A Comfortable Place to Sit
Jim leans back against the rock and crosses his ankles.
Bones looks down at him quizzically for a moment, wondering whether it is possible for the Captain to be as unconcerned as he appears. The doctor sits, too, trying to choose a place a little less jagged than the rest. It has been a very long day. It occurs to him that they could be here for a very, very long time.
God help them, what if they never make it back to the ship? Surely Jim has thought of that. And Spock? What has he been thinking for the last fourteen-what hours?
The doctor looks up – The Vulcan is still standing sentinel at the edge of the outcrop. Has been, for what seems like hours, and maybe is. Would he stay there all night?
"Spock," McCoy calls, "Come sit."
Spock glances back at them, briefly, but makes no other movement.
Leonard catches Jim's eye.
Jim looks, too, to where Spock stands his eternal watch. After a minute, the Captain climbs to his feet and walks over to stand at his First Officer's side. He hesitates to infringe upon the peaceful-seeming barrier the other has erected around himself. Still, "Spock," he says, as if it were a continuation of a conversation never interrupted, "They will be looking for us."
Spock half-turns his head, but does not make eye contact.
"You know that."
The Vulcan nods. His gaze returns to the far distance, without comment.
Jim suspects that the other is reciting regulations in his head. Spock would know exactly how long the others would – could – search before Starfleet would call them away, make other pressing demands. And the only two who would disobey those orders – for reasons they alone deemed right - are here, together. He reaches out a hand, and gently grasps the Vulcan's elbow. "Come on." He shakes the elbow, just a little.
It seems, for a second, that Spock will resist. When Jim drops his hand, though, and turns toward the rocks, the other follows.
They lean against the rocks, side-by-side-by-side, the three of them, and watch the stars, as those tiny points of light gradually emerge in the ever-deepening twilight.
Jim points a finger, and traces a line in the sky. "It's a river," he says. "And there's a boat – Do you see those five little stars?" McCoy makes a noncommittal noise, and Spock just nods, as he looks at the heavens.
Leonard wants to ask what Spock sees in that light-spangled darkness, but decides he really doesn't want to know the answer. He is fairly certain that the Vulcan would not see boats or swans, or ladies with pitchers – and it hurts his head, a little, to imagine Spock's thought processes, as he turns the sky inside out to correctly identify distant stars and galaxies, speak their names, and elucidate with perfect precision their magnitudes and satellites and the myriad other facts he has stored away.
Leonard has already glimpsed inside Spock's head at least one time too many. No, he doesn't need that now.
"Man, I could use a cup of coffee," he says. "I don't care if it does come out of the galley line tasting like tar."
At that, Jim smiles a wan smile. Spock spares him a brief glance, then turns his head away, looking back at the stars.
A minute later, Kirk says, wistfully, "Chicken soup."
McCoy snorts, a little, at that. "You and your chicken soup." He leans his head back on a rocky pillow, and gazes straight up. Then he says, his voice struggling a little, in its attempt to be fair, "It is good, though."
"Yeah."
"How come," the doctor wonders, "We have good chicken soup, and coffee that tastes like crap – but only half the time?"
"I don't know."
As is their unconscious habit when anything is inexplicable, they both look at Spock. The Vulcan, apparently, hasn't been listening. He is staring, again, far off into the distance, and does not acknowledge their comments. He gives the distinct impression that he would prefer to be some where else.
Fair enough. They all would, really.
They sit in silence for a long time, then.
Jim shifts, or stretches, occasionally; and Leonard does the same, if a bit more uncomfortably. He won't admit it, but his back is getting a little stiff from sitting on the ground like this for so long.
Leonard looks over at Spock several times – The other is as still as a statue. But he nevertheless manages to give the continuing impression that he would prefer to be somewhere else.
This time, however, their eyes meet; and Spock immediately rises to his feet, effortlessly (no stiffness for him, Leonard grumps, internally), and stalks a few paces away.
He stands looking out into that deep deep star-studded black, as though there is something there to see. Leonard finds himself wondering what the Vulcan is seeing, what he is thinking – but, of course, Spock offers no clue.
His back is straight, as always.
Leonard sighs. Just when you think you have the guy figured out, he will turn all alien on you. It just isn't fair. He thinks of saying something like that - but the air is getting cold enough, without adding a little extra Vulcan chill to the atmosphere.
He looks at Jim. "My office is sounding mighty fine about now: Hot cup of coffee, an extra blanket, comfy chair."
Jim chuckles, just a bit. "Yeah? Tell me about it. My chair is sounding pretty damned good, too."
Bones wants to call out to Spock, make him join the conversation… But he realizes that Spock's chair has an extra draw that might be best left out of mind for the moment.
She must be beside herself, he thinks.