Officers' Mess
Slowly, thoughtfully, Jim went into the Officers' Mess. It was too early yet for the day-shift Bridge Crew to start arriving, or, really, for the major shift changes to start to trickle through; but there were still a few tables occupied. He was glad no one was looking his way when he went to grab a cup of coffee.
Afterward, he wasn't quite sure why he was so reluctant to be noticed.
He took his coffee over to one of the tables further in – away from where they usually sat – and took a seat with its back to the door. He never really did that either; unless - now he came to think of it - Spock was already facing that way, and he could sit opposite.
Weird. When had it entered his unconscious, and become cemented there, that the Vulcan truly had his back?
Speaking of which… He felt again the rest of them rising to their feet behind him, at the base lounge last night. He had long known they were prepared to fight for their Captain. Knew it, relied on it. Evidently they were just as prepared to defend their First Officer, if he ever seemed to need it.
It dawned on him that, by this time yesterday, Spock had agreed to go with them.
Figures. He had actually gotten the guy to hang out with them for a bit, and look what happened: Some slobbering asshole starts shouting at him in a bar.
God, it must suck to be Vulcan.
Well, yeah.
But, apparently, not just for the reasons you'd think.
Jim thought back, and tried to replay the evening in his head. It was interesting: Spock did this all the time, on demand; and Jim never really thought about it, how hard it was to get right.
So - That ugly alien in the bar had said something about 'seven years' and Spock being far from others of his species.
Jim wished he had had it more together when Spock was talking later in his quarters. For God's sake, the guy had said bluntly, straight out, that a Vulcan would die without his mate - and Jim had interrupted him. Now he wondered if there was something there that he might need to know sometime: Assuming the Vulcan remained on this ship, that probably would come in handy, right?
Well, he could hardly ask at this point.
There was something else, too.
The asshole said something that had shocked Spock into immobility – frozen beyond his normal deliberate stillness.
Jim closed his eyes and tried to recall.
Hissing words… He pictured burning eyes and twisting lips. (It was hard to wrap his head around Spock provoking that kind of reaction in anybody. (Fear, maybe, just a little - that was only human – but hatred?)) Then he saw the burly bastard step forward – he was close enough to touch – he was spewing something horrible into the air near one pointed ear. Jim heard it again, all hiss and spit: "Tell me, Vulcan, do your dead scream, too?"
He saw the muscle tighten in Spock's lip.
He opened his eyes and was a little relieved to find himself in the slightly boring confines of the Enterprise Officers' Mess. He thought, appreciating the irony, that maybe he'd had enough of shore leave, for a while.
He reached one foot under the table and shifted the chair across from him a few inches, then plopped his foot on the seat. He took a sip of his coffee, swirled the cup, and took another.
Leaning back, he watched his crew come and go. His perspective was different than normal, with his back to the door: People popped into view from the sides, passed across his field of vision, disappeared. Sometimes they lingered for a while, sitting to eat or converse.
No one disturbed him.
He was just thinking of going in search of McCoy - or maybe back to Engineering - when the door whooshed, and the room seemed to become a touch more vivid. A moment later, Mr. Spock was standing at his side, just within his peripheral vision. He glanced up, met the Vulcan's eye. He started to stand, but Spock made that tiny no-don't-get-up gesture, moving to the chair opposite. He looked a question, and, at Jim's nod, took the seat.
They sat in companionable silence. People came by, then, occasionally, to exchange a few words with Spock. Jim hadn't really paid attention, much, to that dynamic, before - but now he found it interesting.
He knew there were still people who resented non-Human officers serving on starships; and quite frankly, Vulcans garnered a whole lot of resentment on their own – or had, anyway. (Now? Who knew?) He had seen Spock receive curiosity, certainly, from Starfleet personnel and strangers alike; and, Jim suspected, along with misunderstanding, he got plenty of dislike - or at least distrust.
But these officers? He was surprised by how respectful their attitudes were when they approached and spoke, listened to Spock. Jim wondered how much of that was because the man was their First Officer, how much because he was Vulcan formal – and how much was just for Spock, himself.
Actually, he thought he knew the answer to that – and it gave him pause.
Most people, once they caught sight of Spock, hardly spared Jim a glance.
Without his Gold, was he really invisible, himself? He had the strange feeling he was seeing what the ship might be like if he were not aboard. But with Spock right there, completely unself-conscious, it somehow didn't seem so bad.
The door whooshed again. After a second, Spock's eyes moved meaningfully to the side. Following his glance, Jim saw the core of the Bridge Crew claiming their usual table, with Scott and Watley.
Jim smiled.
Then, he nodded, and Spock gave his small Vulcan nod in return. As Jim climbed to his feet, Spock gracefully rose, as well.
Jim was suddenly amused that, although the other had not spoken, yet, a single word to him, he had nevertheless said a great deal. And Kirk knew – really knew, with absolute certainty - that Spock was one person on the Enterprise who did not desire that their roles were reversed.
When the Captain walked up to their table, his people greeted him as enthusiastically as if he had actually been away on leave. They shifted around to make room for him to sit, and Spock went to claim the spot next to Uhura that had, mysteriously, remained vacant.
In various groupings they went to get trays, and seated themselves again, talking of all the things that they had stored up in the course of the day. Looking around the table at their animated faces, everything seemed very right with Jim Kirk's world.
The perpetual knot in his stomach was unraveling.
Chekov was positing to Spock some convoluted problem that was obviously a follow-up to some previous conversation. Sulu's brow crinkled, following the mangled words – and the Science Officer very subtly explained the purport of the question for the benefit of the others, even as he gravely answered it. Listening to his careful tone, Uhura smiled at him openly. Spock's eyes slid toward her for a second, when he finished speaking; and she looked, then, across at Chekov. Scotty chimed in with some humourous account of the idea gone wrong, and they were all (almost all, anyway) laughing now.
Jim felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see McCoy standing there, looking as relaxed as he, himself, felt. As one, the group shifted, again, to make room for the doctor. Sulu stood to grab another chair, while McCoy went to get a tray. The conversation continued uninterrupted, enfolding the doctor upon his return.
After dinner, people cleared their trays and left in twos or threes. Jim drifted out with Spock and Uhura.
In the Deck Five corridor, he felt a sudden awkwardness: They were headed toward Spock's quarters, and he knew he was a third wheel - even though he wasn't really supposed to know that. But when his steps slowed, as he considered turning toward his own quarters, Spock slowed, too - and Uhura, then, also. She smiled her encouragement; and Spock's brow had risen, the slightest amount, in a silent Vulcan interrogative.
So Jim's feet sped back up.
At the door to his quarters, Spock stood aside after the door activated for him, to let the others enter first.
Both Uhura and Kirk paused after a couple of steps, to let their eyes adjust; and Spock turned the lights up a little, to mitigate the dimness. Jim was relieved, though, that the Vulcan didn't feel obligated to return them to Ship's Normal on the Captain's behalf. Uhura, he was sure, was very used to these rooms, and how they were kept by their official occupant.
When Jim opened his eyes, Spock was standing in the center of the room, and Uhura was going to him. Jim felt time slip again into slow motion: She put a hand on Spock's chest; then moved forward by degrees, and leaned into him bodily. His hands came up, and smoothed her hair back off of her shoulder. He was murmuring something to her, very quietly; and she nodded, her head still against his chest. After a few seconds, she stepped back, then headed toward the bedchamber.
Kirk had looked away, pretending to study one of the pictures on the wall.
He was not expecting Spock's voice to come from right beside him, and he gave the tiniest start.
How did the man move so silently?
"Captain?"
When Kirk looked at him, Spock walked toward the desk, and rested one hand on the back of the chair in front of it. Jim took a step, and Spock turned. "Or, if you prefer…" He gestured toward the couch. The carved wooden chair had been moved near it, so that there were now several possible seating choices that would not necessitate two people sitting side-by-side.
Jim was surprised, touched. Spock had clearly anticipated this visit, and wished for him to be comfortable.
He was standing there, undecided, when Uhura came toward them, the strap of her squashy bag over one shoulder, carrying a padd. She smiled gently at Jim. "Good night, Captain," she said, before turning to Spock. She only reached out one hand - and touching the other's side, gazed into his eyes; but Jim found himself looking away, again, for a second, at the prospect of witnessing something so intimate.
Before pulling away, she whispered something indistinguishable. Spock's quiet nod made Jim think it was a 'good night', too. As she left, Spock's eyes followed her out the door once more.
When he turned those eyes on his Captain, and found Jim watching him, his eyebrow lifted. Jim smiled a little - as Spock clearly meant for him to do.
Apparently, the Vulcan wasn't done being unpredictable.