The Same Same-Old

A morning filled with routine: Crewmen came and went, along with a constant stream of information and commentary, and reports awaiting his signature, or the First Officer's. There was a consultation, for Spock, with some Science Department technicians; and an engineer bounced onto the Bridge in need of help with a formula – and a certain amount of talking-down.

It was the same same-old.

Things must have been just as bad down in Sickbay: McCoy came up to stand, for a while, at the Captain's shoulder, glowering at the viewscreen. He grumbled a bit about some research he might want to do - just maybe, damn it - and was not appeased by the Chief Science Officer's equable approval, and offer of future assistance. The Doctor eventually wandered off, muttering something irritable (and, thankfully, mostly inaudible) about maintenance, Nurses, and incessant paperwork.

It was still early when Lieutenant Uhura removed her earpiece and turned a little in her chair, smoothing her skirt with both hands in preparation to stand. (Her legs, by the way, were totally amazing.) She must be getting ready to go to lunch.

Had Kirk really watched her enough to know that that was what she always did?

She leaned toward Spock. That slight motion was enough to get the Vulcan's attention: There was no need for her move closer, to reach out one slim hand to gently touch his forearm - So she didn't. Though Kirk suspected, sometimes, that she wanted to.

She murmured something. The First Officer nodded briefly, and promptly returned his attention to the task at hand.

Yup. Same as always.

The exchange between the two of them, however, gave Jim an idea.

When she stood, he stretched elaborately, and climbed to his feet.

She was stepping over to have a few words with Hannity. Perfect.

He dropped one hand casually on Kyle's shoulder for a second, as he passed, and headed toward the starboard corridor doors. "Mr. Spock," he said crisply, "You have the con." He didn't need to glance back to know that the other was nodding.

But he did: And he was, with typical composure.

A few paces outside the door, Jim waited.

(No time like the present.)

And waited.

(There would probably never be a better opportunity.)

She didn't emerge.

Had she, for some reason, taken the turbolift, instead? Headed, perhaps, to one of the Rec Rooms?

Maybe she was still talking with Hannity. Had something interesting happened?

Maybe he should go back, and see.

Nah. Spock would call him if something good happened.

And going back now would just make him look like an ass.

He moved a couple more paces down, and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to look relaxed. He thought about tucking them behind his head instead, but that was probably pretty dorky, all things considered. Across the chest was definitely better. Why shouldn't the Captain of a starship have lunch with his Chief Communications Officer, every now and then? Seriously – It was just another lunch.

It wasn't like they were – you know; and still, even if they were…

Shit. It hadn't occurred to him how this might look to Spock.

Oh, double-shit. It hadn't even occurred to him to send Spock to lunch, instead. There wasn't anything going on. Seriously – Nothing. The Captain could have sent Spock to have a nice, long leisurely lunch or something with his tres hot girlfriend, and no one would have thought a thing about it. (Well, except Jim Kirk - and he just needed to fucking well grow up.) That would have been a decent, friendly, captainly thing to do.

And his hard-working First Officer might even have gone quietly.

But, then again, he might have straightened from his station, and folded his hands behind his back, gravely intoning "I do not require sustenance at this time."

Whatever. Here she came.