find Standard to be… refreshing. And we prefer to avail ourselves of the variety your language offers." His fingers folded together: A sign he was almost done speaking. "But, as Vulcans, we do try to choose words that carry a precise meaning, so that we may use as few as are necessary to express exactly what we intend."

After digesting that, Jim grinned. "So, basically, you are saying that, although Vulcans are all individual, any Vulcans I am liable to encounter in conversation have a high degree of likelihood of speaking in a way similar to yours. And, really, that is only to be expected – It is logical, in fact."

Spock blinked once, then met his eyes with very solemn brown ones. "Well said, Captain. In short: Yes."

Jim's grin grew wider. "Awesome."

It seemed Spock had not given full information: Jim recognized the signs of a briefing considered inadequate – but he also sensed the Vulcan's hesitation.

When he continued, Spock's voice was sober, and his eyes had shifted away, again, so that he was no longer watching Jim's face. "However, you might wish to bear in mind that fact that my particular experience is atypical: My mother was an English teacher prior to her marriage. I grew up listening to, then engaging in, conversations held in the language she loved so dearly."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jim felt his smile wiped away. There really was nothing he could say to that. He nodded, and leaned back in his chair. He recognized this as an unconscious attempt to give Spock a little more space - and he didn't try to stop the motion.

He realized that, hidden behind formal words and customary behavior, Spock had shared some pretty personal information – and not just about his Mom. When Spock talked, you had to really listen. Jim wondered, just for a second, how much he had missed in the last couple of months…

Looking at his First Officer, now, Jim didn't see a blank face and rigid posture. He saw, instead, determined physical control and hard-won peace. He leaned forward, a little. He dropped one hand onto the Vulcan's forearm, and was ready with a smile when the other looked up. "I am sure she would be proud, Spock. You do speak beautifully."

Spock didn't say anything. His eyes were intent upon the Captain's face.

Jim leaned back into his chair, and his hand slid gently from that blue-clad arm. As he spoke, it gestured in a kind of shrug: "And, hey - If we don't always listen, or understand? Trust me: That's not your fault."

Spock nodded. "Thank you, Captain."

Jim smiled at the other's words. But he didn't reply.

The two sat in silence, then, for a while.

Jim idly toyed with one of the deserted game's playing pieces, then casually made a move. Spock responded, though he did not appear to have been paying any attention whatsoever to Jim's actions.

In this desultory way, they finished the game.

The night crowd were starting to drift in, and the Rec Room was getting noisier. One table toward the back was becoming a bit raucous – in spite of the continued presence of Captain and First Officer. A word or two of conversation was easily discernable over the rising din.

That reminded Jim of what he had wanted to ask, before. "Spock - "

Spock was gathering the discarded game pieces. He glanced up.

"You said you 'no longer' find the use of… 'you-know'… jarring."

Spock began to put the pieces away, his motions as precise as ever. Without looking up, again, he nodded. "You must understand, Captain, that culturally, Vulcans are very literal-minded."

"Oh?"

Spock still wasn't looking at Jim. His hand stilled. "If you tell me that a tree is green, I will automatically attempt to assess the quality and quantity of its greenness. In this way I will learn something not only about the tree - but about you, the speaker having made the assertion." He put the last pieces in the box, and closed it. Only then did he look up.

Deep brown inscrutable eyes met wide blue ones.

Jim blinked, as he considered the implications.

There was a long pause.

Spock's cool level voice continued, and Jim tried to follow it through the mirthful haze starting to form in his mind – He didn't want to miss a single calm word, and the fact that he was not speaking, himself, apparently meant that Spock was compelled to carry on…

"You might be able to imagine that for a person unfamiliar with Human emotional displays, many popular expressions can be quite confusing. That word, in particular, is used in a variety of situations and circumstances – the majority of which, as described, seem most undesirable - Improbable if not actually impossible." He sat back and folded his hands on the game box.

Only then did he seem to notice the reddening face and watering eyes of his companion. His eyebrows drew together by the tiniest fraction of an inch. "Breathe," he said.

Jim just put his head down on the table, then, and pounded it with his fist.

When a stray thought was able to formulate, then force its way through the laughter burbling in his brain, this is what it was: This was the best conversation – the most fun – he'd had in a long, long time. Never, ever, would he have imagined Spock could be such good company – or so damned funny.

The Vulcan had risen to his feet, apparently intending to abandon Kirk to his madness.

"Wait, Spock, wait!" Jim managed to gasp. He grabbed the other's elbow, and started to stumble to his feet – Spock had to help him. He was so fuzzy and wrung out from laughing, he felt like he was drunk. He threw his arm around the Vulcan's waist; and leaning on him, started to steer him out of the Rec Room. "Listen: Does this mean you're not going to start using it in conversation?"

Spock seemed to consider. His voice was grave. "I hardly think so," he said.

"What about when its definition is what you mean?" Jim waggled his eyebrows suggestively, knowing that that was a question even Spock would ignore.

But he was mistaken.

"Not even then," Spock said very blandly, "I find it tasteless: Perhaps one could say that it has lost its flavour through familiarity. Further, it would seem a shame to waste the opportunity to utilize one of the other, more palatable words whose varied definitions and connotations are readily available for thorough exploration by an adept English-speaking tongue."

Jim gaped at him, a little uncertainly. "Did you just make a joke?"

Spock looked at him levelly. "Why would I choose to do such a thing?"

"I dunno, Spock, but I think you did. I think it may have been a dirty one, too."

One eyebrow rose, possibly in challenge. "You must be mistaken."

Jim had stopped walking, and his eyes were searching the other's face. "Okay, okay: Not a joke." He thought a second. "A double entendre?"

Spock's voice was very cool, indeed; his pronunciation precise. He was looking down the corridor. "I am Vulcan - Surely you would not imagine me to be so skilled as that. Perhaps you are misled by the fact that I spend so much time on extended endeavors in conjunction with an expert linguist?"

"Oh, my God." This time the hilarity hit like a runaway train, so hard that for a time Jim couldn't even laugh: All of the air in his lungs had escaped with that single phrase. He pressed his hands against his side, and leaned against the corridor bulkhead. He bent over, then, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, oh-my-god," he was muttering, like a mantra.

If he had any doubt, before, about Spock, it was erased now.

"Captain, are you alright?" The Vulcan's voice was concerned, maybe even a touch anxious.

Jim just raised one hand. He shook his head. "Fine." Spock reached to steady him. "Stop…" Jim uttered weakly, "...talking!"

His First Officer made certain that Captain Kirk was under a reasonable degree of self-control before he allowed them to continue at a very sedate stroll.

Jim thought about asking whether Spock had ever seen anybody laugh like that before - but, somehow, that seemed like too personal a question.

He also considered making some kind of joke about making him lose it. 'Three times in one night has got to be a record - even for a Vulcan… even for you, you smart-ass!' were the actual words that sprang irreverently to mind – but just thinking about saying that to Spock made breathing difficult, so he decided to let it go.

Then, as they walked, he found - to his surprise - he genuinely enjoyed the silence. It was a companionable sort of a silence. He was hesitant to break it with unnecessary words.

After several minutes, Spock made a quiet observation that, unless the Captain needed assistance to return to quarters, he had work to do in the Chemistry Laboratory before retiring.

Jim felt a little bit bad that he had asked the other to meet him, keeping him so long when he had other things to be doing; but Spock's quietude made an apology seem superfluous.

"Nah, Spock, I'll be fine. Thanks." He caught the end of a small Vulcan nod. "But, before you go, may I ask you something else?"

He glanced over at the strong profile with its distinctive features. Vulcan eyes shifted toward him, but, though Jim was prepared this time, the other did not say 'Ask.'

"Would you tell me what it was you were saying when you said inka-, Inca-…?"

"Incunabulum?" The amusement was back. It was very, very faint, but Jim heard it clearly.

He nodded.

"I was speaking of strategy, at the time."

"Okay. I'll bear that in mind." He stopped walking and looked at Spock expectantly.

The Vulcan stopped, too.

"Spock, listen. Could you try – just try – to say it like I would?"

Spock paused to consider the request, then assented: "I will endeavor to do so." Jim thought maybe there was the tiniest trace of doubt in the grave voice.

He took a moment for thought, then gave a brief nod: Jim was ready when he spoke again. "I said, 'Good job, Jim, I see you're beginning to understand.'"

They stood in silence for a minute. When Jim didn't speak, Spock favored him with a formal nod, then went on his dignified way. Before he rounded the turn in the corridor, however, he looked back. Jim caught a tiny glint in a brown eye beneath a straight black brow.